Max, the only dog I have ever had as a pet, came into my life unexpectedly and left just as suddenly in August 2024. For nearly eight years, he was a constant presence, a source of joy, and an unexpected teacher. His departure was abrupt, but when I think of him now, I don’t feel sadness. Instead, I feel a deep sense of happiness and gratitude. It’s remarkable how the memory of him brings a smile to my face, a testament to the profound impact he had on my life.

Max was a companion who taught me invaluable lessons about happiness, patience, loyalty, and the art of being nonchalant in the face of life’s uncertainties.​

Happiness, as Max demonstrated, is often found in the simplest of moments. He didn’t need grand gestures or elaborate plans to be content. A walk in the park, a quiet afternoon nap, or even the sound of his food being poured into his bowl was enough to make his tail wag with unbridled joy. Watching him, I realized how much we complicate our own pursuit of happiness. Max’s ability to find delight in the mundane was a lesson in mindfulness, a reminder to appreciate the small, everyday moments that often go unnoticed. His happiness was contagious, and over time, I found myself adopting a similar outlook, learning to derive joy from the little things in life.

Patience was another virtue Max embodied effortlessly. Whether it was waiting for his turn during a game, sitting calmly while I prepared his meals, or simply enduring my occasional clumsiness as I learned to care for him, Max never seemed to lose his composure. His patience was a quiet strength, one that I often found myself lacking. In a world that increasingly demands instant gratification, Max’s calm demeanor was a grounding force. He taught me that good things come to those who wait, and that patience is not just about waiting but about maintaining a sense of calm and trust in the process. This lesson has stayed with me, influencing how I approach challenges and uncertainties in my own life.

Loyalty and nonchalance were perhaps Max’s most defining traits. His loyalty was unwavering, a constant presence by my side through ups and downs. He didn’t care about my successes or failures; his affection was unconditional. At the same time, Max had a remarkable ability to remain nonchalant about the things that didn’t matter. He didn’t hold grudges, overthink situations, or dwell on the past. If I was late coming home, he greeted me with the same enthusiasm as if I had been gone for minutes. His ability to live in the moment, to let go of what didn’t serve him, was a masterclass in emotional resilience. In remembering Max, I am reminded of the importance of loyalty—not just to others but to oneself—and the freedom that comes from embracing a nonchalant attitude toward life’s trivialities.

Max’s sudden departure left a void, but it also left me with a wealth of memories and lessons that continue to shape how I live my life. He was more than a pet; he was a teacher, a friend, and a source of unconditional love. When I think of him now, I don’t feel the weight of loss. Instead, I feel a profound sense of happiness, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Max’s legacy is not one of sorrow but of joy, patience, loyalty, and the quiet strength of being nonchalant in the face of life’s unpredictability. For that, I will always be grateful.

When it comes to laptops, the operating system plays a pivotal role in shaping the user experience. For most manufacturers like Dell, Lenovo, HP, and others, Windows is the default OS. While Windows powers the majority of laptops globally, it might also be a significant factor behind the low Net Promoter Scores (NPS) of some brands. Unlike Apple, which controls both its hardware and software ecosystem, Windows-based laptop manufacturers are at the mercy of Microsoft’s OS. This disconnect between hardware and software often leads to a subpar customer experience, as I recently experienced with my Dell laptop.

For a month, I experienced the infamous Blue Screen of Death (BSOD) on my Dell laptop running Windows 11. The crashes were frequent, multiple times a day, forcing restarts and disrupting my workflow. As someone who relies heavily on their laptop for both personal and professional tasks, this was incredibly frustrating. I had a Dell support plan, so I reached out to their customer service. However, the experience was far from satisfactory. Dell only offers phone support, unlike Apple, where you can walk into a store and get hands-on assistance. The support team ran a diagnostic on boot, and the health check showed no issues with the hardware. Their solution? Reinstall Windows 11. They essentially absolved themselves of any responsibility, leaving me to deal with the problem on my own. This kind of poor customer experience makes me question whether I would ever buy a Dell laptop again. The answer is likely no.

The bigger question, however, is whether I would continue to use Windows. The answer is yes, but not because I’m satisfied with it. Windows has a near-monopoly in the PC market, and for many, there’s no viable alternative. This lack of competition means users are often stuck with an OS that can be buggy, unstable, and prone to issues like the BSOD. Compare this to Apple’s ecosystem, where the company owns both the hardware and software. If something goes wrong with a MacBook, Apple takes full responsibility. They don’t blame third-party software or tell you to reinstall the OS. Of course, this level of service comes at a premium, but it raises an important question: how much do you value the data on your laptop versus the cost of the device itself? For most people, the data is far more valuable. Losing work, personal files, or critical information due to a software crash can be devastating.

The disconnect between Windows and laptop manufacturers creates a fragmented experience for users. When something goes wrong, it’s often unclear who is to blame—Microsoft or the hardware manufacturer. This lack of accountability can lead to poor customer satisfaction and, ultimately, lower NPS scores for brands like Dell and Lenovo. While Windows remains the dominant OS, its instability and the poor support ecosystem around it are significant pain points for users. Until Microsoft and laptop manufacturers work more closely to address these issues, customers will continue to face frustrating experiences. For now, the choice between a Windows laptop and a MacBook often comes down to whether you’re willing to pay a premium for a more seamless, integrated experience.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of prioritizing other people’s happiness over your own. From a young age, many of us are taught to be considerate, kind, and accommodating. While these are valuable traits, they can sometimes lead to a pattern of behavior where your own needs and happiness take a backseat. The truth is, other people’s happiness is not your responsibility to manage. It’s their problem to solve. Just as you wouldn’t expect someone else to manage your time or your finances, you shouldn’t feel obligated to manage their emotional well-being. This doesn’t mean you should be indifferent or unkind, but it does mean recognizing that your primary responsibility is to yourself.

Protecting your happiness is as important as protecting your time. Time is a finite resource, and so is emotional energy. When you constantly invest your energy into making others happy, you risk depleting yourself. Over time, this can lead to resentment, burnout, and a sense of emptiness. It’s crucial to set boundaries and understand that saying no or prioritizing your own needs is not selfish—it’s necessary.

Think of it this way: you can’t pour from an empty cup.​

By ensuring your own happiness and well-being, you’re in a better position to contribute positively to the lives of others, should you choose to do so. The pressure to make others happy often stems from societal expectations or a fear of rejection. You might worry that if you don’t meet someone’s expectations, they’ll disapprove of you or withdraw their affection. However, living your life based on these fears is unsustainable. It’s impossible to please everyone, and attempting to do so will only leave you feeling unfulfilled. Instead, focus on what truly matters to you. Identify your own values, goals, and desires, and let them guide your actions. When you align your life with your own priorities, you’ll find that the opinions of others hold less power over you.

Ultimately, happiness is an internal state, not something that can be given or taken away by external factors. While you can certainly contribute to someone’s joy, you cannot be the sole source of it. The same applies to you—your happiness should not depend on others. It’s a personal journey that requires self-awareness, self-care, and a commitment to your own well-being. By letting go of the need to make others happy, you free yourself to live authentically and fully. Remember, your life is your own, and your happiness is worth protecting.

Life is finite, and every decision we make shapes the trajectory of our existence. Whether it’s choosing a career path, committing to a relationship, or deciding where to live, big decisions often come with long-term consequences. Yet, many of us approach these choices without a clear framework, relying on intuition or external pressures. This lack of structure can lead to decisions that don’t align with our deeper values or long-term goals. Just as refactoring code improves its efficiency and readability, refactoring life—reassessing and letting go of what no longer serves us—is essential for growth and clarity.

Research suggests that human decision-making is often driven by a mix of intrinsic and extrinsic motivations. Intrinsic motivations, such as personal fulfillment or curiosity, tend to lead to more sustainable satisfaction. Extrinsic motivations, like societal expectations or financial rewards, can provide short-term gains but may not align with our authentic selves. For instance, staying in a high-paying job that drains your energy might make sense financially, but it could come at the cost of mental health or personal relationships. Understanding these motivations is crucial when creating a decision-making framework. It requires asking hard questions: What truly matters to me? What am I willing to sacrifice? What can I let go of to make room for what aligns with my values?

One of the most challenging aspects of decision-making is accepting that life is limited.​

We cannot pursue every opportunity, maintain every relationship, or explore every career path. Some people, businesses, and experiences will stick with us, while others will naturally fall away. This is not a failure but a natural part of growth. Just as a software developer refactors code to remove redundancies and improve functionality, we must periodically refactor our lives. This means evaluating what no longer serves us and having the courage to let go. Letting go is not about failure or loss; it’s about creating space for what truly matters.

To build a framework for making big decisions, start by defining your core values and long-term goals. Reflect on past decisions—what worked, what didn’t, and why. Consider the opportunity cost of each choice and how it aligns with your vision for the future. Seek input from trusted sources, but remember that the final decision is yours. Life is not about avoiding mistakes but about making choices that align with your authentic self. By thinking deeply and refactoring regularly, you can navigate life’s complexities with greater clarity and purpose.

Jawahar Circle in Jaipur is one of those places that effortlessly blends nature with routine. It’s a spot where people come to walk, run, or simply unwind, and it’s also a place where the unexpected can happen. On one such morning, while I was in the middle of my run, I ran into Saurabh Yadav, a school senior I hadn’t met in almost two decades. The encounter was as surprising as it was pleasant. Saurabh, who is now an IRS officer in the Income Tax Department and posted in Mumbai, was in Jaipur for a brief visit for Holi like me. We exchanged greetings, ran a few rounds together, and as we caught up, memories of our school days came flooding back.

Back in school, Saurabh and I had shared a common interest in football. We weren’t teammates in the formal sense, but we often found ourselves playing together during those unstructured, chaotic matches that are a hallmark of school life. Those games were less about skill and more about the sheer joy of running around, kicking the ball, and occasionally tripping over each other. After school, our paths diverged, as they often do. He went on to build a career in the civil services, while I pursued my own interests. Running into him after so many years was a reminder of how time flies and how life takes people in different directions.

What struck me most about our conversation was how effortlessly we slipped into discussing the present while reminiscing about the past. Saurabh spoke about his work in the Income Tax Department, the challenges of his role, and his life in Mumbai. I shared a bit about my own journey and the things that keep me occupied these days. Despite the years that had passed, there was an ease in the conversation, a familiarity that comes from shared experiences, even if they were brief and long ago. It’s fascinating how certain connections, no matter how distant, retain their warmth over time.

Encounters like these are rare but meaningful. They serve as a reminder of the people who have been part of our lives, even if only for a short while. Running into Saurabh was a small but significant moment, one that added a touch of nostalgia to an otherwise ordinary day. It’s these unexpected reunions that make life interesting, offering a glimpse into where we’ve come from and how far we’ve gone.

This year, Holi brought a much-needed reunion with my close friends in Jaipur. It had been a while since we all gathered together, and the occasion felt special, not just because of the festival but also because of how our lives have evolved over the years. What stood out this time was the inclusion of our families in the celebrations. Our wives, who were once strangers to each other, have now become friends, sharing their own conversations and laughter. The bond we share as a group remains strong, but it’s interesting to see how it has expanded to include the people who are now an integral part of our lives. The dynamics have changed, but the core of our friendship—trust, comfort, and shared memories—has stayed the same.

One of the highlights of the day was spending time with the kids. Watching them play, laugh, and interact with each other was a reminder of how much they’ve grown. They’re no longer the shy, hesitant children we once knew. Instead, they’re confident, observant, and unafraid to express their thoughts. Their conversations were a mix of innocence and surprising maturity, often influenced by the internet and the digital world they’re growing up in. It’s fascinating to see how technology has shaped their perspectives, making them more aware and curious about the world around them. At the same time, it was refreshing to see them enjoy the simple pleasures of Holi—playing with colors, running around, and indulging in sweets.

The day was filled with the usual Holi rituals—throwing colors, sharing meals, and reminiscing about old times. But what made it unique was the sense of togetherness that came from having everyone under one roof. The kids added a new layer of energy to the celebrations, while the adults found comfort in the familiarity of each other’s company. It’s rare to find moments like these, where you can truly disconnect from the chaos of daily life and just be present with the people who matter most. Holi, in many ways, became a celebration of not just colors but also of the relationships that have stood the test of time.

As the day came to an end, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the friendships that have remained constant despite the changes life has brought. Celebrating Holi with friends and their families in Jaipur was a reminder of how important it is to cherish these moments. To everyone reading this, I wish you a Happy Holi. May your celebrations be filled with joy, laughter, and the company of loved ones.

Holi, one of the most significant festivals in the Hindu calendar, marks the arrival of spring and the end of winter. It is a time of renewal, both in nature and in spirit. The festival is celebrated with colors, music, and food, but for me, its true essence lies in the sense of belonging it brings. Holi, much like Diwali, is a festival that draws me back home. Being in Jaipur during this time feels like returning to my roots, a reminder of where I come from and the people who make life meaningful. The festival is not just about the rituals or the colors; it is about the warmth of family, the laughter of friends, and the joy of being surrounded by loved ones.

Holi is a time of renewal, both in nature and in spirit.​

The change of seasons that Holi signifies is symbolic in many ways. Winter, with its quiet and introspective energy, gives way to the vibrancy of spring. The fields come alive with new crops, and the air carries a sense of hope and rejuvenation. For me, this transition mirrors the emotional shift I experience when I go home. The chaos of daily life fades away, replaced by a sense of calm and contentment. Holi, with its playful energy, feels like a celebration of this renewal. It is a time to let go of the past and embrace the present, to reconnect with the people and places that ground me.

Today, as I prepare for my road trip to Jaipur, I am reminded of why I like this festival so much. The journey itself is a part of the experience. The roads leading to Jaipur are familiar, yet every trip feels different. The anticipation builds as I get closer to home, and the sight of the city’s landmarks fills me with a sense of comfort. Holi in Jaipur is a unique experience. The city, known for its rich culture and traditions, comes alive during the festival. The streets are filled with people celebrating, and the air is thick with the scent of gujiyas and thandai. It is a sensory experience that I look forward to every year.

As I write this, I am filled with gratitude for the opportunity to be home for Holi. It is a reminder of the importance of staying connected to one’s roots, of finding joy in the simple things, and of celebrating life with the people who matter most. To everyone celebrating, Happy Holi. May the festival bring you happiness, peace, and a sense of renewal. And to Jaipur, I look forward to seeing you soon, to being home, and to creating more memories that will last a lifetime.

Identity is often seen as a cornerstone of who we are, shaping our actions, decisions, and interactions with the world. Yet, many major philosophies and spiritual traditions suggest that identity can also act as a prison, limiting our potential and confining us to a narrow sense of self. From Eastern philosophies like Buddhism and Taoism to Western existentialist thought, there is a recurring theme that identity is not fixed but fluid, and clinging to it too tightly can hinder personal growth and freedom. This idea challenges the conventional notion that identity is something to be proudly upheld and defended. Instead, it invites us to question how much of our identity is truly ours and how much is imposed by societal expectations, cultural norms, or even our own insecurities.

In Buddhism, the concept of anatta, or "not-self," teaches that there is no permanent, unchanging self. What we consider our identity is merely a collection of transient thoughts, feelings, and experiences. By clinging to a fixed sense of self, we create suffering and limit our ability to adapt and grow. Similarly, Taoism emphasizes the fluidity of existence, encouraging individuals to embrace change and avoid rigid self-definitions. These philosophies suggest that identity is not something to be discovered but something to be released. When we let go of the need to define ourselves, we open up to a broader range of possibilities and experiences. This doesn’t mean abandoning all sense of self but rather recognizing that identity is a tool, not a truth.

Western philosophies, particularly existentialism, also explore the idea of identity as a construct. Thinkers like Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir argue that existence precedes essence, meaning that we are not born with a predetermined identity but create it through our choices and actions. This perspective places the responsibility of self-definition squarely on the individual, freeing us from the constraints of societal labels and expectations. However, it also highlights the anxiety that comes with this freedom. If we are not bound by a fixed identity, we must constantly confront the uncertainty of who we are and who we might become. This can be both liberating and unsettling, as it requires us to take full ownership of our lives without the comfort of predefined roles or identities.

The implications of viewing identity as a prison are profound, especially in the context of modern life. Social interactions, career choices, and even personal relationships are often shaped by the identities we adopt or are assigned. Whether it’s being a "perfectionist," a "caregiver," or a "rebel," these labels can dictate our behavior and limit our potential. Regularly reflecting on our identities without judgment or prejudice can help us break free from these constraints. By recognizing that identity is malleable, we can choose to redefine ourselves in ways that align with our true desires and aspirations. This doesn’t mean rejecting all aspects of our current identity but rather being open to the possibility of change. Ultimately, the goal is not to eliminate identity but to use it as a flexible framework rather than a rigid cage.

Life in your 30s often brings with it a quiet but profound shift in how you perceive yourself, your goals, and your place in the world. This decade is marked by a growing awareness of time’s relentless passage, a realization that can feel both enlightening and unsettling. For many, this period coincides with what is commonly referred to as a midlife crisis, though it is less about crisis and more about reckoning. It is a time when existential questions—about purpose, mortality, and the meaning of life—begin to surface with greater urgency. These questions are not new, but they take on a different weight when you realize that the years ahead are no longer an abstract expanse but a finite resource. This awareness can be a double-edged sword: it can inspire a deeper appreciation for life while also evoking a sense of melancholy about its brevity.

One of the most striking aspects of this phase is the realization that people your age, or even younger, are no longer here. This stark reminder of mortality forces you to confront the fragility of life in a way that feels more personal and immediate than ever before. It is no longer a distant concept but a tangible reality. This awareness can be jarring, but it also has the potential to be transformative. You begin to appreciate the gift of life more deeply, recognizing that every moment is fleeting and irreplaceable. At the same time, this newfound appreciation is often accompanied by a sense of urgency—a desire to make the most of the time you have left. This duality can be challenging to navigate, but it is also an opportunity to reassess your priorities and align them with what truly matters to you.

The silver lining in this existential reckoning lies in the practice of mindfulness. When you bring mindfulness into your life, you begin to live with greater intention and presence. Instead of being consumed by regrets about the past or anxieties about the future, you learn to focus on the present moment. This shift in perspective can be incredibly liberating. It allows you to fully engage with your experiences, relationships, and aspirations, rather than letting them slip by unnoticed. Mindfulness does not eliminate the existential questions or the awareness of life’s impermanence, but it helps you approach them with a sense of calm and clarity. It enables you to embrace the uncertainty of life while finding meaning in the everyday.

Ultimately, the 30s are a pivotal decade for exploring these existential themes. They force you to confront the inevitability of running out of time, but they also offer a chance to redefine what it means to live a meaningful life. This period is not about finding definitive answers but about learning to sit with the questions and finding peace in the process. It is about recognizing that life’s impermanence is what makes it precious and that the awareness of this impermanence can be a powerful motivator to live more fully. By embracing this mindset, you can transform what might initially feel like a crisis into an opportunity for growth, self-discovery, and a deeper connection to the world around you.

Last weekend, I met a group of friends to watch the India vs. New Zealand cricket match. Amid the excitement of the game, one moment stood out—a quiet, almost unnoticed interaction that made me reflect on how quickly technology evolves. One of my friends had brought his 4-year-old daughter along, and she was engrossed in a painting book. The book had outlines of various objects that kids could fill with crayons or paint. Among the drawings of cars, animals, and household items, there was an outline of an iPod with its iconic wired earphones. It struck me that this little girl, born in the 2020s, would likely never see or use an iPod in her lifetime. For her, it was just another shape to color, but for us, it was a relic of our past.

The iPod was once the epitome of cool. In school and college, owning one was a status symbol. It wasn’t just a music player; it was a statement. I remember saving up for months to buy my first iPod, and the excitement of loading it with songs, creating playlists, and sharing earphones with friends. The click wheel, the sleek design, and the way it fit perfectly in your pocket—it was a marvel of its time. Yet, here we were, decades later, sitting with a child who would never know what it felt like to hold one. The iPod, which once defined an era, has now become a footnote in the history of technology.

This moment made me think about how technology grows and fades. The iPod, once revolutionary, has been replaced by smartphones that do far more than play music. Streaming services have made physical music players obsolete, and wireless earbuds have replaced tangled wires. What was once cutting-edge is now irrelevant, and this cycle is only accelerating. The kids of the 2020s are growing up in a world where technology is seamlessly integrated into their lives. For them, concepts like wired earphones or standalone music players are as foreign as cassette tapes were to us. It’s not just about the iPod; it’s about how every generation has its own defining gadgets, only to see them replaced by something newer and better.

As I watched the little girl color the iPod drawing, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia mixed with curiosity. What will the next generation’s “iPod moment” be? What gadgets or technologies that we consider essential today will become obsolete for them? The pace of technological change is relentless, and it’s fascinating to think about how these shifts shape our experiences and memories. The iPod may be gone, but it serves as a reminder of how quickly the world moves forward—and how important it is to appreciate the tools and toys of our time before they become history.