Category: Life Notes

With Abhishek at home for his summer break, we’ve been watching a lot of web series together. These shared viewing sessions have become one of the unexpected pleasures of having him back. Here are the shows we watched and genuinely enjoyed.

Severance (Season 2): We absolutely loved this one. The premise remains as fascinating as ever – employees who undergo a procedure to separate their work and personal memories, creating two distinct personalities. Adam Scott’s performance as Mark, torn between his “innie” and “outie” selves, continues to be brilliantly nuanced. Britt Lower as Helly brings both vulnerability and steel to her role, while John Turturro’s Irving provides the perfect balance of confusion and determination. The show’s exploration of work-life balance through this extreme lens feels both absurd and unnervingly relevant. The production design of that sterile, retro-futuristic office environment creates an atmosphere that’s simultaneously comforting and deeply unsettling.

Asterix and Obelix: The Big Fight: This animated feature was pure nostalgia brought to vivid life. I remember spending hours reading these comics as a child, captivated by the adventures of the indomitable Gauls. Watching it reminded me why these characters have endured – Asterix’s cleverness, Obelix’s lovable simplicity, and their unshakeable friendship. The animation captured the distinctive art style perfectly, and hearing the familiar voices brought back memories of imagining these conversations while reading the original comics.

Slow Horses (all 4 seasons): This series was a delightful surprise. We were both initially put off by the title and never bothered exploring what it was actually about – a mistake we’re grateful to have corrected. Gary Oldman’s Jackson Lamb is magnificently repulsive and brilliant, leading a team of MI5 rejects with equal parts cynicism and unexpected loyalty. The supporting cast, including Jack Lowden as River Cartwright and Kristin Scott Thomas as Diana Taverner, creates a ensemble that grows stronger with each season. Great action sequences, genuinely funny moments, and consistently excellent acting across the board.

Stick: Think of this as the golf version of Ted Lasso. While perhaps not quite as “sticky” in terms of emotional resonance, it still delivered plenty of feel-good moments. The show captures the peculiar culture of golf while exploring themes of second chances and personal growth that made Ted Lasso so appealing.

Andor (Season 2): Simply a classic. Diego Luna’s Cassian Andor anchors what might be the best Star Wars spinoff ever created. The series weaves together multiple storylines with remarkable precision, building toward the events of Rogue One with both inevitability and surprise. It’s amazing how well-crafted this feels given the constraint that the ending had to dovetail perfectly into the established Star Wars narrative.

Criminal Justice (all 4 seasons): This series is exceptionally well-made, shot with what feels like a feature film budget. Each season presents gripping storylines that keep you engaged from the first episode to the final revelation. The attention to detail in both the legal proceedings and character development sets it apart from typical crime dramas.

Friends and Neighbors: An interesting premise executed with genuine charm. Fun to watch without being particularly demanding – sometimes exactly what you need.

One thing I’ve begun to appreciate through this viewing marathon is how Apple TV has quietly assembled an impressive collection of quality series. It’s become a reliable filter for our watching choices – when we see the Apple TV logo, we know we’re likely in for something thoughtfully produced and genuinely engaging.

When I meet with people, one of the first things I observe is whether they arrive with a notebook. While a few come prepared with a small notepad and others rely on digital devices – phones or iPads – the vast majority arrive completely “hands-free.” This always makes me wonder: what will they actually take away or remember after our conversation ends?

I have no doubt that most people possess excellent memories for the key actionables that emerge from meetings. They’ll remember the deadlines, the decisions, the clear next steps. But meetings are so much more than task distribution centres. They’re exchanges of ideas, explorations of possibilities, moments where understanding deepens in unexpected ways. While the big ideas will likely stick, I’ve learned that it’s often the seemingly small insights that prove most valuable later.

I wrote about my note-taking philosophy a few years ago: “Most of the time we are always bothered about our next actions. We have to remember to do this, do that, tell someone something, and so on. My approach is to get it out of the mind and onto paper. For some, it could be into an app – whatever works best. I find the combination of paper and pen works best. I write a lot and write fast. It keeps me completely focused during the meeting. And as I get ideas, I note them down prefixing them with my initials or a lightbulb, thus enabling me to reference them easily later.”

This practice has taught me something crucial: “If one doesn’t make notes in a meeting, one will remember the big ideas clearly. But I have realised that it’s also the seemingly small ideas that matter. A phrase one hears, a memory that surfaces, a trigger from the gut – these are nearly impossible to recall after the meeting, especially if you’re caught in a series of back-to-back conversations. The best way to capture these fleeting moments is to write them down immediately, creating space to revisit them later.”

For me, every meeting represents a learning opportunity. If I can discover one or two things I didn’t know before walking into the room, I consider it time well invested. In customer meetings, their specific language choices help me refine how I frame both problems and solutions. Their casual asides often reveal underlying concerns that formal presentations miss entirely. Capturing these nuances on paper creates raw material for deeper thinking during me-time.

I’m particularly drawn to the paper-and-pen combination because it enables spatial thinking in ways that digital tools struggle to match. I can draw connections literally – with arrows, circles, and diagrams that span across pages. Ideas can live in margins, concepts can be grouped visually, and relationships between thoughts can be mapped in real-time. The small keyboard of a phone or tablet forces linear thinking, but paper allows for the kind of multi-dimensional note-taking that mirrors how conversations actually unfold.

There’s also something about the physical act of writing that enhances retention and processing. The slower pace of handwriting compared to typing creates natural moments for reflection. Your brain has time to filter and synthesise as your hand moves across the page.

Perhaps most importantly, visible note-taking signals something valuable to the other participants: that their words matter enough to be preserved. It demonstrates active engagement in a way that staring at a screen – however well-intentioned – simply cannot match. In our increasingly distracted world, the simple act of putting pen to paper has become a form of respect, a way of honouring the conversation and the people sharing their time and insights with you.

I recently had to travel to Surat for a family function. Since I was booking last-minute, I could only manage a non-AC ticket on the Intercity from Udhna to Bandra for the return journey. What seemed like a compromise turned into an unexpected journey back in time, bringing back vivid memories from my childhood travels.

After years of climate-controlled comfort, I found myself in a non-AC compartment again. While it was admittedly warm and the overhead fans struggled to provide adequate relief, there was something refreshingly authentic about experiencing the unfiltered sights and sounds of both the world inside the train and the landscape rushing past outside. AC compartments, for all their comfort, create a sanitised bubble with minimal interaction. This journey was different – wonderfully, chaotically alive.

Every few minutes brought a new vendor hawking their wares: “Chai, chai, garam chai!” echoed through the compartment, followed by sellers offering everything from snacks to newspapers to small toys. The constant parade of commerce was both entertaining and nostalgic. I found myself giving in to the experience, purchasing a Cadbury chocolate and an Amul kesar milk drink – not because I particularly needed them, but because they felt like essential props in this theatrical journey. Combined with the Marie biscuits I’d grabbed at the station, this makeshift meal became part of the adventure rather than a disappointment.

I spent considerable time looking outside the open window, letting the warm air rush past my face as I watched the world unfold at a more human pace. In the distance, I could see the dedicated freight corridors – those parallel tracks built to handle India’s massive goods movement. A freight train provided steady competition as we halted at multiple stations while it maintained its relentless pace without stopping. This was a marked change from earlier times when goods trains had to yield at stations, allowing faster passenger services to overtake them.

The Intercity essentially functions like an express local, stopping frequently but moving efficiently between stations. I noticed many students aboard, returning home after college days in Surat. For them, this train clearly offered the optimal balance of cost, time, and convenience. The journey covered 250 kilometers in about four hours – respectable timing, though the Vande Bharat completes the same distance in roughly two-and-a-half hours.

This ride transported me back to an era before Shatabdi and Vande Bharat transformed rail travel. I remembered always hoping for a window seat, watching the countryside unfold like a slow-motion film, and sometimes stepping off at intermediate stations just to stretch my legs and absorb the unique energy of each stop. There was a particular joy in observing fellow passengers – people boarding and alighting at various stations, each carrying their own stories and destinations.

Perhaps speed and sealed windows have inadvertently diminished some of the more human pleasures of train travel. The open window, the frequent stops, the organic interaction with vendors and fellow travellers, the unmediated connection with the passing landscape – these elements create a travel experience that’s messier but somehow more alive than our modern, efficient alternatives. Sometimes the journey itself deserves to be savoured, not just optimised.

On the Indigo flight from Mumbai to Colombo, I was seated in the emergency row (for the extra legroom). As is mandatory, one of the crew members came over to explain the procedure for opening the emergency door if needed. She walked through the standard safety briefing with the twelve of us seated in the two emergency rows – the usual spiel about lifting the handle, pushing the door out, and ensuring the exit path remains clear.

But then she did something that caught everyone off guard. After finishing her explanation, she randomly selected two passengers and asked them specific questions based on what she had just explained. The surprise was palpable – you could see it in people’s faces. No one expects to be ‘tested’ during a flight safety briefing. We’re conditioned to treat these moments as passive information downloads, something to politely endure rather than actively engage with.

I found this approach brilliant. The questions weren’t designed to embarrass or intimidate – she cleverly structured them to include partial answers, making it easier for passengers to respond correctly. But the impact was immediate and profound. Those two passengers had to demonstrate they actually understood the critical safety information, not just that they had heard it.

As I settled back into my seat, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much more attention everyone would have paid if she had announced upfront that she would randomly quiz some of us on our understanding. That simple expectation would have transformed twelve distracted passengers into twelve engaged learners. The anticipation of being called upon has a remarkable way of sharpening focus and ensuring information actually sticks.

This experience crystallised something I’ve long believed but rarely seen implemented effectively: asking questions based on what someone has been told or taught is one of the most powerful ways to ensure real learning happens. It’s the difference between information transmission and knowledge retention. When we know we might be asked to demonstrate understanding, we shift from passive receivers to active processors.

The more I reflected on this emergency row teaching moment, the more applications I could see in our professional lives. How often do we sit through meetings, presentations, or training sessions operating under the assumption that attendance equals engagement? How many important briefings become background noise because participants know they won’t be held accountable for retaining the information?

Imagine if we routinely incorporated this principle into our workplace interactions. Team meetings where the leader occasionally asks someone to summarise a key point or explain how they might apply a new process. Training sessions where participants know they might be called upon to demonstrate understanding. Client presentations where we pause to ensure comprehension rather than bulldozing through slides.

The beauty of this approach lies not in creating anxiety, but in creating engagement. When done thoughtfully – with questions that include helpful context, just like that flight attendant – it transforms passive consumption into participatory learning. It ensures that critical information doesn’t just get heard, but gets understood, retained, and ultimately applied.

We had the 30^th edition of our Martech Global Summit in Colombo in late July. The previous one I had attended was the one in Baku, and returning to the MGS format after that gap reminded me why these events hold such a special place in our industry calendar.

A backgrounder on MGS: “The format of MGS is truly innovative in the world of B2B events. It requires a delicate balance to pull off a good event with the right mix of content and experience, and I’m consistently impressed by how well the Netcore team manages this. What I appreciate most is the ability to connect with people in a way that’s simply not possible over a formal business meeting. Whether it’s during a thought-provoking session, while exploring a new city, or over a shared meal, the conversations at MGS have a depth and authenticity that I rarely find elsewhere.”

This edition introduced something new that proved remarkably valuable: structured 1:1 conversations with participants. I borrowed this idea from other events I’d attended like eTail and Shoptalk, recognising the untapped potential in deeper, focused dialogue. These 20-30 minute sessions enabled me to understand specific challenges participants were facing and propose tailored solutions. They went far beyond the brief exchanges that typically happen over meals or while sightseeing – creating space for genuine problem-solving and strategic thinking.

One of my most significant learnings from these conversations was the realisation that every industry has what I’ve started thinking of as “The One Number” – a critical metric that drives business growth and becomes the North Star for strategic decisions. In eCommerce, it’s the percentage of customers making a second purchase – that crucial indicator of whether you’re building loyalty or just processing transactions. In Life Insurance, it’s the Persistence rate – the percentage of customers who continue paying premiums after the initial years, separating sustainable business from churn-heavy acquisition. For NBFCs and AMCs, it’s the cross-sell index, directly impacting wallet share percentage and customer lifetime value. Understanding these industry-specific vital signs proved invaluable for crafting relevant solutions.

My presentation focused on “Neo+Agentic Marketing” – 68 slides compressed into 35 minutes, followed by an engaging Q&A session. The core message distilled into a single sentence: “Neo+Agentic Marketing can help you stop paying the 20-30% Revenue Tax to Google, Meta, and marketplaces to reacquire the customers you already had.” This concept resonated strongly with the audience, particularly as businesses grapple with rising customer acquisition costs and platform dependency.

What I genuinely appreciate about MGS events is how they provide authentic opportunities for customer conversations that help me continuously adapt and refine my narrative. This time, the focus naturally gravitated toward AI and intelligent agents, and the profound disruption that’s reshaping every industry and business model. Our theme, “Agents of Change,” captured both the technological transformation and the human element driving it forward.

The location played a crucial role in the event’s success. ITC Ratnadip offered spectacular views of the Indian Ocean through the tall windows of our second-floor conference room. The physical environment made a remarkable difference – natural light streaming in throughout the day and into the evening created an atmosphere that was infinitely brighter and more energising than being enclosed in a windowless conference room. There’s something about that connection to the outside world, the interplay of light and ocean views, that seemed to elevate both the quality of presentations and the depth of conversations.

These details matter more than we often acknowledge in creating environments where meaningful business relationships can flourish.

I was speaking with a friend recently who sought advice about his struggling business. Facing constant rejection, his confidence was flagging. I shared a pivotal story from my own entrepreneurial journey that transformed his perspective.

In December 1994, while building what would become IndiaWorld (India’s first Internet portal), I sent nearly 100 letters to every publisher and media company whose postal address I could find. My proposition was straightforward but ambitious: I needed free content for IndiaWorld. (Having failed in a few ventures previously, my financial resources were severely limited, limiting my ability to pay for content.) In exchange, I offered global exposure to non-resident Indians and the promise of future monetisation opportunities.

As expected, most letters disappeared into the void of corporate indifference. However, a handful of visionaries responded positively—India Today, RK Laxman, Amar Chitra Katha, and Cybermedia among them. These few believers provided the foundational content that powered IndiaWorld’s growth. This experience crystallised a profound truth: success isn’t built on avoiding rejection but on recognising and nurturing acceptance when it appears.

I explained to my disheartened friend that rejection is the default response in a business’s early stages—it’s the background noise of entrepreneurship. The transformative mindset shift comes when you stop counting the rejections and start celebrating the affirmations. Those rare individuals who answer your email or return your call become the cornerstones of your venture. Cast your net widely, maximise your chances of meaningful connection, and build deliberately on those relationships.

Entrepreneurship demands that we transcend our ego and conquer our fear of failure. The marketplace doesn’t remember the hundred doors that remained closed—it recognises only the doors you successfully opened and the opportunities you maximized. Every “yes” carries exponentially more weight than a thousand “nos.”

The most successful entrepreneurs aren’t necessarily those who face the fewest rejections—they’re the ones who remain undeterred by them, who maintain unwavering focus on possibility rather than limitation. Each “yes” represents not just an isolated success but a portal to new networks, opportunities, and growth trajectories that weren’t previously visible.

My friend left our conversation with renewed determination. He understood that his rejections weren’t personal indictments but simply part of the entrepreneurial landscape. By shifting his attention to cultivating his supporters rather than lamenting his detractors, he could transform his business trajectory—just as those few content partners helped lay the foundation for IndiaWorld.

Remember: History celebrates the Yeses that built empires. The Nos are just footnotes in your journey to success.

Some friendships begin with chance encounters that seem insignificant at the time, yet bloom into lifelong connections. Such is the story of Bhavana and my friendship with Ram and Nirmala.

It started in March 1998 during a vacation to the United States. Bhavana and I were at Universal Studios in Los Angeles when we struck up a conversation with an Indian couple living in America. We spent the entire day together—visiting Muscle Beach, taking photos for each other at the Hollywood sign overlook, and sitting side by side during the evening laser show. As the day concluded, we parted ways, though we exchanged contacts.

What seemed like a one-time encounter surprisingly evolved into correspondence when Ram sent a Diwali greeting email just months later. Then came the truly serendipitous moment—after my Sify deal made headlines in late 1999, Ram sent congratulations. He mentioned he would be traveling to India on December 31st, 1999. By remarkable coincidence, we spotted each other at Mumbai airport that very night—Ram on a late-night transit from Lufthansa to a morning Jet Airways flight to Chennai, and me also headed to Chennai on business. Our chance reunion in the airport sparked a friendship that has endured through the decades.

Though our meetings are infrequent, each reunion dissolves the intervening time, allowing us to continue our conversation as if we’d never been apart.

I was at their home in the US when I learned Bhavana was pregnant in August 2004, following years of IVF treatment. It was one of the happiest moments of my life and I had them to share it with me.

Recently, while in Chennai for a SaaSBoomi presentation, I spent an evening with Ram and Nirmala (though Bhavana couldn’t join us). Those three hours were precious—reminiscing about shared experiences, updating each other on our now-grown children, and savouring Nirmala’s exceptional Pongal, a dish whose distinctive flavour has remained consistent through the years.

As I returned to my Chennai hotel that night, I realised I had neglected this cherished relationship. What separates us now is merely a few hours of travel. There was no justifiable reason for allowing several years to pass between our meetings. Life grants us only a handful of truly meaningful connections, and it’s our responsibility to nurture them with intention and care.

In our increasingly disconnected world, these authentic friendships—especially those formed through chance and sustained through choice—become even more valuable. They remind us that human connection transcends distance and time, providing continuity and comfort in our ever-changing lives.

On the first evening of our revenue meet in Bangkok, I delivered an hour-long presentation to our global customer-facing team of 160 (sales, customer success, and other leaders). This forward-looking vision for Netcore explored themes I’ve written about extensively on my blog: AdWaste, AI Agents, AI Twins, NeoMails, NeoN, and Progency. I wove these concepts together to build a compelling case for transformation—moving away from the saturated red ocean of Martech and CPaaS toward the blue ocean of NeoMarketing.

My presentation underwent multiple iterations as I prepared and gathered feedback from select colleagues. I create presentations independently because ultimately, I must stand before the audience and tell the story authentically. My presentation style tends to be content-rich and somewhat professorial because I’m simultaneously educating my colleagues on the future and how to engage customers in meaningful conversations. Rather than pursuing a single narrative thread, I develop multiple interconnected sub-themes that flow throughout.

During my talk, I invited several colleagues to join me on stage and share their “NeoSelling” success stories—highlighting innovative approaches they’ve used to advance sales conversations and strengthen client relationships. These personal accounts provided valuable real-world context and offered a welcome break from my extended monologue!

The presentation culminated with what unexpectedly became the highlight of the evening: a 20-question multiple-choice quiz I had prepared in Slido. This interactive element was inspired by something similar I had witnessed at eTail West Connect last year—an idea that struck me just days before our event. The quiz proved tremendously successful! The incentive for the winners: a 30-minute one-on-one breakfast session with me the following morning!

My closing slides visually reinforced our strategic direction. The first contrasted “Today’s Netcore” with “Tomorrow’s Netcore” along several dimensions: moving from commoditisation to differentiation, feature comparison to outcome commitment, pricing pressures to pricing control, being merely a software provider to becoming a true success partner, transitioning from same old revenue streams to new revenue opportunities, shifting from limited to unlimited upside potential, and perhaps most importantly, evolving from us chasing clients to clients seeking us out.

The next slide depicted our strategic shift metaphorically—showing Netcore as the NeoMarketing Pioneer, with a lone swimmer (representing our company) breaking away from shark-infested red waters into the clear blue ocean of opportunity. This visual powerfully communicated our intention to lead rather than follow, to differentiate rather than compete on the same terms as everyone else.

This presentation represented more than a strategic overview—it was a rallying cry for transformation, challenging our team to envision and create a fundamentally different future for both Netcore and our clients.

The day we landed in Bangkok, we experienced two remarkable encounters with strangers—people we didn’t know and will likely never meet again.

Upon arrival at Bangkok airport, confusing signage led me to believe we needed a visa on arrival. I approached an official who directed us to a counter requesting 200 baht each for Bhavana and me. As I searched for the nearest currency exchange, an observant Indian traveller spotted us and asked, “Are you from India? You don’t need any visa. Just walk straight ahead and go through Immigration.” His timely intervention saved us both money and precious time in a foreign land.

Later that day, while shopping, I needed to exchange dollars for baht. I approached one of Bangkok’s ubiquitous street counters and was about to complete the transaction when another passing Indian traveller intervened: “Don’t change here. I’ll show you one ahead where you’ll get a much better rate.” He walked us several hundred meters to the right forex shop—and he was absolutely correct. The difference on 100 dollars was 70 baht (approximately ₹175).

As Bhavana and I reflected on these incidents, what resonated deeply was the selfless kindness of strangers. These weren’t grand gestures—just small acts of consideration that required slight detours from their own paths. Yet these momentary connections created ripples of goodwill that extended far beyond the immediate benefit. In our increasingly individualistic world, these spontaneous connections remind us of our fundamental human desire to help one another, expecting nothing in return.

I had the opportunity to reciprocate this kindness that same evening. While resting on a bench at Platinum Fashion Mall (as Bhavana shopped), a distressed visitor approached, asking if I could share my hotspot. He had become separated from his friends without wireless access. I obliged, and within minutes, he and his friends were joyfully reunited.

In a world where headlines often highlight division—where leaders erect trade barriers and political rhetoric emphasises differences—these simple acts of humanity quietly endure. They transcend national boundaries, languages, and cultural differences. Perhaps these micro-connections, these brief moments of seeing another’s need and responding with kindness, form the invisible infrastructure of our shared humanity.

These encounters in Bangkok reminded me that beneath our superficial differences—nationality, language, appearance—lies a common understanding: we all occasionally need help navigating this complex world. The willingness to extend a helping hand to a stranger—whether in providing directions, sharing local knowledge, or offering a brief connection to the digital world—represents our better nature.

The beauty of these interactions lies in their ephemeral quality—brief connections without expectation of ongoing relationship or reciprocity. Yet they leave lasting impressions, small beacons of hope illuminating our shared journey. In a global climate often characterised by suspicion and self-interest, these moments of spontaneous kindness serve as powerful reminders that our capacity for connection and compassion remains vibrantly alive.

I wrote last year about my memories of Bangkok from Netcore’s international sales meet: “Bangkok was a destination Bhavana and I visited frequently in the late 1990s and early 2000s (before Abhishek was born)…Bangkok, just a 5-hour flight away, offered a completely different world from India. We stayed at the Riverside Marriott. Bhavana enjoyed the shopping experiences, while I appreciated the break from work. Taking the boat ride across the river was such a calming experience. I also loved the Kinokuniya bookstore with its extensive collection of English books. Bangkok, even with its traffic, showed me what Indian cities could have become.”

This year, we scaled up by combining both domestic and international teams for a comprehensive “revenue meet.” Bangkok proves ideal for multiple reasons. For Indians (and citizens of many countries), there’s either no visa requirement or visa-on-arrival. We breezed through Thai Immigration as effortlessly as passing through our own borders. This “visa-free” advantage significantly enhances tourism – one can decide, book flights and accommodations, and simply travel without any delays.

The availability of direct flights from numerous global destinations shortens travel times considerably. The combination of reasonably priced hotels (we stayed at Hotel Rembrandt in Sukhumvit) and abundant shopping opportunities remains unbeatable. Though my shopping time was limited, I managed to purchase five high-quality collared T-shirts with pockets – each costing under ₹1,000. Two downsides persist: daytime traffic (it took 50 minutes to travel just 4 kilometres for a customer meeting) and the relentless humidity.

We discovered excellent Indian vegetarian restaurants near our hotel serving outstanding Jain cuisine: Saras (directly across from Rembrandt) and Dosa King. This solved the food challenge that often accompanies our international travel.

India needs more destinations like Bangkok to attract tourists. Discussing this with colleagues, one mentioned that while Goa could become such a destination, hotels and local transportation are becoming increasingly expensive.

On a curious note: the Indian Rupee and Thai Baht maintained an almost 1:1 exchange rate around 2000. Now, one Thai Baht equals ₹2.50. Wondering what changed, I consulted Perplexity, which explained: “The rupee’s depreciation against the Baht stems primarily from India’s economic vulnerabilities—trade deficits, inflation, and capital outflows—while Thailand’s stronger fundamentals, especially in tourism and exports, have helped the Baht outperform the rupee over the past two decades.”

Worth mentioning: India’s Trusted Traveller program is truly excellent. Immigration has become a breeze.

All things considered, it was a rewarding experience, and I’m inclined to say that Bhavana and I will likely return sooner rather than later!