What are you working on? And how are you working on whatever you are working on?
The Albert Victor Bridge in Madurai was built in 1886 and was supposed to last a 100 years! It’s still standing. Being of value and use to the day. Long after the engineers went back and the river ran dry.
Good work solves problems. Great work solves problems, through time as well. The option to do both exists all the time. The choices are ours to make.
(at Madurai, India)
They say a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. But what about a bird drawn on a hand?
For a child, it’s magic. A few careful strokes, a little waiting, and suddenly, a bird appears—etched in Mehendi, alive in her imagination. The flutter in her eyes, the quiet twitch at the corner of her mouth—it’s a joy no real bird could match.
It’s not the big toys that bring the deepest happiness. Sure, they shine. But the small moments, the ones spent laughing, waiting, watching something take shape—those stay green in the mind.
Because joy isn’t just in what we hold. It’s in what we create.
He sat there, unmoved by the rush of trains at Jamshedpur’s Tatanagar station. His craft lay at his feet, silent like him. His rustic look kept him company long after the train had left.
Our eyes met. His stare was vacant, words few.
But his hands had already spoken. In the carved stone pieces laid before him—each smoothed, shaped, and made to tell a tale. Stories etched in silence, held in the weight of his craft.
Some speak with words. Others let their hands do the talking.
Life keeps throwing balls our way. Some fast, some slow. Some expected, others completely out of nowhere.
The real question isn’t what comes our way—but how ready we are to catch it.
We don’t get to choose the speed, angle, or height of life’s throws. But we do get to choose our readiness—to react, adapt, and take every catch that matters.
Because in the end, catches win matches. And in life, being ready makes all the difference.
Are you ready?
There’s something special about a community in motion. And when that motion is on bikes, it’s something else altogether.
Driving across the US, I saw them often—groups of bikers, engines roaring long before they came into view. Then, for a few fleeting seconds, they would appear—gliding, leaning, perfectly in sync with the road. And just like that, they’d be gone.
Maybe it’s the way they hug the road, the way the sound fills the air, or the way their presence lingers long after they’ve disappeared. They don’t just ride, they command attention—in sound, sight, and spirit.
What must it be like, to ride with the wind, to feel the world rush past, to have nothing but open road and a revved-up heartbeat?
Freedom. Movement. Brotherhood.
Somewhere in that formation, there’s a kind of unspoken poetry—one that only the road can write.
Some people live a life that goes beyond their own lifespan and extend to generations. Paul Revere’s was one such. Imagine a life story from the 17th century that still captures attention laced with reverence.
Paul Revere was a successful silversmith who played a defining role in the American Independence struggle. A role that centred around devising a system that alerted and kept a watch on the British army. His heroics mounted a fame horse and rode away to glory, when Henry Longfellow wrote a poem called “Paul Revere’s ride”.
He wrote
“Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year”
I stood along with a set of curious folks who had got to the Granary Burial Ground in Boston. To look him up after reading his exploits the previous day.
For a gent who was born in 1734, that is some recognition, isnt it?
(at Granary Burial Grounds- Boston, Ma)
It’s practically illegal to visit San Francisco and not post a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge. Or so it seems, judging by the questions when you don’t! 
But beyond its stunning presence, this bridge is a lesson in persistence. Built in 1937, it didn’t just appear overnight. It took over a decade of battling opposition—financial worries, engineering doubts, even fears that it would ruin the bay’s beauty.
Today, those objections feel almost absurd, drowned out by its practical and symbolic value.
Because here’s the thing—the awesome doesn’t get built overnight. And most importantly, it doesn’t look awesome when it’s still in the mind.
So, what are you building? Keep going. The world may not see it yet, but one day, they’ll wonder how it ever wasn’t there.
Every great campus has an icon, and at the University of California, Berkeley, the Sather Tower is impossible to miss. It dominates the sky, commands attention, and quietly watches over generations of bright minds passing through.
At 307 feet, it’s the third tallest clock tower in the world, but its real significance isn’t just its height—it’s the aspiration it represents. For decades, students have walked beneath it, dreamed beyond it, and carried its legacy forward.
And here’s a twist—it’s not just a timekeeper, it’s a time capsule. Hidden inside? A fossil collection from Berkeley’s Department of Biology, preserving life from long before 1914, when the tower was built.
It tells time. It stores time. And for many, it shapes lifetimes.
John Harvard sits pretty in Harvard Yard, watching over students and tourists alike. His left shoe gleams, polished by thousands of hopeful hands rubbing it for luck.
But behind the statue lies a story of mistaken identity—actually, two.
First, John Harvard wasn’t the founder of Harvard University, just its most generous early benefactor. And second, when the time came to build the statue, no one knew what he looked like. So, they used the face of another man!
Despite this, the statue is said to be the third most photographed in the US, after the Lincoln Memorial and the Statue of Liberty.
Now that’s an impressive legacy—to become iconic, even when history got the details wrong!
#JohnHarvard #HarvardLegends #StatueWithAStory
A city’s skyline can feel like a carbon copy of ambition—jagged concrete dreams reaching upward, standing in silent competition. From afar, they all seem the same.
But look closer. No two skylines are alike. The details whisper—the polished glass facades, the murmurs in the air, the street music shaping the mood. These are the signatures of a city, the pulse beneath the architecture.
San Francisco’s skyline plays a game. Business-like. No-nonsense. A stiff upper lip. But let the Pacific breeze brush past you, step beyond the steel towers, and descend into the valleys of the city—that’s when the façade fades. The real San Francisco isn’t just in its skyline. It’s in the hills, the streets, the unexpected turns.
Some cities invite you in. San Francisco? It teases, then surprises.