Year: 2025

Sunday mornings are usually spent by my family bonding over some delicious homemade South Indian breakfast washed down with a relaxed conversation. Last week, as my mother-in-law flipped her delicious uttappas, our breakfast chatter drifted to the topic du jour – the recently concluded Diwali celebrations. My father-in-law reminisced with excitement about his childhood, ‘Growing up, making kandeels (lanterns) for Diwali was a family tradition. Every year, we would purchase supplies and make the kandeels ourselves. Dada (his elder brother) was the best at crafts. He would direct us, and the rest of us would follow his lead. And it was quite tedious – it would take us ten days to finish. But we would all be very satisfied by the end of it.’

I felt a pang of guilt. In the bedroom, in one corner was the pretty orange-and-white kandeel that my husband and I had put up during Diwali – we had bought it from the market for Rs. 300 – I remember I had dashed into the shop and snapped it, as my husband sat in the car, unable to find a parking spot.

I remembered the Diwali celebrations of my own childhood. I, along with my siblings, would help my mother make Diwali treats – both sweet and savoury. We would then go around the residential colony distributing and exchanging treats with the colony residents. On Diwali day, I would make rangoli on our front porch. The entrance to our house would be lit up with diyas, carefully filled and lit by my brother. We would dress up in new clothes, bought by my father from the market.

But now, Diwali celebrations are so very different. The diyas are LED ones bought from quick commerce apps. Sweets and snacks are bought online, and exchanging these with other households is an alien concept. The rangoli either does not get made at all or is made with the help of a stencil. Clothes and gifts are purchased online and paraded on Instagram. And yet, despite our growing prosperity, something feels amiss.

This contrast between past and present traditions raises a difficult question: In lighting up our homes more brightly, have we dimmed something within us? The shift in Diwali rituals echoes a broader transformation—from a community-driven, culturally rooted society to one focused on convenience, consumption, and self-image.

The Lanterns We Made

Previously, Diwali crafting and community were central to celebrating the festival, making the experience much more hands-on than today. Kandeel-making, for example, was an anticipated pre-Diwali ritual. Parents involved their children in selecting supplies and guided them, making it a learning opportunity for crafts, design, and patience. Even when the results weren’t perfect, it was the shared effort and togetherness that defined the celebration. Similarly, other traditions like floral torans and house-cleaning reinforced creative and collaborative values. Creativity, frugality, and pride in the process shaped these celebrations.

But somewhere between the glow of those homemade paper lanterns and today’s brightly lit malls, the essence of Diwali has quietly changed.

The Lanterns We Buy

Over the last thirty years, economic growth has led to higher incomes and greater prosperity. Economic liberalization has meant greater availability and accessibility to a wider range of products. Readymade goods are easier to purchase. This is accompanied by increased urbanization and a shift from making to buying. The shift has been accelerated by a poverty of time, with dual-income households, academic pressure, longer commutes and working hours leaving little room for rituals. Festivals have become consumed experiences rather than co-created traditions.

Convenience has replaced creativity. Store-bought, ‘prettier’ kandeels have replaced homemade ones. Readymade mithai, packaged diyas, and factory-made torans have become the norm. Diwali has become a shopping season, a retail celebration of consumption. Instead of small artisans, large chains and e-commerce platforms have begun dominating. Brands ‘celebrate’ Diwali with sales, hashtags and ads preaching values they rarely embody. Ironically, as these campaigns flood our feeds, the local artisans whose crafts once defined Diwali are quietly being pushed out of the frame.

With consumerism deepening, even what we buy has changed, from being made in local workshops to factories far from home.

The Lanterns We Import

Sensing a massive opportunity, Chinese players have entered the Diwali market. Mass-produced kandeels, fairy-lights, and plastic diyas have flooded the Indian markets since the early 2000s. Local artisans relying on manual processes, primitive tools, and expensive raw materials cannot compete and have been steadily priced out. This has led to a decline of small-scale lantern makers, erosion of traditional designs, and local economies. Local potters and craft clusters in places like Kumbharwada or Firozabad cannot compete with either the price or the volume. The Diwali sky glows brighter, but much of that light comes from far beyond our borders.

Globalization has commodified our culture into mass-produced, disposable aesthetics. We have saved a few rupees at the cost of centuries of craftsmanship.

The Lanterns We Post

The rise of social media has made festivals elaborate aesthetic performances. Instagram aesthetics now dictate how Diwali “should look”. Performative setups for photos have replaced real celebrations. Brands capitalize on the craze, fuelling social media hype with algorithm-driven offers and curated aesthetics. What began with markets moved to malls, and the commodification accelerated online. We now consume experiences designed by algorithms. Artisans remain invisible, unable to afford and lacking knowledge of digital advertising, influencer collaborations, and delivery.

We no longer make lanterns to light our homes; we buy them to light our feeds. What do we lose when festivals turn into brand campaigns?

The Lanterns We Lose

The shifts in the way we celebrate festivals have led to a change in our lives. Children have lost out on opportunities to create things by hand, collaborate, and be patient while working towards a goal. While we have huge social media networks, personal connections with neighbours are non-existent. Even close friends send and receive a Diwali greeting message on WhatsApp. We are growing more emotionally disconnected. The informal festive economy, from diya vendors to garland sellers to handicraft makers, is shrinking. Art forms that do not find enough customers are going extinct.

As we began to buy everything, we stopped learning anything. Our courtyards still glow, but the light is not natural – it is strangely distant.

Rekindling The Flame

I believe all is not lost. Mindless consumption lies at the core of these shifts, and making some small changes could make a difference. We need to revive the spirit of making. Schools and communities can focus on re-introducing Diwali centric creation activities.

At an individual level, we could support local artisans whenever we can, even if it comes at a slightly higher price than factory-made products. Purchases should be local, handmade, sustainable, and seasonal.

We can also push corporate brands to drive a shift. Empty slogans should be called out, and support should be shown for actions such as artisan collaborations, fair pay, and skill development. This would appeal to the true essence of Diwali.

We must remember that the most meaningful lantern is not the one that glows brightest on Instagram, but the one whose light carries the warmth of our hands, our families, and our forgotten small businesses.

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About Monika Chouhan:

Monika is a Product Manager for a fintech and payments platform and an alumna of IIM Ahmedabad. She has previously built mobile games and loves creating engaging app experiences. When she’s not working, you’ll find her experimenting in the kitchen, practising yoga, or watching anime while trying to learn Japanese.

She can be reached on monicachauhan18@gmail.com

There is a proverb in the Nigerian Igbo culture “Oran a azu nwa” which loosely translates to “It takes the community/village to raise a child.” I cannot agree more – let me explain…

In 2023, I discovered I was pregnant — an indescribable mix of joy, excitement, and anxiety, all at once surreal and overwhelming. And then came the big question- what about my career? Should I take a break or work like before and think about it when the time comes? Even though I was still in my first trimester, my classical overthinking side of me dubbed myself as being ‘not good mom material’ – after all, here I was thinking about my career when life was about to bestow upon me the most precious of gifts. The calmer and more sensible side of me assured me, “You’re a person too, with your own dreams and ambitions. After all those years of earning your CA degree and spending so much of your life at work, it is not at all selfish to think about your career.”

Once I calmed my mind, I roped in my ever-patient husband to help enact the possible scenarios of my conversation with the boss on the subject. When I shared the news with him, he first congratulated me and then proceeded to take me off a prestigious project I was scheduled to work on – one which involved commuting to the client place 5 days a week. He instead put me on a project that allowed me to work remotely. This gesture both humbled and touched me. The invincible young professional in me did feel a tinge of regret as the earlier project was with a bigger client with more “visibility” (the singularly most important thing in corporate life). But the mature and more sensible me realized the practical benefits of working remotely especially in the first trimester, where nausea and weakness can catch one off guard.

On the home front, things had been a little tough where owing to my father-in-law’s fluctuating health after his paralytic stroke, the constant tense environment did not seem all too conducive to welcome a new life. In consultation with my doctor, my husband and I decided that my parents’ home was more suited for the delivery. Thanks to my boss’ thoughtfulness, I continued working till the last month of my pregnancy from my parents’ place.

In 2024, my son was born – and right from his first cry, life became a whirlwind. Having thoroughly enjoyed the pampering at my parents’ place, in month 5, I was back at my husband’s house with my little one. Here too, I was in for some more pampering – I was a new mom after all! My father-in-law had recovered quite well and with the little one around, his health parameters stabilised at a greater pace, much to everyone’s joy and relief.

Soon, came the million-dollar question – should I extend my leave or resume work? My employer offered me an additional six months of leave (unpaid of course, but that which allowed me to be on the payroll). Could I hope for a project which allowed me to work remotely again? The nagging worry about how my son would cope without my constant presence, coupled with the anxiety of enduring work with just about 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep at night, thankfully did not douse the tiny hope that kindled within me that maybe, just maybe, I could manage everything.

By God’s grace, I hit the jackpot – my organisation gave me a remote work opportunity with a new started project – it seemed like it almost waited for me to join back! With fantastic moral support from my family and organisation, I resumed work, when my son turned six and a half months. Initially hesitant, each day helped me strengthen my resolve — showing me that with a little push, I could be both a devoted mom and a committed professional.

There were long days and longer nights – days of complex deliverables, calls that stretched beyond baby’s dinner time (with my mother-in-law stepping in effectively to cajole him and make him eat), late night calls conflicting with his bedtime (with my husband trying his best to pacify him), nights waking up multiple times to soothe the little one’s colic pain – you get the picture, don’t you?

Support flowed not just from home, but from work as well. My colleagues were unfailingly empathetic and kind — teammates often went the extra mile to finish deliverables early so I’d have less to review, and a senior colleague once stepped in unasked to handle my portion of a critical client task when my baby was running a high fever. In those moments, I felt deeply valued and uplifted — their generosity reminded me that true teamwork extends far beyond deadlines and deliverables. I laughed, I cried — overwhelmed with gratitude for the love that carried me through.

Every day was a beautiful chaos of emotions — a fleeting pang of guilt for the nights I missed tucking him in, balanced by the sheer wonder of watching him grow: his first giggle, his first crawl, his first word — “Amma” — and the countless small miracles in between.

Six months after I had rejoined, the project ended. We won a team award and several client accolades and this time, i did not feel proud — I felt humbled. I’ve come to realize that success isn’t measured by how seamlessly we juggle it all, but by how deeply we cherish the people in one’s village that make it possible.

My son is eighteen months old now — curious, mischievous, and endlessly amusing. I continue to navigate the dance between work and motherhood, and on most days, I find a quiet joy and peace amid the beautiful chaos I never knew could coexist so harmoniously!

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About Ankita Benegal:

Ankita is a member of the ICAI and a commerce graduate from St Xavier’s college, Kolkata. Owing to her father’s transferable military job and then her own professional calling, Ankita has lived in 8 cities and speaks 5 languages. In her free time, Ankita likes to update herself about personal finance, read both fiction and non- fiction books, watch movies (read binge Netflix), try out various recipes with her foodie family and go for hikes.

She can be reached at ankitabenegal@gmail.com

In an age where digital tools and AI models have become ever-present, the allure of instant answers and effortless information retrieval is undeniable. Yet, as we venture “beyond perplexity“—the measure of a language model’s uncertainty or its ability to predict a sequence of words—we must critically evaluate the true cost of this convenience. The vast ocean of information accessible through a simple search query or a conversational AI prompt often lulls us into a state of mental smugness.

While these tools are remarkably efficient at aggregating and summarizing data, they operate on a principle of pattern recognition and probability, not genuine understanding or critical synthesis. For students and individuals seeking true precision and depth in their work, the path forward is not through further reliance on these automated systems, but rather through a renewed commitment to manual research and development.

This hands-on approach, though more time-consuming and labor-intensive, is the crucible in which intellectual rigor is forged. It demands a deliberate engagement with primary sources — books, academic journals, empirical data — that AI models often only skim or summarize. Manual research forces the individual to navigate the complexities of a topic, to discern subtle biases, and to construct a coherent argument from disparate pieces of evidence. This process of intellectual wrestling cultivates a crucial skill set: the ability to critically evaluate information, to question assumptions, and to develop an original perspective.

Artificial intelligence tools like Perplexity have become a seductive quick fix. For students and professionals alike, this seems like a wish granted by a genie, saving innumerable hours of searching. However, this convenience often comes at a heavy price: the erosion and incapability of critical thinking alongside the unwitting spread of misinformation. While AI can be a useful starting point, treating it as a conclusive source is a serious error, one that can lead to embarrassing and costly mistakes or in certain cases it may even cause losses.

I learned this lesson the hard way during a group presentation in college. My team was working on a project for banking and finance. My teammate, tasked with gathering information on the bank and other background data, decided to use Perplexity to quickly generate some key statistics and market trends. The AI provided a proficient and orderly summary with what looked like credible citations. Confident in the AI’s craft, he cloned the facts directly into our presentation slides without a single annotation.

When it was our turn to confer the report, the blemish in this approach became glaringly obvious. The professor, a dominant expert in the field, immediately noticed that our data was outmoded and, in a few momentous events, completely wrong. The “facts” cited were from a few obscure and sporadically updated sources, and the AI had synthesized them into a confident but a narrative of fallacy. Our entire presentation crippled. The professor pointed out the errors and explained that while Perplexity did its job of summarizing, it had failed to provide up–to–the–minute or credible information, a task that required human judgment and manual research. It was a humbling and valuable lesson for all of us: a glossy, AI generated summary is no substitute for the rigor of real research.

So, you’ll ask, “What’s the solution for this problem or how do we avoid over dependency on tech?” Here’s the thing – the solution isn’t to veto AI, but to change how we use it. We must shift our mindset from complacent consumers of AI-curated information to active evaluators who leverage these tools responsibly. Here are some easy alternatives and practices that can help students and adults alike move beyond the “convenience trap” and become true experts in their fields.

Treat AI as a Starting Point – use tools like Perplexity to mind map ideas, find keywords, or get a synopsis of a particular topic. Think of it as a conversational search engine that can help you frame your initial questions. But never ever use its output as your sole source of information.

Embrace Manual Fact-Checking – once the AI has given you a guide, do the real work. Manually authenticate every key statistic, every proclamation, and every citation it provides. Look for the original source. Is it a peer-reviewed article, a government report, or a trusted news outlet? This process of cross-verification is the single most important habit for ensuring precision of the facts it has provided.

Diversify Your Sources – a single article or AI summary can give you a warped or biased view. A cornerstone of insightful research is to seek out numerous sources—books, academic journals, official reports, and articles from different publishers—to get a comprehensive outlook. This is how you discover nuance, understand counterstatements, and build a truly comprehensive cognizance of a subject or a theme.

In the end, my group’s presentation was a valuable forewarning. It reminded me that while AI can make our lives easier, it cannot replace the cognitive effort that builds true expertise and credibility. Entrusting an algorithm to do our thinking for us puts us in jeopardy and prone to errors, preventing us from developing the hypercritical skills essential for educational and professional accomplishments. So, the next time you’re confronted with a research task, use AI to commence the task, but then put in the gruntwork to discover, verify, and apprehend the information for yourself. Your integrity and credibility depend on it.

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About Pranav

Pranav is a fresh graduate with an eccentric mind, a bright nature, and a heart full of ambition. Other than writing, Pranav also takes interest in diverse avocations like listening to music, diving into books, playing cricket and staying deeply affianced with current affairs. Pranav’s passion goes beyond personal hobbies—they’re driven by a desire to inspire others to improve civic sense and actively contribute to society. Pranav has a vision for change, he aims to tackle pressing social issues and create a more responsible, aware, and harmonious community.

He can be reached at pranavn696@gmail.com

Sometimes, life surprises us—not with loud, dramatic events, but with moments that slip in quietly and leave behind a deep, lasting impact. Last month, we were fortunate to experience one such moment. It didn’t involve grand plans or long preparations—just a simple school visit, followed by a tree plantation drive. Yet, what it left us with was something profound.

It all began with a casual invitation from the Event Coordinator. “Would you like to join the BCAS Foundation outreach activity?”, she asked. We said yes—almost instinctively. At the time, we didn’t think too much of it. It was just one of those spontaneous decisions. But looking back now, that simple ‘yes’ feels like the beginning of something important.

In the chaos of city life, where weekends are usually reserved for rest or personal errands, we rarely make time to step out for something that doesn’t directly serve us. But this time, stepping out changed something within.

Day 1: The School Visit

The school visit was more than just an activity—it was a reality check. Some parts of our society remain so far removed from the opportunities most of us take for granted. Witnessing firsthand how a basic necessity like education is still out of reach for many, was difficult. And yet, when we reached the school, we were welcomed with such affection, such hope. The classrooms were basic, the resources (were) minimal—but their hearts were wide open. What struck us was not just what they lacked, but how much hope they still held.

They welcomed us with innocent smiles—their eyes filled with curiosity and trust. The welcome song they sang for us gave us goose bumps. The melody was simple, but it carried an emotional weight that stirred something deep within. The small handmade gifts they gave us carried more gratitude than words ever could. And in return, all they expected was that we would remember them, and perhaps, care.

That day, we felt truly proud to be associated with the Bombay Chartered Accountants’ Society. We may not be directly out in the field but knowing that our work—even if it’s preparing a cheque, supporting the backend processes, or simply showing up—can touch lives in real ways, was humbling. It reminded us that purpose doesn’t always arrive with a spotlight, a title, or a uniform. More often, it exists quietly—in the background, in collaboration, and in the quiet consistency of showing up for something greater than us. That sense of shared mission and belonging was powerful, and on that day, it reminded us why we do what we do.

Day 2: The Tree Plantation

The next day’s tree plantation in a tribal area was equally impactful—but in a different way.

We visited a very scenic place—a lush, green space far removed from the noise of our daily lives. Here, we participated in a tree plantation drive, in a tribal village nestled amidst nature. As we planted saplings, something in us slowed down. Each sapling planted felt like a silent promise to nurture not just the environment, but a gentler part of ourselves. It wasn’t just a calm experience—it felt like reconnecting with something we had forgotten. Giving to the earth brought us a sense of peace we didn’t expect. It was a peaceful, grounding experience—something we didn’t know we needed until we were there.

We often talk about work-life balance, about finding peace, about reconnecting with ourselves. But here, without effort or expectation, it just happened. Being in nature reminded us of a truth we often forget that healing doesn’t always come from doing more—sometimes, it comes from simply being—still, present, open.

Reflections That Followed

As we made our way back, our minds were brimming with thoughts. The past two days replayed vividly—the incredible people we encountered, the purposeful work we engaged in, and the inspiring environment we were fortunate to experience. Amid all the joy, we couldn’t stop thinking about the hope we saw on the faces of the school children and their teachers. One question kept coming back again and again:

Who is truly underprivileged?

Those who live in nature, struggling for basic education and two meals a day?

Or those of us dwelling in concrete jungles, immersed in technology and comfort, yet endlessly craving peace, fresh air, and purpose?

Perhaps, both are. In different ways.

That’s why the work the BCAS Foundation does, matters so much. It’s not just about giving—it’s about building bridges. Between communities. Between privilege and need. Between the world we know, and the world we seldom see.

A Quiet Transformation

These two days are over. But the thoughts they sparked, the emotions they stirred, and the shift they brought in our perspective will stay for much longer. Maybe even forever.

And we truly hope that many more of us get to experience this kind of connection, reflection, and quiet transformation.

A big thank you to everyone at the BCAS Foundation for the incredible work in changing and transforming lives.

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About Shreya Sanas:

Curious by nature, Shreya enjoys learning and embraces challenges that help her grow. She approaches her work with sincerity and dedication. Friends and colleagues know her as approachable, trustworthy, and encouraging.

Outside of work, she values time with loved ones, feels connected to nature, and strongly believes in positive intentions. Striving to balance personal passions with professional goals, she adds depth and authenticity to everything she does.

Shreya can be reached at shreyasanas15@gmail.com

The word “drive” has several connotations. As a child I used to love the noun “drive” because typically, on holidays, it would mean my mom and dad taking us out by car just to have some fun. Later on, as an adult, when the verb “drive” came into my life, I started hating it, especially on the eternally crowded Mumbai roads. Much later, when I embraced work life, I realized that it’s this noun “drive” in its figurative meaning which is what differentiates “excellence” from “mediocrity”. If you have the drive to excel, no one can stop you!

So, what exactly is this (third) “drive”? The dictionary says it’s the energy and determination you need, to succeed at doing something – it’s what pushes you to get up and get going. In life’s journey, it’s the feeling which pushes you to do better. As per neuroscience, is there anything in brain physiology which affects this drive? Well, the answer is a yes! Whether a person is motivated or not is not just an abstract emotional concept – it’s a complex neurological process which involves the interplay of various parts of the brain.

We often associate the word “psychosomatic” with ailments, diseases or distress. But a lesser-known concept is what is called “positive psychosomatics”. It refers to the positive impact that a positive mindset has on our body. Take the case of climbers trying to summit Mount Everest. Typically, they are in what is known as the “death zone” – an altitude more than 8,000 metres, for around 16-20 hours. By this time, their bodies are struggling to survive, due to the lack of oxygen. There are countless accounts of climbers being stranded due to traffic jams on the mountain. There are tragic stories of climbers succumbing to the extreme conditions or having to abort and return to base. And there are also those who miraculously survive – they summit and return back to safety. Where do they get the resilience to push their bodies to conquer and come back? It’s the mental drive to be reunited with family and loved ones which leads them to meet the challenges head on, so to speak! This is one of the best examples of positive psychosomatics.

Closer home, all Chartered Accountants will agree that the Chartered Accountancy exam is no less than a death zone, in the way it tortures and tests the grit of every individual attempting to take it. It is pretty normal to need to appear for the exam multiple times before one can clear it. And when one does not succeed, it’s next to impossible to pinpoint what went wrong, or what is it that needs to be done differently! In moments of utter despair, giving it all up may seem to be a natural (and understandable) choice. And yet, those who are driven and keep pushing are the ones who succeed. Mere intelligence is not enough. The ability to keep going, the ability to push through the days of being unsure, tired and confused, is what helps one (to) realise the dream of adding the coveted prefix “CA” to one’s name.

Sports is yet another field where one’s mental state and psychology play a huge role in determining the outcome. You have surely witnessed some nail-biting cricket matches where fortunes have turned in the last over or balls. International cricket players are obviously talented and well-trained. Yet there are some among them who stand out on account of the way they handle themselves during intense situations. It’s their grit and the drive to win which helps them maintain a calm demeanour during an extremely stressful match.

Having established the fact that “being and staying motivated” is THE secret sauce of all achievers, more often than not, it is easier said than done. Very often, life throws us curveballs – forcing us to live through experiences which pull us down emotionally, making life difficult and impossible. At such times, the weak may quietly accept defeat and reconcile themselves to the situation as it unfolds. And yet some (dare I say, many?), will quietly push themselves, remain motivated and not “lose the drive”. How do they do that?

It is no surprise that very often, the answer lies in traditional Indian practices like yoga, pranayama and meditation. Those who practise these regularly are able to retain both calmness and positivity.

Our nervous system has a component called the “autonomic nervous system” (ANS) which regulates involuntary processes such as breathing, heart rate, blood pressure, digestion, etc. The brain manages these processes even as we sleep. The two main divisions of the ANS are the sympathetic nervous system and the parasympathetic nervous system. The sympathetic nervous system responds to all types of stress and is responsible for the “fight-or-flight” response, while the parasympathetic nervous system is responsible for the “rest-and-digest” response.  While a little “good stress” or “eustress” created by the limbic system leads to positive outcomes such as motivation, optimism and resilience, should stress levels increase, it can lead to “distress” and become counterproductive. At times such as these, an activated parasympathetic nervous system helps in not letting stress get the better of you.

Practices like yoga or pranayama which focus on mindful and deep breathing and focussed attention help in activating the parasympathetic nervous system. Once activated, it decreases heart rate and blood pressure, alleviates anxiety and emotional reactivity, and arouses a general sense of calm. When the mind is in this state, the positive and happy hormones get released, and the drive and motivation remain intact.

Another very important and helpful technique in keeping oneself motivated is “visualisation” – also referred to as “manifestation”. It is an established fact that the brain cannot distinguish between reality and imagination. It releases the same chemicals when one is experiencing something and also when one is only imagining/visualising it. No wonder then, looking at one’s holiday photos evoke the same feeling of joy as was experienced during the actual holiday. As we recount an incident to someone, just talking about it makes us as happy or as sad as the situation made us feel. It is this very trick which helps cricketers and Mount Everest climbers achieve their goals. Visualising the team holding the World Cup or (for the mountaineer) visualising being reunited with family rather than being frozen to death kicks in the motivation to fight till the very end.

It’s equally important to note here that “discipline” is a close ally, a very good friend of motivation. Very often, when motivation is lacking, discipline steps in and helps one push through difficult times! It is thus extremely important to complement a positive mindset with discipline.

Whether life is rosy or not, our response to situations determines the degree of our happiness. It is in our own interest then, to not stress too much and take charge of the steering wheel in this beautiful journey of life. Here’s wishing you a beautiful drive!

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About CA Ashwini Chitale

Ashwini is a Chartered Accountant by profession and also an MBA and LLB by qualification. Her area of interest and work is Valuations, and she is an IBBI registered valuer. She is associated with the BCAS as Convenor of the Seminar, Membership and Public Relations Committee. Prior to pursuing a career in Chartered Accountancy, she has worked in the field of insurance and reinsurance, in India and abroad. Ashwini loves to travel and meet new people. She believes that travel is the best teacher because it’s only when you visit new places and meet new people that you get more perspectives about life. She also enjoys documenting her travels by way of short videos or reels. Predominant amongst her other passions is cooking and she loves to host people.

She can be contacted on ashwini.nia@gmail.com

My relationship with God has always been one of quiet friendship. I have never been overly ritualistic or religious in the strict sense. But I do love the ringing sound of temple bells—it calms the mind. The serenity of the inner sanctum, the peaceful gaze of the deity—something about them brings a quiet joy. When I sit in the temple courtyard after the darshan, the storm of thoughts in my mind slows down. While I am not someone who prays every day or visits temples regularly, I do bow my head briefly every time I pass by one. It is not a grand gesture—it is a moment of acknowledgment, a nod to something larger than me.

Lately, I have observed a growing polarity in people’s attitudes. On one hand, there are ardent believers who are quite ritualistic and possibly on the verge of blind faith. On the other hand, there are confirmed atheists who are quick to mock everything that has the whiff of a belief. Everything has to be defined, defended, debated. Between these two extremes, there seems to be little space left for gentle faith, quiet respect, or simple practices.

In my opinion, it is the intermediate road which contains wisdom. That middle path—the path of balance—can often be the most meaningful. It does not dismiss the past, nor does it blindly accept it. It does not resist the new, but it doesn’t rush to abandon the old. It holds both ends of the thread with care.

In my opinion, it helps to spend ten minutes every morning in silence—a practice that modern vocabulary now labels “meditation.” And while English may dominate our daily conversations, chanting sacred verses or hymns at home has its own value. These age-old practices—havan, mantra uchcharan, reciting stotras—they may seem old-fashioned, but they generate a palpable positive energy in our spaces. The rhythm of a chant, the lighting of a lamp, the fragrance of agarbatti—these are sensory cues that create a mood of stillness, if only for a few minutes.

Technology and science are unquestionably important. They are constantly changing to improve our lives—this is good. I too find great enjoyment adapting to them. But even as we advance, I have always felt there is something more than science, more than logic, more than belief and incredulity—I have no name for it. A few call it God or Supreme Being; to me, it feels like Nature. Or perhaps, a quiet intelligence that pervades all things. It is in the way a river carves a valley, how a tree finds light, how a wound slowly heals.

Perhaps faith is more about appreciating the merits of both camps than it is about choosing one over the other. In a society that continuously pressures us to pick a side—believer or sceptic, traditionalist or modernist—it is easy to forget that one can be both curious and reverent, questioning and accepting. Faith, in this sense, is not always noticeable, loud, or assertive. Sometimes, all it takes to get through uncertain times is the silent strength or the quiet decision to be kind even when no one is looking.

Faith does not always demand a temple or a scripture. Sometimes it can be found in the small rituals that bring us together—like watering the plants, lighting a lamp in the evening, serving food with affection, or simply taking a moment at the end of the day to express gratitude. These are not grand proclamations of belief, but humble affirmations that life, in all its messiness, still holds meaning.

And when doubts do arise—as they inevitably will—perhaps faith is also the willingness to sit with the doubts. To not rush for answers. To resist the urge to dismiss them in frustration. To trust that clarity will come in its own time and way. There is something deeply human in the act of waiting—not passively, but attentively—for understanding to unfold.

By all means, embrace new thoughts, challenge old paradigms. But never forget that we shall receive back what we give to the world, whether it be in words or actions. That is the true law of nature—beyond religion, beyond philosophy. It governs us quietly, like gravity. I believe in the simple philosophy: You reap what you sow. And so far, it is the goodness I have tried to sow that has carried me through life.

So yes, I do place my trust in something deeper—call it faith, or simply an understanding that life flows best when lived in balance. It is not a doctrine, not a fixed rulebook, but a way of walking—a little slower, a little softer, with eyes open and heart steady. Of course, that’s just my perspective—my simple mantra.

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About Sachin Kulkarni:

Office Manager at BCAS since 2024, Sachin enjoys exploring new ideas and perspectives because he believes it broadens his understanding of the world. In his spare time, he enjoys reading books, listening to music, and writing blogs. He thrives in the company of others, always ready to listen and connect with empathy. While aware of life’s challenges, he maintains an optimistic outlook—embracing creativity, modesty, and a youthful spirit. Sachin chooses to live simply and frugally, yet he approaches life with enthusiasm and purpose.

Sachin can be reached at sachinbnhs@gmail.com.

Every journey is a page in our autobiography, etched with memories, revelations, and lessons that shape us. Often, it’s through travel, through stepping out of the familiar, that we truly discover ourselves and the world around us.

In my early twenties (2009), I was finishing my final project at the NID, Ahmedabad, preparing to enter the world of textile design. That journey led me to Barmer, a traditional village near the India-Pakistan border, known for the ancient craft of Ajrakh block printing. Despite the harsh desert climate, people preserved age-old traditions through their art, music, and festivals, making Barmer a living canvas of Rajasthan’s heritage.

Raised in a conservative family where women rarely stepped out alone, this was my first solo trip, my first real test of independence. It felt like crossing an invisible threshold. I carried within – both excitement and a quiet fear of the unknown.

Barmer welcomed me with more than just its rich colors and prints. I met three women each at a different stage in life, each navigating their own limitations with incredible resilience. Through their stories, I not only learned about the depth of tradition, but also discovered a stronger, more grounded version of myself.

This journey wasn’t just about textiles. It was about identity, courage, and the quiet power of choosing to move forward, no matter how heavy the weight of tradition.

A Young Chef in Barmer: A Dinner I’ll Never Forget

One quiet evening in Barmer, I was invited to dinner by a local artisan. His family, his wife, their ten-year-old daughter, and two younger sons, aged five and three, greeted me with smiles.

It was the young daughter who caught my attention the most. In her colourful frilly frock and traditional pyjama, I saw her preparing food for the entire family. As our conversation unfolded, so did her story.

She didn’t go to school. Her days were filled with responsibilities that were far beyond her years. Fetching water from the village well, taming the animals, and preparing meals for the entire family.

When dinner was served, as we were about to begin, the little girl leaned over the dish she had made and took a quick sniff.

“Sabji mein namak kam hai” (there is less salt in the curry), she remarked casually.

She was right. I was stunned. This child, barely ten, had cooked enough times to know her recipes by its smell. It was impressive and heartbreaking all at once.

My experience in the kitchen was quite the opposite. I was rarely allowed to cook. My mother pushed us to pursue a life beyond it, her way of ensuring we didn’t repeat her story. Seeing a young girl in Barmer carry household responsibilities was a wake-up call, revealing how vastly different and distinct each woman’s life can be.

I felt a sharp pang of guilt as I watched her. At an age when most children are just beginning to understand the world, she had already become its backbone.

The Woman in Black: Breaking Traditions in Barmer

At a local block printer’s unit, I met a woman whose life story could be described as an embodiment of defiance and resilience. Her husband used to work in this printing unit. Widowed at an early age, rather than succumb to the limitations imposed on her, she became the first and, for many years, the only woman in the village to practice Ajrakh block printing.

In Barmer, like many traditional villages, it was widely believed that women should not participate in the art of block printing. The long-standing belief was that if women were involved, the colors would not hold well on the fabric. When I asked her what made her push boundaries, she merely said that there was no other choice. She brushed off the word courage and added casually that anyone in her place would have done the same. The basic necessity of looking after her kids and ailing parents was more important than “what will people say”.

Her entry into this male-dominated space wasn’t without its challenges. Society had laid down its expectations for women, and the art of block printing was considered sacred, a male-only domain. But she didn’t let this stop her. She learned the craft from the men in her family, and though she was allowed to print only in black dye called “kat”, her contribution was invaluable.

What struck me was the contrast between our worlds. In Barmer, women often had to work out of sheer necessity. In my background, women were often discouraged from working, not because they couldn’t, but because it was seen as unnecessary. In both cases, patriarchy played a role but with different justifications. There, it was about survival. In mine, it was about control.

Today, younger women in the village look up to her as a pioneer, someone who broke the glass ceiling of cultural norms.

Lessons in Quiet Courage: What Barmer Taught Me

At 21, I arrived in Barmer with the zeal of an eager student and the responsibility of documenting something far greater than a mere academic project. I was tasked with researching Ajrakh block printing a centuries-old craft that had been passed down through generations in this region.

I had come from the comfort of my education, armed with opportunities that the other women I met on this journey had never had. They were born into a world where education, travel, and choice were luxuries. They navigated life with strength and resilience that came from necessity, not privilege. As I walked through the village, engaging with artisans, listening to their stories, and learning the meticulous process of Ajrakh block printing, I couldn’t help but reflect on the stark contrast between my life and theirs.

I realised how fortunate I was to learn and explore opportunities many women from my background cannot even dream of. Bound by marriage and patriarchy, they’re often denied the chance to study, step out, or chase the lives they quietly long for.

While I learned the delicate art of Ajrakh block printing, the true lesson came from the stories I encountered. These women – whether young, old, or somewhere in between, showed me that there is more than one way to preserve a culture. They did it with their hands, their voices, their quiet resistance, and their unwavering commitment to keep traditions alive.

I left Barmer with more than just knowledge of textiles; I left with the stories of women whose resilience would continue to inspire me for years to come.

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About: Rose Marie Savio

A colour enthusiast and lifelong textile student, she thrives on exploring craft and textile exhibitions across the city. Through her Mumbai-based studio, Fishtree Films & Design co-founded with her partner in 2017, she documents stories of artisans, culture, and craft from across India. Travel fuels her creativity, often leading her to hidden, soulful food spots. When not working or exploring, you’ll find her unwinding with Netflix and a quiet weekend.

Rose Marie can be reached @rosemarie.td@gmail.com

“Conversation is a meeting of minds with different memories and habits. When minds meet, they don’t just exchange facts: they transform them, reshape them, draw different implications from them and engage in new trains of thought. Conversation doesn’t just reshuffle the cards: it creates new cards.” — Theodore Zeldin

Recently, I came across a news article about a Bangalorean who shared the video of his grandmother’s first interaction with ChatGPT Voice — and it struck a chord with many. But somehow, I felt that the very question which she would have liked to ask the young man directly, the grandma asked AI; why?

In another video, a son records himself wishing his mother “Happy Mother’s Day” so that he may share it on social media. The mother’s response, however, is heart breaking. She asks her son to install Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and other apps on her mobile so she can talk to him. Just so that she can connect with him, she is prepared to learn to use these social media platforms.

With everyone so busy in their daily schedule these days, we rarely have time to talk to family members or elders, who would be naturally more inclined to listen to us and offer solutions. Instead, we listen to our phones, talk to SIRI/ALEXA, look up answers on Google, and live our lives according to the rules set by the digital world.

Even while commuting, one can observe people so very engrossed in their devices that they rarely pay attention to all that is happening around them – this happens even as they are crossing the streets – which can lead to accidents. In local trains, people place their body weight on another person, leaving their hands to type on WhatsApp or scroll through reels. Is this what life has come to?

The increasing prevalence of social media has regrettably resulted in young individuals potentially lacking the essential communication skills required for successful face-to-face interactions. The allure and convenience of online communication may very well contribute to a decline in practising interpersonal communication. In the long run, this could lead to social isolation and loneliness, which can significantly impact a person’s mental and physical health as well as their quality of life – making them major health concerns.

Conversation is the most human characteristic we all possess. Dialogue represents one of the most quintessential aspects of our humanity. It is within this exchange that empathy is cultivated, as eye contact fosters comprehension, allowing us to gain profound insights into what the other person is thinking. Through conversation, we not only discover the intricacies of those around us but also deepen our understanding of ourselves.

Effective communication is essential across all aspects of life, encompassing both personal and professional spheres. Proficient communication skills, such as engaging in conversations, allow us to understand others and articulate our thoughts clearly, facilitating the exchange of information.

The advantages of being present in person cannot be overstated. For families, the crucial initial step is to make an effort to be physically and emotionally available for loved ones as frequently as possible. This presence can significantly impact an individual’s health and overall well-being. Engaging in storytelling and discussing daily experiences over a nutritious meal serves as a powerful means of connection. Sharing meals with family or friends enhances the dining experience, making it more rewarding. Many individuals assert that meals are more enjoyable when shared, and research suggests that those who dine together tend to eat at a slower pace and opt for healthier choices compared to those who eat alone.

Remember that healthy conversation is a two-way street. Learn to practice active listening. Be receptive and open to hearing what the other person has to say. In almost every field of life, wherever we’re working, living and existing, conversation is undeniably a huge part of everyday life. No matter whether you are studying or working, conversation can aid you to build a relationship with the people.

It can be challenging to care for and communicate with elderly people, but we need to understand that effective communication is crucial for preserving a positive attitude and fostering positive interpersonal interactions in addition to lowering miscommunications, disputes, and stress when interacting with seniors. Communicate with kindness and invest yourself in the conversation.

Let me share with you a personal experience of mine. As part of my daily ritual, I spend some time after dinner walking around my building premises. One day, I noticed an 80+ year old lady sitting on the bench. She would simply stare at the people passing by without saying anything. I initially thought she was waiting for someone to join her.  One day, I smiled at her and then from that day onwards, made it a point to smile at her every single time I passed her by. After a few days, she began to smile back, and a week later, we began to exchange pleasantries. Slowly but surely, we started to converse.

She told me about how she used to live in a different area, and how her only son, who now lived overseas with his wife and seven-year-old kid, had bought her a new house. She was a widow, and her son made it a point to phone her once a week to check on her health and other matters. She would insist her son keep the calls brief as she was worried about the charges for international calls.

Over time, I started identifying conversation starters and we would soon engage in deep conversations. She started waiting anxiously for my arrival every day and would animatedly fill me in on her day’s activities once I would reach. As days went by, a few more senior ladies joined us. I started seeing a visible difference on her countenance – she was more relaxed, happy and confident.  I would start a conversation, and the ladies would jump right into it. Slowly, I realized that our relationship had deepened and that everyone was eager to share their ideas and experiences. And it was not just a one-way street – over time, I found them to be a source of comfort and support whenever I needed assistance.

My life is a lot richer now with these relationships and bonds I have formed – to think that all it started with was me choosing to smile at one senior citizen instead of looking through her or averting my gaze.

I encourage you to initiate a conversation with someone you don’t know. This small act of kindness could brighten their day and contribute to a more connected and accepting world.

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About Rati Nair:

A BCAS staffer since 2013, Rati enjoys interacting with people because she believes it broadens her perspective and how she approaches others. In her spare time, she enjoys playing games, singing, and taking quizzes with her children. Her house is lively and provides many opportunities to engage with others more as a result. Being surrounded by teenagers and seniors all the time, Rati listens to and comprehends them. Although conscious of life’s stressors and challenges, she likes to stay upbeat, creative, modest, soft-spoken, and youthful at heart. She has a deep love for music, painting, cooking, and gardening. She prefers to live simply and modestly while still enjoying life to the fullest.

Rati can be reached at prakash.rati@gmail.com

Sameer usually scored average marks in his high school. In a couple of instances, he even failed a few subjects. While growing up, he struggled academically, and this lowered his self confidence too. Due to the fear of being mocked, he started skipping his classes.

The school used to conduct an aptitude test for entrance exams to various universities, upon graduating from school. This was one of the toughest tests to clear; Sameer promised his mother that we would take this aptitude test.

Though Sameer studied hard for it, he did not expect a good score for himself. When the results were out, he was pleasantly surprised – he had scored a whopping 1450 out of 1600! His happiness knew no bounds. His mother, knowing her kid, asked him, “Did you cheat?” He convinced her that he had solved the test honestly and had not cheated. Sameer eventually graduated from a reputed college and went on to become a successful entrepreneur.

This isn’t the story. What comes next is the important part.

20 years later (when he was a successful businessman), Sameer received a letter from his school.  The letter said that as part of periodic review, it had come to light that he was 1 of the 13 students from his batch who had been sent incorrect scores – his actual score was 740, a very low score.

Until then, Sameer had assumed that his life had changed because he had scored really high on the test. He realized that his life had changed not because of the ‘fantastic score’, but because his attitude and behavior had changed after ‘scoring superbly’ – the right attitude and behavior are keys to success.

“Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude.”

Two things to learn from this anecdote??

Self-Belief:

The driver behind Sameer’s success in life was the ‘whopping score’ he got. Opportunity knocked on his door – he grabbed it – his newfound courage helped him get a seat into a prestigious university where he performed well – all this contributed to Sameer’s initial success.

The entire incident led to self-belief emerging from within, which later motivated him to start his own and become a successful entrepreneur. This success was possible because Sameer started believing in himself, broadened his horizons and remained committed towards his goal. His strong sense of belief acted as a shield against all criticism and rejection that Sameer had faced as a failure during his schooldays.  The change in his behavior and belief helped develop his self-confidence, enabling him to face varied experiences with resilience.

The unwavering belief in one’s abilities forms the foundation upon which we build our futures. As we delve into the realms of self-discovery, it becomes clear that self-belief and self-confidence are critical in bringing about a transformative change, not only in our own lives, but in those around us too. This self-belief serves as inner strength when confronted with condemnation and rejection. It acts as armor through the challenges of life.

 Keep Moving:

We all use Google Maps, don’t we? If and when we miss a turn, Google Maps doesn’t say, “Hey, you took/ are taking a wrong turn”. It simply re-routes and guides you to the next best option to reach your destination.

The lesson we can take from this is that we need to understand that we are not off track, we just need to keep on moving and re-work our strategy. We may take a bit longer to reach our destination, or we may not reach the intended destination, but instead find a new pathway to a better one. The most important thing here is to keep moving.

In the above anecdote, his actual failure in his aptitude test did not stop Sameer from moving ahead with newfound confidence, which later became the driver for his professional success.

“Life has no limitations, except the ones you make.”

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 About Sneha:

Sneha is a Chartered Accountant by profession and is a strong believer of optimism in most of the life situations. Apart from being passionate in playing various outdoor games, she likes travelling viz; leisure, business, culture, religious, ecotourism etc.

Sneha can be reached at snehapatel3984@gmail.com

One afternoon in my Mumbai office, just after lunch, my manager called me on the intercom to his cabin. I was surprised to find our DGM there. He informed me that Tata Consulting Engineers (TCE) needed my expertise as a Cable Engineer for a client in Iran and directed me to TCE’s Project Division for details. I was then an employee of Tata Hydroelectric Power Supply Company, now Tata Power.

The next day, I was briefed on the project and deputation terms for TAVANIR, Iran’s Power Authority. While it was beneficial to my career, I had to discuss it with my wife, as it meant a two-year stay without family, with paid leave every six months. With two young children, the eldest (my son) just above ten and a daughter still a toddler, we deliberated before I agreed. However, the project details and living conditions remained unclear until I arrived in Tehran!

TAVANIR, the Power Authority of Iranian Ministry, engaged the consultancy services of TATA’s to oversee the installation and commissioning of their 66kV Power Distribution network. That’s how, in 1977, I became a part of a team of three engineers deputed as consultants, to oversee the installation and commissioning of a large 66kV underground cable network. The other two team members were assigned to manage civil work and sub-station erection.

That’s how we, the three musketeers, landed up in Chabahar, Iran!

The representative of TAVANIR briefed me that the project site was an upcoming defense base and explained the expanse of the project, scope of work and living facilities at site, etc.  He also gently warned me that being a defense base, it would be under the surveillance of Iran’s Secret police…the SAVAK!

Under the rule of Mohamed Reza Shah Pahlavi, also known as Shah of Iran – plans were afoot since mid-1976 to set up a vital defense base comprising the Navy, Air Force and Army of the US at Chabahar, a strategically located port close to the Strait of Hormuz. Why vital? Because you could scuttle a few junk ships in the narrowest part of this strait and ensure that no oil tankers could find their way in and out of the Gulf…take a look at the map! (Map 1) A virtual stranglehold on the region’s transport route.

The project was actually in a place called Konarak (loosely termed as Chabahar) which was a sparsely populated desert, sprinkled with an occasional oasis or a hamlet of the local Baluchi inhabitants. It would be interesting to know that Baluchistan, which is spread across the Iranian and West Pakistan territories, had a very porous border. Our base camp was located at Konarak, about 70 km by road from Chabahar Town. (refer Map 2).

There were only two seasons: 1) Summer, peaking at 53^oC and 2) Not so hot summer, peaking at 42^oC! We stayed in camping cabins that were thankfully air-conditioned! Breakfast, lunch and dinner (no free meals!) were served at the Iranian camp diner. The menu primarily consisted of chicken, eggs, beef, mutton, naan, and occasional rice recipes. The three of us being vegetarians, the only vegetables we could find were lemon and onions in salads! Life in the desert was tough, and family status was denied.

The Project Head from the Iranian Ministry for Power (TAVANIR) learnt of our plight and provided facilities like a gas range, fridge, utensils etc. We sourced a portable cabin (like a camper), scrounged around for a wash basin, etc. from the Iranian camp next door. Since I am a do-it-yourself (DIY) kind of a guy, I set up the kitchen – complete with power source, lighting, water inlets, wash basin, drainage, cook top, etc.

These were the late 70’s and Chabahar at that time was the only outpost closest to us for survival. It provided us:

♦ Telephonic connectivity to Tehran, the capital of Iran, and overseas to India

♦ The facility to send and receive surface mail

♦ Petrol and diesel for our vehicles

♦ Medical aid facility at the Red Crescent Hospital

♦ Our day-to-day essentials and consumables

While we were camped practically on the seashore, the work sites of the Army, Navy, and Air Force defense bases were spread over a large area, and we would easily cover anywhere between 70-80 km a day, driving between the sites to oversee and monitor the progress at each site. Barring the electric substation, the naval base was exclusively under the control of the US Navy for security and other reasons.

Given the intense heat, the working hours were, mercifully, from 7 am to 12 noon and from 2 pm to 5 pm. And oh yes, officially it was a 5-day work week, with Thursday and Fridays as our weekly off. It really didn’t matter as we didn’t live with our families and so we didn’t have anywhere to go and spend time on the weekends.

The 5-day week was a joke, at least for us Asians. The Swedish, British, French, and Italians would hold barbecue parties with fresh livestock slaughtered on site. We were rarely invited and even on that odd day, we wouldn’t relish it as most of us were vegetarians and teetotalers.

We had a lot to do ourselves over the weekends. We had to stock diesel and replenish our food supplies for at least a fortnight and speak to our families back in India. We had to use the Land Rover, driven by me, to travel 70 km each way, to Chabahar town and back.

Communication over the phone, especially outside the country, was a challenge in itself. Since there were only landlines those days, we had to book an international call (in India we called it Standard Trunk Dialing – STD). We would wait for hours to get our turn and since the call was timed, we would receive reminders of the minutes remaining and that would momentarily disrupt our train of thought of what we wanted to convey in those precious minutes. On an unlucky day, the call would disconnect due to technical issues. And to top it all, we had to be wary of what we said, as we had a feeling that the lines were tapped!!!

Logistics in terms of our movement in and out of Konarak to other cities was only by air using chartered flights that operated once a week to Shiraz. This arrangement was free and exclusively meant for project personnel. From Shiraz, we had to use regular commercial airlines to move to other cities in Iran, including Tehran.

The flights from Tehran would bring much-awaited mail from our families – written by them weeks before and received by TAVANIR’s office in Tehran. These flights also carried much-needed condiments and essential ingredients required for our kitchen, sent by our counterparts in Tehran.

Konarak had a dubious record. While we could get items like processed food, white goods, alcohol, and even SUVs smuggled from the UAE across the Gulf of Oman (refer Map 1) in dhows, we could not access fresh fruits and vegetables or even a carton of processed milk (we had to make do with milk powder).

In early 1978, around Navroz, we heard whispers about an ongoing revolution to overthrow the monarchy. History unfolded as the royals were deposed, and a strict religious regime took control. Though it was an internal matter, it created immense insecurity among all the expats. As soon as the revolution took momentum in mid-1978, The Revolutionary Guards, loyal to the incoming rulers, operated with unchecked authority, targeting foreigners, especially Americans, as the Chabahar defense base was being built by the US. The British, Italian, and French nationals were also at risk and had fled by late 1978. Only we three Indians, a few Sri Lankans, Bangladeshis, and some local Baluchi employees remained on-site.

Push came to shove in a way that was both unpleasant and serendipitous! We were in the habit of sitting outside the camper to have dinner every night, next to the parked Land Rover. On one such night, a shot rang out and the next thing we heard was a bullet whiz past me and hit the parked Land Rover! Deciding enough was enough; we packed up and decided to leave for Tehran via Shiraz by the chartered flight that came in once a week from Shiraz.

The flight, meant for base personnel, was free, but a Revolutionary Guard, wielding an M16, barred us as “Khariji” (foreigners). With no choice, we abandoned the site and most belongings, taking a bus to Tehran, nearly 2,000 km — facing multiple checkpoints and harassment. By the time we arrived, winter had set in, but we were still dressed for Chabahar’s summer!

Our troubles continued as the government machinery came to a standstill, disrupting money transfers. A daily limit was imposed on fund repatriation, forcing us to queue outside the bank from 7 am in the freezing winter, waiting for our turn to remit money.

In January 1979, Shah Reza Pahlavi fled, allowing Ayatollah Khomeini’s return on February 1. Expats were advised to stay indoors, and we watched from terraces as jubilant crowds and Revolutionary Guards welcomed him with great fanfare.

Obtaining our exit visa was a challenge, as ministry employees had deserted their offices due to the revolution. After settling our dues, our parent company paid us in Iranian Rials, nearly worthless in India. We managed to exchange them for US dollars at an exorbitant rate.

Finally, I got my exit visa and left for the airport! The gun-toting trigger-happy Revolutionary Guards were there too. My check-in and cabin baggage were thoroughly checked (I had no idea what it was they thought I would be carrying from a country that had been impoverished overnight)! The Guards found a couple of audio cassette tapes of Iranian songs sung by a famous singer (of the Shah regime), Googoosh. She too had fled Iran. The tapes were crushed and destroyed by them with the butts of their automatic weapons.

Only on planting my feet on Indian terra firma, did I realize that with nothing better to do, I had grown a beard in Baluchi style. When my family came to receive me at the airport, my five-year-old daughter let out a shriek on seeing me!

Though there are instances I would rather forget, like the bullet whizzing past me, I am able to recollect the minute details at this age since they are firmly etched in my memory for posterity!

At the Chabahar site.. the author with his trustworthy pal, his (ramshackle) Land Rover (with no AC) who bore the brunt of the harsh climate and harsh terrain.

The temperatures would rise to 52^oC, so high that you could actually cook a sunny side up on its bonnet!

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About: Balakumar V.

As he approaches his 85th birthday, he finds joy in reflecting on his journey. The youngest of four siblings, his childhood unfolded in Kolkata, Delhi, and Mumbai (in that order). By his own admission, he wasn’t an exceptional student, but neither was he dull—with a mind always brimming with curiosity. At the tender age of eleven, he had dismantled a German KIENZLE alarm clock, only to fail at reassembling it—earning a memorable thrashing from his father!

Recognizing his inquisitive nature, his father gifted him a Fretwork toolkit on his 12th birthday, setting him on a creative path. He soon ventured into aeromodelling and electronics, eventually pursuing engineering, a career his father had envisioned for him. He stepped into the engineering college just as his father retired, studying on his modest pension.

His career spanned thirty years at Tata Electric, followed by a stint in Bahrain’s R&D section of the Distribution Directorate of the Ministry of Electricity and Water until 2002, when he finally hung up his boots. Even in retirement, his DIY passion thrives—at 85, he built a tool chest on wheels using electric and hand tools! Creativity keeps life exciting—is his lifelong Mantra!

Mr. Balakumar can be reached at chandrasekarbalakumar@gmail.com