Having fun has always featured rather prominently in my list of life’s priorities. In fact, if I were to identify one philosophy that has remained fairly consistent throughout my life, it would be that life is meant to be enjoyed. Somehow, I seemed to have figured that out quite early.

I was born in Lucknow and grew up in different parts of India, surrounded by my elder sister, elder brother, and parents. I emphasize on using the term “grew up” rather than raised or brought up because that’s more suited to cattle and livestock. Hence, it would be an insult to the wonderful time I had as a kid. My father, extraordinary man that he is, always made it clear that our opinions mattered to him and my mother. We were encouraged to participate in family discussions whenever the subject was within the limits of our understanding and maturity.Hence, we were always involved in discussing any matter that our maturity would permit. Looking back, that was where I first learned to express myself with confidence, articulate what I believed in, listen with an open mind, and appreciate that everyone had a perspective worth hearing.

I also have vivid memories of my birthdays. Every year, my parents would make me stand against the same wall, at the same spot, and mark my height with a coloured pen. Watching that little mark move higher each year gave me an inexplicable sense of achievement. Perhaps that was my earliest introduction to the joy of gradual progress — the realization that even the smallest changes, when given time, could amount to something worth celebrating.

Amidst all this growing-up business, I managed to accomplish my first memorable feat in the sixth grade. Together with a few friends, I skilfully cracked two eggs into the attendance register and neatly shut it before leaving it on the teacher’s table. What followed was nothing short of chaos! The principal repeatedly questioned the entire class, trying to identify the culprits, but not a single soul uttered a word. “It was probably my earliest encounter with solidarity — although I suspect the principal would have had a rather different interpretation of our united front!”

I moved through my school years studying the subjects I enjoyed and conveniently paying less attention to those I didn’t. The rigid discipline in schools often felt suffocating. I was never particularly interested in conforming to expectations or aspiring to be the teacher’s favourite. Somewhere along the way, I developed an appreciation for having a mind of my own — standing firm in my convictions, being respectful without being submissive, and understanding that questioning authority wasn’t necessarily a sign of disrespect

Travel was an integral part of my growing-up years. Moving across different parts of India exposed me to new places, unfamiliar surroundings, different cultures, and people whose lives were often very different from mine. I didn’t quite realize it then, but these journeys were quietly shaping my worldview.

There is something extraordinary about travelling. Every new place opens a window into a world you hadn’t known existed. I remember seeing schoolchildren in Kashmir making their way to school in boats on Dal Lake. For someone accustomed to the rather ordinary routine of travelling to school by bus, this was fascinating. The idea that a boat could be someone’s everyday school commute seemed almost magical. What was an ordinary part of their day was an extraordinary sight to me.

It was perhaps one of my earliest glimpses into how differently life could unfold beyond the boundaries of my own experiences, and how much there was to discover beyond the familiar.