RajenReflects

Learn, Lead, Leap

Hey, you enjoy reading, don’t you?

What if you could gain real-life insights from lived experiences of a writer?

ARE YOU TROUBLED?

If the wheels of your life are a bit wobbly and you are stuck in a rut, this book may have a solution to your problem.

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When I was considering taking on a new job, a well-meaning colleague pulled me aside. "This arrangement doesn't make sense. Think it through. Don't say I didn't warn you." He was confident. He was sincere. But he had no direct evidence. I joined anyway. Years later, I looked back on that decision. Some lessons, you can only learn by crossing the bridge.

It's thirty years since the morning that determined the shape of my career. And the person most responsible for it doesn't know. Because I never got the chance to tell him properly. His name is Shekhar. In 1995-96, he worked at India Feature Service in Delhi and lived in Vasant Kunj. A year later, we lost touch. I've written it down here. If there's any chance this reaches him, I'm asking you to share it. As widely as you can. He deserves to read it.

There are people in your life you'd avoid if you could. You know exactly who I mean. For a long time, I did what most of us do. I showed up anyway. Kept the peace. Played the role. Of late, I've stopped doing that. If you've ever felt torn between who you are and what's expected of you — this one's for you.

There's a moment every parent dreads and secretly hopes for at the same time. The moment you realise your child has quietly outgrown your expectations. It happened to me this January, over breakfast, in a conversation I hadn't planned for.

There's a season in life when everyone needs you at once. Your parents. Your children. Your colleagues. Each with a legitimate claim on your time, your energy, your presence. And somewhere in the middle of all that giving, you disappear. Not dramatically. Quietly. You stop sleeping properly. Stop doing the things that restore you. Tell yourself it's temporary. It rarely is. I've been thinking about this stage — why it's the hardest, and what I've learned about surviving it without losing yourself in the process.

I stopped making new friends for nearly a decade. Not because I'd given up on people. But because I already had a close bunch, I couldn't do justice to them. Adding more felt dishonest. So I kept the door shut. Then, without planning it, two people walked into my life. And quietly, without fanfare, they changed my mind about keeping it closed. This is about them. And about what real friendship — the selective, deliberate kind — actually looks like.