"From Saintly Aspirations to Travelling Joys: The Art of Changing My Mind"

For most of my life, I fancied myself destined for sainthood—detached, serene, and untouched by the trifles of the world. I even flirted with the idea of leaving home to become a wandering sage, free from the distractions of daily life. But life, with its ironic charm, had other plans. Instead of a saint’s robe, I’ve found myself wearing the many hats of a traveller, a seeker of kindness, and an unlikely lover of life’s little indulgences. Along the way, I’ve changed my mind on things I once held as gospel truths—and that, my friends, has led to some interesting revelations.

Take travel, for instance. I once believed that true enlightenment could only be found in stillness, in quiet contemplation. Why would anyone want to roam the world when everything you need for inner peace could be found in a quiet room? But then, much to my initial reluctance, I embarked on a family trip. At first, I was distracted by the hustle of airports and the chaos of packing. But somewhere between the serenity of the Himalayas and the chaos of a bustling city market, I began to understand something: travel isn’t just about seeing places; it’s about seeing life from different perspectives. Each journey became a pilgrimage of its own—filled with new insights, strange wisdom, and unexpected joy. Perhaps a wandering monk doesn’t need a mountain cave after all—he can find his peace sipping chai on the edge of a desert, watching the sunset.

Kindness is another realm where my thinking shifted drastically. I’ve always believed in kindness, of course, but I used to think it was something best shared sparingly—like rare, expensive perfume. I thought, “Why waste it on people who don’t appreciate it? Let’s reserve it for special occasions.” But as I travelled and met strangers from all walks of life, I encountered simple, random acts of kindness that melted even my stubborn heart. A cup of tea from a shopkeeper, a smile from a passerby, an unexpected helping hand from someone I’d never met—these small gestures began to change my understanding of kindness. It isn’t something you reserve; it’s something you give freely, like air, or sunlight. It doesn’t run out, and the more you offer, the richer your life becomes.

Now, prayer—well, here’s a good one. I used to take my prayers very seriously. I approached them like solemn business meetings with the universe: formal, dignified, and devoid of humour. After all, who laughs in the presence of the divine? But over time, I’ve come to think that maybe God, in His infinite wisdom, enjoys a good laugh too. Now, my prayers are less like grand ceremonies and more like a friendly chat with an old mate. I ask for wisdom, of course, but I also crack a joke or two, because why not? Life’s too full of absurdities to be taken too seriously, even when talking to the Almighty. After all, if He’s created both the chaos and the calm, surely He can appreciate a bit of humour in between.

Perhaps the most profound change, though, has been in my thoughts about leaving home to seek spiritual enlightenment. There was a time when I genuinely believed that to find true peace, I’d have to renounce all worldly pleasures—give up my books, my conversations, my connection to the world. The image of me as a solitary wanderer, lost in thought, seemed like the epitome of wisdom. But, as with so many things, I’ve learned that renouncing the world doesn’t mean abandoning life’s joys. In fact, I’ve come to appreciate that true wisdom comes not from rejecting the world, but from embracing it fully—flaws and all. I don’t need to be a wandering monk to find meaning. I’ve discovered that a good cup of tea, a warm conversation, and the laughter of friends offer as much enlightenment as any spiritual quest.

So, here I am, no saint but a rather content wanderer through life, having changed my mind about most things I thought I’d never budge on. I’ve learned that life is richer, fuller, and much more entertaining when you let go of rigid ideas. Whether it’s the wisdom found in travel, the power of random acts of kindness, or the surprising joy of an informal chat with the universe, every change of heart has added a new layer to the way I live.

And while I might never reach the sainthood I once envisioned, I’ve come to embrace the unexpected joys that come from changing my mind—and I must say, the world has never looked so full of possibilities.

"A Fish Out of Water: Navigating the Social Pond with VIPs and Millennials"

It was a balmy evening in a school where I worked, with the mountain air cool enough to justify a jacket but still warm with the buzz of conversation. I had been invited to a gathering—a mix of influential personalities, seasoned professionals, and an energetic swarm of young entrepreneurs. The kind of event that usually excites me. After all, I’ve spent decades navigating academic conferences, board meetings, and educational panels. But this evening turned out to be a humbling reminder that even the most seasoned fish can feel out of place when swimming in a new pond.

The room was a mix of shiny new faces and a few familiar ones, each sporting their credentials like medals. On one side were the VIPs—retired bureaucrats, high-ranking officials, and corporate honchos whose resumes stretched longer than the winding roads of Darjeeling. On the other side, the millennials—tech-savvy, hyper-connected, and seemingly speaking a language designed by Silicon Valley itself. I found myself, quite literally, in the middle of it all, wondering if I’d forgotten the password to today’s world.

Too Big for the Room: The Veteran’s Dilemma

The conversation started with a topic I thought was right in my wheelhouse—education reform. Aha, my moment to shine! I spoke passionately about the value of holistic education, citing examples from my years as a school Principal. I referred to philosophers, quoted from Rabindranath Tagore, and even wove in a reference to how the human touch remains irreplaceable, no matter how advanced technology becomes. I glanced around, expecting nods of approval, maybe even some applause.

Instead, I was met with a polite silence. The youngsters, each glued to their smartphones, appeared lost in a world of algorithms and apps, while the VIPs looked at me with that vague, diplomatic smile I’ve seen many times before. I realised that, while my ideas were still valid and essential, I was playing in an orchestra when the crowd had moved on to electronic beats. My words, once revered in academic circles, seemed too large, too elaborate for this setting. It was like reciting poetry in a room filled with engineers discussing artificial intelligence.

Too Small for the Conversation: The Digital Divide

Later in the evening, the conversation shifted towards start-ups, blockchain technology, and digital currencies. Now, I consider myself reasonably well-versed with the digital world. I can navigate online platforms, stay updated with trends, and even use jargon when needed. But the depth of this discussion was a different beast. They talked about blockchain like it was as simple as preparing a cup of tea, while I sat there wondering if Bitcoin was something I could use to pay for coffee in Dehradun someday.

When one of the youngsters, brimming with enthusiasm, asked me my thoughts on the future of decentralized finance, I hesitated. “Well,” I began, “I suppose it could be the future of how we... exchange things?” My vague response was met with polite nods, but it was clear I had nothing substantial to offer. I felt small in a conversation that seemed too large and too fast-moving, like trying to catch the wind in the mountains with bare hands.

When You’re Out of Place: Lessons from the Evening

As I sipped my drink and reflected on the evening, I realised that feeling out of place is a universal experience. Even with decades of experience behind me, I was reminded that no one is immune to it. Here’s what I took away from that gathering in Mussoorie:

1. Embrace the Role of a Learner, Not a Lecturer

In the earlier conversation about education, I found myself assuming the role of an elder statesman. While there’s value in experience, it’s equally important to listen and adapt. I realised that instead of preaching, I should have asked more questions—learned from the perspectives of the young entrepreneurs who were shaping the future of education through technology.

2. Find Common Ground, Even in the Unfamiliar

In a room full of people discussing blockchain and start-ups, I felt like a stranger. But rather than withdrawing, I could have found a way to steer the conversation towards common ground. Technology may be a foreign language, but its impact on society, culture, and education is universal. By finding shared values, I could have contributed meaningfully without feeling out of my depth.

3. Humour Can Bridge the Generation Gap

As the conversation about Bitcoin raged on, I could have lightened the mood with a bit of humour. “So, when do you think we’ll start paying for chai in Darjeeling with Bitcoin?” would have broken the tension and brought some warmth to the conversation. Self-deprecation is often the best way to navigate uncomfortable situations, making you more relatable to both the youngsters and the VIPs.

4. Don’t Be Afraid to Pivot the Conversation

Later in the evening, the conversation turned to travel and music—two topics where I found my footing again. I shared stories of my days in Calcutta, misty mornings in Darjeeling, and the calming influence of classical ragas. Here, I was back in my element, finding a natural rhythm in the conversation. Sometimes, when you’re out of place, it’s best to pivot the conversation towards familiar territory where you can add genuine value.

5. Reflect, Learn, and Move Forward

That evening, after everyone had gone their separate ways, I found myself on the balcony of my hotel, overlooking the valley. The silence of the mountains gave me time to reflect. Feeling out of place isn’t a failure; it’s a reminder that the world is constantly evolving, and so must we. There’s always more to learn, always new ways to connect.

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The night in Mussoorie was a lesson in humility, reminding me that no matter how versatile or experienced we are, there will always be moments when we feel like we don’t belong. Whether it’s being too big for the room with ideas rooted in tradition or too small when faced with cutting-edge technology, the key is to adapt, stay curious, and keep swimming through the changing tides.

Looking back, I can laugh at myself—trying to explain Aristotle to tech moguls, or fumbling through blockchain discussions. But it’s in these moments of discomfort that we grow, finding new ways to connect with people, no matter how different their worlds may seem.

So, next time I find myself at a gathering of VIPs and millennials—whether in Mussoorie, Calcutta, or Darjeeling—I’ll be ready to listen more, laugh often, and always find a way to swim through, even if the waters seem unfamiliar. Because after all, life isn’t about always fitting in; it’s about learning to thrive wherever you find yourself.

Unplugged and Thriving: Life Without a Computer

Let’s start with the rosy side of the picture, shall we?

The Pros of a Computer-Free Existence

1. More Human Interaction:

Without a computer to hide behind, I'd spend more time engaging in face-to-face conversations. Gone would be the days of WhatsApp pinging non-stop or Zoom calls dominating my calendar. Imagine leisurely tea breaks with friends and family, where we’d actually talk—without the distraction of checking notifications every two minutes. Relationships would certainly feel more intimate, more real, as we look into each other’s eyes rather than at pixels on a screen.

2. Healthier Lifestyle:

Without the temptation of sitting at a desk for hours, I’d likely move more, leading to better posture, fewer neck cramps, and the ability to fit into trousers from my younger years. The absence of a computer would force more physical activities—gardening, cycling, or even walking to the local library for research. The digital drain of binge-watching shows or aimlessly browsing would be replaced with invigorating fresh air and exercise.

3. Mindful Productivity:

Without constant notifications, endless emails, and the lure of mindless internet browsing, my productivity would skyrocket. Paper and pen might make a comeback—charming, isn’t it? The creative process would slow down but perhaps deepen. I’d rely on books, my memory, and intuition rather than the convenient, but often distracting, Googling habit.

The Cons of Living Off the Grid

But let's not get too starry-eyed—living without a computer has its fair share of pitfalls.

1. Information Access Blockade:

Remember the days of digging through libraries for hours just to find a single piece of information? Without the internet’s bottomless well of knowledge, research would return to the slow lane. No more instant answers to burning questions or quick tutorials on how to fix that leaky tap. I'd have to rekindle my relationship with encyclopaedias and hope the postman brings books quickly.

2. Slower Communication:

While in-person chats sound lovely, let’s not ignore the sheer convenience of emails, instant messaging, and video calls. Without a computer, I’d be back to letter writing, relying on snail mail. It could take weeks to hear back from a friend living halfway around the globe. Collaboration on projects would require scheduling meetings in person or over the phone—a charming idea, but dreadfully time-consuming.

3. The Career Conundrum:

As someone who writes and runs a consultation company, my work without a computer would be like a bird without wings. The vast amounts of documentation, data analysis, and communication involved in my work demand the speed and efficiency that computers provide. I shudder at the thought of manually writing reports or managing a business using ledgers and endless paperwork. It’s not just inconvenient—it’s impractical in the modern world.

The Humour in it All

Of course, looking at life without a computer through a humorous lens helps to cushion the blow. Picture me, sitting at a desk with a typewriter, whacking away at the keys, only to realise I've misspelled something and need to retype the whole page. Or imagine navigating through the day with a massive paper calendar, rescheduling appointments by crossing things out in ink. The absurdity of life without a ‘delete’ button or the convenience of spellcheck is enough to make anyone chuckle.

And can you imagine explaining to a young child what a fax machine is, or how we once had to rewind VHS tapes before returning them? Ah, the look of disbelief on their face!

Conclusion: Finding Balance

While the idea of life without a computer is intellectually appealing and nostalgically quaint, the truth is, the computer has become an indispensable tool in both my personal and professional life. It offers connection, efficiency, and access to the entire world at the click of a button. But, perhaps, the true lesson here is to strike a balance—unplugging more often for genuine human interaction, creativity, and physical activity, while still harnessing the incredible power that computers provide.

After all, life is best lived in moderation—both plugged in and blissfully unplugged.