What gives you direction in life?

It began with something as ordinary as a monthly ration delivery—five kilos of wheat flour among other essentials. While checking the items, I noticed small holes in the atta packet, carefully concealed with cellophane tape. The complaint was raised, the refund was issued, and yet the damaged packet remained with me. “No one else will buy it,” they said. “Use it however you want.”

But how does one “use” something when doubt quietly creeps in?

I knew, rationally, that it might still be safe. And yet, there was that lingering fear—what if a rat had gnawed through it? What if it wasn’t clean? That single “what if” outweighed the logic. I chose to throw it away. Donating it didn’t feel right either, not with that uncertainty attached. And as I let it go, an unexpected heaviness settled in my chest.

The very next day, my social media was flooded with videos—images of abandoned elderly people, fragile and forgotten. One video, in particular, refused to leave my mind. An old woman, reduced to skin and bones, sat quietly on a roadside. She wasn’t shouting, not pleading loudly—just extending her trembling hand, occasionally touching the feet of passersby in silent desperation. No one stopped. No one looked. After a while, she slowly withdrew her hand and placed it on her forehead, as if gathering the strength to endure yet another night on an empty stomach.

That moment broke something inside me.

I struggle to tolerate hunger for even a few hours—it brings headaches, nausea, unease. And yet, there are millions who sleep hungry, for whom a single meal a day is a blessing. How does one reconcile this reality? How does one accept that while some of us discard food out of fear or doubt, others are fighting just to survive another day?

That old woman—she wasn’t meant for the streets. At what point does a human life become so invisible that even suffering loses its voice?

I have seen old age up close. I have lost all four of my grandparents. They lived full lives, surrounded by family, cared for, and yet, even in comfort, there was a quiet helplessness in their final years. The wrinkles, the fragile bodies, the dependence—it was painful to witness. But at least they had dignity. At least they had someone to hold their hand.

What about those who don’t?

To be poor is unfortunate. But to be poor and elderly—that is a different kind of tragedy altogether.

We speak of development, of progress, of systems and governance. But where do these systems fail that an 80-year-old woman must beg on the streets, not even with the strength to beg properly? Why does survival, at that age, still depend on chance and passing kindness?

We often blame the government, question policies, criticize corruption—and perhaps rightly so. But the discomfort doesn’t end there. Even charity feels uncertain. There are countless NGOs, countless promises, yet trust is fragile. Who is genuine? Who is not? And so many of us resort to helping directly, one person at a time, knowing it is never enough.

The truth is uncomfortable: empathy exists, but it is scattered. Systems exist, but they are inconsistent. Wealth exists, but it is unevenly shared.

And somewhere in between, humanity struggles.

That discarded packet of flour—it now feels symbolic. Not just of waste, but of the gap between fear and need, between doubt and desperation. What I could not bring myself to use, someone else might have cherished.

Perhaps the question is not about systems alone, or governments, or the wealthy. Perhaps it is also about us—about how often we pause, how often we look, how often we choose to act beyond our hesitation.

Because somewhere, not too far away, someone is still sitting quietly on a street… waiting not just for food, but for someone to notice they exist.

Maybe that’s what gives me direction in life to go on while I am capable. To help or to change at least one person’s life while there is still time.

What is your favorite type of weather?

Spring

Spring has such a magnificent way of attracting anyone to its lovely self. The newly budding leaves in dry lifeless trees of winter, the blooming flowers, the colours of various plants and flowers in the surrounding. Spring always takes me to a nostalgia. Not to any particular memory per se , but just to a magical imaginary place where a slow music is being played in the background. The cold yet having a bit of warmth kind of breeze, the sweet sweet scent of new everything… I just cannot express how much I love spring…..

Write about your first computer.

I had come across internet recently when someone said that there is a thing called YouTube which has all the songs, movies, videos in the world and it can be accessible only through a computer with an internet connection. I got greedy, couldn’t resist the temptation and started insisting my parents for a computer giving them the reason that through internet, we can have a wide variety of study materials, tutorial videos, wikipedia information and what not. Being the innocent 90s parents, they gave me a computer, that too the LED ones, not the old school computer.

Till date, I have the collection of music, that i had downloaded spending a lot of bandwidth, hours, taking advantage of all the free downloadable websites. I can never let go of that collection. I keep on transferring them to each computers, mobiles that i have owned…

What makes you feel nostalgic?

Some places, some smells, some music… basically, one can never predict what can suddenly make one feel nostalgic. I once went to Kerala for a school trip. We students shared a dorm, and almost everyone was using the same Lux pink soap. The bathrooms on the entire floor were filled with the fragrance of that particular soap. Till date, whenever I use that soap or come across that smell, I suddenly feel nostalgic—almost unconsciously—and go back to that Kerala trip.

I am a big Sonu Nigam fan. There are some of his songs that I used to listen to repeatedly during my teenage years, as they were hits at that time. Even now, when I listen to those songs, I can clearly remember how I used to sit leaning against my room’s window, looking outside and trying to hear the songs clearly from a tape recorder.

Do you spend more time thinking about the future or the past? Why?

I do spend a lot of time thinking about my future. Thinking about the past over and over again means one has regrets. I can’t say I don’t have any but I feel like there is no solution to that once it’s in the past. But we can shape the future accordingly by learning from the past, hence I prefer to think about the future rather than to stick with the past.

What is the greatest gift someone could give you?

I’m an avid book reader. I don’t want to sound so materialistic but to have a collection of some fantastic book series such as Harry Potter, Lord of Rings, all Agatha Christie books etc can be a greatest gift to have. Also being an Indian music lover(not a fan of today’s music at all though) , I have a great collection of good old Bollywood music and I am pretty proud of my collection. So for me, i don’t think there’s any better gift in this world than getting to meet to some of my favourite singers or musicians in this lifetime.

I too had a love story : The book is a sad love story which would not have any life-changing impact on me if I will read it now for the first time. But the book holds a special place in my heart till date even though I had first read it some 13 years back. I was a teenager; full with soft teenage love and it was my very first novel . And the book didn’t disappoint me at all, rather I kind of advertised it to my friends and siblings and every one in the same age group. I became a novel-reading maniac after that. I have read some 500 + books after that, but the first one always holds a special place.

The Alchemist : The book is an obvious masterpiece. For me, it have had an impact because I had never read something so complicated yet so addictive book before this book. I don’t know whether I apply the life lessons that the book teaches in my real life, but I surely have referred the book to a lot many people and I was the very first one to read such a master-class book in my group so it kind of increased my reputation a very big time in my study group at that time.

The Immortals of Meluha : Mythology generally son’t attract me. I find it very boring dark. That is the reason I have not read or watched some masterpieces like The Lord of the Rings. Someone pestered me to read Meluha again and again and it was a hit at that time. I started it with having no expectation and ended it with reading all the sequels and waiting eagerly for the next sequel to be released. The book is so good that I started liking mythology very much. Amish Tripathi has mixed some great Indian mythology to some modern age fiction and represented the book in such a way that I could actually see the scenes happening in front of me while reading the series of his books.