One cup of coffee and solitude, if you are looking for that then I recommend a crowded Starbucks . Because nowhere else will you feel as alone and as naked as  in that bustling coffee joint.

It’s a place to be alone in the crowd. So, a person like me who has just been introduced to this culture of crowd melancholy always will wonder, what’s the new normal?

If you are planning to submerge yourself in a gadget, or a more formal version of a gadget(laptop) and then not be bothered by the needs or wants of people who are at the very basic level, just trying to find a place to sit, why can’t you do it at home.

“I want a sense of community without being bothered by it”, that in itself is the whole concept of Starbucks

“I want to be around people but I want to be invisible to them.”

Questions asked by somebody sitting in Starbucks, are basically travelling through various geo synchronous satellites and are being answered by somebody that’s definitely not smelling the same cup of coffee.

Dare I say, they do need somebody to talk to, as long as it’s in their virtual bubble.

And then there are moments.

Moments that will remind you that maybe we haven’t lost the sense of human interaction.

Moments like two people on a first date that’s awkward for them, but you can see the intrigue right through the chemistry happening in front of you

Friends catching up, with tears in their eyes, because of a funny moment from their past that they can’t get enough of. Tears of pure laughter.

A couple sneaking a kiss, because looking at other lonely people made them realize that they have somebody to hold hands and share a kiss.

And then of course there are those who are waiting, just waiting for all the moments that are going to unfold, once their partner finally comes and shares a coffee with them. You can easily tell those people apart; their eyes go the door every time it chimes and the sense of disappointment that just washes over their face when its not someone they recognize.

All these things are happening since the existence of time, all these interactions are valued by us as humans, we are always searching for it, come to think of it may be the crowd melancholy is just a stage you have to pass through to get to where your heart wants you to be.

The Window.

The grandeur of a beautiful window will never supersede what’s outside of that window. A window is never defined by the beauty of its design but its always defined by view it holds. I think that holds true for the spiritual form the window takes in the philosophical world.

 A window into the heart is only admired if the heart is not a dark one. A window into the soul of a person is only appreciated if the soul has purity of  gods within itself.

 The word window is a verb, when its working with soul, it’s a noun in the structure of the building and it’s an adjective for the thoughts.

In the world of brick and mortar, a person standing at a window will without a doubt go through some sort of range of emotions, and my observation is that wherever they start, they will never end up at the same place, as if that window defined the journey of a thought. If you walk and stand on a window looking at the horizon pondering alone, my guess is you will never walk away from it without a conclusion to that ongoing thought

Same window, with the same view will generate million different thoughts in million different people. An optimistic person looking at tree in fall will be excited by the thought of spring , same tree for a depressive pupil will bring  morbid sentiments.

A person visiting his hometown after a decade, while driving through the same neighborhood and looking out the finite vision of that car window will go from smiling to sadness to joy while watching the view go by.

 A moving window in a car can generate a range of emotions not because of the car that holds it, but because what it’s showing outside is somehow related to the past of an individual that is only connected to him or her.

No matter where you are standing, if you are looking out of a window then that’s where your heart wants to be. You always wonder what it is to be there, and not here where you are.

Isn’t that one of the truths of life too?

Even if you are looking out to something undesirable you still want to know what it will be to be there and not here, where you are.

Desires of heart are mostly without reason.

And lastly how about a path that leads you to a window. If you are ever sitting far from a window, then invariably and almost out of reflex you are imagining a path towards that window.

May be because even in the confines of a structure you heart demands freedom.

That longing, is essentially the essence of windows in our lives.

Looking out into the world through them is like visualizing a desire that you harbor within the confines of your current life. Open Them and let life through.

What makes you wonder about your life. Everyone of us have tried to introspect it ,sometimes we succeed and sometimes we have no clue what it is that we are living. The saying “life flashes in front of you “is I think the most profound, honest and brutal introspection of your life. People who go through a horrifying moment in their life where they had a close call with grim reaper have a changed perspective on life, ever wonder why that is.I think, it’s because they saw their image of mortality
In an instant, you remember the moments you regretted the most, the moments you were filled with pure joy, moments of profound grief and then there are moments of pure pride. I think these moments are actually the images of your mortality.
These instances that come to your mind, tells a lot about where your truths are hidden in your life.
Your regrets are a way of your life telling you your desires.
Your joys are showing you your true loves.
Your griefs are talking about your losses.
Your pride are your successes.
That’s the summary of your life.
And no matter what you tell the world, you can’t lie to your image of mortality
Our lives have become so complicated that we can’t even stay true to ourselves. It’s not that we don’t want to, it’s that we are not allowed to.
What we project to be our truths are not our truths, they are actually expectations, that are garnered as our truths.
Your regrets are never the same that you share with the world, your joys are never the ones you knew as your joys, your griefs will always surprise you, and your prides are always selfish in nature
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger “, because it makes you reflect on your truths that were hidden from you.
Let’ consider desire. By definition it means, “what you want” but  what you desire is actually beyond that.
I think most real desires have a tendency to become regrets, if u give it enough time, because real desires are always dark.
When they say “be careful what you wish for”, I will rephrase it to “be careful what u really desire”
My image of mortality is unique to me.
Your image is unique to you.
It’s not a morbid sentiment, it’s an inspiring one. Imagine a status report on your life.
The image that you conjure is your own personal truth card
People are always looking for self help guides and books, to find truths of their own lives, their own truth card, their own image of mortality.
Have a good scare and ponder that for the rest of your life.

Hate, it’s such a definitive word. There is nothing left after hate. Among the various stages of human interaction, hate is at the very end. Once you reach hate, there is no coming back from it.

A relationship can come back from everything else, but only a miracle can save a relationship once it reaches hate.

I am supposed to list five hates, so here they are Donald trump, liberal bubble, conservative bubble, arrogance, pettiness. But I have to admit it’s a very tough topic for me to write on.

But the more I think about it, the more I come to this conclusion that what I truly hate are the people who lack humility, that is what I hate, and all the other hates are just versions of it.

It is very difficult for me to reach a level of emotion that can be considered as hate but show me a human being that doesn’t have a shred of humility and I hate that.

It’s a very common yet uncommon trait.

Its common because every one of us have a virtue of arrogance, but it’s also uncommon because only few reach the disgusting proportions needed to be hated for it.

 Donald trump I think is the epitome of arrogance, self-importance, egoism, pretentiousness and many more of such derivatives. All these words are dictionary antonyms of humility. I hate the fact that he is the leader that kids have to look up to, when they are growing in their formidable years

In my view leaders don’t run countries, they inspire people who in turn are actually running the country, the bureaucrats, the ordinary working folks who are inspired by the leaders to perform better. In his case I can’t even tell my kids,” hey kids the president is on tv let’s watch it together”, because the first thing they ask is “Papa isn’t he the guy who did this, said that, acted that way. Do you agree with him?”

The answers I have, are not suitable for kids, and the answers they will understand don’t do justice to these protruding questions

 He inspires nobody, but he provokes everyone.

We are all broken from inside, and to expect our leaders to be perfect, is just another way of setting them up to fail. There is no such thing as true perfection.

I don’t expect my leaders to be perfect, I don’t expect them to be the smartest, I don’t expect them to be the most loved ,but one thing I want my leader to be is, inspiring.

 If you can’t inspire the people, then you are just a concierge to their needs, you fulfill them as ordered and will never have the ability to break new horizons.

My hate is my hate, your hate is yours. Sometimes we can explain it, sometimes we can’t even understand it.Our love might not restrict us, but our hate is our full stop. There is nothing after hate ,so once you decide to go there ,remember that’s where you will always be

Memorable meal

There are various reasons why a meal becomes memorable.

Cipriani, I remember because that reminds me of a day in a year. Every year as a tradition, we go to Cipriani for dinner to celebrate a fateful day where our elders thought they should align my destiny with my wife’s path. Our marriage anniversary.

Only three things to say about that meal. Lamb chops, lamb chops and lamb chops.

If there is ever a dish that can covert a vegetarian into a carnivorous then this is it.

Succulence cannot even describe the aroma around the dish. One bite of that chop and it’s like your mouth, just drools because it had never comprehended that many flavors ever before. Dont get me wrong, you might be able to understand all of them but the reaction is because the mind is not able to process at that speed. Soul drenching experience, and I am still talking about one bite. By the time you  finish one lamb chop ,you start to love the world .No matter where you are mentally ,you will love the world by the end of that lamb chop.

Tamarind is another one I remember. The food is excellent but I remember it for the way the owner of the establishment asked me to try the soup, I will never forget what he said “it’s not a soup it’s an experience”. Just that line. It was so effective in the context of that conversation, that it made the whole dinning about the experience of that soup. I also will remember that experience because of the effort it takes to get to this place .Even before you start the meal you have spent 50 dollars

Every one of us has a different reason to be in memorable meal. What  makes a memorable meal? Most of the time the reason you remember, or how you remember is not by the taste of the food, but by what it made you feel. The taste of the food is very personal thing, and what I like in a food is not what u will appreciate about it. The individuality with which a meal is remembered is unique to the tongue its serving. But sadly, you also forget that very easily too. Even in the case of Cipriani I remember what it made me feel and that is what I want to remember.

In essence we remember everything else but the taste.

She is beautiful.

If beauty is defined by the eyes of the beholder then I am still  beheld by  her .

Always impressed by tall women all my life I was mesmerized by the length of her legs that never seem to finish. It encompassed her full frame. It helped that she was standing in line at  Tokyo airport where most people were of tiny frames. As I grew closer to her, I just smiled because I could smell her perfume from couple of feet away. I just shivered unwillingly and then I realized why, I was smelling Gucci rush, my favorite kind. As if the aroma and stature of her frame wasn’t enough, her hair were bouncing of her shoulder like they were in playful mood, and as if in harmony they were playing ballet on her shoulder. Then I heard it, the sound of her voice, or should I say the song of her voice, because that sounded like somebody just played veena all over my consciousness. And all this happened before I even saw her face. She was ahead of me in the line and there was a part of me that was aching to meet her eyes and catch a glimpse of her face to complete this little experience

Now she was at the counter, where the line was destined to end, and I was just two paces behind her .

I could see that exquisite jacket with perfect wrap of a scarf just between her neck and still bouncing hair. Not that she needed but it seemed like just to taunt the other inhabitant of this country she was wearing boots with heels clicking away with every turn or a step. She was a perfection even without her face. That’s when the poet in  me got struck with a thought.

” Do you want to mess this up?” She was perfect in my mind and when we assume someone to be perfect it’s all downhill from there, because there is no room to be more perfect.

I stepped out of the line and walked in the other direction, never looking back.

After five years of hoping all over the globe, that memory is still fresh as if it was why I fell in love with travel.

That moment when I realized perfection doesn’t need a face.

Suburbia to Mega-Urbia.
A structured way of life, if you are into that kind of thing, then India is not your cup of tea. But if you are looking to find what else is there to understand in the world, besides your own way of life, take a trip to the heartland of yoga. My India. Our India, and soon to be your India. Believe it or not you give this country five days and it will live in you like child birth. The good the bad the forever.
I recently took a trip to Delhi for some quick personal commitments. And since I went there with a mind of writer, I figure, let me observe and decode the difference between life in suburbia of Jersey and a life in a city three times the size of big apple. The similarities were surprising, but the differences were soul stirring.
The chaos of urban Asian city is an exercise in permutations and combinations working out to perfection.
Let me just paint a picture of traffic.
If you get to hit the fourth gear for two min, of your thirty min commute time, you had a beautiful morning. I commuted for from central Delhi to northwest of the city, sixty-five minutes in full day time traffic, ten minutes in no traffic. Distance covered, eleven miles. And that’s daily.
But it’s a beautiful case of managing expectations. No one in that traffic was in any kind of hurry, they all knew what to expect from those mornings.
It’s never the case in suburbia. If I ever get stuck on Garden state parkway or turnpike, the anxiousness is overwhelming sometimes. The  traffic is a constant, in life of a mega-urbia or for that matter anyone living in the five boroughs.
My destination for those commutes in Delhi was a secluded area in the middle of city that was known for its peace and quiet, known to locals as embassy area. The consistency of chaos is such, that silence is considered ominous. Although it’s always welcomed but it’s always treated with suspicion
Imagine taking a right turn on Broadway and suddenly being in the middle of Nebraska.
The contrast of an ominous silence,was much appreciated by the locals. Although places like these make Indians a little conscious of there surroundings. Indians are more comfortable in chaos then in serenity. It’s probably true for every urban resident.
In my experience of living in suburbia of New Jersey, I enjoy day trips to NYC but after few hours, I crave the structure of my sub urban life. Sadly but truthfully, I want my separation from the society to be well defined by boundaries of personal space.
The idea of coexisting is always more profound in high density cities. A shove in an overcrowded city train doesn’t even register, but a brush is suburban mall is an invasion of space followed by staring contest.
The uniqueness of Indian experience lies in the emotions of your surroundings and how it connects to you. Somehow, they all connect with in you. Traffic again is a great example.
You are surrounded by controlled chaos, but when you actually look inside the car that is trying to desperately snail forward, the person inside the car is pretty content, and may be moving to sound of his/her favorite music. The girl riding here little scooter next to you may be sitting in traffic for the last twenty minutes on her way to work, but her eyes will tell you that she is “content”. This is for me is the essence of India, and that’s how it teaches a non-Indian mind (which I have become now) on how to find peace within the chaos of your individual life.No matter what I am going through, I should have faith in the process and it will yield the result. Life is tough but it rewards well.
All this from one week of assault to my senses. I don’t know if it shook me or woke me.
But I am content .

It was Monday and although the morning carnival was drawing down to its afternoon self,

New York Penn Station was at its usual brutish behavior.

4:00 pm local was running late and it seemed like the whole world was about to get on it. This time slot had a unique vibe at the station. People leaving the city were almost giddy, mostly because most of them were able to get out of work early and were marveling the ease of getting on a train without being pushed on a train by people behind them

Million stories were getting written, million experiences were getting etched on ,and among these, there was a subtle but powerful love that was about to bloom in Sheetal and a very distant John.

A torn handbag that was what did it. Or was it the conspicuous way of the train station coming alive to connect two lonely souls. Whatever the reason was, the contents of her bag were on the concrete floor.

Destiny spins many ways.

If you ask John today he will still tell you that it was her red face of embarrassment that drew him to help her. A women’s handbag is her bundle of secrets, and at that moment Sheetal’s were out in world to be judged by thousand eyes. He couldn’t resist himself and joined in almost involuntarily to help pick up parts of her bag. Little did he knew he would be helping her collect and sort parts of her life too.

 Sheetal’s secret was out, the .22 caliber gun was on the floor next to the bloody scarf. John had seen his fair share of guns and blood during his tours of Afghanistan, and his reaction was more of someone who was startled then scared. He helped her put her gun back in the bag and, just to make sure she can see his eyes, he got up with the scarf and handed it standing up.

It was the kindness of his eyes and his helping hand that broke the dam of tears she was holding, since last night

John , showing genuine concern grabbed her, and sat her on the  grimy bench he was sitting on. Her white jeans will surely need a trip to the laundry. She didn’t care, she was just happy to be held.

Their loneliness and their need to talk to someone must have been overpowering, because they sat there on that grimy bench and talked for endless hours, missing train after train .

All the rush in their steps was gone. It was replaced by wonderment of heart  .

Not even once they talked about the gun, the scarf or her tumultuous night.  The chemistry was instant, as if the train station has picked them up and put them together as a parting gift before they left the city.

Strangers walking by their side could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, which was always about somewhere else in the world, it’s like they both wanted nothing to do with this city.

It took John few hours to ask the question he wanted to ask, “Can I have your number?”. The answer surprised him. “Can I have yours?”, she said.

With trembling hands, she took his number, she was letting somebody in her cocoon for the first time in 10 years.

 John wanted some way to connect to her, but he believed it was a man’s responsibility to earn women’s trust, and he intended to do exactly that, especially for Sheetal.

She got up and started looking for her ticket. It wasn’t there. Only the station knew that it flew away and was all the way to Trenton in the train that she was about to board 3 hours ago. John sensing the opportunity got up and started walking with her. First time realizing she was so tall. And she had an athletes body. In John, s experience Indian woman rarely were this tall and this athletically built. He was intrigued more about her back story.

As Sheetal was walking next to him, her thoughts finally returned to the reality that was her life.

Should she get rid of the gun or should she get rid of the scarf. Separately they don’t mean anything but together they can unravel the world. She had the burden of the world on her shoulders but somehow John was making all of it seem irrelevant for now.

Little did she knew he will become her world, and his shoulders will carry everything on it.

This moment right there, was why train stations are romantic. People are lonely in the crowd and it takes one bump, one tug and one helpful gesture to find togetherness. Train stations are hubs of modern civilization, and these hubs may be harsh and rough but they carry a heart that can cultivate harmony from chaos.

. Back story of Sheetal

One thing she remembers about her childhood is the bunk bed in the room with 20 kids

She doesn’t know how she got there or who dropped her there but she remembers the bunk bed. The buck bed that was just a bed but it was a sanctuary for her her own little world that glittered with stars on top and littered with stuffed toys. till date she sleeps like she is surrounded by stuff toys. She was smarter than most kids, she knew that before the people around her realized that. She was shy for the first 2 yrs. not as talkative as the other kids so she just mumbled the responses to the questions asked in the school or at the orphanage, she knew she was right most of the time, but it took Savitri to help Sheetal find her voice. And boy she did she find her voice. Savitri was the lady in charge for the dorm and she found a notebook on the floor of Sheetal bed. It was filled with the whole syllabus for the year and session was only one month old. First she thought it was from previous year and as she kept reading it ,it dawned in her that Sheetal was done with the year in a month. Is she a savant genius? Just to make sure she was not getting duped she called all teachers and had a little conference. They wrote a little test for sheetal and gave it to her in the class. While other kids were giving a test for one chapter she was handed a test for the whole book. She aced it . Since she was not much of a talker, they were all worried if we tell everyone she might retreat into shell, but then they decided to spread it through word of mouth and slowly kids started coming to ask Sheetal for her help. In turn she became famous and now every one is talking to her and somewhere in that process she found out that not only did she had a voice but people wanted to hear what she had to say.

In a way that settled the direction for her life. Debate clubs’ trophies, Impressing the teachers, International mock UNs, all these were easy for her and after a while she had to be upgraded to higher levels so she can feel a sense of competition.

Around that time, she learnt her first major life lesson, which till date is one of the reason why she lives a life of anonymity even though she is highly successful.

Her first mean girls experience, where she was beaten up by the other girls of orphanage was in 7^th grade. She was getting a lot of attention from the boys. She was athletic tall and damn near witty as a comedian and she could own a room with her personality. Boys were in love. Girls were not .

Orphanage environment although was quiet loving and caring, but kids used to tend to create their own little families with their friends, boyfriends and so on. Everyone was a fierce protector of their immediate group of friends, that they considered family, and loosing on boys who were getting mesmerized by this 7^th grader was not going well with the girls.

They cornered her in the bathroom and she was beaten up. She didn’t know why because even the girls were embarrassed to admit why they did it.

Although the beating had an reverse effect on the whole situation, she became even more popular and since she never revealed to the teachers who did it, she was admired for her grit.

When it happened the second time she wasn’t having it .She used her strong legs to kick everyone of them to damn near pulp ,but strangely when they were done resisting she lifted each one of them and dropped them to the nurse station. Telling the nurse that they were fighting each other. While she was dropping the last one off she did her first ever interrogation.

She found out about the hate, the jealousy, the rage they felt because of her extravagance. At least that’s the way she understood it.

She realized that day as long as you are not on top, no one is trying to pull you down.

And she realized one more thing “being second best gives you the anonymity to live a life free of responsibility, and free of competitiveness, and still achieve everything in life.

In every selection in the world there is room for at least three people.

And she kind of promised her to be the second and never the first.

From there on she performed well in class but in every test, she put an extra effort to find out who her competition was and how not to come first, and just did enough to come second.

She took everything in stride just to avoid a confrontation with her peers.

One thing she was not, was a brown nose. She never gave in the pretension of a fight, she always showed disappointment on being the second, knowing very well she missed the questions intentionally. Only Savitri knew what was going on and she confided in one more teacher, he was the gym teacher, a highly energetic extremely athletic Rudra.

Savitri and Rudra were just not colleagues they were in love with each other and were planning to marry. But they were also aware of the fact that Savitri was past the age where she could give that marriage a baby. So in the midst of all the discussions they decided they will adopt from the orphanage. And since Savitri was the one who has been taking care of Sheetal since she was bought in, she was the obvious choice. But the rules of Orphanage didn’t allowed them to adopt and work there.

So they made a life choice adopted Sheetal and quit their jobs. They moved out of Kolhapur and joined in the crowd of Delhi.Sheetal was in awe of the city.

Rudra was an excellent athlete and great coach of cricket ,it didn’t took him long enough to found a niche ,where he was taking 2-3 coaching classes in few of the upcoming schools and start his own academy ,Delhi in those days lacked an sports culture and he took advantage of lack of coaches and established himself. Savitri started her own day care facility at home ,it was good money earner because her English was excellent and moms around her impressed and readily gave her some money to teach the kids spoken English.

From dirt to water to air, motion fuels our purpose. Learn how embracing movement in every form can transform your mindset and inspire your everyday.

Push past limits and redefine what’s possible. Discover the Not. Stationary mindset — where every obstacle is fuel for the next ride.

Limits are illusions — boundaries we draw to feel safe. But real riders, creators, and dreamers know that comfort never built greatness. The true spirit of motion lives just beyond the edge of what we think we can do.

At Not. Stationary, we believe the only way to grow is to keep moving forward. Every lap is a lesson. Every challenge, a checkpoint. The trail might get rough, the air might get thin, but the journey never ends.

This mindset isn’t just for riders — it’s for anyone chasing something bigger. Whether you’re building, creating, or exploring, progress only happens when you move.

So, the next time you feel like stopping, remember:
The road doesn’t end until you do.
Keep riding. Keep creating. Keep living.

Because the moment you stop moving, you stop becoming.
And that’s why we’ll always be Not. Stationary.