Dhurandhar, and Why It Felt Personal

I had stopped going to Hindi movies in theaters. Not suddenly — just gradually. A trailer would come out, I’d watch it, feel mildly interested… and then do nothing. Maybe I’d tell myself I’ll catch it on OTT. Most of the time, I never did. Somewhere along the way, watching a movie stopped feeling like something to look forward to. It started feeling like a gamble — and more often than not, not worth taking. Even the shortcuts didn’t help. I’d skim through reviews, scroll past reactions, try to get a sense of whether it was “worth it.” But none of it really made the decision easier. If anything, it just reinforced the hesitation. The hesitation followed me even after Dhurandhar Part 1 released. I didn’t rush to watch it. In fact, I waited almost a month. But then something interesting started happening. The reactions didn’t line up. Most of what I was seeing was positive — people seemed genuinely excited about it. But there was also a noticeable pushback from some co...
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The Paralysis of Choice

A desk overflowing with choices — the perfect metaphor for a modern mind.

I’ve always wondered why stepping outside my comfort zone feels harder than it should. With so many ways to spend time, I keep circling the same question: am I choosing what matters, or am I just numbing myself with options? Choice overload might be the defining anxiety of our era.

One moment I’m browsing an AI course on Coursera, convincing myself I’ll finally finish it. The next, I’m tempted to restart my Sanskrit lessons. And somewhere in that mental whirlpool, a random LLM video on YouTube quietly steals an hour I never intended to give away. It isn’t learning — it’s drifting.

I think back to my first iPhone 4. One model. One color. No storage decisions. Apple had already stripped away the noise. Life felt simpler when constraints were built in.

Today everything comes in infinite flavors — phones, courses, ideas, careers, spiritual paths, entertainment platforms. Abundance looks empowering, but it corrodes something essential. When everything is possible, nothing feels necessary. Too many choices fracture focus, weaken discipline, and blur identity.

And here’s the part I avoided admitting for years:
I’m not overwhelmed by choices. I’m avoiding commitment.

Choosing one path means surrendering the illusion that I can master every bucket — AI, Sanskrit, Vedanta, technical learning, creative writing. I want a slice of all of them. I know that’s impossible. So I stay frozen, pretending indecision is something noble.

That pattern cost me years. I spent fifteen years telling myself I would publish an “outstanding book.” A decade and a half later, I didn’t even have a draft. Perfection didn’t raise the bar; it muzzled me.

The only antidote I’ve found is constraint. A schedule forces me to choose. So I write during my kids’ music sessions; while they practice their ragas, I type my way out of excuses. I’m learning to give each bucket a defined place instead of letting them brawl inside my head.

Because in the end, life doesn’t reward the person with the most options.
It rewards the one who stops browsing and starts building.

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