the only honest way to judge a ghostwriter is to read the writing.

My mother used to force jasmine flowers into my braid every evening.

I hated it.

I'd squirm. Try to dodge her. Make faces. Do everything a kid does when their parent is doing something they think is embarrassing and unnecessary.

She'd do it anyway. Every single evening without fail.

We had jasmine plants at home. And every evening the whole family would go out and pick flowers.

My mother would take those flowers, tie them into a gajra, and put it in my hair whether I liked it or not.

I never liked it.

I thought it was old-fashioned. Unnecessary. Something girls in my generation didn't need to do anymore.

Now I live in Mumbai and the smell of jasmine on the street stops me dead.

Every single time.

I'll be walking somewhere. Busy. Distracted. Phone in hand. And suddenly jasmine hits my nose and I'm standing in my backyard at seven in the evening watching my mother tie flowers.

Food and flowers. That's what home is.

Not the house. Not the city. Not even the people sometimes.

The funny thing about growing up is you spend your childhood resisting everything your parents give you.

"The flowers are embarrassing."
"The food is just food."
"The traditions are outdated."

Then you leave.

And every single thing you pushed away becomes the thing you reach for.

If your parents are doing something right now that you think is annoying or old-fashioned, let them.

One day you'll be in a different city missing exactly that thing. And no amount of money will buy it back the way it was.

My parents didn't understand what I did for a living. Until I brought home a piece of silver.

For a 90s kid with conventional parents, "YouTube" is a hobby. "AdSense" is a myth.

They couldn't grasp how I was earning money from the internet.

Then, in 2024, I hit 100,000 subscribers. And YouTube sent me the silver play button.

That button changed everything.

It wasn't just a plaque. It was tangible proof of years of hard work.

When my mother held that button in her hands, she looked like she had won something. That was the moment they finally understood: "Okay, the world is changing. And he is actually doing something."

We recently crossed half a million subscribers. We celebrated, sure. But it didn't feel as big as the first 100k.

Because 100k wasn't just a number. It was the bridge that connected my digital world to their traditional one.

That will always be a core memory.

We are still being taught that Kalidasa was the Shakespeare of India.

Kalidasa existed 1000 years before Shakespeare. A full millennium.

So why do we define the original by the sequel? Why do we name the ancestor after the descendant?

It's like calling the sun the "lightbulb of the sky."

And it doesn't stop there. Samudra Gupta is called the Napoleon of India.

But check the timeline. He lived 1500 years before Napoleon.

How does that make any sense?

It only makes sense if you realize who wrote the history books. It was a narrative written to make us feel like "versions" of Western greatness rather than the source of it.

But we know better now. We can edit the books.

So let's correct the record.

Shakespeare? He's the Kalidasa of England.

Napoleon? He's the Samudra Gupta of France.

The timeline doesn't lie. And neither should we.

“chatgpt se likhwa lete hain na.”

wait a minute.

you would never tell your lawyer to just ask google what clause to add.

so why is it okay to turn to a bot for your most human form of expression?

caption. email. pitch. break-up message. birthday note.
they used to come to us. the “good with words” people.

we edited love letters, excuse notes, resignation emails, apology essays.

and now?
now they just open a tab. type “make this sound nice.”

“it’s faster with ai” they say.
sure. so is instant noodles.
but you don’t serve that at a wedding.

don’t reduce writing to output.
it’s still a ritual. still a craft.

6 things that are normal in India but impossible in America.

I noticed these after seeing how both countries handle daily life.

1/ UPI

In India, even a coconut seller takes UPI. Instant transaction. No fee.

In America, cards still dominate. Banks make over $30 billion a year just from transaction fees.

2/ 10-minute delivery

In India, you can get vegetables to iPhones delivered in 10 minutes.

In America, same-day delivery is still being figured out.

3/ Home services

In India, you can book a plumber, deep clean, facial, or massage at home through an app. Same day.

In America, a plumber alone costs $200-$300 just to show up.

4/ Aadhaar

In India, one ID is linked to everything. Bank. Phone. Government records.

In America, people still carry physical social security cards and fill paper forms at every government office.

5/ Walk-in hospitals

In India, if you feel sick, you walk into any hospital or clinic and get treated.

In America, you wait months for an appointment. Without insurance, one hospital visit can cost thousands.

6/ MRP

In India, the maximum retail price is printed on every product. Selling above it is illegal.

In America, retailers can charge whatever they want.

Maybe we don't appreciate enough of what we already have in India.

a lot of people think diary of a ceo is successful just because steven bartlett is rich and famous.

but spotify lost millions betting on celebrity podcasts that completely failed.

the real reason the show gets a billion views is a carefully engineered hidden system.

here's my notes on this video:

1/ steven acts as the invisible interviewer. instead of trying to be entertaining himself, he disappears and makes the conversation entirely about the guest.

2/ his questions are extremely tight. he asks specific questions that force people into more interesting answers right away.

3/ his team does obsessive research. they watch a guest's previous interviews to find their most viral moments, then ask for a much deeper version.

4/ he uses the rock concert technique. he figures out the guest's greatest hits and structures the conversation so they can play those exact points.

5/ the pacing is engineered for retention. the podcast moves to a new idea every two minutes, making a long episode feel like a fast playlist.

6/ his most viral episodes do not even feature celebrities. the packaging is so good that millions will click on and listen to complete strangers.

I live in a 2 BHK in Mumbai.

And last month my electricity bill was ₹7,672.

I decided to dig into the details to see where the money is going.

The result was frustrating.

Almost 50% of my bill has nothing to do with the power I used.

Here is the breakdown of the "hidden" costs:

1/ The Journey (Wheeling Charges): ₹1,617.
This covers the distance the electricity travels from the plant to my meter.

2/ The Taxes (Electricity Duty + State Tax): ₹1,184.
Government charges that sit on top of your consumption.

3/ The Fuel Hike (Power Purchase Adjustment): ₹744.
A charge that fluctuates based on global coal prices.

4/ The Rent (Fixed Charge): ₹410.
The base fee for the connection.

Total for these extra charges: ₹3,897.

My actual Energy Charge?
₹3,775.

We complain about rising costs.
We scold our kids for leaving the lights on.

But the reality is that the system is expensive.

So next time you pay your bill.
Remember this.

Only half of that money kept your lights on.
The other half just kept the system running.

"Your product is useless."

That was the feedback from our biggest client. They were right.

We promised a 12-month shelf life. Our sealant was drying up in 8.

The market was angry. Our orders dropped to 20% of projections. We were bleeding credibility.

We checked the sealant. It was perfect. We checked the machine. It was perfect.

So I flew to other countries to find what really was the problem. I met a bottle manufacturer who showed me the truth.

It wasn't the sealant. It was the plastic tube packaging.

Suppliers were secretly adding "calcium granules" to the plastic to cut costs. The calcium reacted with the acidic sealant. It corroded the bottle from inside. Air got in.

The moment a sealant touches air, it turns to rubber.

I learned the biggest lesson of manufacturing that day: You can have the best product in the world. But if the packaging fails, the product fails.

How to ruin a celebrity interview in 3 steps:

1/ Believe the PR agency's schedule. (We waited 7 hours).

2/ Believe the guest list. (1 guest became 3 guests instantly).

3/ Trust your new equipment. (It failed).

I learned all three lessons in one day.

We were prepared for a one-on-one conversation. My team had researched the actor deeply.

Then, minutes before the shoot, the agency said: "The two lead actresses will also join."

Panic mode. We didn't have the mics. We didn't have the camera angles.

We scrambled. We rented gear. We survived. (Only to find out later the audio didn't record properly anyway).

The content game looks easy on screen. But behind the scenes, it is constant crisis management.

You can plan for the content. But you have to prepare for the chaos.

That is the learning.

"I moved to Dubai to run a business."

That's what I told my family and friends.

The reality? I moved to a town 1.5 hours north of the skyscrapers. To figure out how to set up a new factory.

When we were setting up our factory, I wasn't doing "CEO things." I wasn't looking at P&Ls. I wasn't networking at the Burj Khalifa.

I was learning the unsexy fundamentals of infrastructure:

→ How to register a company.
→ How to lease a warehouse.
→ How to get the electricity connected.

I was commuting from morning to night. Living in the dust.

And then the worst happened: The machinery setup shipment was delayed by 1.5 months.

We finished hiring the team.
We had the warehouse ready.
Bills had already started to pile.
But net outcome? Zero.

It was a "pure expense." A total loss.

But that gap was a gift. I used my downtime to visit other factories. By the time the machines arrived, I wasn't just an administrator. I was an operator.