“Let’s bet on a McD burger then!”

“Let’s bet on a McD burger then!” I challenged him with a grin.

It was 1999. I had passed my 10th standard the previous year and was still pretty tight with this guy. We used to ride our bicycles to and from school together, and even after that, we stayed in touch.

One day, while slouching on his living room sofa, watching TV, he said, “Antara Mali (an actress) is doing so much these days.”

“Yeah, but where did she come from all of a sudden?” I replied.

“Didn’t you see her in the promo just now?” he asked.

I laughed. “That wasn’t Antara Mali, it was someone else.”

Back then, Google had just been founded, and the internet wasn’t mainstream yet. We didn’t have an easy way to verify things. We argued a bit, but I knew he was confused. I let it slide.

A couple of days later, the movie ads started appearing in the newspapers. The debate flared up again. His confidence - bordering on delusion - amazed me. I laughed and told him he needed to stop the madness. That’s when we agreed to place the burger bet.

McDonald’s had just opened its first Mumbai outlet in 1996 at Linking Road, Bandra, and it's burgers were a big deal back then. The burgers then were something else - nothing like what we get at any burger chains today. I was eyeing a free McVeggie with cheese and extra mayo. To gather proof for my win, I started asking around and even sifted through newspapers daily, hoping to find the actress’s name. But no luck. Eventually, the debate faded, and we forgot about it.

A few weeks later, I was passing by Gaiety Galaxy Gemini (movie theatres in Bandra) when I spotted a huge poster of the same movie. The names of the main and supporting cast were printed in the bottom-right corner. On the third or fourth row, I read: “Antara Mali.” I stood there in disbelief, realizing I was everything I had accused my friend of being.

It might seem like a random memory, but it’s often these seemingly trivial moments that become core memories - quiet reminders for the mind to stay mindful. Over the last 25 years, many times when I’ve been absolutely certain about something, I’ve found myself thinking back to this incident. Just to pause and consider: maybe, just maybe, my conviction, judgment, or opinion might be misplaced.

The friend I mentioned here is Ashutosh. Ashu, I’m not sure if I ever treated you to that burger back then - but even if I did, I still owe you a Maharaja Mac. For inadvertently helping me build a core memory that’s stayed with me ever since.

By the way, the movie we were debating about was "Mast". And just like back then, I still ask for extra mayo in my burgers. Some things don’t change.

“…do you remember how students reacted when someone in the exam always asked for supplements first?”

“…do you remember how students reacted when someone in the exam always asked for supplements first?” he said.

This was during one of my role transitions. A new role is always exciting, ain't it? Especially for someone like me - a fixer. I’ve always loved spotting leaks, and the thrill of fixing them gives me a dopamine rush. So, when you step into a new job or role, your eyes light up at the fountain of leaks your predecessor may have missed - often due to blind spots or other reasons.

So I got to work - identifying leaks, calling out system & process inefficiencies, and tackling productivity hogs that needed fixing. But what followed was what usually happens when someone new steps in with a grand plan to turn things around: questions, objections, skepticism, and roadblocks from all directions. It was frustrating, but I stayed the course. Still, there came a point when I began to feel that things weren’t heading in the right direction.

Around that time, I had my year-end discussion with my boss - we talked about what went well and what could have been better. But the very next day, a calendar invite landed in my inbox titled “Year-End Catch-Up.” It was from my boss’s boss. It took him just five minutes to succinctly sum up what he thought my past year had been like - and then he said what I quoted above. He had sensed the unrest within me.

“Every individual is really good at a few things, decent at some, and needs to work on others,” he said, pausing to let the thought sink in. “Speed is your forte. But if you keep asking for supplement after supplement, some people may get uncomfortable or defensive. In school exams, it’s all about individual performance. But in the corporate world, most projects are team efforts, with dependencies across stakeholders. You won’t get very far if you’re fast but others can’t keep up. So slow down a little. Eventually, they’ll speed up a bit too and somewhere in the middle, you’ll find the pace to get where you want.” he added.

The thought stayed with me - long and deep. It reminded me of Herbie from The Goal by Eliyahu Goldratt. Herbie was the bottleneck that determined the pace of the entire group. But he wasn’t the problem - he was part of the team. His characteristics simply made him the natural limiter. I realized I’d encounter many Herbies in my work. Heck, I might even be a Herbie for someone else.

From then on, I decided to slow down my fixing crusade. Not stop - just slow down a little. I began trying to understand the Herbies and, where possible, nudge them to pace up a bit.

Is slowing down frustrating at times? Absolutely. But it’s still better than running around with your shirt on fire - spreading the fire.

“…you drive like Schumacher!"

“…you drive like Schumacher! I used to drive like you when I was younger,” he said, flashing a well-chiseled smile beneath his salt & pepper look.

In 2018, not long after I’d joined Marsh India, I found out one evening that the CFO hadn’t brought his car. Since his home was on my way, I offered him a lift.

I’d already shifted through three gears before we even got out of the building - hence his Schumacher quip. Ironically, Schumi probably hadn’t driven stick in ages, but I got the point.

“Don’t you listen to K-pop? My kids love it,” he asked as I turned the volume down. I love loud music, so it can be jarring for anyone riding with me. I replied in the negative as we approached a signal.

“Don’t you take the Sea Link?” he asked, surprised. “Nope. That route’s longer. Costs more in tolls & fuel,” I replied. I was surprised he even asked. I never saw the point in choosing a longer, costlier route.

“You’re right,” he said, gently cutting through my inner judgment, “but I always take it. The roads are wider, the drive far more peaceful than the cramped city lanes.” I nodded but didn’t quite relate.

The discussion drifted to credit cards. “I use five different ones to squeeze out savings- one each for movies, dining, fuel, travel, and a fifth in case a great deal came up.” I was beaming like an expert as I rattled off my strategy. But the light on my face dimmed when I saw him smile. “I can’t track all that - takes too much mind space. I just use one,” he said calmly. That shut me up. I dropped him off soon after and drove away.

7 years later:

- I now take the longer route to either of my Mumbai offices - Powai or Prabhadevi. There are shorter, fuel-efficient routes through the city, but I choose the wider, longer ones - for the peace of mind.

- Though I still own 7 cards, I now use just one for 90% of my transactions (it gives great returns).

- I still don’t listen to K-pop - but I’ve gotten hooked on Korean shows. Got good mystery, thriller, or sci-fi recos? I’m all ears.

- I’m still a bit of a nightmare for my car’s gearbox, clutch, and brakes - but every now and then, I try the feather-touch approach.

When we meet someone older or more experienced, it’s not always easy to understand why they do things a certain way - until we reach that phase ourselves.

Be it the shift from exciting stock-picking to the “boring” index investing, hunting street bargains to enjoying quieter in-store shopping, from devouring that lip-smacking roadside triple schezwan with andaa topi to (presumably) hygienic restaurant food, or from the thrill of binge-drinking to the calm of slow sipping - it all starts to make sense with time.

“NG, I finally found a card that gives amazing returns on every spend - 33% cashback on a bunch of them!” I poked my head into his cabin and announced one fine day in 2019.

He just shook his head, smiled faintly, and walked out, headed toward the washroom nearby…Some lessons don’t need to be taught - they just wait to be lived.

"𝗬𝗮𝗮𝗿, 𝗰𝗵𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗶 𝗸𝗮𝗯 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗲!"

"𝗬𝗮𝗮𝗿, 𝗰𝗵𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗶 𝗸𝗮𝗯 𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗲!"

"When will you take some leaves?"

"Don’t you think you should take a break?"

"Will you really let your leaves lapse?"

"Don't check your emails or Teams when you're on leave! Koshish toh Karo!"

No, these questions and diktats did not come from my family. 

I’ve never been one to take leave unless it’s for an event, vacation, or family commitment—even when my health was 𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪 𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘪. The pandemic only reinforced this habit. But then came my latest boss. From mid-2024, he started encouraging everyone to take regular breaks to recharge. When I told him I usually let around 20 leaves lapse each year, he was genuinely intrigued.

From then on, during our catch-ups, he made it a point to nudge me about taking time off. He knew I’d readily update him on my work plans, but it was my leave plan that interested him more.

Eventually, in Q4 of last year, I gave in. I started taking a day off about once a week - 𝘢𝘪𝘸𝘦𝘩𝘪 - and even more often in December. What I experienced was pretty cool:

1. 𝗖𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗮𝗱𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘃𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘀—weekday offs meant no long queues.

2. 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘆-𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗲𝘀 I had been meaning to cancel for ages. Just parked myself at the insurer’s office for two hours until they gave in.

3. 𝗕𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝘁. Got those done too. 𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪? 𝘒𝘰𝘪 𝘯𝘢𝘪, 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘬𝘵𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯.

4. 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘂𝗽 𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗽𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝘀 used in technical analysis of stocks. The Hanging Man and Hammer are my favorites.

5. 𝗣𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸... 𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘬𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘺𝘢 and binge-watched Netflix shows instead.

Did plenty more on these 𝘢𝘪𝘸𝘦𝘩𝘪 leave days, and now I try to take them more often.

Try taking a leave - 𝘢𝘪𝘸𝘦𝘩𝘪 - if you haven't. 𝗖𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗮𝗹 leaves kabhi leke dekho. It could be worth it.

"Your daughter is hurt. Do you want to come and pick her up?"

"Your daughter is hurt. Do you want to come and pick her up?" asked the teacher —let’s call her Daya.

Now, if any parent were to receive such a call, the only possible response would be a panicked "Yes!". Thankfully, I was working from home that day and rushed to the school.

"Sir, shorts are not allowed in school," I recalled the guard saying once when I had gone to pick her up wearing them. Already in my car, I hoped he’d let me through today. As soon as I arrived, I asked, "Where is the nursing room?" The guard, probably realizing this wasn’t the right moment to comment on my attire, simply pointed me in.

"She looked a bit worried, but I examined her thoroughly. The injury wasn’t anything concerning, so I sent her back to class," said the nurse, Ms. Hathi.

I quickly made my way to her classroom. As soon as V (my daughter) saw me, tears started streaming down her face. My heart sank. Before I could say anything, she blurted out, "I am absolutely fine. I don’t want to miss class!"

She wasn’t crying because of pain but because she was being sent home. I checked in with her and then turned to Daya, requesting that she allow V to stay. Daya explained that she had already completed the paperwork to send V home, and as per protocol, she had to leave. I asked if she could approach a senior staff member to reconsider. The senior was in a meeting and likely dismissed her. Daya then gently counseled V and requested us to leave.

On the ground floor, I stopped V and asked, "Do you really want to attend school?" She nodded without hesitation. I knew she hates missing school. "Then let's go to the principal," I said. At that moment, she hesitated. "No, no, let’s go home. It’s okay," she said quickly. That "It’s okay" got to me. As a dad, I wasn’t okay with my daughter having an "It’s okay" experience—settling for something she clearly didn’t want.

We went back up to where principal's office was located. Outside, we were greeted by an EA—let’s call her Babitaji. "Sir, why do you wish to meet the principal?" she asked politely. I explained the situation and shared my perspective: protocols should be followed in spirit, not just in letter. If Hathi and I were both okay with V staying, there was no reason she shouldn’t be allowed back in class.

Now, the difference between good EAs and great EAs is that the great ones solve small problems before they reach their bosses. She quickly called Hathi to confirm the details, then called Daya. After listening to both, she instructed Daya to allow V to attend class. Daya soon arrived at the office, and a smiling V walked away with her. I thanked Babitaji for her timely help and left.

Rules and policies exist for a reason, but applying them with empathy makes all the difference. Sometimes, what’s ‘by the book’ isn’t what’s best for the situation. Great leadership—at any level—is about knowing when to adapt and Babitaji did just that!

The image? Well, that’s me after going through a rollercoaster of emotions that day!

"That game is a waste of money, V, trust me!" [Republished]

"That game is a waste of money, V, trust me!" I told my then 7-year-old daughter.

It was her 7th birthday, and we had taken her out for some fun and games at her favorite place, which was filled with electronic games.

"Alright, V, we’ve played a lot of games now. Let’s head out for dinner," I said after a while. 

They are never happy when they are told such things so I got the usual eye roll. "Papa, can I please play that one? I know I can win this time," she insisted, flashing one of those adorable expressions she knows works on me like a charm.

She was pointing at a claw machine—the one where you maneuver a dangling claw to pick up prizes. As a kid (and even as an adult), I’ve almost never won anything from those machines. Every time she had asked to play it before, I would tell her it was a waste of money because they rarely yield anything, but this time, the birthday girl was more persistent. I gave in, but with one condition: I would help her position the claw. (Funny, considering I’ve always failed at it. Bad decision, I know.)

She agreed, and I carefully positioned the claw over a pack of tickets. "Alright, press the button now," I instructed, confident in my ‘expert’ positioning. But before I could react, she swiftly adjusted the claw’s position herself and hit the button. I raised my hands in protest... but, miraculously, the claw picked up not one, not two, but three bundles of tickets!

After some victory cries, we rushed to the ticket eater machine. (For the uninitiated, the ticket eater counts the tickets, and at the end, you swipe a card to add the total to your balance. These tickets can be redeemed for prizes.) The counter showed 300+ tickets, and we were ecstatic! We ran to the rest of the family, proudly announcing our achievement.

I then quickly went to check the ticket balance on our card, and to my shock, the 300+ tickets weren’t showing up! That’s when it hit me—when we saw the figure of 300+ on the ticket eater, I was so excited to share the news that I completely forgot to swipe the card to credit the tickets!

I rushed back to the counter and saw two kids jumping with joy... They had just fed their tickets into the machine and had probably ended up adding our 300+ tickets to their card as well.

Learnings:

1. Just because you couldn’t do it doesn’t mean the juniors can’t either.

2. Don’t interfere too much, especially after point 1. They might just do it their way—and maybe even better.

3. Excitement is great, but it can cloud your judgment. If not managed well, it might lead to losing everything in the heat of the moment.

4. Sometimes, people benefit from others' mistakes without intending to. Lady Luck plays her games, and on such occasions, the best you can do is smile and accept it gracefully.

"What do we buy with the tickets?" she asked eagerly.

"Erm… let’s accumulate some more and get something more meaningful next time," I replied, placing an arm around her shoulder as we walked out...

"Agar tum mil jao, zamana…" she sang

"Agar tum mil jao, zamana…" she sang, her voice flowing softly over the bus speakers.

It was around 8 a.m. on a morning in 2006. My roommates and I had just boarded the company bus from Aundh (Pune) that would take us to our Infosys office in Hinjewadi.

"Did you read about that email from NRN (Narayana Murthy)? It says don’t stay in the office beyond 8 p.m.," one of the guys said, adjusting his blue-striped tie, which looked sharp against his white shirt. Mon to Thurs, we were required to wear a tie (except during the summer).

At the time, an email was making the rounds at Infy. It claimed that unmarried folks stayed late at the office just to surf the net and kill time. The mail advised against such practices and encouraged everyone to leave on time. Recently, I learned that the email was just a piece of someone’s creativity—NRN had never written it.

As the bus moved, my mind wandered back to my training days in Mysore. It was Dec 2005, and NRN had come to address thousands of us at the open-air amphitheater. "Please don't call me sir," he had politely requested when one of us stood up to ask a question. We were in awe of him—a man who had built Infy, an incredible organization that hired freshers like us and transformed us into polished professionals.

"Look, she just boarded the bus," I heard a guy say softly from the seat behind me, as two smartly dressed girls stepped onto the bus, breaking my train of thought and snapping me back to the present.

As I gazed out of the window, my thoughts drifted to an incident that had occurred a few days ago back home in Mumbai. I had a minor altercation with an elderly uncle in our society. Mom had been a silent witness to it. Later, she gently said, "Beta, as adults grow older, they start behaving like children again. It's a cycle. They get upset over small things and may say things that seem irrational. You need to let it go—just like you would if a child acted that way."

A few weeks ago, when newspapers, channels, and influencers all jumped on the NRN-bashing bandwagon, I couldn’t help but recall what my mom had said years ago. While I don’t agree with his recent opinion, as an ex-Infoscion, I knew it was important to look at the bigger picture and let the episode go. NRN is undeniably one of the greats, and though public figures are expected to be more cautious with their words, age inevitably leaves its mark on everyone. Sometimes, the elderly may say things that come across as irrational or unpopular, but such moments can often be dismissed for what they are—an occasional lapse due to age, nothing more.

"Tu hi meri shab hai…" began playing over the bus speakers. "Yaar, yeh Emraan Hashmi ke saare gaane kya gajab hote hain," remarked the guy sitting next to me. [Emraan Hashmi’s songs are amazing.] "Haan yaar, woh toh hai," I replied with a smile [Yeah buddy, that’s true.], as the distinctive green ‘gola’—the spaceship-shaped office building that housed my desk—came into view in the distance...