Half Samosa full masti

 The 1990s were a different world, when the evening wasn’t a time to attend meetings or finish a report; it was a sacred window of freedom. As the sun began to set, a group of four or five friends would gather, ready for our daily pilgrimage to the local "Sharma Hotel."

This wasn’t a fancy restaurant. It was a tiny, hut-like shack that served as our unofficial headquarters..apna adda. We would walk down those familiar roads together, sharing stories and laughter that felt like they could last forever. The scent of hot tea, the ambience and frying samosas was the ultimate comfort. 

Our pockets weren't very deep, so our orders depended entirely on the change we could manage. On lucky days, we each had a full samosa, but more often than not, we’d share them "one-by-two." Somehow, that half a samosa tasted better than any five-star meal today because it was seasoned with genuine friendship.

In those moments, we discussed everything under the sun. We debated cricket, crack jokes with Sharmaji ..hotel owner. There were no deadlines hanging over our heads, no client escalations to worry about, and no constant mobile notifications pulling us away from the conversation. Life was incredibly simple because we were allowed to just "be." We were present in every laugh.

Today, the world feels much heavier. For many of us, the weekday evening has completely vanished. The office shift slowly bleeds into the night, and the boundary between work and home has faded away. We spend our evenings staring at screens instead of faces, and the carefree walks of our youth have been replaced by the rush to meet the next target. Looking back at those days at Sharma Hotel, it’s clear that we weren't just buying tea and samosas; we were enjoying a kind of peace that is hard to find in the modern world.

वो शामें, वो बातें, वो चाय का धुआँ,

सब कुछ वहीं है, पर अब हम कहाँ?

The Magic of 90s Saraswati Puja: Small Towns, Big Hearts

If you grew up in a small town in Bihar or Jharkhand during the 90s, Saraswati Puja wasn't just a festival—it was the highlight of the year. We didn't have big budgets or fancy decorators. We had our friends, some pocket money, and a lot of excitement.

Building the Pandal with Sarees- We didn't hire professionals to build a stage. Instead, we gathered bamboo poles and borrowed sarees from our mothers. We pinned them together to make a colorful, makeshift tent. It wasn’t perfect, but to us, it was the most beautiful temple in the world.

The "Chanda" Mission- Weeks before the puja, we went door-to-door in our locality to collect Chanda. We were happy even with 2 or 5 rupees. This money was precious because it bought the essentials like Ber, green peas, boondiya for prasad.

The All-Nighter- The night before the puja was the best part. It was our one chance to stay up all night with friends. While music played on a loud tape recorder, we worked hard to decorate the pandal. We laughed, talked, and stayed awake in the chilly air, making sure everything was ready for the Goddess.

There was a special tradition every student followed: placing our books at the feet of the Goddess. We believed that if our books stayed with the idol, Goddess Saraswati would bless us with Vidya (wisdom). It was also the best excuse to not study for a whole day! We prayed hard, hoping the Goddess would help us pass our exams.

Looking back, those days were simple. We didn't need much to be happy. The joy came from working together as a team and the pure devotion we felt in our hearts. It was a time of friendship and sweet memories that stay with us forever.

Why are Fewer Youth from Punjab Joining the Sikh Regiment?

The Sikh Regiment is known as the "Steel Guard" of India. For generations, the bravest sons of Punjab have joined the Army with pride. But recently, news has shown a drop in the number of new recruits.

This isn't just a coincidence. Many things are happening at once that are hurting Punjab’s traditional "warrior spirit."

There is a deliberate plan to weaken India's border state. By flooding Punjab with drugs, they are targeting the youth. Young men who want to join the Army are failing the physical tests. Their health is being destroyed before they even reach the recruitment age.

There is another interesting aspect. In many villages across Punjab, we see a rise in Christian missionary work. As the religious and social makeup of villages changes, the deep-rooted tradition of a Sikh family sending at least one son to the Regiment is slowly fading away.

Third angle for the downfall of Punjab’s stability can be linked to the time Captain left the CM post. As a former soldier himself, he understood the link between the Army and the youth.

The drop in Sikh Regiment recruits is a big warning sign. To fix this, we need to save Punjab's youth from drugs, give them strong local leadership again, and remind them of their glorious history in the Indian Army.

Why Bharat Needs a "Modern-Day Shankaracharya"

 In the 8th century, a young philosopher named Adi Shankaracharya walked across Bharat. At a time when spiritual practices were fragmented and the core essence of the Vedas was fading, he didn't just offer prayers—he offered clarity. He established the four Mathas, debated the finest minds, and revived Sanatana Dharma through the logic of Advaita Vedanta.

Today, we find ourselves at a similar crossroads. While the world is more connected than ever, the thread linking the modern Hindu to their roots is thinning. Here is why our generation needs a revivalist force on the scale of a new Shankaracharya.

1. Bridging the "Language of Logic"

The younger generation isn't "anti-religion"; they are pro-reason. Many feel alienated because ancient teachings are often presented as rigid rituals rather than deep psychological and scientific truths.

The Need: We need a voice that can translate the Upanishadic truths into the language of modern science, psychology, and ethics. A "Modern Shankaracharya" would show that our Granthas are not just books of the past, but manuals for the future.

2. Global Unity, Not Just Local Presence

Sanatana Dharma is universal (Vishwa Dharma). However, in the global diaspora, it is often reduced to "ethnic festivals."

The Need: To prevent the philosophy from becoming a relic, we need a global institutional push. We need a leadership that can engage with world leaders, scientists, and philosophers to show how Vedic wisdom can solve modern crises like mental health epidemics and environmental decay.

3. Healing the Internal Fragments

Society today is often divided by caste, language, and political leanings. Adi Shankaracharya’s greatest achievement was his ability to unify diverse sects under the umbrella of one "Brahman" (Universal Consciousness).

The Need: A unifying figure who looks past local differences and re-establishes a sense of "Cultural Pride" (Self-Respect) based on spiritual equality rather than social division.

4. From "Information" to "Transformation"

We live in an age of information overload. You can find the Gita on an app, but you can’t find the discipline to live it.

The Need: We need a reformer who can build "living ecosystems"—schools, digital platforms, and community hubs—that make the practice of Dharma practical for everyone.

धर्मो रक्षति रक्षितः

If we do not rekindle our link with our roots, we risk becoming a society that knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.

The "New Shankaracharya" may not be one single person, but perhaps a collective movement of thinkers, teachers, and practitioners who decide that it is time to bring the light of the Himalayas into the heart of the modern world.

It is time for a Renaissance of the Soul.

The Silent Erosion: How Migration is Fraying Bihar and Jharkhand's Cultural Fabric

We often talk about the economic and intellectual brain drain from Bihar and Jharkhand. Young, bright minds moving to developed states for better education and employment. This has been going on for quite sometime now and there is no trend reversal visible unless we see new employment opportunities in our state.  A lot of things have been written on this topic and discussed as well. But there's a quieter, more deeper damage happening, one that touches the very soul of our identity: the erosion of our local traditions and culture. This has not drawn anyone's attention unless its the anti language movement in some of the developed states of India. 

It is about the slow, deep impact of our own younger generations moving out.

When we leave home for work or higher study, we gain opportunities, but it also create a distance which cannot be shortened by train or flights- cultural distance.  

Missing the Rhythm of Life: Our lives back home are structured around festivals, local customs, and traditions. Be it the Chhath Mahaparva, or the local folk songs sung at weddings, or even the dialects spoken at home. 

A Brief Return is Not Enough: we take leave for the big festivals, a brief, hectic visit. But for the rest of the year, we are just observing festivals from a distant. We are not there for the everyday rituals, the small, continuous acts that maintain a cultural heartbeat. We just para drop on the final day and mark our attendance but the much needed bonding, the connect is missing. During that brief visit, we keep juggling between phone, emails, "critical" action items from office and regular festival related chores.

For initial few years, we call it "away from from roots" but slowly that 'Transplantation" happens 

Slow Forgetting, Step by Step

This absence leads to a gradual, often unintentional, moving away from our roots.

Missing Out: We start by missing the events due to some critical work or leave not getting approved. We feel a pang of nostalgia, but life keeps moving. 

Dilution: We try to recreate a version of the festival in our  new city(visiting Chhath ghat in Hussain Sagar), but it lacks the authenticity, the specific local flavor, the community participation and above all very essence with which you can relate or connect your past celebrations. As a kid there were few memories attached to each event but with this transplantation, it's lost. 

Forgetting: Slowly, we begin to forget the finer details: the specific songs, the preparation steps for a traditional dish, the connect. These are the very things that make us Bihari or Jharkhandi.

The Looming Future

The real concern lies with the next couple of generations. Its visible in every day life-while i could 100% understand bhojpuri and can try to speak but the next generation is not even there. For them Chhath puja is something where papa takes them to Hussain Sagar or listen to Sharada Sinha songs on youtube. They never experienced the puja preparation, walking down few kms to Chhath Ghat with whole family. The joy and a sense of accomplishment once you complete the morning arghya on last day of Chhath-they have never experienced it.

Our children, born and raised in metros will never experience the festivals or the village life firsthand. Their connection will be secondhand, through stories and fragmented phone calls.

This subtle shift is happening right now. It's not a loud political or economic crisis, but a silent erosion of a cultural legacy. We must find ways—through digital means, community building in new cities, or conscious effort—to keep the connection alive, or risk seeing the rich, unique fabric of Bihar and Jharkhand's culture slowly fade into nostalgia.