During a recent conversation with a friend, we discussed the effectiveness of LinkedIn as a platform for professional growth. He argued that while many users post consistently to build authority, generate sales, or become Top Voices, the actual outcomes often fall short. The content produced primarily benefits LinkedIn by supplying free, user-generated material, but the return for individuals—whether in sales, hiring, or influence—seems minimal. His perspective was that despite the effort invested, the platform’s algorithm and saturation dilute the impact, making it difficult for most to achieve meaningful results.

LinkedIn has evolved into a space where professional branding and visibility are prioritized, but the tangible benefits remain questionable. Many users post with clear objectives—networking, lead generation, or recruitment—yet the conversion rates are often low. The platform thrives on engagement, rewarding viral content over substantive discussions, which shifts focus from quality to quantity. My friend noted that even after months of consistent posting, his team saw little improvement in hiring quality candidates or driving sales. The disconnect between effort and outcome suggests that LinkedIn’s value may be overstated for certain professional goals.

The discussion also touched on the performative nature of LinkedIn content. Posts are frequently tailored to fit trending formats—humble brags, motivational anecdotes, or industry hot takes—rather than fostering genuine dialogue. This creates an environment where authenticity is secondary to visibility, and the pressure to conform reduces the platform’s utility. While some users do benefit from increased reach or opportunities, they are often outliers. For most, the time spent crafting posts could be better allocated to direct outreach, skill development, or other channels with higher ROI.

Ultimately, the conversation highlighted the need for a more critical approach to LinkedIn. Rather than treating it as a primary tool for professional growth, it may be more effective as a supplementary channel. The platform’s strengths—networking and industry updates—are still valuable, but expectations should be tempered. Not every post will lead to a business deal or career breakthrough, and that’s okay. Recognizing LinkedIn’s limitations can help users allocate their time more strategically, focusing on actions that yield measurable results rather than chasing algorithmic approval.

Summer has a way of drying up the world around us. The flowers that bloomed so effortlessly in spring now struggle under the heat, their colors fading, their petals curling at the edges. A few days ago, I stopped to smell the roses near my apartment, knowing it might be the last time before the season changes. The scent was faint but still present, a reminder of what freshness feels like before the relentless sun takes over completely. The landscaping in my society is well-maintained, with flower beds that cycle through different blooms as the months pass.

The shift in flora during summer is noticeable. Plants that thrived in cooler weather now wilt, while hardier species take their place. The soil cracks under the heat, and even the most resilient flowers require more water to survive. I’ve seen this pattern repeat every year, yet it still feels abrupt when the first few blooms disappear. The change isn’t just visual—it’s in the air. The scent of flowers becomes scarce, replaced by the dry, dusty smell of warm pavement and parched earth. For now, though, there’s still a hint of fragrance if you pause long enough to notice.

I don’t often stop to appreciate these small details, but when I do, it’s usually because I sense an ending. The flowers won’t last much longer, and neither will this particular phase of the year. Soon, the monsoons will arrive, bringing a different kind of life to the plants. But for now, summer dominates, reshaping the environment in its own way. The flowers that remain are survivors, adapting to the heat, their presence a brief respite before the next seasonal shift.

If you have flowers where you live, take a moment to enjoy them. The season moves quickly, and what’s here today might be gone tomorrow. The roses in my society won’t stay this way forever—soon, they’ll be replaced by something else, something that can withstand the coming months. Until then, I’ll keep noticing them, knowing that each time might be the last for a while.

I visited Pahalgam in 2007 with my family. It was a quiet, serene place, nestled in the Himalayas with lush green meadows and the Lidder River flowing gently through it. The town was a refuge from the noise of cities, a place where families, honeymooners, and adventure seekers gathered without fear. We stayed in a small wooden cabin, took pony rides to Betaab Valley, and drank kahwa while watching shepherds guide their flocks. There was no hint of unrest, no visible tension—just the calm beauty of Kashmir that so many travelers cherish.

Yesterday's terrorist attack in Pahalgam is a grim reminder of how fragile peace can be. Innocent lives were lost, families shattered, and a place once known for its tranquility has again been stained with violence. It is despicable—targeting tourists and locals who have no part in political conflicts. The brutality of such acts is not just an attack on individuals but on the very idea of coexistence. Kashmir has suffered too much, and every such incident pushes back the possibility of normalcy, leaving scars that take generations to heal.

I remember the shopkeepers smiling as they sold handmade carpets, the children playing near the riverbanks, and the quiet hum of daily life uninterrupted by fear. Today, those memories are overshadowed by the knowledge that terror can strike anywhere, even in places that feel untouched by the world’s chaos. It is a stark reminder that no region is immune to extremism, and the cost is always borne by ordinary people who just want to live without looking over their shoulders.

May the departed souls find peace, and may those responsible face justice. The only way forward is to reject violence entirely, to rebuild trust, and to ensure that places like Pahalgam remain safe for travelers and locals alike. The people of Kashmir deserve better—a life free from fear, where the mountains and rivers are symbols of beauty, not battlegrounds. Until then, we can only hope, remember, and refuse to let terror rewrite the story of a land that has already endured too much.

Five years ago, the world came to a standstill as COVID-19 spread uncontrollably. Streets emptied, offices shut down, and uncertainty loomed over every decision. The initial months were marked by fear—governments imposed lockdowns, hospitals overflowed, and economies braced for collapse. The stock markets crashed, wiping out trillions in value almost overnight. Remote work, once a rare perk, became the norm overnight. Yet, looking back now, the pandemic feels like a distant memory, a chapter that reshaped society but no longer dominates daily life. The last half-decade has been a testament to human resilience, adaptability, and the surprising speed of recovery.

The most visible change has been in how we work. Before COVID, remote jobs were exceptions, often limited to specific industries. Now, hybrid and fully remote roles are standard, with companies optimizing for flexibility rather than physical presence. Technology accelerated to meet this demand—video conferencing, cloud collaboration, and digital workflows evolved rapidly. The job market, after an initial shock, rebounded with unexpected strength. Unemployment spiked in 2020, but many industries not only recovered but expanded. The markets, after their initial plunge, surged to new highs, driven by tech innovation, fiscal stimulus, and an adaptable workforce. Investors who held on through the volatility were rewarded, reinforcing the idea that long-term optimism often pays off.

Beyond work, daily life has shifted in subtle but lasting ways. Hygiene practices, once lax, became ingrained—hand sanitizers and air purifiers are now commonplace. Social interactions evolved, with virtual gatherings gaining acceptance even as in-person events returned. Travel, once restricted, has rebounded, though with lasting changes like digital health passports and flexible cancellation policies. The pandemic forced a reevaluation of priorities—health, family, and mental well-being took precedence over relentless productivity. Many adopted new habits—exercise routines, meditation, or simply spending more time outdoors. These shifts weren’t temporary; they became part of a new normal.

The most striking takeaway is how quickly humans adapt and move forward. The initial panic feels almost surreal in hindsight. The same societies that hoarded toilet paper and isolated in fear are now navigating a world where COVID-19 is just another seasonal health concern. The markets, jobs, and technology not only recovered but advanced. The lesson is clear: while crises disrupt, they also accelerate change. Optimism, in the face of uncertainty, isn’t just hopeful—it’s pragmatic. The last five years proved that even the most drastic upheavals can lead to stronger, more adaptable systems. COVID-19 may be a fading memory, but its impact lingers in how we live, work, and think about the future.

Lallantop has managed to carve out a distinct space in India’s crowded digital news market by focusing on engagement over sensationalism. Unlike traditional news outlets that often rely on dramatic headlines, Lallantop delivers content in a conversational, relatable format. What sets them apart is their use of Hindi—not the formal, rigid language of legacy media, but the colloquial, everyday speech of their audience. This approach makes complex news stories accessible without oversimplifying them. Their success lies in balancing credibility, thanks to their association with India Today and Aaj Tak, with a fresh, youthful presentation that resonates with younger viewers.

One of Lallantop’s key strengths is its ability to repurpose traditional news into engaging digital content. They leverage India Today’s extensive network of reporters but present the information in a way that feels tailored for social media and YouTube. Their videos often include direct addresses to the audience, humor, and clear explanations, making them more shareable than conventional news clips. The team understands that digital audiences have shorter attention spans, so they prioritize clarity and brevity without sacrificing depth. This strategy has helped them build a loyal subscriber base that trusts their reporting while enjoying the delivery.

Another factor behind Lallantop’s growth is their consistency in tone and format. Whether covering politics, entertainment, or social issues, they maintain a uniform style—informative yet informal. This reliability makes their content instantly recognizable, fostering a sense of familiarity with their audience. They also avoid the trap of becoming an echo chamber for a single ideology, which has helped them retain credibility across different viewer demographics. By staying adaptable without losing their core identity, they have managed to stay relevant even as news consumption habits evolve.

Lallantop’s success demonstrates the importance of understanding platform-specific content strategies. They didn’t just translate TV news into digital; they reimagined it for a new medium. Their use of native Hindi, engaging storytelling, and access to a strong journalistic network has allowed them to stand out in a competitive space. For anyone in digital media, their model offers a clear lesson: authenticity and adaptability matter more than sheer volume or sensationalism.

Recently, SEBI ordered a startup to halt operations due to fraudulent activities by its founders. The news came as a shock to many, especially employees who had no idea about the financial mismanagement happening at the top. One of my former colleagues had been working there and, sensing the growing instability, began looking for a new job months before the official announcement. His decision wasn’t based on concrete information—just a gut feeling that something was off. The company had delayed salaries, internal communication had become vague, and leadership seemed increasingly defensive. While most of the product and tech teams continued working as if nothing was wrong, he chose to act.

When he reached out to me, I connected him with a friend at Mastercard. Within weeks, he secured a new role—just before the SEBI order became public. It’s unsettling how entire teams can remain unaware of the fraud happening at the highest levels. Founders often shield employees from financial realities until it’s too late, leaving hundreds scrambling for jobs overnight. In this case, the lack of transparency wasn’t just unethical; it destroyed careers. My colleague was fortunate, but many others weren’t as quick to react or didn’t have the right connections.

The situation highlights how important it is to recognize early warning signs in a company. Delayed payments, sudden leadership changes, or unusual secrecy around finances should never be ignored. Employees often assume things will stabilize, but when regulatory actions hit, the fallout is swift. In startups, where governance can be lax, the risk is higher. The line between optimism and denial is thin, and waiting too long to act can have serious consequences.

What’s worse is that the greed of a few can upend the lives of many. The startup ecosystem thrives on trust, and incidents like this erode that trust. While my former colleague landed safely, many others are now job hunting in a tough market. The lesson here is clear: if something feels wrong, it probably is. Acting quickly—whether by networking, upskilling, or simply starting the job search—can make all the difference.

Maintaining a consistent sleep schedule has been a challenge for me. The primary issue stems from working late into the evening, which inevitably leads to prolonged exposure to blue light from screens. Research suggests that blue light suppresses melatonin production, making it harder to fall asleep. Despite knowing this, the habit persists, and the consequences extend beyond just delayed sleep. The later I stay awake, the more likely I am to consume a light snack, often something unnecessary, simply because hunger pangs set in. This creates a cycle—poor sleep leads to fatigue the next day, which then makes it harder to maintain discipline in the evening.

A few friends skip dinner altogether or finish eating before 6 PM, reporting better sleep and more energy. The idea of not eating after a certain hour seems extreme at first, but the benefits are hard to ignore. Reduced digestion load at night, fewer disruptions in sleep, and better metabolic regulation are all compelling reasons to try it. Yet, the transition isn’t straightforward. Hunger, especially when working late, feels like a legitimate need rather than a habit. The key likely lies in adjusting daytime meals to ensure satiety lasts longer, but experimentation is necessary.

The relationship between eating and sleep is more significant than I initially thought. Late-night snacking, even if light, affects sleep quality. Digestion requires energy, and the body’s focus on processing food can interfere with deep sleep phases. Additionally, eating close to bedtime has been linked to acid reflux and restless sleep. The challenge is controlling the urge to eat when tiredness sets in. Some studies suggest that what we perceive as hunger at night is often dehydration or fatigue manifesting as cravings. Drinking water or herbal tea might help, but discipline is still required to avoid reaching for snacks out of habit rather than necessity.

Changing this pattern will require deliberate adjustments. Reducing blue light exposure in the evening by using filters or limiting screen time is a start. Structuring meals to be more filling earlier in the day could prevent late-night hunger. Most importantly, consistency in sleep timing—even on weekends—would help regulate the body’s internal clock. The goal isn’t perfection but gradual improvement. If successful, the benefits—better sleep, more energy, and fewer unnecessary calories—will make the effort worthwhile. For now, it’s a work in progress, one that requires patience and small, sustainable changes.

Debugging is a fundamental skill that extends beyond just fixing software errors—it applies to solving complex business problems, logical inconsistencies, and even real-world decision-making. The core of debugging lies in structured thinking, where the problem is broken down into smaller, manageable parts. This requires patience, observation, and a methodical approach. The first step is always to isolate the issue, whether it’s a bug in code or a bottleneck in a business process. Replicating the problem consistently is crucial because without a clear understanding of when and why the issue occurs, any solution will be speculative rather than definitive. Debugging is not just about finding what’s broken but understanding why it broke in the first place.

Logical thinking is the backbone of effective debugging. Every problem, whether technical or operational, follows a cause-and-effect chain. The ability to trace this chain backward—from symptom to root cause—is what separates quick fixes from lasting solutions. This often means stepping back to analyze the system as a whole rather than focusing on immediate symptoms. For example, a crashing application might seem like a coding error, but the real issue could be an underlying resource constraint or an unexpected data input. Similarly, in business, declining sales may appear to be a marketing issue, but the root cause could be supply chain inefficiencies or customer service gaps. The key is to ask the right questions rather than jumping to conclusions.

Debugging is a process of elimination, often requiring a "step back and two steps ahead" mindset. The step back involves distancing oneself from assumptions and biases to see the problem objectively. The two steps ahead come from anticipating how changes will affect the system. In coding, this means considering edge cases and regression impacts. In business, it means evaluating second-order consequences of decisions. A common mistake is applying quick patches without understanding downstream effects, leading to recurring issues. True debugging involves not just fixing the immediate problem but ensuring it doesn’t resurface in a different form. This requires a balance of short-term resolution and long-term system resilience.

The thinking required for debugging is both analytical and creative. Analytical thinking helps in systematically narrowing down possibilities, while creativity allows for unconventional approaches when standard solutions fail. It’s about pattern recognition—identifying similarities between past and present problems—and adaptability, knowing when to pivot strategies. The best debuggers are those who treat every problem as a learning opportunity, refining their approach with each iteration. Whether in code or business, the principles remain the same: observe, hypothesize, test, and refine. Mastery comes not from never making mistakes but from knowing how to diagnose and resolve them efficiently.

Last week, before pulling an all-nighter, I completed a lower-body workout consisting of lunges, leg presses, and dumbbell exercises after a 6 km run. Typically, such a session would leave me with noticeable delayed onset muscle soreness (DOMS) in my glutes and quadriceps the following day. However, this time, since I did not sleep at all that night, I felt almost no soreness the next day. It was only after I finally slept the following night that the expected muscle soreness set in, along with a clear sense of recovery. This observation made me question the role of sleep in DOMS and muscle recovery.

DOMS is the muscle pain and stiffness that develops hours to days after intense or unfamiliar exercise. It is caused by microscopic damage to muscle fibers, triggering inflammation and repair processes. While the exact mechanisms are still being studied, sleep is known to play a crucial role in recovery. One study published in Sports Medicine (2019) found that sleep deprivation impairs the body’s inflammatory response and delays muscle recovery. This aligns with my experience—without sleep, the usual soreness was suppressed, possibly because the body’s repair mechanisms were not fully activated until rest occurred.

The absence of immediate soreness on the day after sleep deprivation could suggest that the inflammatory response was delayed. Sleep is when growth hormone peaks, facilitating tissue repair and protein synthesis. Without it, the body may prioritize immediate energy needs over recovery, postponing the soreness until proper rest is achieved. This also explains why, after finally sleeping, I felt both the soreness and the recovery effects more distinctly. The body likely used that sleep cycle to catch up on repair processes, leading to the expected DOMS the following day.

This experience highlights how critical sleep is for muscle recovery, even if the immediate effects of skipping it aren’t always obvious. While short-term sleep deprivation might mask soreness, it doesn’t eliminate the need for recovery—it merely delays it. For consistent progress in fitness, prioritizing sleep is as important as the workout itself.

Last week, I pulled an all-nighter for the first time in a couple of years. In college, all-nighters were almost routine—cramming for exams, finishing coding projects, or even just gaming with friends. Back then, recovery was quick. A few hours of sleep, maybe a strong coffee, and I’d be back to normal. This time, in my mid-thirties, the experience was starkly different. The fatigue hit harder, lasted longer, and the recovery wasn’t as simple.

The night itself wasn’t the hard part. Staying awake wasn’t difficult with enough work to focus on. The real challenge came the next day. By mid-morning, I needed twice the usual amount of coffee just to stay functional. My focus was brittle, breaking at minor distractions. Conversations felt slower, as if my brain was processing words through a delay. Even routine tasks required more effort. The mental drag was noticeable, a far cry from the resilience I had in my twenties. It wasn’t just about sleep deprivation—it was how my body and mind responded to it now.

By evening, the slowdown was undeniable. I caught myself rereading emails, struggling to follow complex discussions, and making small errors in tasks that usually required no thought. The fatigue wasn’t just mental—it was physical too. My eyes were strained, my posture slumped, and even my movements felt heavier. I tried a light walk and some stretching, which helped marginally, but the underlying exhaustion didn’t lift. It was a clear reminder that recovery at this age isn’t as immediate. The body doesn’t bounce back the way it used to.

All-nighters aren’t sustainable now. In college, they were a badge of endurance. Now, they’re a liability. The trade-off between short-term productivity and long-term fatigue isn’t worth it. If anything, this reinforced the importance of proper sleep and pacing. Pushing through the night might work occasionally, but the cost the next day is too high. A structured schedule, even if it means slower progress, is far more efficient than brute-forcing hours at the expense of well-being.