The Price of 10 Minutes: What We Lose to Q-Comm!!

 I recently read an article on quick commerce (Q-comm) that prompted me to ponder the fundamental ways we live—both the new and the old.

There is no doubt that Q-comm is here to stay. However, this modern way of fulfilling basic needs is subtly changing the very fabric of our society—specifically, the rich ecosystem centered around the local kirana store. It is fundamentally reshaping the way we network and maintain our solid communal bonds.

I recall a deeply personal incident from 2002. I was hospitalized while my father was posted far away. The proprietor of our neighbourhood kirana store, upon hearing the news, approached my brother and offered help with genuine concern: "Don't hesitate, if you need money for anything, come here and take it from me." That gesture wasn't a transaction; it was a bond.

This connection isn't unique. The milkman who delivers to my home is the grandson of the man who served my family decades ago. They share a special rapport with my mother, built on years of reliability and mutual trust. I always saw my parents building this kind of relationship—a personal touch that extended across all local businesses, from the dahi bara seller to the chemist. In India's Tier 2 and Tier 3 cities, this local ecology of human connection is a rich, tangible experience.

The Isolation of Modern Convenience

Now, look at the metros. Do we build these connections? No, we don't.

The MilkBasket delivery is left silently on the doorstep before 7 AM; the person who delivered it is unseen.

The large supermarket has so many rotating staff that any interaction is limited to the automated 'tap-to-pay' transaction.

Yes, this modern system brilliantly solves the problem of convenience, speed, and efficiency.

But this begs a crucial question: What happens when the kirana stores are universally replaced by these Q-comm platforms?

It solves our problems faster, but it achieves this by removing the need to connect or build networks. Everything is done via a phone. We become nodes in a digital system, not citizens in a shared community.

This brings up a significant long-term risk. What if this market shapes itself into a near-monopoly, much like the Indigo airline mishap of recent time? 

Consider the vulnerability: If there is a disruption in the network or a city-wide internet outage, how many essential services will be affected? And more critically, who is taking the place of our network-building abilities?

We may rely on cloud systems and disaster recovery for commerce, but we have no equivalent for social capital.

Are we truly going to invent yet another platform just for people to connect, or rely on neighborhood WhatsApp groups to manage community? Either way, we are limiting our ability to touch upon people from all sections of society—the shopkeeper, the delivery person, the vendor.

Our future generations risk losing the dynamics of getting to know a varied range of people across all fields, and with it, losing a valuable part of their humanity. Change is the only constant, and this is happening now. We must therefore consciously seek and learn new ways of fostering genuine human connection in the age of extreme convenience.

The silent burden of the responsible child!!

 Every parent believes they treat their children equally. In reality, we treat them according to their needs, strengths, and weaknesses. One child may be naturally organized and responsible; another may be flighty and lazy. We tailor our requests and our expectations to align them with a "bigger picture."

The inherent flaw in this approach is that while the intent is fair, the perception is often devastating, especially for the eldest. We are not balancing love; we are balancing burdens.

The Unspoken Role of the Eldest

The eldest child often becomes the Parenting Beta-Tester. They are the training wheels for our parental journey. They witness our evolution, but ironically, they receive less of the unburdened, joyful, new-parent pampering that the younger ones benefit from.

We unknowingly hand them the mantle of responsibility early on, creating a powerful, unspoken contract: "Your love is tied to your self-sufficiency."

I know this wound intimately.

I recall an incident from my childhood when my brother and I were struggling to adapt to a new city where the local language dialects were harsh. We were both facing criticism from classmates, but I, being the elder one, bottled my resentment. My brother, in 4th grade, could not.

One day, we got into a fight, likely fueled by the external stress we were both absorbing. To resolve the chaos, my mother, in a moment of misguided exhaustion, told my brother to hit me.

He slapped me so hard that my gum started bleeding.

I don’t recall the subject of the fight, but the ultimate lesson I learned was crystal clear: My brother's feelings were more important than my physical safety, and my emotional resilience was assumed. Unknowingly, my mother had told me, "I love your brother more."

The wound inflicted by that moment was not the bleeding gum; it was the psychological instruction that my pain should be hidden.

About a year later, I slipped and fell down five or six steps of a school staircase, badly injuring my spinal cord. I struggled to change my clothes when I got home. My mother came to check on me, but I simply sent her away. I never told anyone. To this day, my family does not know I faced that severe injury.

That is the consequence of asking a child to be "responsible" too early: They learn that their only value lies in their ability to endure and manage their pain alone. They grow up equating responsibility with silence.

Parents, you might be loving both children equally, but do your children feel the same?

The child who carries the stress of responsibility often misses out on the fundamental need to be pampered and simply seen as vulnerable. The younger child gets the added benefit of their elder sibling’s emotional scaffolding and the parents’ learned wisdom.

To fix this imbalance, we must use an unconventional approach:

Stop Asking for Resilience: Stop telling the eldest to "be responsible," "set an example," or "be the bigger person." Instead, tell the younger one, "Your elder sibling needs a break; today, you are responsible for the dinner plates."

Mandate Pampering: Designate specific, recurring moments for the eldest that have zero connection to duty or performance. A special, quiet "date" with the parent, or a dedicated, no-task-required cuddle session. Make them feel valued for who they are, not what they manage.

Validate the Burden: Acknowledge their role: "I know we ask a lot of you because you are so capable, and that is not always fair. Thank you for carrying that for us. How can I carry something for you today?"

Let us ensure that both children grow up whole—one not stressed by premature responsibility, and the other not enjoying a stress-free existence built entirely on their sibling's endurance.

To Defeat Procrastination, Lock Up Your Pants!!

 ​Long ago, I read the book on a train journey. But today, the real protagonist isn't Quasimodo(The hunchback of Notredame); it's Victor Hugo's sheer, glorious, self-imposed insanity. The real plot twist isn't in the book; it’s in the author’s extreme, almost hostile approach to his own procrastination.

Hugo had committed to the book, but like all of us who have stared at a blinking cursor for three hours, he got caught up in the glorious chaos of distraction: parties, socializing, learning new things, and generally enjoying life. His energy was high, but his productivity was zero.

His publisher, driven to the end of their quill, issued an ultimatum: six months to deliver, or face the consequences.

Did Hugo buy a self-help book? Did he invest in a fancy ergonomic chair? No. He understood that to kill the urge to procrastinate, he had to make going outside a physically unappealing, socially humiliating nightmare.

The Lock-Down Strategy: A Shawl and a Pen

Hugo’s solution was legendary in its simplicity and sheer dramatic flair:

He gathered all of his clothes—every shirt, every sock, every pair of velvet pants—packed them into a large trunk, and had his assistant physically lock the chest away. He was left with only a thin, drafty shawl to cover himself.

The Logic: You cannot leave the house without clothes. The Parisian winter was brutal. The prospect of facing society half-naked and shivering instantly became a more powerful deterrent than the difficulty of writing the novel.

He essentially placed an enormous, immediate, and embarrassing penalty on procrastination. He made the effort of writing—the mental grind—a lower cost than the discomfort of his current situation.

The Unconventional CEO

This is the ultimate lesson in mandatory focus. We often try to find focus by adding motivation (rewards, positive affirmations). Hugo succeeded by removing comfort and adding mandatory discomfort.

It’s a humorous, highly effective hack. It reminds us that sometimes, the only way to get the critical assignment done—whether it’s finishing a book, starting a new project, or tackling a daunting financial analysis—is to set the stakes so high that inaction becomes socially, physically, or financially impossible.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to figure out how to lock away my phone without actually having to pull out this stunt.

The Vamana Paradox: When Does Generosity Become Ego?

 The stories of the great Asura kings like Mahabali and Gayasura have always fascinated me. They were not inherently evil; in fact, they were known for immense power, discipline, and profound generosity.

​Yet, as the legends go, both were ultimately checked by the divine: Mahabali was sent to Patala by Vishnu in the Vamana Avatara, and Gayasura’s Yajna was halted by Shiva. The common explanation is that their virtues—Mahabali's dāna (giving) and Gayasura's ability to grant moksha (liberation)—became so excessive that they began to break the cosmic balance (dharma). Mahabali's generosity was allegedly tipping into ahankara (egoistic pride in giving), while Gayasura was bypassing the natural order of Karma.

​This leads me to a fundamental, confusing question for modern life:

​What does it truly mean to be "Ego-Free"?

​The Paradox of Ego

​We are told that surrender of the ego is the path to enlightenment (Nirvana, moksha). Lord Buddha speaks of Śūnyatā (emptiness or non-self) as the ultimate truth.

​But how do we reconcile this spiritual ideal with the harsh realities of our material world?

​The truth is, a complete absence of ego seems unviable for simply functioning:

• ​To Succeed: To pursue a goal, win a race, or lead a business, you need self-belief, drive, and the conviction that your actions matter—elements derived from the ego.
• ​To Sustain: To maintain deep relationships, you must practice humility, vulnerability, and compromise—which requires the surrender of ego. 
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​My own language, Odia, offers a beautiful proverb that captures this tension perfectly: "Ati Ru Iti" (ଅତି ରୁ ଇତି). It means "Anything in excess leads to the end."

​Where is the Line?

​This proverb brings us to the core dilemma. The ego is a necessity, a tool for navigation. But at what point does it become "excessive" and transform from a tool of success into a source of destruction (the "end")?

​How do you determine if your ego is in control, or in excess?

1. ​The Cosmic Question: How do we, as individuals, determine if our ambition or action is "breaking cosmic balance" or simply progressing naturally? Does striving for great success always risk becoming egoistic?
2. ​The Karma Correlation: How does this balance relate to your Karma? Is true good Karma not just about the action itself, but the motive—the surrender of the ego while performing the action?
3. ​The Inner GPS: When confused by the world's demands, what is the reliable inner compass? We chase success, yet we are constantly in the middle—someone is ahead, someone is behind. Where do you find true happiness and contentment? Where is the calling of your soul?

​My Search for the Answer

​I find myself sitting with these questions, and honestly, I am often confused. The world asks us to be authoritative and successful; our heart asks us to be humble and connected.

​Perhaps the answer lies not in eliminating the ego, but in re-aligning its motivation. Maybe the "ego in excess" is when we perform an action solely for the sake of glorifying our self, while the "ego in control" is when we perform the same action with intense focus and drive, but with a goal of service or dharma—letting the fruits of the labor be a byproduct, not the primary focus.

​To sustain in this complex world, what is the single most important truth we should tell ourselves and others about ego? Do you have a better answer to the tension between success and surrender? Please comment below!

The unclenched hand!!

 I remember love like a tight fist,

Afraid to lose, determined to hold on.

A sharp, cold twist,

If he smiled at a girl, my heart was gone.

I wanted him like a trophy to claim,

A prize I had to win and keep by force.

Love then was a possessive game,

A demanding, jealous course.

Now I see his joy, a life not mine,

And yes, a small ache still lives inside.

I know the beautiful, painful line:

That could have been mine. I cannot hide.

But a new feeling rises, strong and true:

If he is happy, if he is cared for well,

Then that good fortune is enough, too.

It breaks the old, possessive spell.

I no longer need to own his days.

I can let him go and wish him light.

Love has found better, softer ways—

It shines for his good, morning, noon, and night.

It's painful truth, but it is honest grace:

To love him freely, from this distant place.

Unclenched feels like a baby's dreaming face,

A swift parade of sadness, joy, and sigh.

I watch the thoughts rush by in silent space,

And feel them all—a tear, a sudden high.

The mixture floods, a wide, internal sea,

Yet in my eyes, the waters do not break.

I am lost in thought, but finally free,

To feel the truth, for goodness' honest sake.

The Ultimate Pre-Nup: You Can Divorce Me After 4 Years, And That's Fine.

It started, as these things often do, with a celebrity quote—a passing remark that she wouldn't wish marriage upon her grandchildren. Cue the predictable social media outrage and trolling. But amidst the noise, the core question remains: Are we finally ready to admit that the traditional structure of Indian marriage is under unprecedented strain?

​For too long, we've treated the rising divorce rates and increasing marital dissatisfaction as isolated incidents or moral failings. We cling desperately to the idea of "forever," even when it means accepting prolonged unhappiness, emotional exhaustion, and financial devastation.

​If we can't acknowledge that something is broken, how can we possibly fix it?

​When I first encountered the concept of a pre-nuptial agreement in high school, it felt like a distant, Western concept. But today, a much more radical idea has captured my imagination, one that seems to offer a practical lifeline to this struggling institution: Marriage as a Renewable Contract.

​Imagine a system where, instead of signing up for a lifelong commitment, couples mutually agree to a fixed-term contract—say, four or five years—that must be actively renewed by both parties.

​Why a Renewal Contract is a Game Changer:

• ​Ends the "Investment Trap": No man or woman should have to cling to an unhappy marriage simply because they've "invested too much" time, money, or social capital. The renewal date provides a clean, dignified exit point for both parties.
• ​Encourages Continuous Effort: The security of a life-long contract often breeds complacency. Knowing a renewal is required would force both partners to actively appreciate and work for the relationship, fostering mutual respect and effort.
• ​Empowers Women's Education and Career: This is perhaps the most profound impact. When marriage is not the ultimate, life-securing destination, parents will shift their focus. They will educate their daughters not just to "fetch a good partner," but to build a robust, independent "career forever." A woman's life would no longer be financially or emotionally tethered to the man she marries.
• ​Fair Exit for the Taken-for-Granted: If one party feels they are consistently giving too much, being taken for granted, or suffering in silence, they have a mechanism—simple and non-contentious—to decline the renewal and reclaim their autonomy.

​This concept is, admittedly, unconventional. It directly challenges the deeply ingrained, romantic notion of marriage as a sacred, indissoluble bond. But perhaps what we need is less romance and more practicality.

​A contract renewal wouldn't cheapen the commitment; it would dignify it. It transforms a passive, default arrangement into an active, conscious, and mutual choice made every few years. It gives both partners the power to say, "I choose you, today, for the next five years, because this relationship is truly worth the effort."

​It's time to stop accepting failure as an inevitability and start exploring unconventional solution.

​This is my conviction, but what is yours? Is the idea of a renewable marriage contract a pragmatic solution for modern India, or is it a step too far?

​What is your take on this radical shift? Share your thoughts in the comments below!

The unspoken reply!!

 Some queries bloom with hidden fire,

A yearning vivid, a strange desire.

What words to find, I pause and stray,

What should I say? I wonder, pray.

It is a phantom knock upon the door,

The same closed latch I faced before.

I dare not turn the lock, lest I embrace

The cold, familiar sting of lost grace.

No lie I wish to tell, nor truth unfold,

No whispered secret, brave or bold.

Then guide my tongue, I urgently plead,

How can I answer this pressing need?

That hoped-for future, it may never be;

All seems quite normal, outwardly.

But who can truly know what is real,

The deep, disguised emotions that we feel?

When fate's hard lot was shared across the land,

Ah, where was I? I fail to understand.

Why did I miss my portion, friend so dear?

Where is the fair share I deserve to hear?

Who holds the keys to answers I must know?

I send my ache out, yet no winds blow.

Only the hollow silence gives reply,

Beneath the ever-watching, endless sky.

The constant clockwork ticks, relentless, fast,

A gentle chime that whispers, "This shall pass."

My silence holds a kindness, and no heart

Will splinter, knowing its fractured part.

Let it stay quiet now, and let it rest,

Deep in the shadow, hidden in my chest.