It’s never about the weight—it’s about how we carry it.
It’s never about the work—it’s about why we do it.
It’s never about the grand sights—it’s about the stories they hold.
It’s never about big things—it’s about finding big meaning in small moments.
Happiness isn’t loud. It doesn’t need a grand stage. It lives in quiet corners, in the way we see, in the way we let things be.
To find joy is to notice it. And to let it stay.
(at Pattaya, Thailand)
To splash around is pure joy. Water flying, laughter echoing—no real destination, just the thrill of movement.
But splashing doesn’t take you far. To cross the pool, it takes strokes, rhythm, glides, and quiet effort beneath the surface.
Some live life in a series of splashes—all energy, no direction. Others move smoothly, silently, covering distance with precision.
The little miss in the pool isn’t interested in all that. She just wants to splash. And that’s okay.
Because in a kid’s world, the fun is in the splash.
And maybe, just maybe, we should let them have that—before the swimming begins.
(at Bangkok, Thailand)
The little miss and her imagination take flight long before the plane does.
She plants her legs on the airplane window, eyes wide with wonder.
“Papa, my legs are touching the sky!” she shrieks, her joy lighting up the cabin—or at least our corner of it.
I smile. Because, really, why not?
We spend lifetimes chasing the sky, claiming its vastness for ourselves. But if you ever do, remember this young dreamer who got there first—feet up, heart soaring.
He is all bone and muscle, sun-worn skin, a pronounced jaw, and a stubble for a head. But what stands out most? That smile. A smile that stretches wide, giving his broken, uneven teeth even more mileage.
He’s the man of the waves, guiding our water scooter with the ease of someone who knows the sea like the back of his hand. The waves bend to him, the machine moves at his command.
From the shore, he waves us on.
“Have fun. You have time,” he calls out.
And as we bounce over another wave, he settles into the sand, watching, waiting. When we return, exhilarated, he grins—a full, gap-toothed smile.
“Enjoy it while you have the time,” he says.
He may not know how profound those words are. Or maybe he does.
Because wisdom often lives in the ordinary. In the men who wrestle with waves, in those who know that time isn’t something to save—it’s something to use.
(at Pattaya, Thailand)
As a talented pair of hands whipped up a fresh cocktail, my eyes wandered to the Volkswagen Camper van, glowing under bright lights.
But this isn’t just a vehicle. It’s a symbol.
First introduced in 1950, it rolled off production lines in 2013, but not before proving its remarkable ability to evolve. It started as a people carrier, then became a parcel transporter, a tourist van, an ambulance, and much more. From the practical to the imaginative, it has done everything possible—and everything conceivable.
To age gracefully, like the VW Camper, means one thing: staying relevant.
And that requires daily reinvention. Self-disruption. A willingness to redraw the finish line—again and again.
It’s not easy. But it’s possible.
Just ask the VW Camper.
(at Pattaya, Thailand)
If you seek to grow, watch children.
In their curiosity, in their seeking, in their unfiltered joy, they remind us of what we may have forgotten.
I watch them play—effortlessly, freely—with kids of different skin colours, with no hesitation, no barriers. They teach me that at our core, we are all just people reaching out to relate.
I hear their giddy excitement over the simplest things—“Yeahhh, the Sun is back!”—and it nudges me to wonder more, celebrate more, feel more.
And when they discard their shoes to walk barefoot on the sand, I see them connect with the earth, fully present in the moment. It reminds me of the beauty in staying grounded.
Children don’t just grow. They teach us how to.
Watch them. You’ll learn a heap.
(at Pattaya, Thailand)
Boxes come in all shapes and sizes. Some travel far, some stay close. They sit shoulder to shoulder, waiting to be sorted at the train station—silent carriers of unknown stories.
A former Indian Prime Minister once wrote a poem titled “Envelope” that went something like this:
“The letter inside is yours
The address on the cover is his
Between the two of you
I get ripped open.”
What’s inside us is far more precious than any address on the outside.
To grow, to evolve, we must let go of old versions of ourselves. We must rip open, just like those envelopes—so that what’s within can reach new places.
The address keeps changing. The journey never stops.
So, go ahead—break open the box. Let the new you emerge.
(at Jamshedpur, Jharkhand)
There’s something about heights—they fascinate. And more importantly, they teach.
From up in the sky, the mighty river becomes a thin thread, the towering cliffs look like half-eaten cookies, and giant houses shrink into tiny squares.
And suddenly, you see it—boundaries don’t exist. The map is not the territory. The sky doesn’t end, the Earth doesn’t begin—they just merge.
Maybe that’s the perspective we need in life and work. To see everything as part of a larger oneness. To see ourselvesas deeply connected.
When you see the world like that, everything becomes easier—kindness, love, compassion, brotherhood, affection.
So take to the skies. If not in body, at least in mind.
Close your eyes.
Fly.
Space isn’t about what’s available. It’s about what we believe exists.
If you think there’s space, there is.
If you think there isn’t, well, there won’t be.
What they call an abundance mindset is just that—a function of the mind. To be boundaryless in thought achieves far more than any title, hierarchy, or permission ever will.
A seat at the table? It doesn’t always require a table. Or even a seat.
Travel teaches this best. When you move, when you see people, cultures, and places, you realize—the ‘them’ and ‘us’ dissolve when the chairs are empty.
Because in the end, we are all in the same ship, traveling together.
How do you welcome a new day?
The first shimmer of sunlight is more than just a cue to wake up—it’s a hint of opportunity. A fresh invitation to:
Continue the work from yesterday. Begin anew. Press reset. Walk the long road. Course correct. Sit down and reflect.
Whatever works for you.
The Sun rising in the east might feel like routine, but treating it as a gift, a reminder, a moment to pause—that changes everything.
So wherever you are, celebrate it. Sing, dance, run, read—do whatever fills you with life.
Because the majestic Sun is a daily lesson in beginnings, transitions, and showing up—no matter what.
(at Udaipur City, Rajasthan, India)