I went to Baghdad in 2007 as a banker, expecting banks, technology and work. Instead, I encountered a city layered with history—beneath blast walls, armoured vehicles and uncertainty. I came to know its people, its evenings, its Tigris, and slowly, another Baghdad emerged: the Baghdad of scholars, manuscripts and memory. I left Baghdad, but somehow, Baghdad never quite left me.
A devastating flash flood in Nepal has once again exposed the fragility of the Himalayan ecosystem. An ice-and-rock avalanche unleashed a torrent through the Bhote Koshi and Trishuli rivers, destroying homes, bridges and livelihoods. Beyond Nepal, the disaster carries a warning for South Asia: a warming Himalayas demands stronger cooperation, real-time monitoring, early-warning systems, and urgent action to protect vulnerable communities downstream
Every generation believes it is the first to wake up. Gen Z has hashtags and reels; earlier generations had pamphlets, placards and campus marches. The technology changes, but the impulse remains: to challenge what seems wrong and demand change. Yet rebellion is only the beginning. The real test comes later—when idealism meets responsibility, and slogans must become systems, institutions and lasting change.
There’s something magical about a Thakali thali in Kathmandu — it doesn’t just feed you; it grounds you. The buckwheat aroma, the ghee‑kissed dal, the tang of the achar, the slow comfort of the saag… it feels like the Himalayas decided to cook you a meal themselves. Kathmandu has many thrills, but that thali is the one moment where the city pauses, the traveller breathes, and the plate becomes a small, warm universe.
Erbil didn’t introduce itself through monuments that afternoon, but through a plate of roasted chicken, Kurdish rice dotted with raisins, and the quiet confidence of a friend who said, “Let’s eat at Habib.” In Iskan’s lunchtime bustle, we carried our plates through a maze of tables, found a corner, and discovered a truth: sometimes a city reveals itself most honestly at the dining table.
In 1991, my wedding journey unfolded amidst riots, curfews, and total uncertainty. A Varanasi celebration was disrupted, an Aligarh reception relied on colleagues' kindness, and our honeymoon began in a humble railway retiring room. Looking back, what could have been a tale of disruption remains a timeless story of resilience, compassion, and the deep warmth of human connection.
With photos, names, and personal details travelling globally within seconds, modern privacy has grown remarkably fragile. Doxxing, the malicious weaponisation of private information, directly threatens individuals across the globe. By exposing vulnerable data to public harm, this hostile practice raises critical and urgent questions regarding personal safety, human dignity, and democratic participation, forcing society to confront the deep vulnerabilities of our digital era.
Long before roads, kingdoms, or writing connected humanity, our ancestors built invisible networks through curiosity and trust. How did strangers who spoke different languages trade, share ideas, and forge relationships? Archaeology suggests that gestures, shared experiences, and the universal human instinct to connect may have sparked the first conversations—laying the foundations of civilisation thousands of years before history was written.
A casual morning conversation with one of my old school friends about India's ancient megalithic burial sites led us to a fascinating question: were these merely graves, or the earliest centres of community life and worship? From tribal monoliths in India to Göbekli Tepe in Türkiye, archaeology is reshaping our understanding of how religion, society, and civilisation first emerged.
Some teachers teach subjects; a few become part of our life story. Ruchira Didimoni taught us Chemistry, but gifted us something far more enduring—the chemistry of relationships. From a noisy classroom of boys to memories spanning half a century, her invisible bonds remained strong. Her final words became a gentle farewell.
