Empowering Individual Success: A Reflection on Our Panel Discussion at DSB International School10/24/2024 Recently, I had the privilege of moderating a remarkable panel discussion at DSB International School on Empowering Individual Success. The conversation was rich with insights, leaving the audience—and myself—deeply inspired. It highlighted not just the varied definitions of success, but also the deeply personal journeys that lead each individual to achieve it. Defining Success: No One-Size-Fits-All: One of the key takeaways from the discussion was that success doesn’t come in a singular form. Each panelist had a different perspective on what it means to "succeed," based on their experiences and personal challenges. Whether it's a student excelling academically and in extracurriculars, or an educator shaping inclusive learning environments, success is a spectrum. Simar Narang, a Grade 11 student, shared how she balances academics, sports, and internships, all while aspiring to become a doctor. Her story is a testament to the importance of focus and perseverance at a young age. As Simar spoke, it became clear that student success today is about more than just grades—it's about managing various pursuits while staying true to one’s dreams. Resilience: The Bedrock of Success: Another powerful voice on the panel was Calvin Eden, a youth development speaker whose life took a drastic turn at the age of 15. From personal tragedy to public triumph, Calvin spoke about the importance of resilience—how young people can cultivate it and use it as a foundation for their success. His words reminded us that life's setbacks are often the seeds for our greatest comebacks. Calvin's story resonated with the audience, especially in today's world where mental health challenges are becoming increasingly prevalent. His message was clear: building resilience isn't just an option; it's a necessity for those wanting to achieve lasting success. Leadership and Mentorship: Phil Whitehead, an education and arts consultant with over 25 years of experience, brought invaluable insights from his diverse background. Having led international research programs and provided professional development in schools across the globe, Phil stressed how mentorship and creative learning environments can be pivotal in shaping students' success. He emphasized the importance of fostering not only academic achievement but also social impact through arts and extracurricular activities. Phil's work with rural arts projects and international schools highlighted how these experiences build well-rounded individuals who are prepared for the complexities of today’s world. Inclusion: Empowering Every Individual: Howard Gee and Tejal Bhatt both brought crucial perspectives on inclusivity in education. Howard, as an advocate for Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI), stressed the importance of schools recognizing and supporting students from marginalized communities. Tejal, an international educational leader, further emphasized that inclusive environments are the foundation for all students to thrive, regardless of their abilities or backgrounds. Their contributions sparked a critical dialogue around how schools can better identify and nurture the unique potential of every student, ensuring that no one is left behind in their pursuit of success. Innovation in Learning: Dr. Anushi Divan, with her extensive background in biotechnology and education, shed light on how innovative teaching practices can empower students to take ownership of their learning journeys. Inquiry-based learning, she explained, fosters curiosity and critical thinking, both essential for students to succeed academically and personally. Her focus on fostering a mindset of innovation in students was a perfect capstone to a discussion centered on empowering young minds for the future. Final Thoughts: Success is a Collective Effort: At the heart of the discussion was the realization that empowering individual success is not just about personal ambition—it’s a collective effort. It involves parents, educators, mentors, and the wider community all coming together to support and guide each person on their unique journey. As a moderator, I was reminded that success is deeply personal, but it flourishes best in environments where students feel supported, challenged, and encouraged. It’s in these inclusive, resilient, and innovative spaces that students can not only dream but also realize their dreams. I left the panel feeling inspired by the stories and insights shared, and with a renewed commitment to nurturing environments where every individual can succeed, in their own way, at their own pace. Let’s continue to empower one another and work collectively to create the kind of success that matters—not just to individuals, but to society as a whole.
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Unraveling the Magic of Jia Tolentino’s Writing: A Reflection on Self-Truth in the Age of Capitalism10/2/2024  Jia Tolentino’s writing feels like magic. She has this way of spinning self-truths that leave you no choice but to follow her down the rabbit hole. And as you do, you’re peeling away the layers of your own identity—layers you probably hadn’t thought much about before. It’s almost like you’re forced to confront the version of yourself that’s been shaped by late-stage capitalism, whether you want to or not. Her writing is funny, insightful, lyrical, and at times, pretty terrifying, all in the same breath. It makes you rethink not just your place in the world but the systems around you that you didn’t even realize were holding you captive. One of the most mind-blowing things she tackles in Trick Mirror is how the internet has completely redefined our sense of self. Think about it: we're now living in a world where "selfhood" has become the ultimate commodity. On platforms like Instagram and Twitter, we’re not just hanging out—we're performing. As Jia says, you can’t just be visible online by existing; you have to "act" to be seen. And the craziest part? The more you perform, the more you feel like you need to keep up this online persona. We’ve become addicted to the mirage of this “better” version of ourselves, and the internet keeps egging us on, dangling that perfected image just out of reach. Tolentino’s critique goes beyond just our Instagram habits though—she digs deep into how self-optimization has become our new normal. Take her thoughts on Sweetgreen and the Barre workout craze. She hilariously points out how the person who eats that $12 salad needs to finish it in 10 minutes so they can get back to the job that lets them afford the salad in the first place. And Barre? It’s less about preparing you for a marathon and more about prepping you for the non-stop treadmill of modern life. Essentially, these "wellness" trends are less about health and more about helping you survive a world that demands you be constantly “on.” Then there’s her take on how the internet messes with our sense of identity. It distorts how we see ourselves and others, making us place way too much value on our own opinions, while simultaneously cheapening our understanding of community and solidarity. Instead of connecting authentically, we get sucked into opposition, into "performing" for an invisible audience. Have you ever posted something and thought, "Who am I even doing this for?" That’s exactly what she’s talking about. It’s like we’re all trying to outdo one another in this game we didn’t even realize we signed up for. But it’s not just the internet or wellness culture that Tolentino questions. She also has a sharp eye on how modern feminism sometimes misses the mark. She argues that today’s feminist narratives often prioritize the individual over the collective—celebrating personal success without addressing the larger systems of oppression that still exist. As Jia puts it, “the problem is that a feminism that prioritizes the individual will always, at its core, be at odds with a feminism that prioritizes the collective.” It’s a thought-provoking take that challenges the idea that just because one woman wins, it’s a win for all women. What’s so refreshing about Tolentino is that she doesn’t hand out easy solutions. She’s not here to sell you the latest self-help hack or tell you how to fix your life. Instead, she offers clarity on the chaos, giving us a way to better understand how messed up things are without sugarcoating it. And she does all this with such humor and ease that you’re left both laughing and thinking deeply at the same time. In her book, she leaves us with this sobering thought: “We are asked to understand our lives in such impossibly convoluted conditions.” It’s a powerful line that sums up the heart of her work. She’s pointing out that the world we live in is way more complicated than we often acknowledge, and trying to make sense of it all is an almost impossible task. And while she doesn’t give us a roadmap for escape, she invites us to sit with that discomfort, to question the narratives we’ve been fed, and to start thinking more critically about the systems shaping our lives. In a time when we’re bombarded with people telling us how to fix ourselves, Tolentino stands out because she doesn’t try to fix anything. Instead, she hands us a mirror and asks, "What do you see?" It’s up to us to decide if we want to look deeper. And honestly, after reading her work, you probably will. So, if you’ve ever caught yourself wondering if you're really living outside the system or just playing right into it, Jia Tolentino’s writing will hit home. She’ll make you laugh, cringe, and reexamine those things you thought you knew. But most importantly, she’ll leave you with a sense of curiosity about the world around you—and yourself—like only the best writers can.  Here's a list of everything I highlighted in 2023. I think the books we read are a gateway into our interior lives at that current moment. The books are as follows: Freedom is a Constant Struggle by Angela Davis Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid The Last Story of Mina Lee by Nancy Kim Age of Vice by Deepti Kapoor Yellowface by R. F. Kuang  The so-called war on terror has done inestimable damage to the world, including the intensification of anti-Muslim racism in the United States, Europe, and Australia. As progressives in the Global North, we certainly have not acknowledged our major responsibilities in the continuation of military and ideological attacks on people in the Arab world. and imprisonment is increasingly used as a strategy of deflection of the underlying social problems—racism, poverty, unemployment, lack of education Racism is so dangerous because it does not necessarily depend on individual actors, but rather is deeply embedded in the apparatus… But it has been suggested by geographers who have studied these naming practices that they’ve been used to deflect attention from persisting social problems—the lack of education, housing, jobs, and the use of carceral strategies to conceal the continued presence of these problems. The Ferguson struggle has taught us that local issues have global ramifications. “Justice is indivisible. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” A recent book by historian Craig Wilder addresses the extent to which the Ivy League universities, the universities everyone knows all over the world—you mention the name Harvard and that is recognizable virtually everywhere in the world—Harvard, Yale, Princeton, et cetera, were founded on and are deeply implicated in the institution of slavery. I’m trying to suggest that there are connections between the militarization of the police in the US, which provides a different context for us to analyze the continuing, ongoing proliferation of racist police violence, and the continuous assault on people in occupied Palestine, the West Bank, and especially in Gaza, given the military violence inflicted on people in Gaza this past summer. “The personal is political”—not only that what we experience on a personal level has profound political implications, but that our interior lives, our emotional lives are very much informed by ideology.  Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid One of my favorite reads of the year, but I only highlighted the following phrase: suddenly seemed like her fate was in the hands of a toddler who believed broccolis were baby trees.  The Last Story of Mina Lee by Nancy Kim She applied liquid eyeliner and rose-colored lipstick carefully, as if painting her lips like art. Korean supermarket buzzing with the movements of ordinary life, a kaleidoscope of social statuses Growing up American was all about erasing the past—lightly acknowledging it but then forgetting and moving on. But history always rose to the surface. Among the wreckage, the dead floated to the top. she resented her mother for leaning on Margot, her mother was deeply and unimaginably alone. Women like her and her mother were always struggling to stay above water, their faces floating on top while their legs treaded frantically underneath. two women who would be mirrors for each other, for each other’s sadness, disappointments, Stacks of books and newspapers on the coffee table resembled a fragile skyline that could topple to the ground. A fire hazard. A single human being could live an entire continent of pain and worry and longing. This man’s kindness emerged out of the cruelties of their lives like birds hatched on fields ruined by mines and barbed wire. how food was perhaps the most practical and necessary means by which Margot could access the stories and memories, the sap running inside her mother. that families were our greatest source of pain, whether they had lost or abandoned us or simply scrubbed our heads. She saw only herself in Margot, as if she could not bear to see her in her entirety, as if she was a puzzle with pieces missing forever. She refused to see the entire girl. The tears, springing from her heart’s heaviness, the heaviness of a lifetime, almost seventy years, streamed down her face, the impossibility of living with her mother, tyrannous but every now and then, unexpectedly transparent, leaking light from the disasters of her life How afraid they were of each other. How impossible they seemed together. But if only her mother would’ve knocked, and Margot’s response wouldn’t have been, Go away. If only they had a way to embrace each other and say, I don’t understand you, but I’m trying my best. I am trying my very best. But the other part of her longed to remain in this city to recover something she had left behind—not just history or her past or her mother’s, but whom she had always dreamed of becoming. She had abandoned that side of herself here, too. Wasn’t that the thing with words? It wasn’t just their surfaces—sometimes serene and shimmering, others violent, crashing, and brash—but what they, when carefully considered, conveyed: we are more than friends. We’re family.  Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus “Not every woman wants to be a mother,” he agreed, surprising her. “More to the point, not every woman should be.” He grimaced as if thinking of someone in particular. “Still, I’m surprised by how many women sign up for motherhood considering how difficult pregnancy can be—morning sickness, stretch marks, death. Again, you’re fine,” he added quickly, taking in her horrified face. “It’s just that we tend to treat pregnancy as the most common condition in the world—as ordinary as stubbing a toe—when the truth is, it’s like getting hit by a truck. Although obviously a truck causes less damage.” Like so many undesirable men, Mr. Sloane truly believed other women found him attractive. Harriet had no idea where that specific brand of self-confidence came from. Because while stupid people may not know they’re stupid. . Yes, Amanda was a bit anxious like he was, a bit overweight like he was, a bit of a people pleaser like he was, but you know what else Amanda was? A nice kid. And nice kids, like nice adults, were rare. Between the hours of one thirty-one and four forty-four p.m., productive life as we know it ceases to exist. It’s a virtual death zone.” Harriet considered the possibility that the child was a genius. Her father had been. But no. It was just that Mad was well taught and that was because of Elizabeth. Elizabeth simply refused to accept limits, not just for herself, but for others. she only ever seemed to bring out the worst in men. They either wanted to control her, touch her, dominate her, silence her, correct her, or tell her what to do. “Men and women are both human beings. And as humans, we’re by-products of our upbringings, victims of our lackluster educational systems, and choosers of our behaviors. In short, the reduction of women to something less than men, and the elevation of men to something more than women, is not biological: it’s cultural. And it starts with two words: pink and blue. Everything skyrockets out of control from there.” “Feeling like one doesn’t fit is a horrible feeling,” she continued, unruffled. “Humans naturally want to belong—it’s part of our biology. But our society makes us feel that we’re never good enough to belong. Do you know what I mean, Phil? Because we measure ourselves against useless yardsticks of sex, race, religion, politics, schools. Even height and weight—” Besides, I happen to think science is a form of religion. Courage is the root of change—and change is what we’re chemically designed to  At seven thirty a.m., on a normal day at least, when the apartment is set to rights, he must deliver warm lemon water with grated turmeric root to Sunny’s bedside and play the Gayatri Mantra at volume setting 14. This is followed twenty minutes later by a pot of filter coffee, a bowl of fruit, orange juice, and fresh croissants sent each morning from the bakery at the Oberoi. Next he draws Sunny a piping hot bath, filling the tub, tossing in scented oils or salts, scattering rose petals on the surface. At eight he fetches all the newspapers and the latest magazines. He searches his mind, finds deep black wells he cannot draw from, sees long, dark gullies he refuses to enter. He walks on a little more, goose bumps on his skin. Some wild impulse tells him to lean down and remove his shoes and socks. these jumbled, makeshift homes, observing the women scrubbing metal plates using sand and small stones, cooking a vat of rice over All that dust and all that smoke, the smell of burning plastic in all those towns, the buffalo herds and fields of mustard and corn and wheat and cane, all that engine oil dripping into the ground, mixed with the garbage and rotting vegetables. Rows of hovels of brick and wood, roofed with corrugated metal and tarp, built on dirt ground, surrounded by garbage dumps. Women cook on small fires outside their miserable homes. He stands among them, appalled. Appalled at himself for expecting anything more. Laconic and baritone, laced with wicked humor. His wealth is ancient, storied. A gloomy day, a day of umbrellas and headlights. Clouds obscure the building tops. Rain swirls like a dancing kite. God, she misses Delhi. Misses roti and pickle and curd in the winter sun. Girls fussing over her in tiny, windowless salons. Golgappas in Khan Market. The crowds of Old Delhi. Sweet corn on the side of the road, dressed with chilli and chaat masala and lemon. Die miserably of cancer. She grew up in her world of cultural elites, both parents from scholarly backgrounds, “impoverished,” “proud.” Highly educated families risen to subtle prominence in colonial days. Post-Independence, advantageously placed True wealth was the accretion of experience. As evidenced by the grace of their home, with the fig trees and the palms and the parakeets in the park, the faded Persian carpets lining the marble, the signed artworks that were gifts from friends who just happened to be famous now. Shelves of books lined almost every wall, their tattered innards releasing noble yellow perfumes. That home, a store of memory. A store of knowledge. Meanwhile some backpacker in Paharganj wanders around crying about our poverty, shaking his head, taking pity on us, taking photos for the people back home. Take a look at your own backyard. Study your history, man. You people looted us, took everything, stole our treasures. A river is a city’s lifeline, its artery.” And she knew as he spoke that he’d practiced this, that it was a speech he’d prepared. “At first trade, then industry, then leisure. And all the best cities in the world have something in common. They face their rivers. Their rivers become their centerpiece.” Yes. This is India. The game is rigged, the rules are stacked, you people make the rules in the first place. You already have everything, and you don’t want to share. So sometimes things must be taken. This was the flip side of the misery, destruction, poverty, the world Dean waded through. And didn’t she want Delhi to be like this? Wouldn’t it be so much easier than the struggle? Dean’s cold voice rose to meet her conscience. Money’s a fucking curse, he said. It cuts out all the hard work. Before, you had to be kind or funny or fun. Interesting, intelligent. You had to take the time to know people. You had solidarity with them. Then you’re rich. It annihilates everything. Everyone is nice to you. Everyone wants you there. You’re the most popular person in the room. It’s so easy to be charming when you’re rich. Everyone laughs at your jokes, hangs on your word. You forget and think it’s about you. Then sometimes you go somewhere and you don’t spend, and it’s so miserable, it’s so horrible to go back to the drawing board, and you’ve forgotten how to earn someone’s trust or love, and you know it’s easier with a shortcut or two, so you bring out the cash in the end, the wad, the clip, the card, and the thrill of it is greater, because they didn’t know, and now they do. You’re rich. You’re in charge. They love you. She was a wisp of a woman in a purple sari, strong and weathered from a life of work. So I started work and of course I didn’t have any ethics. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as ethics in journalism. I knew injustice when I saw it, in a novel, on the news, but I never understood the process of its creation. I never considered complicity, or the obligation to guard against it in yourself. I was interested in a good story above all else. tiny vessel of sorrow on a vast ocean of pain.  Yellowface by R. F. Kuang
were a shy, bookish type I could have taken on shopping sprees at indie bookstores instead of an iPhone-addicted, TikTok-obsessed basic bitch in training. “Oh, she’s great. She’s at a more like a smorgasbord of creative churning, half-formed doors to other worlds, worlds in which I lingered for hours when I didn’t want to be in my own. But enter professional publishing, and suddenly writing is a matter of professional jealousies, obscure marketing budgets, and advances that don’t measure up to those of your peers. Editors go in and mess around with your words, your vision. Marketing and publicity make you distill hundreds of pages of careful, nuanced reflection into cute, tweet-size talking points. Readers inflict their own expectations, not just on the story, but on your politics, your philosophy, your stance on all things ethical. You, not your writing, become the product—your looks, your wit, your quippy clapbacks and factional alignments with online beefs that no one in the real world gives a shit about. But now I go straight for the vitriol. It’s like pressing a bleeding sore repeatedly, trying to see how far you can go with your tolerance for pain, because if you know the limits of it, you gain some sense of control over it. lie there for hours every night, awash in every cruel thing the internet has ever said about me. It’s cathartic, in a perverse way. I like to concentrate all the negativity, to take it all in at once. I take comfort in the fact that it could literally not get any worse than this.  In the heart of Gujarat's Banaskantha district lies Palanpur, a city where history speaks through its streets and modernity breathes in its vibrant spirit. This ancient city, once a princely state under the British Raj, stands as a testament to the confluence of Hindu and Islamic architectural styles, its palaces and forts whispering tales of a majestic past. Yet, in this cradle of antiquity, Palanpur vibrantly embraces the present, transforming from an agrarian society to a hub of thriving industries like diamond polishing and textiles. My journey to Palanpur is an exploration of this city not just as a place, but as a living, breathing character with its tales. Here, the cultural festivities paint the city in a kaleidoscope of colors, encapsulating its rich heritage and aspirations. The city's robust connectivity and commitment to education and healthcare further underscore its significance in Gujarat's tapestry. As a Palanpuri, I find the culinary traditions of my city deeply rooted in my sense of identity. The cuisine, influenced by the heritage of Rajasthan, Jain philosophies, and remnants of Nawabi culture, is a testament to our sustainable and adaptable culinary practices. It's a cuisine that tells a story of identity and community, where each dish is a celebration of local produce and heritage. During my recent visit to the Vidya Mandir Trust, I stayed at the Atithya guest house with a group of individuals ranging in age from 35 to 83 (I was the youngest). The guest house, renowned for its culinary excellence, became the setting for our shared experience. We devoured rich, textured lila channa nu shaak, mouthwateringly spicy lasan ni kadhi, cooling bundi nu raitu, fast and easy to cook palak bhajiyas, delicately rolled patevadis, and bajri na rota doused in ghee and each item was a journey through shared memories and a celebration of our heritage. Bhadreshbhai, the eldest of our group, became the guardian of our culinary experience, his menu choices reflecting the timeless traditions of Palanpuri cuisine, now adapting to embrace sustainability. Our mealtime conversations, rich with stories of the past, present, and future, highlighted the importance of local ingredients and the role of food in preserving our cultural identity. This photo essay aims to capture the essence of Palanpur - a city balancing its glorious history with a forward-looking vision. It's a narrative about a community that values its past, enjoys its present, and eagerly anticipates its future. For me, as a Palanpuri, this journey has been a reconnection with my roots and an affirmation of the enduring spirit of my city and its people. Through my lens, I invite viewers to experience the soul of Palanpur, where every image tells a story of tradition, transformation, and the timeless bond of community. My recent visit to Palanpur, nestled in Gujarat's Banaskantha District, was a journey into my family's past and an exploration of the evolving educational landscape. This town, where my grandparents grew up, was once a princely state under British rule. It's known for its agricultural prowess, dairy industry, and its roles in diamond trading and textiles.
Seventy-six years ago, Vidya Mandir was founded by members of the Palanpuri community who wanted to give back to the place that served them. My involvement with this school in various capacities, especially in admissions and partnerships, has been a fulfilling journey. There's satisfaction in collaborating with VMT teachers for their visits to Mumbai schools and in fostering a relationship between Vidya Mandir Trust and Deutsche Schule Bombay. The charm of Palanpur lies in its ability to transport me back to the times of spent with Ba-Dadaji -a glimpse into a life that was slower and more community-centric, a stark contrast to the bustling pace of Mumbai. However, the march of globalization has touched even this quaint town, leaving a bittersweet taste as it intertwines with the local culture. During this trip, I had the opportunity to interact with about 150 families. Their perspectives offered a unique insight into the current zeitgeist, revealing how education in Palanpur is evolving. VMT, once the sole educational choice, now shares the stage with new schools adopting standardized educational models, offering broader options for parents. I feel concerned that the core intent of education is shifting from a focus on literacy to a more commercial, numbers-driven approach. Amidst these changes, VMT itself is at a crossroads, balancing its rich legacy with the need to adapt to contemporary educational demands. |
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