The Dreamer's Diary

 We live in a world beautifully dressed in words.   “Do what you love.”   “Follow your passion.”   “Love your job.”   They shine on posters in cosy bedrooms, on office walls in glass-front high-rises, and on Instagram feeds accompanied by serene sunsets.  And yet—once we step into the concrete reality of life, especially the corporate grind in a country like India—we discover that these words often belong more to art than to lived experience.   In the marketplace of ambition, love for one’s work feels like a rare antique—admired, but seldom possessed.  Most of what we call success stems from targets hit, deals closed, and emails marked approved. But true satisfaction—the kind that lingers not in your wallet but in your soul—is elusive. It is the quiet joy of simply being, immersed in work that doesn’t deplete you, but replenishes you.   Yet, in this materialistic age, the path to that joy is narrow and jagged....

I still remember the first day we met.     Not in the way two people meet, but in the quiet, almost mystical way one meets someone very special, who will become a part of their soul.   A shy, unsure, undecided, and confused young soul   —   carved out of hesitation and wrapped in uncertainty. Brought into that small, cosy room at the far end of the city, I carried with me nothing but a suitcase, a restless heart, and the feeling of being a stranger everywhere I turned.    It was a new city. A new language fluttered through the streets like birds I could not yet name. A new culture pulsed in the air, warm but alien. There were no familiar faces, no friends, no guiding hands. Just me—still adjusting my steps—and the quiet companionship of those four walls.    And somehow… without words, the room spoke.    It told me, “Not to worry, my friend… here we are. This is your place. Our place. Alone, yet together. Here, you can be y...

I ndia is often described as a natural treasure chest when it comes to wildlife. From snow leopards in the Himalayas to elephants in Kerala, from the dense tiger habitats of central India to the vibrant birdlife of the Sundarbans, our country’s biodiversity is nothing short of magical. This “wild universe” is a stunning testament to adaptation, survival, and sustainability — if only we cared enough to protect it. And yet, after 20 years of experience in the media industry and frequent visits to wildlife parks in India, one thing I have learnt for certain is that, despite being a land historically tied to forests, rivers, and agriculture, the majority of Indians lack even the most basic wildlife knowledge. Empathy comes much later, if at all. I’ve met highly educated people — corporate CEOs, well-travelled entrepreneurs — who cannot tell a tiger from a lion, confuse leopards with cheetahs, and believe antelopes are just another kind of deer.  This ignorance isn’t harmless; it erodes...

  I have never been one for celebrity worship, a stance born not from contrarianism but from a constitutional inability to see a famous person as anything more than a beautifully wrapped, single-skilled parcel.  Sachin Tendulkar is a god with a bat and a mere mortal in all other departments. For me, the curious exception has always been Shah Rukh Khan. My admiration is not for the actor, but for the man off-screen—specifically, for his unvarnished, almost mathematical, acknowledgment of his own success. He can state, “ I am the biggest movie star in India, ” with the dispassionate certainty of a scientist reading a thermometer. It is a hard-hitting realism entirely devoid of the need for faux humility, a quality as rare as a quiet moment in a Bollywood potboiler. This SRK Principle of owning one’s space stands in stark contrast to the industry’s other favourite trope: the heir apparent. Consider the Abhishek Bachchans and the Rohan Gavaskars of the world. No matter their effo...