A Decade of Experiments: What I Tried, What I Learned

January 9th, 2016 — the day I stepped out of my comfort zone.

I still remember my very first food stall at a lake santhe. After spending years fascinated by food and nutrition, I finally decided to share that passion beyond my family. My menu was simple but heartfelt — fingermillet idlis, barnyard millet sweet pongal, and rajamudi rice savory pongal. Millets were far from “trendy” back then, but the joy I felt that day is still unmatched.

That experience pushed me to start a small home-based catering service for my apartment community. Every weekend, I’d brainstorm menus, shop for ingredients, and cook with full focus — that “in the zone” feeling I cherish. Orders were few initially, mostly from a couple of kind senior citizens. But I persisted. Over time, I added podis and thokkus, and slowly, appreciation grew. Of course, there were also the occasional digs — “Why would a BE/MBA do such menial work?” But honestly, those comments only made me more resilient.

2017 — the world of packaged foods opened up

Another passion took shape that year: writing about packaged foods and their ingredients. Every time I wrote a blog post, time just dissolved — 2–3 hours would feel like 10 minutes. Readers found value in the posts, and soon I was speaking at public forums and conducting workshops on how to read food labels.
I may not be actively doing this today, but even now people tell me they remember me from those posts. That’s a feeling hard to describe.

This same journey unexpectedly nudged me towards meme-making on packaged food brands using Tamil movie scenes as the backdrop in 2019. When I look back, I’m both amused and surprised that I did that. I even attempted a couple of stand-up comedy sets on packaged foods. Watching the recordings today is embarrassing, but my daughter insists it was brave.

2023 — the year of books and shlokas

I launched a book club called Sparks and Nuggets with an ambitious goal — one book a week. I’d create mind maps, share insights, and host discussions. I truly enjoyed the rhythm of reading, reflecting, and presenting. After nine months, enthusiasm from the group faded, and I had to wrap it up — but the journey was fulfilling while it lasted.

Around the same time, I started a Shloka chanting class for kids in my apartment. A small group joined, and the classes were delightful. We explored short shlokas, stories, symbolisms, and their curious questions made every session memorable. We managed it for over a year before schedules clashed and we had to pause.

2025 — growing deeper into spirituality and teaching

This year, I began online shloka chanting classes, and we have completed eight stotras so far. The behind-the-scenes effort — preparing PPTs, researching meanings, listening to discourses for more context — has been intense but deeply satisfying.

Continuous learning is my non-negotiable priority. To share what I learn, I started weekly “learning sessions” reviewing discourses, podcasts, and books. We completed 21 sessions in Season 1. For Season 2, I narrowed the focus to the Bhagavad Gita — and we’re already six sessions in.

As a certified Yoga teacher, I also started online yoga classes this year. A few students stayed committed, but many dropped out. Morning schedule clashes forced me to pause this initiative for now.

What I’ve understood after all these experiments

Across everything I tried, two truths have stood out clearly:

The Positive:
My passion, discipline, and consistency never waver. When I’m committed, I give my whole self to the process.

The Challenge:
My energy dips when audience interest drops. Sustaining momentum becomes difficult when impact seems uncertain.

But the Gita brings me back to balance. Krishna’s words — “karmanye vaadhikaraste” (Gita 2.47) — remind me that my choice is only to the action, never the fruits.

As I continue experimenting, learning, and teaching, I hope I can eventually shape these scattered attempts into something meaningful and dharmic — something that creates a larger impact, but rooted in the spirit of karma yoga.

Ideal time to begin engaging with scriptures

Is reading scriptures something to pick up only after retirement?

Are stotras and kirtans meant solely for the elderly?

Many of us unconsciously assume this, and that belief stops us from encouraging teenagers and young adults to explore spirituality early in life. The early working years are filled with pressure, deadlines, and expectations, leaving little time or mental space for inner work. And even when the desire is there, social norms often dictate what is considered “cool,” steering us away from practices that nourish the mind.

There is also a feeling that one needs life experience and emotional maturity to truly understand spiritual wisdom. That is true to an extent, but it shouldn’t become an excuse to postpone the journey.

Bhartrhari’s Vairagya Shatakam, a profound collection of 100 verses on detachment, offers a gentle yet powerful reminder on when this pursuit should actually begin. In Verse 75, he lays out the ideal time with striking clarity:

“As long as this body is free from disease and decrepitude,

as long as senility is far off,

as long as the powers of the senses are unaffected, and

life is not decaying, so long,

wise persons should put forth mighty exertions for the sake of their supreme good,

for when the house is on fire what avails setting about digging a well (for water)?”

The comparison is striking. If a house is already burning, digging a well becomes pointless. In the same way, when life confronts us with illness, old age, loss, loneliness, or financial instability, how equipped will we be to sit through a discourse and absorb deep teachings on impermanence?

Preparing oneself inwardly is not something to be postponed. Building psychological resilience and mental clarity is most effective when begun in our 20s—or at least by our 30s—while the mind is agile and receptive. When unexpected challenges arrive, as they inevitably do, we can then draw strength from within rather than be swept away by circumstances.

Spirituality isn’t a late-life activity. It’s a foundation we lay early, so that whatever life brings later, we stand firm rather than fall.

Source of the verse: Vairagya Shatakam - translation by Swami Madhavananda, Advaita Ashrama

Empowered woman - My view and a modern feminist's view

 Certain Modern Feminists view of today's “Empowered Woman” 

– A woman who’s told that empowerment means peppering every sentence with swear words.

– One who’s encouraged to smoke because it supposedly symbolizes rebellion.

– One who’s expected to drink alcohol as a badge of liberation.

– One who’s taught to blame “patriarchy” for every minor inconvenience — from bad weather to traffic jams.

– One who embraces batch-cooking and frozen meals as the only “progressive” lifestyle.

– One who’s pushed to look down upon women who prefer freshly prepared food, as if choosing tradition automatically makes them lesser.

– A woman who is expected to stay perpetually angry at society, wearing victimhood like a proud badge of honour.

– One who must reject anything tied to culture or tradition, automatically labeling it “patriarchal” without a second thought.

– One who is encouraged to fight endlessly for her rights while treating any mention of duty or responsibility as an outdated burden.

My View of a Truly Empowered Woman

An empowered woman is someone who thinks for herself and embraces an independent mind. 

She carries a broad worldview, enriched by curiosity and openness.

She takes on her duties and responsibilities with wholehearted commitment, without ever sidelining her own well-being.

She honours her mental and physical health, understanding that caring for herself strengthens everything else she does. 

She chooses her priorities with clarity and wisdom, and she asserts her opinions with confidence — always rooted in respect.

She engages with traditional wisdom through a spirit of enquiry, seeking depth and understanding rather than blind acceptance. 

She cherishes time with her family, finding joy and grounding in those bonds. 

And above all, she values self-discipline, knowing it is the foundation of growth, balance, and inner strength.

Change of direction

In June 2023, I felt completely lost—physically drained, mentally exhausted, and worn down by ego-driven attitudes that blocked progress. It was painful to watch health being marketed through fear, supported by the vocabulary of modern psychiatry. The only thing that kept me grounded during that phase was my practice of Yoga. On an impulse, I signed up for a Yoga Instructor Course (YIC), eager to change direction as quickly as possible. I was even a little annoyed to learn that the batch would begin only a month later, in August.

Those two months of the instructor course opened my eyes to a much wider world—Vedas, Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, yoga texts, chanting, Indian culture, history, and so much more. Completing YIC felt like catching the first glimpse of the vast streams of Yoga and our Shastras. Wanting to go deeper, I enrolled in the MSc Yoga program. 

January 2024: Back to student life once more—only now, my motivation was entirely different from what drove me during my BE (Computer Science) and MBA.

This time, my decision came purely from a desire to learn—not from career considerations, peer pressure, or thoughts about security and earnings. Three semesters have passed, each filled with fascinating subjects and concepts.

A program like this depends entirely on how deeply the student chooses to immerse in the learning process. We journeyed through Samskritam (right from Varnamala), the six Darshanas, anatomy and physiology, Yoga philosophy, the Bhagavad Gita, Patanjali Yoga Sutras, Hatha Yoga Pradipika, theories of consciousness, comparisons between modern and Yogic psychology, various holistic healing systems, and the Narada Bhakti Sutras. Our fieldwork at Arogyadhama offered profound insight into the role of Yoga therapy in supporting recovery from psychosomatic conditions.

When the third-semester results were announced last night, I felt a mix of satisfaction and melancholy—relief at having come this far, yet a quiet sadness that the course is nearing its end, with only the final research thesis left.

Learning never begins and ends within classrooms or Zoom calls. These are merely seeds. True learning grows from interest and curiosity—they nudge you to read further, listen more, explore deeply, and continue sharing along the way.

A structured approach to learning matters at any age, whether you are 14 or 44. And when the subject itself inspires you, the joy it brings is truly incomparable.

Having worked in the IT industry since the early 2000s, I’ve witnessed its evolution over the past two and a half decades. Honestly, the work culture of the 2000s—and much of the 2010s—felt healthier and more fulfilling, both in terms of professional growth and overall harmony. The hustle-driven mindset that has dominated the last four to five years is simply not sustainable, either for individuals or for organizations. It’s not just the extended work hours; it’s also the shift in attitudes toward aggression and a “business-at-any-cost” approach. Leaders and mid-senior professionals need to pause and reflect on the long-term consequences of such a trajectory.

Sometimes, we need to trust our instinct when it repeatedly tells us that a certain path isn’t right. We also need to trust our curiosity and venture into areas that lie outside the familiar and comfortable. In our 20s and 30s, obligations and responsibilities naturally take priority. But if we carry the same relentless hustle forward, life begins to blur and our inner vitality gradually fades. By the time we reach our 40s, taking a pause to reflect, creating space to question, and having the courage to realign becomes essential—before it feels too late.

I’m thankful to God that the chance to realign came in my 40s—better late than never.

The Power of Senses

 In Viveka Chudamani, Adi Shankaracharya reflects on the five senses in Verse 76, illustrating his point with five vivid examples:

A deer is undone by its attachment to sound.
An elephant is overpowered by its sense of touch.
A moth is drawn helplessly to what it sees, especially sources of light.
A fish falls prey to its irresistible attraction to taste.
A bee is captivated by the fragrance of flowers, its sense of smell becoming its downfall.

In each of these creatures, a single dominant sense becomes a vulnerability that enslaves them.

Shankaracharya then poses a striking question: what fate awaits a human being who is attached to all five senses at once?

We can already see the consequences. Our excessive fascination with taste alone has led to widespread deterioration of physical health. Overindulgence in the other senses is expressing itself as a rise in various mental and emotional disorders.

Modern technology only accelerates this. Apps that track engagement care little about how much we strain our sense of sight. OTT platforms that promote binge-watching are unconcerned about the relentless stimulation of sight and sound.

The intellect—which is meant to regulate and guide the senses—is gradually becoming dull, making genuine reflection and critical thinking rare.

Regaining this lost mastery requires what Swami Dayananda Saraswati calls “internal leisure”, a quietening of the mind that allows the intellect to sharpen and reclaim its natural authority over the senses.

How can “internal leisure” be possible in a world where leaders glorify 70-hour workweeks and productivity is judged by the number of hours spent in the office—regardless of how many tea or smoke breaks one takes, as long as one is physically present?

It is no surprise, then, that the weekend makes one weakened (to borrow Swami Paramarthananda’s phrase), as many of us overindulge in those two days to make up for the absence of real leisure throughout the week.