Krishna, Dharma, and the Mahabharata I Thought I Knew

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Krishna and Arjuna at Kurukshetra When I was growing up, I used to listen to so many stories from our epics and mythology—whether it was reading Amar Chitra Katha books or listening to my paati narrate tales of bravery and valor, the purpose of the divine, and the importance of adhering to dharma. Stories of Shiva and Vishnu found their way into my life through various forms. As a child, it was fascinating to see the power wielded by the Gods. And the message I took away was very simple: if you are devoted to the Gods, no harm can befall you. The Mahabharata, Ramayana, Nala-Damayanti, tales of Muruga and Ganesha, Draupadi, the Pandavas, the Kauravas—the army of characters was endless. To say they fascinated me would be a big understatement. I have read the Mahabharata many times, through various authors, and listened to many narrations of it. Every single time, I walk away with a new meaning. Kri...
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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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