Colleague HQ India

The rain was hammering against the window of the small cafe, blurring the bustling city street outside into a smear of greys and dull yellows. I sat at a corner table, nursing a coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. My notebook lay open, the pages blank, shivering slightly every time the door opened and a draft of cold air rushed in. I was waiting for a Nobel Peace Prize laureate. When you imagine meeting a figure of history—someone who has stood face-to-face with authoritarianism, who has buried colleagues and carried the weight of a silenced nation on his shoulders—you expect thunder. You expect an entourage, a visible aura of intensity. Dmitry Muratov walked in alone. He shook off his umbrella, hung up his heavy coat, and looked around with the confused, amiable expression of a grandfather looking for his grandchildren in a crowded mall. When his eyes found mine, his face broke into a warm, crinkling smile. "I am sorry," he said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble t...

History is often written in ink, but sometimes, if you look closely enough, you can see the tear stains. I found myself thinking about this yesterday during a vivid daydream. Imagine stepping not into a sleek sci-fi portal, but onto a sun-drenched terrace in San Remo, Italy. The year is 1896. The air smells of salt water, cypress trees, and the faint, acrid tang of blasting caps. Sitting there, hunched over a heavy oak table, was a man who looked older than his sixty-three years. He had a beard trimmed in the style of the era and eyes that held a profound, haunting sadness. It was Alfred Bernhard Nobel. In my story, I didn't approach him as a fan or a critic. I simply sat across from him. He didn't seem surprised. In the haze of the Mediterranean heat, perhaps a visitor from the future seemed like just another side effect of his chronic migraines. "You look like you carry the weight of the world, Mr. Nobel," I said, breaking the silence. He sighed, putting down his pe...

They say you never forget the moments that shift your perspective. For some, it’s a quote in a book; for others, it’s a mountaintop view. For me, it was a humid Tuesday afternoon in Jaisalmer, and a brief, unexpected conversation with one of India’s most celebrated administrative officers, Tina Dabi. Like millions of other aspirants and students in India, I knew the name.  Tina Dabi wasn’t just the 2015 UPSC topper; she had become a symbol of what modern, youthful, and empathetic leadership looked like in the rigid framework of Indian bureaucracy. But seeing someone on Instagram and seeing them command a room are two very different things. The Setting I was in Rajasthan for a field research project. The heat was unforgiving, rising off the pavement in shimmering waves. I found myself at the Collectorate, caught up in the usual hustle of district administration. Files were moving, phones were ringing, and people from the deepest rural pockets were waiting for a hearing. I was standi...

The early morning fog in Varanasi doesn't just obscure the view; it silences the world. Standing near Assi Ghat, with the Ganga flowing quietly beside me, I felt a strange sense of solitude despite the city waking up around me. I was at an old, weathered tea stall, the kind that has stood there longer than the buildings around it. I was scrolling through my phone, reading headlines about global summits and stock markets, feeling incredibly small in the grand scheme of things. Then, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't the noise of a siren or the rush of a crowd. It was a sudden, organized stillness. Three black SUVs pulled up a hundred meters away. Men in sharp suits—the Special Protection Group—fanned out with practiced precision. I expected them to clear the area. Instead, a man stepped out of the center vehicle, waved them back slightly, and began walking toward the river. He wore a simple kurta and a shawl wrapped against the chill. He walked with a purpose that felt familiar,...

We all have that one relationship that started with skepticism, moved into a phase of excitement, and eventually settled into a comfortable, reliable routine. For me, that relationship isn't with a person—it’s with a blue box and a yellow wishmaster. It’s hard to imagine now, in an era where we order groceries to be delivered in ten minutes, but there was a time when buying something "online" felt like a gamble. This is the story of me and Flipkart, and how we grew up together. The "Cash on Delivery" Era I clearly remember my first interaction with the platform. It was back in 2025. The internet was slower, and my trust in entering card details online was non-existent. I wanted a Chetan Bhagat book. I stared at the screen for a long time. The price was great, but the fear was real. What if a brick arrived? What if it never came? Then I saw the three magic words that changed Indian e-commerce forever: Cash on Delivery. I clicked "Buy." Three days later,...

They say you become the average of the five people you spend the most time with. If that’s true, then I’m counting on Ziva Zyanna to significantly raise my average. If you’ve been following the blog for a while, you know that my usual routine involves being glued to my laptop, convinced that the "great outdoors" is just a screensaver I haven't installed yet. But Ziva has this magnetic energy that makes staying in one place feel like a crime against the universe. Yesterday was supposed to be a quiet Tuesday. Then I got the text: "Get in the car. We’re going on an adventure." The "Ziva Effect" Here’s the thing about Ziva Zyanna: she doesn’t just walk through life; she dances through it. We ended up driving out to Whispering Sands Cove, a place I was 90% sure didn't exist outside of Pinterest boards. The playlist was a chaotic mix of 80s synth-pop and early 2000s punk rock, and we spent the first hour just debating whether cereal is technically a soup...

If there is one thing I have learned about Zara Zyanna, it is that she does not believe in straight lines. "Maps are just suggestions," she told me as she tossed my GPS into the backseat, turned up the radio, and hit the gas. And that is exactly how we ended up here. The 6 AM Wake-Up Call The plan—if you could call it that—was simple. We were supposed to grab coffee, maybe head to the city center, and have a relaxing Saturday. But when Zara Zyanna shows up at your door at sunrise wearing oversized sunglasses and holding two iced lattes, you know the plans have changed. "Get in," she said, flashing that signature grin. "We’re chasing the horizon today." The Detour Two hours later, we were nowhere near the city. We were driving down a coastal road that I’m pretty sure wasn’t on Google Maps, singing along to a playlist that swung wildly between 80s rock and modern indie pop. The dynamic between us is always like this: I’m usually the one worrying about the fu...

I don’t know Elon Musk. We’ve never met. We don’t move in the same circles (he moves in circles that orbit Mars; I move in circles that involve finding a parking spot at Trader Joe’s). And yet, I feel like I’ve been inadvertently living in a guest house on his mental estate for the last decade. Here is a brief history of my one-sided relationship with the man who wants to put a chip in my brain. The Electric Envy (The Tesla Phase) It started on the highway. I was driving my reliable, gas-guzzling sedan—a car that vibrated aggressively if I went over 65 mph—when a silent, spaceship-looking vehicle glided past me. No engine noise. No exhaust. Just a glowing "T" and a driver who looked smugly comfortable. That was the moment I entered the "Tesla Envy" phase. The Dream: I convinced myself I was going to buy a Model S. I built one on the website. I chose the "Ludicrous Mode" option, mostly because I liked the Spaceballs reference. The Reality: I looked at my...

Before the world was obsessed with megapixels, touchscreens, and the anxiety of "read receipts," there was an era of simplicity. An era of buttons. An era of the Brick. If my life in schools was measured in grade levels, my social life as a young adult was measured in Nokia models. Here is the history of me and the phone that could survive a nuclear apocalypse. The Arrival of "The Brick" (The 3310 Era) I vividly remember the day I got my first Nokia. It felt significant, like being handed the keys to a tank. It didn't have a data plan. It didn't have a camera. It didn't even have color. But it had something better: immortality. The Nokia 3310 wasn't just a phone; it was a blunt force object. I dropped it on concrete, down stairs, and once, famously, into a puddle. The result? The floor broke, the stairs chipped, and the puddle evaporated out of fear. The phone just rebooted and asked me for the time. The Essentials: Battery Life: I charged this thin...

If you look closely at my life, you can measure it not in years, but in grade levels. For nearly two decades, my internal clock wasn't set to the sun or the moon, but to the academic calendar. My new year began in September, my hibernation period was Winter Break, and my liberation day was sometime in mid-June. Looking back now, the journey through the school system feels like a fever dream mixed with a coming-of-age movie. Here is the unauthorized history of Me and Schools. The Backpack Bigger Than the Kid (Elementary Era) It started with a backpack that was objectively larger than my torso. I remember standing at the bus stop, a small turtle in a world of hares, clutching a lunchbox that likely contained a juice box and a sandwich with the crusts cut off (thanks, Mom). Elementary school was a time of simple binaries. You were either a fast runner or you weren't. You had the 64-pack of crayons with the built-in sharpener, or you were borrowing from the kid who did. The Curricu...

 It started, as these things usually do, with a tragedy. There I was, minding my own business, when my trusty old phone—let’s call him "Old Reliable"—slipped from my hand. It hit the pavement with that sickening crunch that every modern human recognizes. I picked it up to find a spiderweb of cracks and a screen flickering like a strobe light at a bad disco. It was time. I needed a new smartphone. "How hard could it be?" I thought. "I’ll just pick the best one." Spoiler Alert: It was very hard. Entering the Rabbit Hole I opened my laptop and typed "Best Smartphone 2024" into the search bar. Big mistake. Suddenly, I was drowning in jargon. Snapdragon gen-what? 200 Megapixels? Periscope zoom? Nits of brightness? I felt less like a shopper and more like I was studying for a degree in electrical engineering. I found myself stuck in a three-way tug-of-war: The Flagship Giants: Beautiful, powerful, and cost as much as a used car. The "Flagship Kill...

We live in a world where you can tap a piece of glass in your pocket, and thirty minutes later, a hot pizza arrives at your door. We stream movies instantly, transfer money in seconds, and connect with people across oceans. To the average person, this is convenience. To a Web Developer, this is a series of logic puzzles, languages, and systems working in perfect harmony. If you have ever right-clicked on a webpage, hit "Inspect Element," and stared at the matrix of code underneath with a mix of confusion and curiosity, this story is for you. Becoming a web developer isn't about memorizing the dictionary; it's about learning how to speak to machines. Here is the roadmap to going from a "user" to a "builder." Chapter 1: The Foundation (HTML & CSS) Every great structure needs a foundation. In web development, there is no escaping the dynamic duo: HTML and CSS. Imagine you are building a house. HTML (HyperText Markup Language) is the framing, the b...

We’ve all had that experience. You land on a website, and everything just… clicks. The navigation is intuitive, the colors set the perfect mood, and finding what you need feels effortless. It’s almost like magic. But behind that "magic" is a person—a web designer—who made thousands of deliberate decisions. If you’ve ever looked at a digital experience and thought, "I want to be the person who makes that," you are in the right place. The path from viewing websites to building them can seem daunting, filled with confusing jargon and expensive tools. Here is the reality: web design is a learnable skill, a blend of artistic intuition and logical structure. You don't need to be born with an eye for typography, and you certainly don't need a computer science degree to start. This is the story of how you go from zero to job-ready, one step at a time. The Prelude: It’s Not Just About "Making It Pretty" Before you download any software, you need to reframe ...

It started with a conversation over steaming cups of chai in a cramped Delhi apartment. Outside, the city hummed with its usual frenetic energy—a symphony of honking horns and construction drills. "I love the opportunities here," my friend Arjun said, gesturing towards the window, "but sometimes, I just want to breathe. I want to see a horizon that isn't made of concrete." That sentiment sparked a debate that lasted hours and, in many ways, continues today. It’s the great Indian dilemma: in a country that feels like a continent, housing twenty-eight distinct cultural universes, where is the absolute "best" place to plant your roots? The question itself is a trap. Asking for the "best state in India" is like asking for the best flavor of ice cream. Are you in the mood for the complex spice of a masala chai, the cool sweetness of a mango sorbet, or the rich, dense texture of kulfi? To answer this, we have to abandon statistics for a moment and ...

The sheer weight of the JEE Main syllabus—Physics, Chemistry, and Mathematics—can feel like standing at the base of a massive mountain. And when you decide to conquer it on your very first attempt in 2025, the challenge seems even more daunting. I remember the initial panic. Everyone said I needed years of dedicated coaching, three rounds of revision, and divine intervention. But I didn't have years; I had one shot and a solid plan. Cracking the JEE Main on your first try is absolutely possible, but it requires a strategic, disciplined, and slightly different approach than a long-term dropper. Here is the blueprint I used to turn that mountain into a manageable trek. 1. The Blueprint: Syllabus and Pattern Mastery You cannot win a game if you don't know the rules. For JEE Main 2025, knowing the precise rules was my first winning move. Acknowledge the New Pattern: The NTA has made the 5 numerical questions in Section B compulsory now, eliminating the optional questions. This is a...

Let's be honest, the dream of an Instagram Reel going viral is intoxicating. That little surge of dopamine as the view count climbs, the flood of new followers, the comments rolling in – it feels like winning the social media lottery. For the longest time, I felt like I was just buying tickets, hoping for a lucky break. My Reels were… fine. They looked good, I put effort into them, but they never really popped. They’d get a decent amount of views from my existing followers, but the algorithm gods seemed to be looking elsewhere. Then, something clicked. Or rather, a lot of things clicked, one after another, as I started treating Reels less like a creative outlet and more like a puzzle to solve. And let me tell you, once you understand the pieces, the picture starts to come into focus surprisingly fast. The First "Aha!" Moment: It's All About the Hook My early Reels often started with a gentle fade-in, a slow reveal, or a "Hey guys!" introduction. Logical, rig...

They say engineering is about solving complex problems, mastering thermodynamics, and debugging code that refuses to run. But if I look back at those four years, the only variables that really mattered were the people I was solving those problems with. specifically, two of them. Let’s call them Maya and Priya. If my college life was a circuit board, I was the resistor trying to hold back the flow of chaos, Maya was the reliable power source, and Priya? Priya was the short circuit that made sparks fly when you least expected it. The Trio Formed in the Back Benches We didn't meet in a library or during a profound academic discussion. We met over a shared hatred for 8:00 AM Engineering Mechanics. I was half-asleep, Maya was frantically highlighting a textbook that looked brand new, and Priya was eating a vada pav she’d smuggled in under her dupatta. "Do you have a pen?" Maya asked me, panicked. "Do you want a bite?" Priya offered simultaneously, holding out the spi...

 Let's be honest, in the vast, chaotic universe of the internet, your X (formerly Twitter) bio is your digital front porch. It's the tiny, 160-character billboard that's supposed to scream "This is who I am!" to anyone who stumbles upon your profile. And for me? Maintaining it is a low-key existential crisis that renews itself every few months. The Great "Who Am I?" Debate It always starts simply enough. I'll be scrolling through X, see someone's incredibly witty or professional bio, and then glance at my own. Suddenly, that bio I wrote three months ago feels like it was written by a completely different person. Am I still an "enthusiast"? Is "coffee-powered" too cliché? Does "Views my own" even mean anything anymore? The cursor blinks mockingly in the "Edit profile" box. And the pressure mounts. How do you condense your entire multi-faceted, complex personality—your job, your hobbies, your sense of humor, ...