Fourteen years of marriage isn’t just a number—it’s seasons turned, lessons learnt, and moments deeply lived. This post reflects on love, growth, and what it truly means to journey together.
After months indoors, Cassiobury Park felt like a gentle return to life. A simple picnic became a quiet moment of healing and reconnection with both nature and each other.
This isn’t just a website...it’s a canvas of identity. A curated lens through which I archive thoughts, share reflections, and invite the world into the layered chapters of my life.
Some cities whisper… Varanasi chants. BHU was more than a campus—it was a calling. A life moment carved in sandstone ghats, eternal rituals, and quiet conversations with the divine across time.
Some cities whisper… Varanasi chants. BHU was more than a campus—it was a calling. A life moment carved in sandstone ghats, eternal rituals, and quiet conversations with the divine across time.
Our Oxford MBA journey took us east… into China’s depths of dynasty and discipline. Between silk roads and skyline views, we discovered a nation at once ancient… and astonishingly modern.
Beneath the glitter of Dubai lies a quiet realm of dunes and dusk… I walked alone, but returned full — of grains, grit, and the gift of timeless silence.
After months indoors, Cassiobury Park felt like a gentle return to life. A simple picnic became a quiet moment of healing and reconnection with both nature and each other.
The climb up Coombe Hill was slow and serene. With each step, the view widened...not just of the landscape, but of the thoughts unfolding within. A walk inward, too.
Birdsong. Open skies. The rhythm of footsteps by water. Marsworth Tring gave more than scenery—it gave a rare silence in the noise of a world just beginning to breathe again.
There’s a crispness in the air… not just of fall, but of falling out of love. Canada gave me both—blazing maples… and a tender goodbye that echoed through every golden leaf.
Responsibility isn’t weight...it’s scaffolding. It’s how I’ve built meaning across roles: son, leader, thinker. And yes, it gets heavy. But it holds me up.
Responsibility isn’t weight...it’s scaffolding. It’s how I’ve built meaning across roles: son, leader, thinker. And yes, it gets heavy. But it holds me up.
I don’t shun my critics… I study them. They sometimes mirror the gaps I hide, the lessons I dodge. In their scorn, I sharpen… not to retaliate, but to rise.
Fourteen years of marriage isn’t just a number—it’s seasons turned, lessons learnt, and moments deeply lived. This post reflects on love, growth, and what it truly means to journey together.
After months indoors, Cassiobury Park felt like a gentle return to life. A simple picnic became a quiet moment of healing and reconnection with both nature and each other.
This isn’t just a website...it’s a canvas of identity. A curated lens through which I archive thoughts, share reflections, and invite the world into the layered chapters of my life.
Dad, are you going to school?” my son asked. Oxford wasn’t just a campus—it was a crucible of unlearning and rebirth. Collegiate life at 40 is not what I expected.
It wasn’t the bow ties or champagne towers that lingered. It was the glance across candlelight, the weight of tradition, and the silent music of belonging. Oxford balls are rituals in velvet.
Kolkata wasn’t just my first metro city...it was a classroom. From St. Xavier’s College to street food by Victoria, this is a tribute to the formative chaos of my youth in Bengal.
I stood up. And they voted. This blog captures the story behind my first public election at Oxford...why I contested, how I campaigned, and what it felt like to win.
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