My dad always said, “Coffee drinkers are better thinkers.” He was a wise man. I’ve never had a reason to doubt him.
These days, “Coffee?” is the answer to everything.
Questions, answers, problems—it doesn’t matter. Coffee solves it all. Especially in Mumbai. The city hums with its energy, fuelled by endless cups.
Maybe it’s the caffeine. Or maybe coffee is just a great excuse to pause, talk, and think.
Either way, I’m not arguing. Coffee?
An open window behind, a simple bench beckoning you to sit, a loyal plant keeping you company, and soft grass beneath your feet. There’s even a shade nearby, waiting for you to decide if you need it. Above you, the open sky stretches endlessly—a perfect invitation to pause and just be.
Now, imagine tossing in a book, a bottle of water, and a steaming cup of hot coffee. Sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? There’s just one catch: throw away the watch. This is not a moment for time to meddle.
This little setup isn’t just about comfort; it’s a rebellion. A rebellion against hurried calendars, buzzing phones, and endless to-do lists. It’s a reminder that life isn’t a race; it’s more like an unscripted performance under a limitless sky.
What happens when you sink into that bench? You’ll notice things—the subtle rustle of leaves, the changing hues of the sky, or the way sunlight dances on your coffee cup. Perhaps the book you brought along finally gets the attention it deserves, its pages flipping lazily in the breeze.
And if you’re lucky, you’ll discover the joy of doing absolutely nothing. Yes, nothing! It’s underrated, often mistaken for laziness, but oh, the freedom it holds. No notifications, no deadlines—just you, your thoughts, and maybe that sneaky plant that’s somehow photobombing your serene moment.
The best part? This isn’t a luxury reserved for sprawling gardens or countryside retreats. It could be your balcony, your backyard, or even a park bench nearby. What matters isn’t the setting but the mindset.
So, take the plunge. Open that window, grab your coffee, and let the sky remind you how vast your world really is—if only you’d stop to notice.
Some build monuments to power. Others, to love. Premchand Roychand, a wealthy businessman, built the Rajabai Tower for something both grand and simple—to help his blind mother keep time.
Modelled after Big Ben, its chimes once echoed across Mumbai, guiding her through the day. A full-fledged clock tower just so a mother could tell time—now that’s devotion on another level.
He must have been some man. And she, some mother.
Centuries later, the tower still stands. A reminder that love, like time, leaves its mark.
We sit by the sea, watching its endless waves. She sits beside me, tossing questions like pebbles into the water.
“Where does the sea begin and where does it end?”
“Can we build a new sea?”
“If we can’t build a new sea, then we must take care of this one, right?”
I nod. She’s here for answers. I came here for the breeze. But she’s stirring up a storm.
Somewhere, I hope the right men and women are listening. Because the sea has no voice—except for those who ask the right questions.
(at Marine Drive Mumbai)
Where you stand depends on where you sit. And where you sit? That depends on how much of a foothold you have in the world.
In many places, life isn’t about luxury or choice—it’s about making the most of what’s available. It’s about hanging on, navigating bridges with borrowed wheels, hoping for the best, and moving forward anyway.
But let’s be clear—this does not mean fewer aspirations.
This does not mean fewer dreams of change.
This does not mean fewer smiles, joys, or moments of triumph.
For many, life is neither happiness nor sadness—it simply is. And there’s a quiet resilience in that truth.
Swabs of cotton, clothesline clips, and a splash of colours. In the hands of kids, that’s all it took for magic to unfold.
No TVs, no tablets, no digital distractions—just pure imagination at play. The kind that turns ordinary objects into extraordinary stories. The kind that reminds us that creativity doesn’t need a screen, just space to roam free.
All it takes is a little belief—in kids, in their boundless curiosity, in their ability to turn the simplest things into something wonderful.
Yes, magic. That’s the word. And kids own it.
(at Bangkok, 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.
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)
Some pictures don’t just capture a moment—they bring back a world.
There was a time when our home echoed with the soft chime of an anklet. The little miss loved it, and so did we. It was more than an ornament; it was our personal GPS—a subtle tracker of her movements, her mischief, her presence.
And then, time did what it always does.
I don’t even know where the anklet is now. But this picture? It took me straight back. To a time when tiny feet ran around, when silence was more alarming than noise, when aspirations and dreams had a different shape, a different urgency.
Some pictures do that—they remind you, they whisper, they nudge.
And for a brief moment, you’re not just looking at the past. You’re feeling it.