Colleague - A blog on every pro to fun

It's been a week, and I still can't quite believe it. You know those days where the universe just lines up and hands you a story so wild you think you might be dreaming? Yeah, last Tuesday was one of those days. It all started, as the best stories often do, with a slightly disastrous coffee run. ☕ The Accidental Encounter I was hustling down a busy street in Santa Monica, headphones on, juggling a laptop bag, my keys, and a piping hot latte. Naturally, I tripped over a curb. The latte went airborne, destined for certain destruction... until a quick-as-lightning hand shot out and caught the cup just inches from the pavement. "Whoa! Smooth save!" I gasped, looking up, ready to thank my savior. And there he was. Will Smith. I didn't manage to play it cool. My brain short-circuited. I think I made a sound like a surprised dolphin. Will, looking effortlessly cool in a baseball cap and a light jacket, just grinned, that famous, genuine smile lighting up his face. "...

I was deep in the weeds, hunched over my laptop at the corner table of "The Daily Grind," a small café near my office. My screen was a mess of code snippets and half-finished design mockups for a side project that was rapidly becoming my main obsession—and my main source of stress. I was convinced the solution had to be complex, multi-layered, and frankly, genius. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, accidentally knocking over my lukewarm latte. It wasn't a catastrophic spill, but a dark brown, viscous wave that soaked the edge of my notebook. "Perfect," I muttered, grabbing a napkin. Before I could fully panic, a hand appeared, offering me a fresh, clean napkin stack. I looked up, ready to offer a hasty apology, and froze. Standing there, holding a plain black coffee mug and smiling wryly, was Sundar Pichai. He was wearing an unassuming jacket, and somehow, the few people around him seemed entirely oblivious. "The best ideas often get born out of a bi...

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,...