When a Conversation Becomes a Connection!

We, the people, rush.

We rush through our days. We rush through our decisions. We rush past moments that matter.
We overlook the magic hidden in ordinary interactions.
We forget to see - really see - the people we meet.
Even if we do – We just browse through or brush away

I’ve done that too. Afterall, I’m part of “those people.”

But every now and then, life taps you on the shoulder.
And in one such unexpected moment, someone walked in, stayed for just two hours - and stayed in my life forever.

Isn’t that life’s strange paradox?
Some people are in your life for years yet leave no impression.
Others appear for a fleeting moment - and leave a mark that time cannot fade.

A Coffee, a Conversation, and Something More 

It was a bright morning in Bangalore - the kind where the sun filters gently through chaos. I was heading Human Resources at First American, and we were on the lookout for a Head of Learning & Development.

My colleague Toufiq, who led Talent Acquisition and was one of the blue-eyed boys in the team, forwarded me a profile. The resume looked promising. I decided to meet the candidate for an informal chat. No boardroom, no formality - just a conversation.

We chose Café Coffee Day at Wilson Garden. That CCD had a certain charm - tucked in just off a traffic - clogged road, yet oddly calm, like a quiet corner in a crowded mind.

She walked in, poised yet warm. We ordered our coffees, settled in - and dove into a conversation that flowed effortlessly. We spoke of work, leadership, vision, challenges, possibilities… but more than that, we simply connected. It didn’t feel like an interview. It felt like talking to someone you somehow already knew.

I’ve always believed that the best interviews aren’t really interviews.
They’re conversations without agendas. Meetings without masks.

And by the time I exited CCD that morning, I knew. She was the one. I wanted her to be part of our journey.

When Destiny Has Other Plans

But just when everything seemed aligned - resume, conversation, intention - life added its twist. After all, Mr. Destiny needs to play his superiority Right!!

She had to move out of Bangalore due to personal constraints.

And just like that, it ended before it began.

She politely informed us. We wished her well. And that was that.

Now, in most cases, you forget and move on. It’s just “an interview,” right?
But this one lingered. Not in a professional sense, but in a deeply human one.

We never worked together.
But we never lost each other either.

One Coffee. One Connection. One Constant.

A decade has passed. She’s still in Learning & Development. I’m still in the people business.
We live in different cities - Bangalore and Pune. Yet every time we speak, time disappears.

Our conversations have no agendas, no ticking clocks, no filters.

It’s rare, isn’t it? To meet someone who reflects your thoughts without mirroring them, who listens without judgement, who energizes you simply by being herself.

That’s what happened with Sunitha.

One meeting. One spontaneous coffee. And a friendship that outlasted job titles, companies, and cities.

Life’s Quiet Reminders

Sometimes, life doesn’t shout.
It whispers. Through people. Through moments we almost ignore.
It nudges us to slow down, to observe, to feel.
And once in a while, it gives you a gift - wrapped in nothing but conversation.

No fireworks. No declarations. Just two people who met as professionals and left as something far more enduring.

Have you ever met someone like that?
A passing connection that turned into a lifelong friendship?

If yes, maybe it’s time to call them.
And if not—maybe the next coffee you have with a stranger could be the beginning of something beautiful.

Happy Friendship Day!

 

Who Said People Don’t Care?

They say the world has changed.

That kindness is outdated. That empathy is on leave. That everyone is in it for themselves.

And some days, it’s hard to argue.

We see it in the sharp glances of strangers, the hurried silence of elevators, the cold efficiency of meetings, and even the unexpected distance of familiar faces.
Yes - some days it does feel like we’re all just passing each other, eyes down, hearts armored.

But is that the whole truth?

I’ve wrestled with this thought for a while. It’s not a clean yes or no.
Because I’ve also known eccentric behavior that bruised, and gentle gestures that healed.
There’s a strange paradox we live in - we crave connection, yet fear judgment; we want to give, but are wary of being taken for granted.

We hesitate to help those we know - because with familiarity comes expectation.
We run mental spreadsheets - 
What if they ask again?
What if they never stop?
Will I look weak for saying yes?
Or heartless for saying no?

But help a stranger? Oddly easier.
There’s no past as reference. No transaction to balance. No emotional invoice. 
Just a moment of pure, anonymous humanity.
No fear of being judged. No pressure to impress.
Just two people meeting briefly under the same sky.

And that brings me to Basavaraj.

It was a regular Sunday morning. I had ordered breakfast for my parents. Their home is little tricky to find on google maps like solving a riddle, so I called the Zomato delivery partner to guide him.
His name was Basavaraj.

He stayed patiently on the call, politely confirming each turn like a human GPS with empathy mode switched on.
I mentioned it was my parents’ place, and he carefully navigated through until he reached the gate and delivered the food.

Now, this wasn’t a life-changing event.

It was such a simple interaction - but something about the calm in his voice, the respect in his tone, and his unhurried patience in the middle of a rush hour truly moved me.
It’s gestures like these that deserve to be noticed.

After the delivery, I messaged him: “Thank you so much.”

His reply?

“For any help or any kind of emergency, call me, ma’am.”

I blinked at the screen. He didn’t know me. I didn’t know him. I probably wouldn’t even recognize him if he stood right in front of me. And yet, that message - short, sincere, and selfless - moved me more than many formal gestures ever have. 

In that moment, I realized something.
The world hasn’t lost kindness. We’ve just stopped noticing where it quietly lives.

It doesn’t always wear a cape.
Sometimes, it rides a scooter and delivers idli at 11am.

So, No! - People do care.
Not everyone. Not all the time. But enough.
Enough to remind you, on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday, that decency is still out there doing quiet work.

And maybe, that’s the point.

If strangers can show up with warmth and no strings attached, what’s stopping us - the ones with all the strings, the context, and the calendar invites?

Look, I know I tend to get all reflective about these things.
Life throws these moments at me, and before I know it, I’m philosophizing like a chai-sipping Socrates.

Sometimes I wish I could just move on, be that “Oh well, life happens” person.
But No! - Few minor incidents becomes a major internal TED Talk.
And suddenly, I’m narrating morals in my head like a part-time monk with a playlist.

Because truly - everyone carries a story.
And some of them hand you a line from it without even knowing.

So here’s my not-so-grand revolution:

Let’s not underestimate the ripple of a kind word.
Let’s not wait for the world to get its act together before we soften ours.
Let’s not dismiss the power of small acts - because they often echo louder than we think.

Kindness isn’t outdated.
It’s just underrated.

And maybe - just maybe - the world doesn’t need a million Basavaraj's.
It just needs you and me, showing up a little softer, a little less distracted, and a little more human than we were yesterday.

That’s how the world changes.
Not with spotlights.
But with small, unclaimed moments of kindness.

One idli delivery at a time.

The Days We Count!

 

When was the last time you counted the days?

Not in a calendar sense, not with red circles or reminders on your phone - but truly counted the days. Day one. Day two. Day three. Waiting. Watching. Wanting something to begin… or something to end.

I recently asked a friend recovering from surgery the same question.
He paused and said, “I don’t even remember.”

So, I asked myself:
When was the last time I counted the days?

It was as if two parts of my mind were summoned into a quiet conference. One - the emotional, the heart - that stores life’s moments like pressed flowers in a diary. And the other - the rational, the analyst - that dissects and categorizes life like a spreadsheet.

Both answered. 

My emotional self took the lead. It didn’t hesitate. The memory arrived like a wave that doesn’t knock - it floods.
It was June 2022.

I remember counting down not for something to arrive, but for something to be over.
My mother had just suffered a stroke. The world didn’t just shift - it collapsed inward. That moment is etched into me like a scar you don’t see, but always feel.
I remember freezing. I remember wanting out of that reality. Each day that followed felt like climbing a staircase with no end. Six days of swirling fear, helpless prayers, and the piercing  silence of hospital corridors amidst of total chaos. 

I counted those days like someone drowning counts for air.

And yet, in that fog of uncertainty, hands reached out to hold mine.
Voices whispered, “I’m here.” People I didn’t expect showed up.
Some who I thought would - didn’t.
They say crisis reveals character. It also reveals company.

Even now, I’m grateful to the unseen power that heard my cries in the silence. And to the people who stood beside me - not with grand gestures, but with quiet presence. I learned, in those six days, what truly matters.

Then, my rational mind chimed in again.

It reminded me, we also count days when something beautiful is on the horizon.

A meaningful conversation you've been waiting to have
The relief of completing something you once thought challenging enough!
The peace of stepping away from chaos into calm
That quiet moment when your efforts finally feel seen
Or simply, a day that doesn’t begin with dread

Those are the countdowns of joy—we anticipate them with giddy excitement. We don’t want to “get through” those days, we want to race toward them. We lean into them like sunflowers chasing sunlight.

And then, it hit me.

There are two kinds of countdowns in life:

• The ones we want to escape.

• And the ones we can’t wait to embrace.

One is born from pain. The other from purpose.
One is survival. The other - celebration.

But both remind us of one powerful truth:
We are alive.
We are feeling.
We are in motion.

So what if…!

What if we could fill our lives with more “I can’t wait for it!” moments?
What if, instead of just surviving some days, we deliberately designed days we could savor in anticipation?

What if we built a life where the emotional and rational parts of us both smiled at the calendar - not with dread, but with delight?

Because when we look back, life won’t be measured by the years we lived, but by the days we counted.

So here’s to creating more countdowns worth the wait.

Not just ones we wish to end, but ones we wake up for - with wide eyes and a racing heart.

What are you counting down to today?

More importantly - 
Are you running away from it, or running towards it?