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“Enjoy It While You Have Time”—A Profound Lesson from the Beach

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)

Beyond the Road: What the VW Camper Teaches About Staying Relevant

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)

Watch Kids, Learn Life: Curiosity, Play, and Wonder

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)

What’s Inside Matters: Lessons from Carton Boxes in Transit

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)

Flying Beyond Boundaries: Seeing the World as One

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.

The Art of Showing Up

If you can’t showcase your work, you can’t sell it. It’s as simple as that.

The old idea that “if you build a better mousetrap, the world will beat a path to your door”? A myth. Maybe it never existed.

At the Chithirai Festival in Madurai, amidst the chaos and colour, one balloon vendor knew this well. He struck an ingenious deal with the cops—his bike would serve as a barricade against traffic, giving him prime real estate in the middle of the road.

With that sorted, he put on a show—a mega display of bright, cheerful balloons. By the end of the day, he sold them all.

There’s always a way to showcase your work.
It can be subtle, functional, creative, or bold—but it must be authentic.

A little bit of imagination can make all the difference.

This balloon seller taught me that.

The Road to Vegas & The Road Back

It was evening.

The road from San Francisco to Las Vegas stretched endlessly—a ride that felt like it had started in another lifetime. Smooth, uneventful, devoid of the delightful chaos of an Indian highway.

No bulls appearing out of nowhere, no tractors playing chicken—just long, sweeping roads with scenery that tried its best to keep things interesting.

But ahead lay Las Vegas—a city of stories, possibilities, and whispered legends. Excitement pulsed through us, and for a moment, even the car engine seemed to hum in anticipation.

And then, I saw them—the cars leaving Vegas, heading home. Their passengers, wrapped in a quiet emptiness, faces drained of whatever the night had held.

That’s when a line from English, August floated back into my mind:

“The ecstasy of the arrival never compensates for the emptiness of the departure.”

I smiled. Because some truths, like the Vegas skyline, glow even in the dark.

(at Las Vegas, Nevada)

Colours, Coin, and a Question

He appeared with a tap on my shoulder, cutting through the jostling crowd at Madurai’s Chithirai Festival. While chaos swirled around us, he stood calm, his face a riot of colour—deep devilish pink, adorned with glinting trinkets.

He smiled and held out a vessel. Ah, money, I thought. It paints the town red. Or, in this case, a shade of pink that refused to be ignored.

Carefully, I wrestled my wallet free, handed him a few notes. His eyes widened.

Was it the amount?
The act of giving itself?
Or my awkward attempt at wallet gymnastics in a jostling sea of people?

Surprise gave way to a grin, and suddenly—out of nowhere—he blessed me with a peacock feather.

I asked for a picture. He stood, smiled, then vanished into the festival, dancing to a new tune, swallowed by the crowd.

But his azure blue eyes lingered long after.

And a question stayed with me—Do we all wear paint to earn a living?

(at Madurai, India)

The Beat of Tradition, The Dance of Renewal

You can’t miss the beats—they travel miles, weaving through memory and the moment.

Folklore spills onto the streets of Madurai, as rural dancers take center stage—bare-chested, bells jingling, raw energy flowing. Nothing polished, nothing rehearsed. Just movement, music, and meaning.

This is Chithirai Festival.

There’s no perfect synchrony, no scripted spectacle for the screen. Yet, there’s joy. A gay abandon of culture, faith, and spontaneous rhythm. A festival that isn’t just performed—it’s felt.

A new warp and weft to an old tradition.

A treat to the senses. A soothing of the soul. A renewal—of memories, of roots, of fresh dreams taking flight.

The Space for Choice

Between stimulus and response, there is always choice.

Viktor Frankl’s words echo in my mind today. A reminder that no matter what the world throws at us—deadlines, debates, demands—we get to decide how we respond.

Yes, there is always more to do. More calls, meetings, decisions, and battles. And in many ways, that’s a good thing. It gives purpose, it fuels momentum, it energizes.

The trick is to go after it with joy and abandon.

To choose to smile—not because the day is easy, but because you own your response.

So go ahead. Kiss the world.