Folks: Happy Independence Day! :-)

 

I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

I have four pet snails. I don’t particularly adore snails, but perhaps they’re a quiet philosophical confession — a mirror of my present life: slow, withdrawn, almost apologetic. I could’ve bought fish, restless and kinetic, but I chose creatures that inch along like time itself here. Hyderabad moves at a snail’s pace — especially the Old City, where life often feels like a Sisyphean struggle amid narrow thinking and stubborn attitudes. Stray dogs, lurking dangers, and neighborhoods prone to chaos add to the weight. I’m not being snobbish — I still cherish the city’s heritage — yet I feel a deep sadness about what surrounds me.

As for life now: searching for a bride, rereading Vikram Seth, battling roaches and lizards like minor wars, reinventing mousetraps, nudged into blogging by my niece, and coexisting with Sona — a miniature wildcat who treats me like prey. Home alone, haunted by this place, allergic to television, oddly fond of scarecrows — life swings endlessly between hope and despair.

Amongst My Own: I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

I feel most at ease among my own. Blue-collar workers—vendors, laborers, peddlers—are my comfort zone. Labels like upper, middle, or lower class don’t really matter to me.

Ragpickers, rickshaw pullers, auto drivers—I naturally connect with people who are underprivileged.

I count my blessings, especially when I think of people with physical or mental disabilities.

Chai, conversation, companionship—and yes, cigarettes.

Wealthy people, on the other hand, make me uneasy.

I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

My Soulmate: An Unfinished Quest

Here, my spirit rests.

La isla bonita — a sacred chant.

Each breath tastes of ecstasy,

memories glowing like burning prayer.

Her voice — unseen, eternal,

circling my soul in yearning.

Her eyes speak truths unsaid,

guiding seekers to destiny.

Emeralds and rubies mirror paradise,

she turns illusion into belief.

Here, my spirit rests.

La isla bonita — the song of return.

She is the one — pearl of light, ruby of love,

my amulet, my surrender, my song.

‘What have you done since Hotmail’: Sabeer Bhatia says stigma around failure is so strong in India, people don’t experiment

Hotmail co-founder Sabeer Bhatia calls out India’s education system for stifling creativity and discouraging failure. 

Sabeer Bhatia, the man who co-founded Hotmail, knows a thing or two about building something from scratch. But even years after launching one of the world’s first webmail services, people still ask him one question: “What have you done since Hotmail?”

For Bhatia, that question says a lot about how we, in India, think about success—and failure. In a recent chat on the NNP podcast, he didn’t hold back. He said, “We live in a conformist society—people are often told, ‘Listen to others, do what they say.’ But why follow a path that’s already been walked?”

According to Bhatia, the problem begins with our schools. He said India’s education system is designed to “produce workers who take orders” rather than “visionaries” who challenge the system.

He gave an example from his own family. “Teachers don’t correct [spelling mistakes] because spelling is irrelevant. What matters is the thought,” he said, talking about how his children are taught in the US. “In India, children are punished for making errors instead of being supported to think for themselves.”

And he didn’t mince words when describing the state of learning in the country: “You’re never asked to write a paper. You’re asked to memorise 13 chapters and regurgitate them. That is not education.”

Another major issue, according to Bhatia, is how society defines success. 

A society that’s afraid to fail

Bhatia also touched on India’s deep discomfort with failure. Sharing his own experience, he said, “People have even asked me, ‘What have you done since Hotmail?’”—as if one moment, good or bad, should define someone forever.

He believes this fear is holding back innovation. “Unless India stops confusing blind obedience with real intelligence, it will continue to lose talented minds,” he said.

According to Bhatia, another major issue is how society defines success. He explained that many Indian students choose careers like medicine or engineering not out of passion but because that’s what society tells them to do. “You can’t suppress the arts, sports, and culture and expect to build a balanced society,” he added.

Even when young people want to take a different route—like starting a business—the foundation they’ve been given doesn’t prepare them for that leap.

https://www.msn.com/en-in/news/india/what-have-you-done-since-hotmail-sabeer-bhatia-says-stigma-around-failure-is-so-strong-in-india-people-don-t-experiment/ar-AA1T1Luc?ocid=msedgntp&pc=U531&cvid=694d840b99854368a4374af2cd44c062&ei=29

Folks: Merry Xmas to all of you! :-)

 

"The Impossible Dream (The Quest)"

To dream the impossible dream,

To fight the unbeatable foe,

To bear with unbearable sorrow,

To run where the brave dare not go.

To right the unrightable wrong,

To love pure and chaste from afar,

To try when your arms are too weary,

To reach the unreachable star.

This is my quest,

To follow that star

No matter how hopeless,

No matter how far.

To fight for the right

Without question or pause,

To be willing to march

Into hell for a heavenly cause.

And I know if I'll only be true

To this glorious quest

That my heart will be peaceful and calm

When I'm laid to my rest.

And the world will be better for this,

That one man scorned and covered with scars

Still strove with his last ounce of courage.

To fight the unbeatable foe.

To reach the unreachable star.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Impossible_Dream_(The_Quest)

I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

The coronation moment arrives.

In reverent silence, the empress-in-waiting advances gracefully.

With every measured step, a Crescent Sword is drawn — sharp, unwavering, resolute.

Beneath the shadow of steel, she ascends her throne.

What is defeat? What is retreat? Mere illusions.

Her decree is absolute.

I am the warrior, known by the righteous — I wield no shield of deceit.

Tremble, you feeble-hearted.

For this is the day you were foretold.

Let's go to the movies! :-) I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

Love is strength — not defeat. It's fighting through darkness, not giving in to it. It’s choosing life, healing, and hope. That’s what true courage looks like.

Movies that portray suicide as an expression of love send the wrong message. Our youth need stories that inspire resilience, bravery, and emotional courage — stories that remind them that every battle is worth fighting.

Film producers have the power to shape minds. Use that power to build warriors of spirit — not to make them feel helpless. Because love is not surrender. Love is defiance, hope, and the unbreakable will to live.

Unconfessed mortal sins! I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

I write for many reasons. My words are a mirror — reflecting not just who I am, but what I’ve become. I write autobiographically. I write to stir, to shift perspectives. My life feels like a game of Snakes and Ladders, though the board seems crowded with more snakes than ladders. Through my writing, I warn my comrades — watch out for the snakes. That’s my way of being a Good Samaritan. A modern-day samurai with a pen for a sword.

I’ve always believed — perhaps foolishly — that there’s no such thing as pure fiction. Every story is reality in disguise, twisted, reshaped, and reborn. In my case, it’s always autobiographical, at least in part. My offbeat poems, my eccentric soliloquies — they’re cathartic. Writing drains the poison, like a medicinal leech. It’s my penance for unconfessed mortal sins. Whether this is a universal phenomenon or merely the quirk of a half-mad, self-proclaimed writer — I can’t say.

Eklavya: The Forgotten Hero! I first wrote this piece ages ago. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence! :-)

Eklavya: The Forgotten Hero

Eklavya stands as one of the most remarkable disciples in Indian lore — a figure often overlooked in mainstream narratives. Unfortunately, a recurring issue among modern Indians is our limited familiarity with our own history and classical texts. Few today truly understand the essence of the gurukul or ashram system. Yet history provides identity, direction, and moral anchoring. Our current cultural disorientation stems from our disconnection with our past, leading us to view the world solely through a Western lens.

India possesses countless heroes, thinkers, and pioneers, but we frequently fail to acknowledge them. While learning foreign languages such as French is admirable, our priority should be to reconnect with Sanskrit — the linguistic and philosophical foundation of our civilization. A society that feels embarrassment toward its own ancestors forfeits both pride and conscience, especially when those ancestors embodied courage and virtue.

History is our guiding star — the light that prevents national darkness. Without it, we drift in confusion, like an oarless boat in turbulent waters, destined to capsize.

Modern education has become mechanistic; we produce memorizing machines rather than creative thinkers. As Azim H. Premji notes in The Weight of Wings, we need an educational reform that encourages free thought, not rote learning.

Our social psyche remains trapped in colonial patterns — driven by fear, conformity, and a narrow obsession with job security. True progress requires embracing innovation, interdisciplinarity, and courage to explore unconventional domains such as robotics and AI.

Sadly, our ideals have shifted from moral leaders like Gandhi Ji to ephemeral celebrities. Eklavya, millennia ago, demonstrated that idealism is the essence of humanity. Reviving this spirit in education and society is not a choice — it is a necessity.

Praise be to God. May He be glorified and exalted.

The greatest speed known to man today is the speed of light; the angels are able to travel much faster than this. Hardly had an enquirer completed a question to the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him), but Jibreel would bring the answer from Allah.

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One mighty jinn responded, “I can bring it to you before you rise from this council of yours. And I am quite strong and trustworthy for this task.”

But the one who had knowledge of the Scripture said, “I can bring it to you in the blink of an eye.” So when Solomon saw it placed before him, he exclaimed, “This is by the grace of my Lord to test me whether I am grateful or ungrateful. And whoever is grateful, it is only for their own good. But whoever is ungrateful, surely my Lord is Self-Sufficient, Most Generous.”

[al-Naml 27:39-40]

Happy Deepavali, folks :-) (Festival of lights)

 

I first wrote this piece in 2017. Today, I revisit and repost it—with a little help from Artificial Intelligence!

Decisive, determining, or deciding factors often define outcomes, whether in nature or human endeavor. The “Turbo Button,” a feature from early IBM-compatible computers of the 1990s, provides an apt metaphor for a cognitive shift — an intentional acceleration of mental performance. I recall activating it during my earliest experiments in problem-solving, outsmarting a friend in a Tetris high-score duel. That, in essence, was my first “hack.”

Analogously, when observing predators such as cheetahs or lions, we find a refined model of decision-making and strategy:

Selection: They identify a single, viable target from among many.

Isolation: They detach this target from the herd.

Focus: They maintain absolute concentration, excluding distractions.

Evaluation: They make a realistic decision — to hunt or to hold — based on experience and circumstance.

Execution: They commit, accelerating into a decisive final sprint.

This last act — the sprint — is the true determining factor. A fractional misstep can mean starvation. Both predator and prey operate in heightened states of instinctual intelligence — “Turbo Mode,” if you will. One acts, the other counters; survival is the shared algorithm.

My own reflections extend this analogy to creativity and cognition. Writing, problem-solving, and invention all demand a switch into this intensified mental state — a modern form of “Edward de Bono Mode.”

In my writing — often monological, stream-of-consciousness, and self-analytical — I pursue that same focus: the hunt for meaning. Perhaps that is the ultimate hack — learning when to accelerate.

Reprint: A parrot astrologer and his parakeet: Tête-à-tête . . ..

A Parrot Astrologer and His Parakeet: A Dialogue Beneath the Sun

Astrologer (smiling wearily): Tell me, Parrot, what do the stars whisper about my Destiny?

Parrot (feigning a swoon): Sunstroke!

Astrologer (mock alarmed): Am I to faint beneath the sun?

Parrot (fluttering): No, no! How should I know such human frailty? I only meant—let’s seek the shade of an old banyan tree, wise and sprawling, like memory itself.

Astrologer (intrigued): Banyan? Not tamarind? Not neem? Why this fondness?

Parrot: I sense disquiet here. The air is unclean with omens. I am, after all, a creature of branches and breezes. A banyan—ah, it is the sage of trees.

Astrologer (softly): Perhaps you miss the nest you never built. I too am caged by fate. Call it symbiosis if you will—two souls bound by invisible threads. You long for freedom; I long for certainty. Both mirages under the same sun.

Parrot: Do you never tire of your stars?

Astrologer: Never.

Parrot: Then why become an astrologer?

Astrologer: Destiny.

Parrot: A game, then?

Astrologer: Indeed. Let’s play dice.

Parrot: Socratic irony?

Astrologer: Greek to me.

Parrot: Was he your master?

Astrologer: Perhaps. I’ve forgotten his face.

Parrot: Strange. I’ve never met him.

Astrologer: You dream through your days, my bird. I only guess at your mind.

Parrot: Tell me truthfully—am I insolent?

Astrologer: Yes. But your defiance is divine. You wound with words, yet you mirror me.

Parrot: Perhaps I am only your reflection. Perhaps that’s the true astrology.

Sisyphus resides within you. :-) I wrote this in the year: 2017) :-)

Mettle — the strength of spirit, the ability to persevere through adversity — is not gifted but forged.

There is no magic wand to transform boys into men. Only relentless, unyielding grit can do that. This is your life, and your path is yours to shape.

If escapism is your refuge, then take a hot-air balloon ride and drift away — no one will question your timidity. But if even the smallest ember of courage burns within you, summon it. Channel the tireless persistence of a Sherpa conquering the world’s highest peaks.

Over time, that spark will grow. It will evolve into the strength of a true giant.

So, embrace your challenges. Do not recoil from them.

Sisyphus is in you — his struggle, his resolve, his defiance.

Listen closely to that inner voice. Do not silence its echoes.

Reprint: A fictitious brattish Arabian Princess and her Bedouin aide-de-camp (I wrote this in the year: 2017) :-)

“Dhow ready for you, mademoiselle.”

The same familiar voice — deep, rugged, belonging to the hunchbacked Bedouin, my father’s most trusted lieutenant.

A crescent sword swayed from his side as the desert wind swept through, ruffling his robes — the gust seemed to irritate him, though his samurai-like stride betrayed no weakness.

A mare whinnied softly. He patted it in his usual dismissive way — flamboyant in a subdued sort of fashion, debonair even, with that ever-present smirk playing on his lips.

His chaps, once a rich magenta, were now faded to charcoal — a war trophy from days when tribes clashed and heads were counted. No more of that now, he’d once told me with a shrug, voice laced with a nonchalant, curse-like edge. “These spurs? Not even for menace-makers.”

“Duel? Jostle? Do I look that intimidating to you, mademoiselle? And what was your name before you went to—” He never finished.

The unanimous leader of a warrior race, he bore a spine-chilling glint in his eye. And no, he wasn’t truly hunchbacked — it was his way of showing obeisance. His loyalty lay, unwavering, with my father.

“Mills and Boon,” he probably thinks of me — frivolous, romantic. His words are always discreet, hoarse, clipped — like commands on a battlefield.

He never naps. No siestas. Instead, he strides to the souk, hubble-bubble pipe in hand. Occasionally. Otherwise, it’s “Come to Marlboro Country.”

“It’s sweltering,” she says. “Perhaps reschedule your summer break.”

“Yes, yes, he’s such a copycat — fake to the core. I should go now.”

“Hey, Mister Cowboy — where’s my black tea?”

Did he hear me? Perhaps. He always does.

“Wait until my grandfather arrives.”

“Hey, mister stone-deaf — don’t we pay you, slave?”

Reprint: Graphic novel (I wrote this during my bout / relapse of schizophrenia) Year: 2017 :-)

 

Reprint: Graphic novel (I wrote this during my bout / relapse of schizophrenia) Year: 2017.

Title: My Soul Mate: An Unfinished Quest

Concept:

This is the first comic book series based on an eccentric yet deeply relatable character — The Hunchbacked Whirling Dervish.

Main Character – The Hunchbacked Whirling Dervish:

An ordinary, boy-next-door type of character with an extraordinary inner world. He’s on an endless quest to find his soul mate, though his romantic pursuits often end in heartbreak. Torn between euphoria and despair, he nonetheless embodies resilience and never loses hope.

With a faint but unwavering faith in God, he often imagines himself in different roles: sometimes as a counter-terrorism operative, sometimes as a free-spirited barnstormer straight out of a Richard Bach novel.

God is his mentor — or so he believes — and though he considers himself close to God, he often laments that God never says so aloud. In his prayers, he humbly pleads: “God, I want to be Your close friend.”

Mentor – God

Miss Spock-y Ears:

The Whirling Dervish’s latest crush — a woman he believes is the one. He’s madly in love with her but never confesses it. She, however, knows everything about him and chooses not to hurt him, sensing his innocence and vulnerability.

Ex-Soul Mates:

A recurring cast of former lovers who occasionally reappear, stirring old emotions and reminding the Whirling Dervish of his unfinished quest.

Happy Independence Day, folks! Jai Hind! :-)