Eternal Musafir

I walk the roads that never end,

From dawn’s first blush to twilight’s bend,

A seeker bound by neither place,

Nor tethered to one fleeting face.

The stars above, my timeless guide,

The oceans vast, my restless tide,

The mountains whisper, winds reply,

To footsteps tracing earth and sky.

I drink from springs of joy and pain,

Through desert heat and monsoon rain,

Each mile a verse, each halt a rhyme,

Etched on the scroll of endless time.

No home, and yet the world is mine,

In every heart, a sacred shrine,

For journeys weave what maps conceal—

The roads that teach, the wounds that heal.

And though horizons fade to shade,

My spirit walks, unbound, unswayed;

For what I am, I shall not cease—

An eternal musafir, in search of peace.

Would you prefer me to render this poem in a more mystical, Sufi-inspired tone, or keep it in this reflective-philosophical style?

An Elder brother Extraordinary Adarsh (not that much) Nath Segal

Ladies and gentlemen, pray compose yourselves, tighten your cravats, and adjust your monocles—for what I am about to present to you is no ordinary mortal, but a veritable one‑man circus, mechanical oracle, and impresario of chaos. Permit me to introduce: my elder brother—an altogether extraordinary specimen of humanity.

This was the fellow who transformed bedtime into theatre, narrating Treasure Island with such gusto—and sound effects worthy of All India Radio—that pirates and parrots seemed to take up residence in our room. He was also the chap who taught me to walk, tie my shoelaces, and wrestle with the great British invention known as the tie—as treacherous a garment as ever strangled a schoolboy.

Scooter rides? Ah, but here lies a saga! The machine in question was, more often than not, pinched from our unsuspecting maternal uncle and taken to a most unusual proving ground. This was no gentle road but one used by the Army to teach drivers the noble art of vehicular survival: hills, broken bridges, bone‑rattling obstacles designed to challenge both man and machine. And there we were, two boys defying the laws of Newton as our humble LML scooter would launch itself skyward, wheels somersaulting, and invariably land with me acting as a rather reluctant cushion atop my elder brother’s heroic frame.

I can say with hand on heart and a straight face that LML scooters were jolly tough contraptions indeed. After all, James Bond may have flown over broken bridges in an Aston Martin, but my brother managed the same feat on an LML—a spectacle that, when viewed from the saddle, was exhilarating, terrifying, and oddly refreshing for the soul.

His duties, I might add, extended well beyond gravity‑defiance and school runs. He also chauffeured me on solemn expeditions to our family vet, the resplendent Colonel Y. N. Upadhyay—whose moustache alone could have commanded a cavalry regiment.

He browbeat me into buying books I had no earthly desire to read, and yet, curiously, I treasure them still. He gamely took up horse‑riding with me, dropped me to school with the air of a reluctant chauffeur, and was my companion at my very first film—where, I regret to inform you, I howled like a banshee when the hero met his untimely end.

At home, he reigned supreme as the family mechanic and local oracle for all matters nuts, bolts, and grease. Motorcycles trembled before him as he stripped and reassembled them, with me in the capacity of humble tool‑bearer. Generators, cars, cassette players, tape recorders, cordless phones—all submitted to his spanners. When the town bought their dish antennas, he simply manufactured one. If there was a solar eclipse, he’d whip up a telescope. On quieter days, a microscope would emerge from his tinkering hands. Frankly, if necessity is the mother of invention, my brother was the star pupil.

The result? A childhood both chaotic and enchanting, its soundtrack the clink of spanners, the crackle of tape recorders, the hum of generators, the Colonel’s cavalry moustache, and the occasional dramatic sob in a darkened cinema.

So, ladies and gentlemen, steady your nerves and still your beating hearts—for here he is, my elder brother: a man who could make a scooter fly, a telescope materialise, and a childhood sparkle. A chap quite out of the ordinary run of men—who gave me tales instead of toys, adventures instead of lessons, and memories far sturdier than any machine he ever repaired.

US - India Trade deficits. The real Picture as on 2nd Sept 2024

Projecting the US as the greatest victim of India in trade is complete baloney. The fact is:

The US deficit with China is $270 billion, with the EU $161 billion, with Mexico $157 billion, with Vietnam $113.1 billion, with Taiwan $67.4 billion, with Japan $62.6 billion, with South Korea $60.2 billion, with Canada $54.8 billion, with Thailand $41.5 billion, and with India $41.5 billion.

Now, let's look at US-India trade.

India-US trade in services was about $83.4 billion, with US services exports to India at $41.8 billion and US imports from India at $41.6 billion.

Total disaster? Let's look at that too.

India-US defense trade was virtually nil in 2000. It has touched a total of almost $22 billion in 2024.

Why this whining then by the USA?

The claim that we have offered to reduce our tariffs to nothing is true for some products, but our red lines are firm. Unfortunately, US officials are being economical with the truth!

By the way, as of now I am not talking about USA-Russia trade, which is around $4.57 billion. While India trades with Russia in Indian Rupees, the USA trades in dollars. Russia's exports to Europe were $85 billion in 2023, and Russia is the 3rd largest trading partner for Europe, but the bad guy is supposed to be India?

US debt:

$250 billion in U.S. Treasury securities is held by India, making it the 12th largest foreign holder of the US government securities. This is as of 2024, and the figure would have gone up in 2025.

Job creation in the USA:

Indian companies have created about 425,000 direct jobs in the United States as of 2023, according to a survey by the Confederation of Indian Industry (CII). These jobs span all 50 states, with the highest concentrations in Texas (20,906 jobs), New York (19,162 jobs), New Jersey (17,713 jobs), Washington (14,525 jobs), Florida, and California. Indian firms have invested more than $40 billion in the US across various sectors including IT services, pharmaceuticals, manufacturing, and healthcare.

Frankly, under the current administration, I think it is best to keep away from the USA because we can be sure we will not be treated fairly. Let's think about good terms after Trump's term is over. In the meantime, work on cutting access to US companies and build the equivalent of Facebook, X, Google here. The best way is to ban them and only allow Indian equivalents like China has done. Move away from the US dollar as the reserve currency. Remove the Ford Foundation and US-backed NGOs, which will be used by the USA for regime change operations like they have done in Bangladesh and Pakistan. Remember, only 3 years, 9 months, 2 weeks, and 1 day of the Trump regime are left. Use that time to tie up with Russia, go for joint development of aircraft and other military hardware. After all, Russia has always helped India since 1947, and when the USA sent the 7th fleet against us in 1971, it was Russia that stopped them. Otherwise, the Americans wanted to attack India. Nothing to worry about. Stop dependence on the USA; in any case, the USA never helps its allies. So, it is better not to be too friendly with them. A nation has interests, not friends.

Does Truth Win? a poem in Hindi on truth

सच बोलना गुनाह हो गया,

दोस्त ने दर्द बढ़ा दिया,

जो चुप थे खामोशी में,

वो आवाज बन के चमका दिया।

ज़ख्म छुपाने के बहाने,

हर लफ़्ज़ ने दिल को छिड़का,

साफ़ बोलना अब गुनाह समझा,

सच की सदा गुनाह बन गया।

दिल के ज़ख्म के साये तले,

मुक्ति की तलाश में हम,

सच के रास्ते पे चलना,

है मुश्किल, भी पर ज़रूरी हम।

ये दुनिया है नफ़रत के संग,

जहाँ सच भी कभी दर्द देता है,

फिर भी दिल से पूछो तो,

सच ही वो राह है जो जीता है।"

Desi school vs Convent

When schools of missionary stamp, with fervour undimmed and zeal so bright, Convert curiosity's lamp into dogmatic light; They teach in syllables foreign, rituals far from home, And seek, alas, to re-script the Indian genome.

But lo! In Himalayan heights where Sher-ka-Danda broods,

A bania-taught sanctuary guards our hallowed moods. Mandatory subjects, yes-CBSE's parsing drills- But Sanskrit prayers waft morning through Nainital's chills.

Here, culture's tapestry is embroidered in every stride, Diwali lamps, Holi's splash, where heritage is pride. They do not merely school-they awaken and inspire, Birla Vidya Mandir, world's summit, hearts afire.

To those who tout conversion as academic art, Let them behold where tradition's pulse outsmarts. For knowledge unmoored from roots is a ship lost at sea,

Our alma mater, the greatest, binds soul and esprit

The world may praise many halls, and alumni shining gold,

But the greatest school teaches mind-and keeps the culture bold

George the Giant

For a long time, I have pondered why a leader like George Fernandes aligned with Indira Gandhi against Morarji Desai in the late 1970s. As an admirer of Fernandes, this decision seemed inconsistent with his character. The answer, revealed in Neerja Chowdhury’s book How Prime Ministers Decide on page 121, lies in his deep loyalty to his friend Madhu Limaye. When Limaye appealed to their years of friendship, asking, “Do all our years of friendship mean nothing to you?” Fernandes made a choice driven by personal loyalty. This act echoes the Mahabharata, where Karna joined the Kauravas out of loyalty to Duryodhana, illustrating how friendship can lead to profound sacrifices, even across centuries.

Like Karna, whom I also admire, Fernandes sacrificed much for his friend and never spoke of this decision publicly, revealing the depth of his character. A man of remarkable integrity, Fernandes, a South Indian born in Kerala, was forged in the North. Like Prime Minister Narendra Modi, he once disguised himself as a Sardar. His flawless Hindi, unwavering support for Tibet—far ahead of his time—and his accessibility as a minister set him apart. He famously removed the gate of his residence, ensuring it remained open to all. A Christian who could recite the Gita,  starting off as a priest and then leaving it because he did not agree there is no slot in which one can put in George Fernandes was a unique figure in Indian politics. He was truely a nationalist from Kerla he  went to west India and from there to Bihar. Show me some one who can win in South west and north of India. For a long time I thought he was a bihari because he spoke flawless bihari 

There is much I dont agree with but then I am a man who rarely agrees 100% on anything. 

My respect for him deepens with every detail I learn. He was a leader of extraordinary courage and conviction, cut from a different cloth. I hope George Fernandes is at peace, wherever he may be.

I am reading a few books about him and this article will be updated with whatever I get to learn over a period of time.