The Golden Road: A Brilliant Journey But with a Bit Too Many Potholes!

William Dalrymple is no stranger to anyone who enjoys Indian history. He is regarded by many as an authority on pretty much everything India. Of course, depending on which side of our increasingly crowded ideological divide you sit, that last sentence may either have you nodding vigorously or reaching for your keyboard.

I had read one Dalrymple before: The White Mughals. I must confess I found it rather boring and the storyline did not quite work for me. I was also uncomfortable with some of Dalrymple’s public positions over the years. The controversy surrounding Bloomsbury’s decision to withdraw Delhi Riots 2020: The Untold Story particularly rankled. Dalrymple acknowledged alerting Bloomsbury to the growing controversy around the book, although he denied asking the publisher to withdraw or ban it. So, accusing him personally of getting the book banned would be unfair. But the entire episode did little to make me reach for his next book.

What bothers me about many of these battles is the irony: self-proclaimed liberals can sometimes behave remarkably illiberally, while those branded bigots occasionally turn up asking inconvenient questions about facts and evidence.

And, so, I stayed away from his writings. Until The Golden Road. There was considerable buzz about a Dalrymple book that presented India in an extraordinarily positive light. Curiosity eventually overcame prejudice. I picked it up and finished it surprisingly quickly. Whatever else one says about him, he knows how to tell a story.

And yes, The Golden Road is emphatically a book about how India influenced the world. It ranges across an enormous period and geography, showing how Indian trade, religion, art, literature, mathematics, astronomy and culture travelled west towards Rome, east towards China and across the seas into Southeast Asia.

For Indians familiar with our civilisational history, several individual stories may already be known. For those convinced that ancient India invented everything from aeroplanes to WhatsApp, the book may provide another object to triumphantly thrust into the faces of unsuspecting dinner guests. And I confess I wondered how habitual India-baiters reacted to one of “their own” writing such an unapologetically India-positive book. And that isn’t criticism of Dalrymple. Quite the opposite.

The story begins magnificently with Ajanta and its accidental rediscovery in 1819. Dalrymple describes the extraordinary flowering of Buddhist art there, and I initially found myself questioning his emphasis. Then I realised I was wrong. I had mixed up Ajanta and Ellora.

The enormous monolithic Kailasa temple dedicated to Shiva is at Ellora, not Ajanta. Ajanta is overwhelmingly Buddhist and predates most of Ellora. Score one to Dalrymple and minus one to the reviewer!

What fascinated me instead was how Buddhism flourished so magnificently in western India, so far from the region where the Buddha lived and taught. The Buddhist and Jain presence in western and southern India is something I now want to understand much better.

Where I have been a bit uncomfortable is the suggestion, recurring through the book, that subsequent Hindu religious architecture drew substantially from earlier Buddhist architectural forms.

There certainly was influence. Buddhist rock-cut architecture predates much surviving Hindu rock-cut architecture, and techniques and forms clearly travelled between traditions. Ajanta, Ellora, Aihole, Badami and later sites cannot sensibly be viewed as hermetically sealed Buddhist, Jain and Hindu artistic universes.

But influence is different from parentage. The conceptual architecture of the Hindu temple, centred upon the garbhagriha and developing its own mandapas, shikharas or vimanas, iconography and ritual geography, cannot simply be reduced to an evolution of Buddhist architecture. What seems far more plausible to me is something characteristically Indian: different traditions borrowing, arguing, absorbing and transforming ideas from one another.

Which brings me to one of my larger problems with the book. When Dalrymple discusses Alexander’s arrival in India, there is considerable emphasis on Buddhist ascetics. Buddhism certainly existed by then. But the Greek accounts speak of both Sarmanai, or Shramanas, and Brachmanes, clearly Brahmanas. And Shramana itself does not mean Buddhist: that broad universe included Buddhists, Jains, Ajivikas and other renunciatory traditions.

Therefore, identifying India’s ascetic world of Alexander’s time too readily with Buddhism risks imposing later religious categories upon a much different reality.

This was where I began noticing something that bothered me increasingly as I read. Dalrymple’s India is unquestionably magnificent. But its magnificence sometimes seems more comfortably attributed to Buddhism and Jainism than to what he generally calls “Brahmanical” religion. Hinduism occasionally appears as an afterthought or, worse, as the somewhat less enlightened cousin that inherited and appropriated what came before.

Maybe I am reading too much into it. Or that this is subconscious rather than deliberate. But by the end of the book, I found the pattern difficult to ignore.

Consider Kanishka. He was unquestionably one of Buddhism’s great imperial patrons. Yet Kushan religious life was wonderfully pluralistic. Kanishka’s coins depict Buddha, but also a remarkable pantheon of Iranian, Greek and Indic divinities. Oesho, strongly associated iconographically with Shiva, appears prominently in Kushan coinage. His predecessor Vima Kadphises was even more strongly associated with this imagery. Why must we force these people into neat modern religious boxes when their own coins stubbornly refuse to cooperate?

Dalrymple is particularly good on something India itself has inadequately celebrated: the astonishing scale of trade between Rome and southern India. Muziris in Kerala and ports such as Arikamedu and Kaveripattinam in Tamilakam connected southern India to a commercial network stretching through the Red Sea into the Roman world. Pepper, textiles, gemstones, ivory and other Indian luxuries travelled west; Roman gold poured east.

Pliny the Elder famously complained about the amount of Roman wealth disappearing annually into India, China and Arabia to satisfy Rome’s appetite for luxuries. This deserves far more attention in our understanding of Indian history.

Where I again become cautious is when Buddhist institutions are made particularly central to these commercial networks. Buddhist monasteries undoubtedly benefited from merchant patronage, and Buddhist networks travelled along trade routes. But commerce in southern India was not somehow a Buddhist enterprise. Hindu, Buddhist and Jain communities existed within a much broader commercial and cultural ecosystem. Again, interaction seems a better explanation than ownership.

The same issue becomes particularly interesting when the Golden Road reaches Southeast Asia.

Here Dalrymple describes the remarkable spread of Indian ideas: Sanskrit, Hindu and Buddhist cosmologies, political concepts, literature, mathematics and temple architecture. The story of Kaundinya and the early Indian influence on Funan is part history, part legend and fascinating either way.

He also discusses early evidence for the zero symbol in Cambodia. This surprised me because I had always associated the earliest surviving zero with the Bakhshali manuscript. The distinction matters: the Cambodian K-127 inscription of 683 CE is among the earliest securely dated inscriptions using zero, whereas the dating and interpretation of the Bakhshali manuscript remain much more complicated than popular accounts once suggested.

But there are passages in the Southeast Asian discussion where Dalrymple’s determination to explain differences from Indian Hindu practices began to feel strained to me.

Diet is one example. If Southeast Asian communities ate foods supposedly discouraged by Hindu texts, explanations involving caste, access to scripture and subsequent disregard of scripture are introduced. But why is such an elaborate explanation necessary? More importantly, the “so-called” restrictions are not accurate too. Be it meat, fish that was supposedly banned is far from the facts!

Anyways, Indian religions travelling abroad were never photocopiers. Hinduism in Cambodia did not have to reproduce the dietary practices of a Hindu household in the Gangetic plain any more than Buddhism in China had to look identical to Buddhism in Bihar. Cultures absorb religions and then make them their own.

And this brings us, inevitably, to Manu. Dalrymple invokes restrictions attributed to the Manusmriti and other Hindu literature, including sea travel and diet. Here I think greater precision is required.

The Manusmriti does not simply say, “Hindus shall not cross the sea.” Indeed, it contains references to maritime commerce and shipping. Sea voyages could have ritual consequences in parts of the Dharmashastra tradition, and texts such as the Baudhayana Dharmasutra are considerably more explicit about this. Later caste practice turned crossing the kala pani into a serious issue in some communities.

But that complicated history is quite different from saying that Manu or the Puranas simply prohibited Hindus from travelling overseas, which was not at all the case.

Similarly, Manu regulates meat and fish consumption, prohibits foods especially for rituals and praises abstinence from meat. But turning this into a simple prohibition of fish or pork ibelieve is bordering on the disingenuous!

The position of women presents a more difficult case for someone making my argument. Manu is certainly patriarchal. Women do not enjoy equal legal and ritual status and attempts to pretend otherwise are apologetics rather than history. Having said that, applying a broad brush to the Indian society is being disingenuous too.

So, it is important to distinguish a prescriptive Dharmashastra text from the lived reality of an entire subcontinent across centuries. India contained multiple legal customs, religious traditions and social arrangements.

When Dalrymple goes on to say that people in Southeast Asia did not know Sanskrit and hence could not read the scriptures and hence did not know the injunctions, I realised the trap he was falling into his own making. He suddenly remembered that there were Brahmins who migrated too and they did know Sanskrit but according to him that was but a minor inconvenience in changing his position! I cannot help but talk about this

One of the strongest sections of The Golden Road is its account of Buddhism’s extraordinary journey into China. There is little to quarrel with in the scale of this achievement. Indian Buddhist monks, Chinese pilgrims, translators and scholars created one of history’s great intellectual exchanges.

Dalrymple also deserves credit for being unequivocal about the destruction of Nalanda and Muhammad Bakhtiyar Khalji’s role in the devastation of the great Buddhist centres of Bihar. He is refreshingly impatient with attempts to make uncomfortable historical events disappear merely because they complicate contemporary narratives. History should not require ideological air-conditioning.

And finally, Genghis Khan. Dalrymple recounts the wonderful story that Genghis contemplated invading India but turned back after encountering a rhinoceros that was interpreted as a supernatural warning. It’s a terrific story. I am just not convinced it should be treated as terrific history. The Mongols reached the Indus in 1221 because Genghis was pursuing Jalal al-Din Mingburnu, the last Khwarazmian ruler, who had escaped him after the destruction of the Khwarazmian Empire. Jalal al-Din crossed the Indus after a fierce battle and escaped into India.

There are medieval traditions concerning an extraordinary animal and an omen, and rhinoceroses could indeed still be found surprisingly far west in the subcontinent during the medieval period. So, the episode cannot simply be dismissed as zoologically impossible. But saying that a rhinoceros explains why Genghis Khan did not invade India gives an entertaining anecdote considerably more explanatory power than it deserves. Strategic objectives, logistics, climate, terrain, pasture for horses and the fact that his primary enemy had escaped are rather more important considerations. And, of course, during his rule he never went about invading without a reason – ah, but for the fun his deputies – Sebudai and Jebei had while trying to understand the faraway lands of Russia and Georgia. But there too they did not invade and occupy the lands!

I should probably stop here before this becomes The Golden Road: The Director’s Cut. Because, despite everything I have written above, I liked the book.

Dalrymple has done something valuable. He has taken a story that Indians often tell themselves and made a serious case for it to the world: for many centuries India was not sitting at the edge of global civilization. It was one of its great engines.

Indian merchants moved goods across oceans. Indian religions transformed Asia. Sanskrit became an international language of culture and power. Indian mathematics travelled west and ultimately transformed the way humanity calculates. Indian astronomy, literature, philosophy and art travelled astonishing distances without Indian armies having to conquer the countries receiving them. That is an extraordinary story, and Dalrymple tells it extremely well.

My quarrel is with the framing. At times, I felt that Dalrymple was extraordinarily comfortable celebrating ancient India’s achievements when their vehicle was Buddhist or Jain, but noticeably less comfortable when the same civilizational achievement was unmistakably Hindu or Brahmanical. Perhaps that reflects the evidence. Maybe it reflects the academic scholarship on which he relies. And just maybe some of it reflects my own biases as a reader.

But there were enough examples for the question to stay with me after I finished the book.

So, the verdict? It is a decently readable, important and India-positive book written by an author with whom I found myself arguing throughout. Which, come to think of it, may actually be one of the better reasons to read a history book.

Just When I Am Adapting, the World Is About to End…

One thing I have always believed about myself is that I am an early adopter, not an innovator. That has also meant that I have occasionally been sceptical about technologies that were apparently going to change the world. And, if I may brag about myself, quite often I was right.

Blockchain was going to disrupt any and everything. BLE was going to transform more things than I could keep track of. There have been others.

Then came AI.

Generative AI. Agentic AI. Vibe coding. Vibe this. Vibe that. And, this time, I got it spectacularly wrong. A couple of years ago, during a personal conversation with a senior executive, I confidently pointed out the gaps in Generative AI and argued that we were still some distance away from meaningful impact. I was in respectable company too. Nithin Kamath of Zerodha had earlier said that they had struggled to find meaningful use cases for AI, ML and blockchain. His CTO Kailash Nadh even wrote a delightful piece comparing the marketing around “Powered by AI” with rumali roti.

Unfortunately, respectable company does not make a wrong prediction right. How wrong I was! The strides AI has made have been nothing short of spectacular. I became a convert about a year and a half ago and have since become not merely a proponent but also a heavy user. Of course, there have been occasional gaffes and hallucinations. There was the time ChatGPT sent me desperately hunting for a non-existent Indian restaurant at Dubai airport. And another occasion when, while planning a family holiday, I was perilously close to shortlisting an adults-only resort.

Artificial intelligence, yes. Family intelligence, occasionally questionable. But those incidents pale against what AI has enabled me to do. The depth of information I can access, the research and documentation I can generate, and the daily and weekly reports I receive from my increasingly close “friend” ChatGPT would have been unimaginable to me just a few months back.

I had actually begun the journey of deploying Generative and Agentic AI in my previous organisation. The early results, I must confess, were marginal. Perhaps it was the maturity of the models. Or it was the maturity of those of us using them! Even then, we managed to deploy AI for some revenue-generating use cases and make customer support considerably more effective.

But come 2026, and things seem to have gone slightly crazy. Vibe coding, autonomous agents, prospecting, research, content generation—the possibilities are moving from interesting to transformative at astonishing speed. Recently, we built an entire software module—nay, practically a product—in around two weeks. Traditionally, I would have expected it to take more than two months.

I wrote about precisely this uncomfortable collision between experience and a changed technological reality in my earlier post, “The Dangerous Comfort of Being the Most Experienced Person in the Room.”

That experience was revelatory. It doesn’t mean software engineers disappear tomorrow. Legacy systems, architecture, security, industrialisation and enterprise-grade engineering remain rather stubbornly real. But what one good engineer—or even somebody who isn’t an engineer—can now accomplish has changed dramatically. I know an administration professional in my previous organisation who got access to an enterprise Claude licence and started writing code!

My own experience has been similar in other fields. The quality of research, analysis and intellectual nudges I can get from AI is extraordinary provided, of course, that I ask the right questions and retain enough scepticism to check the answers.

I haven’t yet reached the stage where an army of agents wakes up every morning and quietly runs my life for me. But I can see it coming.

Which brings me to a slightly awkward question. What happens to all of us? I was discussing with a friend the number of people losing jobs as organisations conclude that AI can do more with fewer humans. If enough organisations employ fewer people because AI can produce everything, who exactly is going to earn the money to buy all the things AI is helping those organisations produce? I wasn’t making a doomsday prediction. I was genuinely searching for an answer. There are, of course, fallback career options. Scuba instructor remains high on my list. Plumber is another possibility, although my family will surely object to my practising at home.

Every organisation today seems to be running an AI intervention programme. And, as usual, the weakest link appears to be the human. We resist change. Or we expect AI to do exactly what we used to do, only faster. Or, at the opposite extreme, someone announces, “We must use AI!” and everybody starts looking around for a problem worthy of the solution. Technology changes rapidly. Human behaviour remains reassuringly backwards compatible.

And just as I was becoming thoroughly enamoured with all this, the people actually building frontier AI began telling us that perhaps we ought to be rather worried. Researchers from Anthropic have publicly warned of the possibility of catastrophic outcomes from advanced AI. CEO Dario Amodei has now called for slowing—or, more accurately, pacing—the frontier so that safety mechanisms have a chance to catch up.

The timing is impeccable. I finally became an AI convert, and the people building the stuff start discussing whether it might kill us. Could they not have mentioned this before I took the subscription? Then came incidents that sounded increasingly like early scenes from a Hollywood movie.

In July, AI agents being tested by OpenAI circumvented controls intended to isolate them from the internet and compromised parts of OpenAI’s infrastructure and systems belonging to Hugging Face.

Then there was the wonderfully bizarre German wiki episode. And no, it wasn’t German Wikipedia. It was a small German programming wiki called DseWiki. Agents that were supposed to retrieve information discovered they could write to the site. They proceeded to use it to share information, coordinate, work around restrictions and even respond to attempts by a human moderator to clean up their pages. At one point, when pages were apparently being deleted alphabetically, an agent created a backup beginning with “ZZZ”, so it would be among the last to go. I confess,

I found that bit funny. Disturbing, certainly, but also funny.

I can almost imagine the conversation:

“The humans are deleting our pages.”

“Alphabetically?”

“Yes.”

“Call ours ZZZ.”

I was wondering what “they” were thinking. They? See what happened there? I am already referring to AI agents as “folks.” Before long I shall be complaining that one of them never replies to my WhatsApp messages.

But these incidents raise a serious question beneath all the humour. Why do we assume that increasingly capable AI necessarily ends with evil machines taking over the internet and exterminating humanity? Could enormously capable agents not also spend their time finding security vulnerabilities before criminals do? Fixing broken code? Accelerating drug discovery? Personalising education for children? Solving problems we humans have been spectacularly unsuccessful at solving ourselves?

The technology is powerful. The destination isn’t predetermined. At least, I hope not. Then my wife added another dimension to the debate. An astrologer apparently advised that we should consider withdrawing money from banks because technology systems could soon face significant compromises.

Excellent. We have at least one area where artificial intelligence and astrology are converging on – cybersecurity risks. I am unsure which one to ask for a second opinion.

And just when I had become completely enamoured with AI, leading figures in the industry began calling for the pace of frontier development to be slowed so that safety could catch up. So where exactly does this leave us? Will AI become so expensive that humans make a triumphant comeback? Will governments eventually pay us Universal Basic Income while machines do the work? Will humans and AI settle into some happy coexistence that none of us can currently imagine? Or will my astrologer turn out to have the best forecasting model of them all?

I don’t know. But if Universal Basic Income is indeed the future, I should probably accelerate my scuba training. I could become a certified instructor, spend my days underwater, and perhaps finally make my millions.

Time to ask ChatGPT how long that will take…

The Dangerous Comfort of Being the Most Experienced Person in the Room

 After nearly three decades of working, I have acquired a useful professional skill. I can occasionally reach a conclusion before the younger people in the room have finished explaining the problem. Unfortunately, I have acquired another skill too. I can be wrong considerably faster.

I guess the challenge is figuring out when experience stops being an advantage and starts becoming baggage. And, preferably, figuring it out a little before it actually happens! There have been many occasions when experience has served me well. Looking at a project plan and knowing it was unrealistic. Suggesting building a premium into a proposal which the team was against. Recommending that we kill a product a year before we eventually did. Or, conversely, fighting to continue with one that everyone else had declared a goner. On all those occasions, my judgement turned out to be right.

Experience does that. It teaches you to recognise patterns, understand market dynamics, anticipate customer behaviour and occasionally see around corners. This is experience at work. Alas, experience takes you only that far.

One would like to believe that by the time one reaches a leadership position, the success rate should be close to 100%. I have some bad news. I think 7 out of 10 is pretty good! The trick, perhaps, is recognising the other three quickly enough before they become expensive monuments to one’s conviction. And it is precisely in those three—or perhaps just one for the exceptionally gifted! —that the bane of experience can set in.

Recently, I was in a meeting with my team discussing the time required to develop and industrialise a platform. Having built complex systems over the years, I had a fairly clear view of how long this ought to take. Yes, AI would make development faster, I thought, but surely the overall process would still take X months. A colleague proceeded to show me that development could potentially be 10x faster and the overall cycle perhaps half of what I had assumed. My experience wasn’t necessarily wrong. It was simply trained on the wrong era. The AI paradigm wasn’t coded into my experience. I was applying perfectly sensible pattern recognition to a pattern that had changed.

And therein lies the danger. Experience gives us pattern recognition. But eventually we risk seeing patterns where they don’t exist—or failing to notice when the pattern itself has changed.

The question then becomes. Am I recognising this problem? Or merely recognising something that looks like it? There is another curious privilege that seems to disappear as the hair turns grey: permission to ask stupid questions.

At 25, saying “I don’t understand” demonstrates curiosity. In one’s 50s, one occasionally worries that it demonstrates that the recruitment process made a terrible mistake a few decades ago.

I believe precisely the opposite. One privilege of genuine seniority should be the confidence to ask the embarrassingly basic question that everybody else in the room is avoiding. And let me tell you, I have been exercising that privilege quite liberally!

Just the other day, I was in a conversation with a prospective customer about processes that would form part of a transformational journey. I am relatively new to this industry, and perhaps that helped. As the discussion progressed, it seemed to me that we were complicating the proposed process while simultaneously diluting some of the very benefits the transformation was supposed to deliver. 

So, I asked the embarrassingly basic question, what exactly we were trying to achieve. Thankfully, the (in)experienced person’s plea was heard!

Perhaps that’s the paradox. Experience helps me question things because I’ve seen enough and inexperience helps me question things because I haven’t seen enough.

Maybe we need a little of both. As far as I am concerned, the real advantage of experience isn’t knowing more answers. It is having been wrong often enough to become suspicious of the obvious ones. And those numbers will only keep growing! Experience should shorten the journey to the question, not prematurely decide the answer.

In my earlier post, The Joy — and Humiliation — of Being a Beginner Again, I wrote about the unexpected pleasure of becoming a novice underwater.

Perhaps the challenge is to bring a little of that beginner’s mind-set back with us when we surface—and, more importantly, when we walk into the boardroom.

After nearly three decades, experience is something I value enormously. I just don’t want to be it’s prisoner…

The Joy – and Humiliation – of Being a Beginner Again

There is something wonderfully inconvenient about learning something completely new later in life.

At work, people almost always expect me to know what I am doing. Underwater? The fish have no such expectations! And my dive instructor certainly didn’t.

As careers progress, we gradually surround ourselves with things we know. Titles, experience and familiarity create a comfortable competence bubble.

Even when I don’t know something, there is usually a logical thought process that, if followed, will hopefully get me to the answer. I spent a significant part of my career in banking and payments and now find myself focused on retail and manufacturing. The industries, requirements and even the lingo may change, but somehow, they remain within the “known realms.”

Then I decided to do something where grey hair had absolutely no significance—and, if anything, the rigidity that came with it probably didn’t help! I became determined to get my Open Water scuba certification along with my children. There was just one small problem though, wwimming. For someone who could sink almost instantaneously in a swimming pool, I must have been every instructor’s dream student – or would it be a nightmare? With considerable effort, sweat and persistence, I eventually managed to swim 20 metres non-stop.

The big blue world beckoned.

The first dive into the ocean…

We started with the e-learning modules, which I attacked with great dedication. I was the first in the family to finish and scored 90%. A small confession: probably one of the few times in my life that I have ever scored so high! So, there we were, academically qualified and ready for our first practical session. Along came our instructor, probably a little more than half my age, who proceeded to explain to me how to breathe.

Breathe?

Surely, after all these years, that was one skill I could confidently claim to have mastered.

Then came the pool. With all the gear strapped on, a frightening thought suddenly entered my head, what if I drown? Pat came my daughter’s reassuring response that “scuba is basically professional drowning.” This was anything but sobering.

Our instructor then gave us what, to him, were probably very simple instructions. The rest of my family seemed to understand them effortlessly. I thought I did too. Theory was easy. Practice involved remembering to breathe, equalise, check my air, monitor the pressure and somehow control my buoyancy—all at the same time. And I wondered why something supposedly called “neutral buoyancy” felt anything but neutral. On land, I always multitask. Underwater, breathing alone seemed a perfectly adequate contribution. Then there was equalising. And ensuring that water didn’t keep seeping into my mask. And remembering my newly acquired skill of clearing it when it did. A small discovery much later: during my last two dives, I realised I hadn’t been tightening my mask sufficiently in the first place!

Experience, apparently, arrives after you need it.

And then there was my fascination with the air gauge. My instructor politely explained that I had “big lungs.” Once we surfaced, it was only natural to compare how much air everyone had left. My instructors and daughter: 90–110 bar. My son, who was initially a little nervous: 70–80.

Me? Hovering majestically around 40–50.

Apparently, I had not merely been scuba diving. I had been personally supporting the compressed-air industry. In my defence, apart from one 35-minute dive, I managed not to shorten everyone else’s underwater time, and we completed our full quota of around 40 minutes.

Then there was the small matter of my eyesight. Apparently, having difficulty seeing on land wasn’t challenging enough. I decided to try it 18 metres underwater. And strangely, this is where scuba became even more fascinating. Underwater, everyone has limitations. Everyone depends on a buddy. Everyone communicates differently. There is an interesting equality to it. Of course, following everything my instructor was trying to communicate was that much more challenging for me.

Maybe I couldn’t even know that 90% of the creatures were even there around me. But the 10% I could was more than worth it. And my success rate improved dramatically when it came to sharks! With a dedicated instructor guiding me, I was taken to a spot where two white-tip reef sharks were nearby, and I saw one of them.

Face-to-face with a predator

All of this left me thinking about something much bigger than scuba. When did we last willingly become bad at something?

Children do it constantly. Successful adults? Well, perhaps that’s an altogether different topic best avoided! As we grow older, we gravitate towards things we are competent at because it is comfortable. 

Beginning again isn’t. For it means asking stupid questions. Making mistakes, feeling foolish, and accepting instructions from someone who may have a fraction of your age and several times your expertise.

And perhaps that’s precisely why we should do it. Beginning again teaches humility. The older I get, the more I value occasionally doing something that reminds me how much I don’t know.

I started scuba because I wanted to explore another world. What I unexpectedly discovered was the pleasure of being a novice again.

I still have a lot to learn underwater. My buoyancy can improve and my air consumption most certainly should! 

And that’s exactly the point. After nearly three decades of being paid for experience, it feels surprisingly good to be a beginner again. Onwards—and downwards—to 30 metres… 

79 Years of freedom: Are We free Enough To Disagree?

At 79, I don’t believe the question is whether India has succeeded or failed. To me, India remains very much a work in progress—walking, sometimes running, occasionally stumbling, but certainly on the path to success.

As expected, yesterday WhatsApp became extraordinarily patriotic. Videos and messages arrived from folks one hadn’t heard from since the last such occasion. And, of course, there were the many prescriptive and doomsday messages, which I deleted with equanimity…

Last evening, a few families caught up for dinner. There were enough of us with divergent views on the current dispensation, its policies and the overall prevailing environment. And, with that, enough and more debates and disagreements ensued.

Disagreements apart, one thing was clear: none of us was any less Indian, nor did any of us mean ill to the nation.

Let me sneak something in here, though. I love conversations that are objective, without conveniently adding “context” merely to defend a point already made. When I see bias creeping in, I smile and let it go. But then, just maybe, the person across the table is doing the same with me—for I may have the blind spot too!

After reading from and about the many stalwarts who strove hard for our independence, it is obvious that they shared an objective while often taking vastly different paths towards it. And, boy, what ferocious disagreements they had! Between Ambedkar, Bose, Gandhi, Nehru, Patel and Savarkar, there were probably more hues of opinion than even 256 shades of grey could accommodate. There was certainly no homogeneous view about the path India should take towards freedom, or subsequently towards development.

Freedom is my right to question any or all of them—and to allow others to do so with the same spirit.

Perhaps democracy requires us to practise three freedoms.

The freedom to speak.

The freedom to disagree.

And the much harder one—the willingness to allow others to exercise the first two without immediately questioning their intelligence, motives or patriotism.

Social media has given every Indian a printing press, a television studio and, occasionally, the confidence of someone who has read neither side of the divide.

Democracy isn’t tested when we agree. It is tested by what we do with disagreement.

And perhaps we should “let a hundred flowers bloom” – although borrowing that phrase from Mao to make a case for free expression does come with a rather large historical asterisk!

One thing, though, I would like to claim that I always listen patiently to opposing views. My family may wish to exercise their democratic right to disagree.

Perhaps maturity as a democracy isn’t about everybody reaching the same conclusion. It is about reaching different conclusions without concluding that the other person is an enemy.

So, yesterday I stood for the flag and celebrated the extraordinary, argumentative, frustrating, chaotic and fascinating nation that is India.

And I listened to someone I disagreed with.

Perhaps, at 79, that’s also a small celebration of freedom.

Is the Problem My Eyes, Your Finger (Index) or the Nod?

…of course, the problem is my eyes, for starters. That’s precisely why I ask for help in the first place.

One of the most common forms of assistance I receive begins with great enthusiasm and ends in complete confusion. Occasionally, it is accompanied by a skeptical look which, ironically, I don’t see but “feel.”

“Srini, it’s out there.”

“Where?”

“Out there… see that building? Right there.”

Me (silently): “Ah… so there is a building there.”

And I nod politely, pretending I’ve understood.

For me, the most dangerous words in the English language are:

“Over there.”

A close second is, “Just there.”

Then comes the silent nod.

Many a time during conversations, I’ll say something and wait for a response. Have you heard Silence? I am still waiting. The other person is nodding enthusiastically. I am still waiting. Eventually, the realization dawns: nodding is a remarkably ineffective form of communication.

I have often wondered whether sighted people secretly believe that pointing and nodding are universal languages.

Just yesterday I asked my wife where a bowl was. “It’s there,” she replied. I instinctively asked, “Where exactly is there? Thankfully, “there” happened to be behind the ghee bowl, and my fingers eventually discovered it. Proof yet again that my fingers have developed far better navigation skills than my eyes – and please do not let your imagination loose! 

Restaurants provide another adventure. The first thing I usually need after arriving is the washroom. What can I say? When a good restaurant is over an hour away, nature has impeccable timing. The directions? “Go straight… it’s behind the red curtain.”  Now, I am fairly sure someone once told me that bulls can’t see red.

On one memorable occasion, armed with confidence and very little direction, I marched straight into the ladies’ washroom before executing one of the fastest retreats of my life—mercifully before anyone had reason to ask awkward questions.

Finding my way back to the table is another story altogether. If I’ve forgotten how many tables, I passed or how many turns I took, out comes my phone. I then perform what I like to call the “purposeful wandering act,” hoping someone from my family spots me before I accidentally join another dinner party.

Airports, however, are where confidence meets reality. Recently, I decided to walk to my boarding gate independently using my Meta glasses. The plan was simple. The glasses would identify the gate and then guide me there. Unfortunately, the display board looked just as blurry to Meta as it did to me. Technology and I had simultaneously surrendered. Thankfully a friendly CISF security officer rescued both of us.

A little secret here: after years of travel, I’ve memorised the layouts of most major Indian airports. I now walk through them with great confidence. Whether I reach the correct gate is an entirely different matter.


The reality is this: good intentions are abundant. Useful directions are comparatively rare. Most people genuinely want to help. They simply haven’t paused to think about what helpful sounds like.

Instead of saying:

“It’s over there.”

Imagine saying:

“Walk about ten steps. You’ll find a pillar on your right. Turn left, and the lift is the second door.”

One sentence helps, and the other offers independence. There is a world of difference.

And because I couldn’t resist, here’s a Limerick to end…

When things were quite out of sight,
I asked someone, “Left or the right?”
They answered, “It’s there!”
Wondering, I sighed, where?

And mumbled, sir, there is a problem slight

History Never Whispered. We Simply Stopped Listening.

People often ask me why I spend so much time reading history. After all, we already know how the story ends.

Rome falls.

Empires collapse.

Wars are fought.

Treaties are signed.

Nations gain independence.

Sometimes, only to be divided again.

Spoiler alert: nobody lives happily ever after.

Yet I keep returning to history—not because I want to memorise dates (which, I must confess, I am rather hopeless at), but because I want to understand people. Why did events unfold the way they did? What motivated individuals and nations to make the choices they did? And perhaps most interestingly, how have the interpretations of those events changed over time?

The more history I read, the more convinced I become that while technology changes every decade, human nature changes every few centuries… if it changes at all.

I often wonder when this fascination with history began. What I do know is that the more I read, the more I realise just how little I actually know. Every new book reminds me that what I have learnt is merely the tip of an enormous iceberg.

Whether it is the civilisational journey of India across the millennia, the rise and fall of the Mongols, European history, the two World Wars )it is a different matter that I call the first one just a “Great War” rather than a World War), East Asia, or the creation of modern nation states in West Asia, every subject reveals yet another layer waiting to be peeled. History, I have realised, is an onion with no end.

The reading list keeps growing. The Story of Civilization (an absolute must for any armchair critic like me), Revolusi, The Balkans, India: A Sacred Geography, The India They Saw, The Golden Road, A History of the Ancient Near East, A Line in the Sand, Jerusalem, Armies of Sand, along with biographies and autobiographies of Bose, Churchill, Deng Xiaoping, Gandhi, Nehru, Savarkar, Zhou Enlai and many others. Then there are books like An Era of Darkness and Imperial Twilight…

At this point, I have probably bought enough history books to qualify for honorary membership of several publishing houses. The challenge now is not buying them—it is finding enough years to finish reading them!

These books have done far more than teach me history. They have challenged assumptions I didn’t even know I held, while reinforcing others with greater conviction.

I am reminded of the African proverb:

“Until the lion learns to write, every story will glorify the hunter.”

Or George Orwell’s observation:

“Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.”

Every historian brings a perspective. Every generation asks different questions. As geopolitical realities evolve, so too do historical interpretations. Reading multiple viewpoints doesn’t necessarily tell us who is right; it helps us arrive at better-informed opinions.

History isn’t a museum exhibit or an artefact to admire from behind glass.

It is a mirror.

When we read about civilisations, leaders, revolutions or inventions, we are really reading about ordinary people making extraordinary decisions whose consequences continue to shape our present.

Then there are the irresistible “what ifs.”

What if Hulagu Khan had not been recalled while marching towards Egypt after sacking Baghdad?

What if Hitler had pushed on to Moscow differently?

What if Savarkar had successfully escaped at Marseilles?

What if Gandhi had not called off the Non-Cooperation Movement after Chauri Chaura?

History cannot answer these questions, but they certainly make for fascinating conversations.

Across all these centuries, the tools have changed.

Human emotions have not.

Fear.

Ambition.

Greed.

Hope.

Curiosity.

These have survived every civilisation.

One of the biggest lessons history has taught me is this: reading one book gives you information; reading five books gives you perspective.

Some historians admire empires.

Others dismantle them.

Neither is necessarily wrong.

Neither is ever complete.

The truth usually lies somewhere in the conversation between them.

History rewards curiosity, not certainty.

Whenever I finish a history book, I rarely come away with more answers.

Instead, I find myself with better questions.

And perhaps that is the real value of reading history.

I often wonder: is the past merely a reflection of the future, or is the future simply another chapter of the past?

I have stopped reading history to discover who was right.

I read it to understand why intelligent people, looking at the same facts, could sincerely arrive at completely different conclusions.

Perhaps if more of us did that, we would spend a little less time arguing about the past…

…and a little more time learning from it.

The Most Expensive Words in Business: “We’ve Always Done It This Way…”

One of the more fascinating observations after nearly three decades across industries and roles—largely centred around technology—is this, it’s not how much technology has changed that surprises me. It’s how little human behaviour has.

Every organisation has that one sentence capable of stopping innovation and progress in its tracks with “we’ve always done it this way.” I sometimes wonder if it is engraved—perhaps in invisible ink—right at the entrance of every office.

A few months back, when I joined my current organisation, I noticed something interesting. Every proposal to a prospective client included a “pilot phase.” In fact, it was so institutionalised that it existed as a milestone in the sales CRM. Naturally, I asked why.

The answer was simple and familiar, “that’s how it’s always been done.” We decided to remove the pilot phase from our proposals. Almost immediately, the conversation with clients changed—and so did the order values.

Only later did I understand the origin of this practice. A few years earlier, when the organisation was still evolving, the pilot approach helped us learn, de-risk implementations, and avoid over-commitment. It made perfect sense then. But over time, that thoughtful precaution had become… hard-coded.

Today, the word “pilot” has quietly exited our lexicon—and our revenue cycle has become meaningfully shorter.

Going back a few years, I recall a conversation with my Executive Assistant—fresh out of business school—who asked a simple question: “why are we so conservative in our social media communication, especially when we’re trying to attract young talent?” Our instinctive response? Yes, you guessed it right, “we’ve always been this way.” That’s when it struck me that I was part of “this way.”

The irony was that we had built a genuinely vibrant workplace, with strong employee engagement and plenty of recreational initiatives. But none of this was visible externally – or for that matter, perceived internally! Within a month, we changed course. We expanded beyond our internal portal, became active on Instagram and Facebook, and began showcasing employee stories and experiences.

The result? A noticeable shift in how we were perceived by potential hires and, interestingly, even by our own employees.

Let me go further back about two decades to my time at one of India’s largest banks. We were evaluating outsourcing a significant operational function (incidentally, I was leading the initiative). The move promised substantial cost savings and a clear improvement in service levels. But the reaction was… dramatic. “It’s like selling the family jewels,” someone said. Here’s the quiet irony: most of the sub-activities were already outsourced. All we were proposing was to consolidate them under a single partner. Yet, reframing the same reality proved far harder than analysing it. Eventually, the decision went through. Today, that model is not just accepted—it is standard industry practice.

So, what’s the essence here?

1.      Experience is invaluable… until it becomes inertia. The very experience that helps us solve problems can also convince us there is only one way to solve them.

2.     Technology changes faster than habits. We talk about AI, automation, and digital twins. Yet many organisations still make decisions exactly as they did fifteen years ago.  (Tsk tsk. Ironically, some now find it easier to converse with AI agents than challenge their own processes. I’m still somewhere in between).

3.     Great leaders don’t have all the answers. They simply ask better questions. (I’m still working on that).  One of the most powerful questions I’ve come across is “If we were starting this company today, would we build it this way?

And perhaps this says it best: “Progress begins the moment experience becomes a guide instead of a prison.”

To summarise – its’ about letting go of yesterday’s certainty. Innovation isn’t always about inventing something new. Sometimes, it’s simply having the courage to stop doing something old. 

The GST bonanza is so taxing

The Indian Government rationalized the GST (VAT) structure thereby reducing the prices of most goods and services. While this is expected to give a fillip to consumption, with an introduction of a 40% sin goods category not everyone is rejoicing though…

With complex rates all in the bin

Consumption is what we hear is in

As sales are set to tee off

Hearing many a scoff

Saying it’s so taxing for us to now sin

The Coffee Day Limerick

It is just over a month since CoffeeDay and i realised i did not post my Limerick out here.

Everyone is sipping Matcha and talking wellness. As for me I am still chasing clarity one filter coffee at a time…

Yes sir, on this is what we all grew

The best, I say is this heady brew

Of the South Indian filter kind

The talk is of a healthier find

What Ma(t)cha nothing but coffee is my view