The first day of open water diving certification begins in the pool, where the controlled setting helps to focus on technique without the distraction of waves or visibility issues. The training depth is around three metres, which is enough to get a real sense of being underwater while still within the safe boundaries of a swimming pool. Much of the day is spent learning to equalize, clearing the mask, and practicing buoyancy. These are small but essential steps, and repetition helps build comfort with the equipment and the idea of breathing underwater for long stretches. The controlled pace of the session allows the body and mind to gradually accept the new environment.

Equalizing is one of the first challenges to get right. As the body descends, pressure builds in the ears, and it has to be released by pinching the nose and gently blowing or using swallowing techniques. At three metres it feels manageable, but the reminder is constant that as the depth increases, this becomes a critical part of safe diving. Practicing equalization several times during short descents helps build a natural rhythm. It is less about strength and more about awareness, noticing the point at which pressure begins and addressing it early. The instructors emphasize frequency over force, since waiting too long makes it harder to equalize comfortably.

Mask clearing comes next, and while it feels awkward at first, the process is designed to handle one of the most common situations under water. Filling the mask with water and then pushing it out by pressing the top frame while exhaling through the nose is a basic but vital skill. It teaches trust in the equipment and confidence in managing discomfort. At first, water against the eyes and nose feels unnatural, but repetition shows how quickly the body adjusts. This exercise also ties back into staying calm and not rushing through actions, as panic only complicates simple procedures. The pool setting makes it easier to practice without pressure.

Buoyancy control rounds out the essentials of day one. Learning to hover, adjust breathing, and manage air in the BCD (buoyancy control device) shows how fine the balance is between sinking and floating. At three metres, small shifts in breath or movement make noticeable changes, which makes it the perfect environment to experiment. The importance of slow, deliberate breathing becomes clear, as it affects not only air consumption but also stability under water. By the end of the day, the connection between breathing and control feels stronger, even though mastery is still far away. The repetition is tiring but rewarding.

Looking back at the first day, it becomes clear how each of these skills is a building block. Equalizing, mask clearing, and buoyancy may seem basic in a pool, but they prepare for the open water dives where conditions are less predictable. The process is structured in a way that slowly introduces both the technical and psychological aspects of diving. Getting comfortable at three metres is a small but necessary step toward going deeper, and the day ends with a sense of both fatigue and anticipation for what follows in the sea.

Flying into Koh Samui is a reminder of how different travel feels when the airport itself is designed with character. The terminal is small and functional, but it does not follow the typical glass-and-concrete model of large international airports. Instead, it has an open-air layout with covered walkways and shuttle buses that look more like trams, carrying passengers from the aircraft to the arrival area. The process is smooth and surprisingly relaxed, and the whole experience feels less like entering a transport hub and more like being welcomed into an island setting. For someone heading toward diving in Koh Tao, the first impression is already tuned to the pace of the islands.

The buses that take passengers from the plane to the terminal are one of the most memorable details. They are not the usual airport shuttles but designed with open sides and wood-inspired seating, which fits well with the tropical background. It makes the transfer short and pleasant, not rushed, even though the logistics remain efficient. The design seems intentional, almost to remind visitors that they are now far from the structure and scale of Bangkok. The difference between stepping off an overnight flight into a busy hub versus arriving at Koh Samui is striking. It sets a different rhythm for the rest of the journey.

From Koh Samui, the next step is to move toward Koh Tao. The transfer involves the ferry, and that journey shifts the traveler further into island mode. The smaller scale of the airport makes the connection manageable, with baggage handling and movement between different modes of transport kept simple. The contrast between a city airport and Koh Samui is not only architectural but psychological. Instead of the stress of navigating long queues and crowded terminals, the entire setup makes it easier to adjust into travel that is centered on water, boats, and slower pace.

Arriving here a day before the start of the diving course feels like a practical decision. The body needs time to settle after the overnight flights and transitions. Sleep is usually broken in these kinds of trips, especially when moving across time zones or catching early-morning connections. The small comfort of an easy arrival at Koh Samui helps in adjusting. By the time the ferry reaches Koh Tao, the fatigue of long-haul travel is replaced with anticipation of starting something new. It shows how much the infrastructure of travel influences mood and preparation, not just movement.

Tomorrow the diving certification begins. It will be the Open Water course, and arriving with a calm state of mind is useful for the start. The first steps of getting familiar with the equipment, the techniques, and the safety procedures require attention, and it helps to not be burdened by the exhaustion of transit. Looking back, the experience of Koh Samui airport and the transfer onward is not just a detail of the journey but part of how the preparation shapes itself. Small airports, when done well, act as a transition space that eases the shift between long flights and the reason for travel.

Flying into Bangkok often means taking an overnight flight, and the experience of managing sleep on such routes has changed over the years. The body used to adjust more easily when younger, slipping into a few hours of rest on the plane and carrying on with the day ahead after landing. Now the disruption to the sleep cycle is more noticeable, and it takes longer to feel aligned again. The early morning arrival into Bangkok is convenient from a scheduling point of view, but the fatigue is harder to ignore with age.

An overnight flight compresses rest into a setting that is not designed for proper sleep. Airplane seats, meal timings, and the general movement around the cabin break up the rhythm that the body is used to. What used to be manageable with a short nap now feels insufficient. The result is a sluggish first day in the city, with the mind slightly dulled and the body craving proper rest. For short trips, this makes the balance between time gained and energy lost more important to consider.

Bangkok itself adds to this equation because the city can feel overwhelming on little sleep. The traffic, the humidity, and the busy energy of the place demand alertness. Without enough rest, small inconveniences become more noticeable. Planning the first day lightly and giving the body time to catch up has become more important. It no longer feels practical to land and dive straight into a packed itinerary, even if that seemed normal in earlier years.

The broader question is about how sleep cycles shift with age and why disruptions feel more difficult to recover from. The body’s ability to adjust to irregular hours decreases, and the margin for lost rest narrows. A single missed night can create a drag that carries on for days. The resilience that once made overnight flights seem like an efficient option is no longer the same, and it makes sense to plan around recovery as much as the travel itself.

Thinking about this makes overnight flights less attractive in the long term, especially when the purpose of travel is more than just reaching a destination quickly. Choosing routes with daytime travel or adding a buffer day feels more reasonable now. Flying into Bangkok will always remain tied to the convenience of overnight options from Delhi, but recognizing how age changes the way those flights affect the body helps in making better decisions for future trips.

The upcoming trip to Thailand feels different because it is not only about visiting Bangkok and Koh Tao but also about committing to an open water scuba diving certification. Bangkok will serve as the entry point, with its mix of convenience, food, and short stay before heading out. The real focus will be Koh Tao, which has become known worldwide for scuba diving courses and certification programs. Choosing this destination is as much about the practical aspect of access as it is about the chance to experience diving in clear waters.

Scuba diving certification is not just another holiday activity. It requires learning, practicing, and following safety procedures closely. There is a physical and mental aspect to being underwater, handling the gear, and trusting the process. The thought of breathing through a regulator and adjusting buoyancy is both exciting and slightly intimidating. The appeal is in gaining a skill that opens up possibilities for diving in different locations in the future, making it an investment beyond just this trip.

Koh Tao has built its identity around diving, and that makes it a natural choice for this step. The island has schools, instructors, and an environment shaped for beginners and experienced divers alike. The open water course takes a few days, with classroom sessions, confined water practice, and then dives in the ocean. The idea of finishing the certification there means returning from the trip not only with memories but also with a globally recognized credential. This feels more purposeful than a regular holiday.

Travel also plays its part in shaping the experience. Koh Tao is not the easiest place to reach, but that isolation contributes to its character. The ferry connections and distance from the busy mainland make it less crowded than some other tourist-heavy spots. That in itself gives the course a better setting, with fewer distractions and more focus on the activity. Bangkok, on the other hand, provides the contrast of urban energy before and after the island days. Together, they make the trip balanced in its own way.

Overall, the anticipation is not just about the locations but the learning and growth that will come with it. Doing the open water scuba diving certification in Koh Tao will be a personal milestone and a skill that adds a new dimension to travel. Thailand provides the right environment to make that possible, and this trip feels like the beginning of exploring a different side of adventure.

Heavy rain in Gurgaon changes the rhythm of the city almost instantly. Roads that otherwise carry a steady flow of traffic get submerged, and underpasses turn into small ponds within hours. The drainage infrastructure seems unable to cope with even a few hours of downpour, leading to long traffic jams and flooded colonies. Each monsoon shows how quickly urban spaces can reach a breaking point when natural forces test the systems meant to keep them functional.

The sight of vehicles half-submerged on key roads has become familiar, and people often share images of office workers wading through knee-deep water. For a city that represents modern corporate India, these episodes underline how infrastructure development has not kept pace with population density and construction. Gurgaon has expanded rapidly with glass towers, gated communities, and malls, but the basic need for proper drainage is still unmet. Rain simply exposes this imbalance more sharply than any other event.

It is also striking how predictable this disruption has become. Residents know which stretches will flood, which basements will get waterlogged, and how long it will take for traffic to move again. Yet year after year, the problem repeats itself with no long-term solution in sight. The difference between promise and delivery in urban planning is most visible during these heavy showers. At the same time, people adapt, reroute, and continue with their routines, showing how resilience fills the gaps left by inadequate systems.

The flooding is not just an inconvenience for commuters but also affects daily life in residential areas. Water often enters ground floors, lifts stop functioning, and basic movement becomes difficult. Some societies have invested in temporary solutions such as pumps, but those are reactive measures. The larger question is how a city that serves as a hub for finance and technology still struggles with water management. The contrast between ambition and execution grows sharper with every season.

Every time it rains like this, I am reminded that Gurgaon is a city built on aspiration but stretched by reality. The ambition to build a modern hub was clear, but the foundations were not laid with equal attention. Until water drainage and city planning are addressed with seriousness, rain will continue to reveal these cracks. For now, each heavy shower is a reminder of both the potential and the limitations of living in Gurgaon.

The experience of organizing a frontend hackathon makes me reflect on how coding interviews have changed in the last few years. Tools like Cursor, Copilot, and large language models have become central to how developers approach writing code. In the past, an interview would often test the ability to recall syntax, implement algorithms from scratch, and debug without external help. Today, the process is different because the default assumption is that these tools exist and can be used. This changes both the expectations of what a candidate can demonstrate and the meaning of practical coding skills.

The reliance on AI assistance shifts the focus from memorization to orchestration. A developer is now less about typing every line correctly and more about structuring the problem, guiding the tool toward a solution, and knowing when the output makes sense or fails. This is a useful shift because in real work environments, nobody writes code in a vacuum. At the same time, it raises questions about what is being measured in interviews. If the goal is to assess the depth of understanding, then giving space for debugging sessions or architectural discussions may be more revealing than timed implementation exercises where AI fills the gaps.

Debugging remains the skill that separates surface-level competence from real problem-solving. Even with LLMs generating code, the ability to trace why something is failing, how dependencies interact, and where the logic breaks cannot be outsourced fully. A candidate who only knows how to prompt tools without verifying or correcting results will struggle when systems behave unexpectedly. This is why hackathons often expose more about how someone thinks under pressure than about their ability to deliver a polished product. The code may be partially AI-generated, but the process of integrating, fixing, and deploying shows whether the person understands what is happening.

Another effect of this shift is that interviews emphasizing data structure puzzles or abstract algorithms feel less relevant. They were never a perfect proxy for practical software development, but now they are even further removed from reality. The interview formats that align more closely with actual workflows—building small features, improving existing code, or designing components—seem better suited for evaluating ability. This does not eliminate the need for theoretical grounding, but it acknowledges that knowing how to apply it in an environment rich with automation is what matters most.

Looking ahead, the question is not whether these tools will stay but how hiring processes adapt. A fair interview in today’s context should test how someone uses AI responsibly, how they debug when AI is wrong, and how they design for maintainability. Conducting the frontend hackathon reminded me that the measure of a developer is shifting from rote execution toward judgment, clarity of thought, and the capacity to make sense of complexity. Coding interviews will have to reflect that reality if they want to remain meaningful.

Completing 100 kms of running in August 2025 felt steady and comfortable. I managed to pace the runs across the month without any rush toward the end, which made the experience smoother than some of the earlier months where I had to push harder in the last few days. Distributing the distance evenly gave me enough recovery between sessions and kept the body fresh. It also removed the sense of pressure that sometimes builds when the goal is left too late. Reaching the number in this way felt natural, almost like the routine had set itself without effort.

Running 100 kms in a month is not a huge achievement in competitive terms, but it remains a practical and achievable target for personal fitness. It is neither too high to risk injury nor too low to feel insignificant. For someone balancing work and other routines, it sits in a comfortable zone that challenges the body while leaving space for rest days. The number also has a psychological clarity—breaking it into roughly 25 kms per week feels simple enough to manage, and the math works out in a way that is easy to track. It is the kind of target that does not overwhelm, which is perhaps why it feels sustainable.

Another aspect of pacing the runs was the benefit it gave to consistency. By aiming to finish a certain distance each week, I did not need to change plans or make adjustments at the last minute. Shorter weekday runs mixed with slightly longer weekend sessions balanced the effort well. This mix gave variety without making the routine too rigid. It also made the process less about completing a single large goal and more about enjoying individual runs that added up gradually. Looking back, this distribution seems to be the main reason why the target felt easy this time.

There is also a lesson here about setting goals that are measurable yet not extreme. A monthly 100 km mark works as a reliable framework to keep running in the background without taking over other activities. It allows space for swimming, stretching, or other forms of exercise that support the routine. At the same time, it is far enough to bring the sense of discipline that running naturally demands. Unlike one-off long races that require weeks of focused preparation, this kind of monthly target blends into daily life without friction. It is a reminder that sustainability in fitness often comes from choosing the right scale.

As September begins, the thought is less about pushing for a higher number and more about maintaining the same balance. The satisfaction of completing the distance with ease is better than chasing an inflated target that risks burnout. Over time, stringing together months of 100 kms may prove to be more valuable than one exceptional peak. The habit of showing up consistently matters more than the total itself. August was a good example of how small steps, done repeatedly, can build into something solid without strain.

The rains in Delhi this season have once again tested the drainage systems of the city. Roads get flooded quickly, and the problem extends into buildings as well. Water seepage, clogged pipes, and overflowing drains become common, showing how fragile the basic systems of maintenance are when faced with heavy rainfall. For many buildings, especially older ones, the monsoon becomes a test that exposes hidden cracks and neglected upkeep. This cycle repeats every year, and yet the issues remain largely the same.

What often comes to light is that drainage systems inside residential and commercial complexes are not maintained as regularly as they should be. Gutters remain choked with debris, terrace outlets are blocked, and rainwater accumulates in spaces that were not designed to hold it. The neglect shows in the form of damp walls, patches of mold, and even structural weakening over time. A few hours of continuous downpour can overwhelm pipes and push water into basements or parking areas. These outcomes are not unusual, but they are avoidable with consistent maintenance and planning.

The rains also underline how temporary solutions are never enough. Covering leaks with quick fixes or installing makeshift pumps during emergencies may solve the immediate problem, but the core issues remain untouched. Buildings, whether large apartments or small offices, need regular inspection of waterproofing, roof tiling, drainage pipelines, and sump systems before the monsoon begins. Without this, small cracks grow into bigger problems that cost more to repair and create prolonged inconvenience for those living or working inside. The cost of prevention is always less than the cost of repair, but it often gets ignored.

At the same time, one cannot separate the role of civic infrastructure from the maintenance within individual buildings. When city drains are unable to carry away water, the problem flows backward into private spaces. Even a well-maintained building struggles when the surrounding area is waterlogged. This creates a combined responsibility, where both residents and city authorities need to prepare before the rains arrive. The recurring floods in Delhi show that the system is stretched beyond capacity, and while larger solutions will take time, small preventive steps at the individual level can at least reduce some of the damage.

As the rains continue, it becomes clear that preparation is the only real defense. Buildings that receive regular checks, timely repairs, and proper drainage clearance manage to withstand the downpour better. Others keep facing the same cycle of leakage, flooding, and expensive repairs. Living in Delhi means accepting that monsoons will push systems to their limit, but it also means that maintenance is not optional. The yearly reminder comes in the form of flooded basements, damp walls, and the strong smell of moisture inside homes. Every drop of rain makes it more evident that planning ahead is not just good practice, but necessary for living in a city where the rains are always stronger than the systems meant to handle them.

The aspirational buyer has become one of the most important segments for marketers to understand. This group is not defined by what they currently own but by what they want to own and how they see themselves progressing. Their purchase decisions are shaped by the desire to move a step ahead in lifestyle, appearance, or social signaling. They do not always make choices based on affordability alone but often stretch budgets to align with how they want to be perceived. This makes them a critical audience for brands that are trying to grow beyond utility and into aspiration.

Behaviorally, the aspirational buyer is more active in discovery. They spend time browsing social media, following influencers, and comparing what peers are choosing. Their interest goes beyond product features into stories and experiences attached to the product. They are also more responsive to branding that signals exclusivity or achievement. Unlike purely price-sensitive buyers, they are willing to wait, save, or finance a purchase if it aligns with their goals of upward movement. The decision-making process is slower but more emotionally invested.

Where they spend time is a clear indicator of their intent. Online platforms, especially those that showcase lifestyle and success, attract them in large numbers. Offline, they visit malls, branded showrooms, and premium experiences even when they are not immediately buying. This exposure keeps their aspiration alive and fuels their sense of what to aim for next. The boundary between browsing and buying is thin, as their decisions are often triggered by moments when the desire aligns with opportunity, such as discounts, new launches, or peer recommendations.

For marketers, the challenge lies in decoding not just what the aspirational buyer can afford today but what they are preparing to afford tomorrow. Communication that emphasizes status, identity, and belonging resonates more strongly than pure utility. At the same time, the buyer is cautious about authenticity. They look for signals that a brand truly represents the lifestyle they want rather than just selling a product. Failure to connect on this level makes it easy for them to switch to another brand that offers stronger emotional alignment.

In this sense, studying the aspirational buyer is not just about immediate sales but about long-term positioning. The segment reveals how consumers climb through categories, moving from entry-level products to more premium ones as their means grow. Each choice is a statement of progress, and each interaction with a brand builds or reduces loyalty. For any marketer, these are the most important questions: what does the aspirational buyer dream about, how do they decide, and how can a brand become part of that journey.

Paying for exclusivity is at the core of many products and services, especially in travel and events. Business class tickets and VIP tickets are built on this idea. They offer more comfort, better service, and faster access, but the real differentiator is exclusion. By paying more, one avoids the crowd, reduces waiting, and shares space only with others who have made the same choice. It is less about the seat or the meal and more about the filtered environment that money creates.

This model works because demand is not just for utility but also for separation. The business class cabin on a flight does not exist in isolation—it is meaningful because the economy cabin exists alongside it. Similarly, VIP tickets at concerts or matches matter because they provide distance from the general audience. Exclusion creates value, and companies price it accordingly. The higher ticket price is a way to ensure that only a smaller set of people access that level of service, reinforcing the exclusivity further.

The psychology behind this is consistent across industries. People are willing to pay not only for tangible upgrades but also for a curated gentry. Traveling with fewer passengers, attending an event with a quieter section, or accessing a lounge with select entry are all experiences defined by who is kept out as much as by what is included. It reflects a broader truth about consumption—that satisfaction often comes from relative advantage rather than absolute need.

This also explains why these services remain profitable despite higher costs of delivery. The willingness to pay is not strictly about comfort but about the assurance of refinement. The food on a flight could be replicated elsewhere at a fraction of the cost, but the context in which it is served makes it feel different. The lounge access before boarding or the priority exit after landing are all part of creating a bubble. The same applies to VIP areas in stadiums or clubs, where the view may not be dramatically better but the filtered company makes it desirable.

Looking at it this way, exclusivity becomes a product in itself. The service is designed around scarcity, and the price ensures that scarcity is maintained. Paying for business class or VIP tickets is essentially paying for the right to limit access. It is not always rational in terms of value for money, but it aligns with how markets shape themselves around human preferences. The model is unlikely to change because the desire to separate and refine experiences is persistent. Businesses understand this well, and customers continue to reinforce it by choosing exclusivity whenever they can afford it.