The Great Indian Work-From-Home Experiment: How We Turned Bedrooms into Boardroom

A desi survival guide to professional meetings in your pajamas

March 2020 hit us like that relative who shows up unannounced during lunch time. One day we were complaining about traffic and office politics, the next day we were explaining to our mothers why we couldn't "just pause the meeting" to receive the grocery delivery. Welcome to the great Indian Work-From-Home experiment, where productivity meets family chaos in the most spectacular way possible.

The Setup: Transforming Your Ghar into a Corporate Office

Remember when the biggest decision about your bedroom was whether to make the bed or not? Suddenly, we became interior designers overnight. That corner where you used to dump clothes? Corporate background. The bed you never made? Off-limits camera zone. The poster of Shah Rukh Khan? Strategic repositioning required.

Every Indian home has that one "clean" wall that becomes the designated video call backdrop. You know, the one wall that doesn't have your mother's collection of small plants, your father's newspaper stack from 1987, or that random family photo where everyone looks like they were forced to smile at gunpoint.

My neighbor spent ₹5,000 on a "professional" backdrop, only to realize his wife's pressure cooker whistles provided the real ambiance during client calls. Nothing says "authentic Indian work experience" like explaining what that mysterious whistling sound is to confused foreign colleagues.

The Great Mute Button Mastery

Working from home taught us the sacred art of the mute button faster than our engineering degrees taught us anything useful. We became digital ninjas, unmuting ourselves with lightning speed while simultaneously signaling our mothers to lower the TV volume.

Indian families have this supernatural ability to choose the exact moment you're presenting quarterly reports to have their loudest conversations. "Beta, should I make aloo gobi or bhindi today?" becomes a boardroom discussion topic whether you want it or not.

The real MVPs are those who mastered the "nod and smile" technique when their mic accidentally unmuted during family arguments. We've all been there – trying to look professional while internally praying that nobody heard your father arguing with the cable guy about why Star Plus isn't working.

Dress Code: Business on Top, Comfort Below

The pandemic gave birth to the revolutionary "meeting mullet" – professional shirt on top, pajamas below. We became masters of the strategic camera angle, ensuring our colleagues never discovered that our "power dressing" stopped at the waist.

I know at least three people who attended important presentations in formal shirts and underwear. The real anxiety wasn't about the presentation; it was about accidentally standing up during screen share. Imagine explaining to your boss why you're giving quarterly projections while wearing cartoon character boxers.

The shoes situation was even more hilarious. We'd religiously wear formal shoes for in-person meetings but now slip into chappals between video calls. Some people got so comfortable that they forgot how to walk in actual shoes when offices reopened. "Sir, I'm having technical difficulties with my footwear."

The Background Cameo Artists

Every Indian household has those uninvited background stars who refuse to follow the "meeting in progress" memo. Your father, who usually watches news at volume level 47, suddenly develops selective hearing when you're on important calls.

Then there's the domestic help who has impeccable timing. They'll choose the exact moment you're discussing budget allocations to start their loudest cleaning routine right outside your door. The vacuum cleaner becomes your unofficial meeting soundtrack.

The real legends are the pets and younger siblings who treat your video calls like their personal entertainment show. Dogs barking at delivery guys, cats deciding your laptop keyboard is their new bed, and siblings photobombing your screen with dance moves that would make TikTok proud.

The Indian Family Integration Program

Working from home meant your family finally understood what you do for a living. Sort of. Your mother still thinks "client calls" means you're chatting with friends, and your father believes every video meeting is negotiable time-wise.

"Beta, meeting khatam? Come eat lunch." became the most heard phrase across Indian households. Explaining that virtual meetings have the same time constraints as physical ones was like teaching calculus to your neighborhood stray cat.

The funniest part? Family members started recognizing your colleagues' voices and developing opinions about them. "That Sharma ji from your office talks too much," your mother would comment, having eavesdropped on exactly one team meeting.

The Technology Trials

Internet connectivity became more important than electricity in Indian homes. We discovered that our "unlimited" broadband had very creative definitions of "unlimited." Nothing teaches patience like watching your screen freeze mid-sentence during an important presentation.

Every family appointed one "tech support" person (usually the youngest member) to handle video call crises. "Screen nahi dikh raha" became the most common household emergency, ranking higher than actual emergencies.

The irony? We spent years avoiding family time, and suddenly we were conducting professional meetings from the heart of family chaos. Your presentation skills were tested not by tough questions from clients, but by explaining why your grandmother just walked past the camera in her nightgown.

The New Normal Normalcy

Looking back, the work-from-home experiment taught us that productivity doesn't require pants (at least not full pants), that family interruptions can be more entertaining than office small talk, and that Indian families have an incredible ability to adapt to anything – including their children running multinational meetings from the dining table.

We learned to embrace the beautiful chaos. Yes, the neighbor's dog still barks during important calls. Yes, your mother still doesn't understand why you can't pause a live meeting. And yes, we all secretly enjoyed wearing comfortable clothes while looking professional on screen.

The best part? We proved that Indians can work efficiently from anywhere – even if "anywhere" includes beds that double as boardrooms, kitchens that serve as conference rooms, and bathrooms that provide the only quiet space for confidential calls.

So here's to all the work-from-home warriors who successfully convinced their bosses they were productive while simultaneously managing family drama, technology disasters, and the eternal struggle of looking professional while feeling completely ridiculous.

After all, we're the generation that learned to say "Can you hear me now?" in six different languages and became experts at unmuting ourselves faster than our parents can find their reading glasses. If that's not professional growth, what is?

#BusinessOnTopPajamasBelow #PressureCookerProblems #BackgroundCameos #TechSupportFamily #UnlimitedBroadbandMyth #MeetingInterruptions

Extroverts, Introverts, and the Mysterious Ambivert: A Social Masala Worth Tasting

Once upon a time, at every Indian gathering, there lurked three distinct characters: the extrovert, the introvert, and the ambivert. The extrovert swept in first, announcing their arrival as if the house itself had thrown a party in their honour. This person didn’t just warm the room, they superheated it—making friends with the delivery guy, the aunty upstairs, and the resident gecko all before dessert was served. Conversations flowed around them like traffic around a broken-down auto: noisy, inevitable, with none left behind. Even the furniture was soon in on the fun, dragged into impromptu charades matches.

Watching this, the introvert arrived like a secret agent—a master of stealth, entering sideways, greeting exactly three people before finding immediate sanctuary behind the snack table or a helpful potted plant. Happiness for the introvert wasn’t jangling bracelets and loud Bollywood numbers, but sipping chai in glorious semi-darkness, far from the madding crowd. They communicated mostly through that universal language: raised eyebrows, quick escapes, and WhatsApp messages sent even when sitting in the same room. Small talk made them break out in existential sweats, and they could concoct an excuse for leaving a party with the effortless speed of a Hyderabad traffic cop inventing a new one-way street.

Smack in between, the ambivert wandered in. This was the mysterious hybrid—the chameleon who would happily anchor Antakshari for half the night and then vanish onto the terrace to count stars, in search of their cosmic recharge. One moment arguing for group selfies; the next, appearing glued to their phone in solitary, monastic silence. The ambivert drew suspicion from both camps: introverts believed secret extroversion was hiding beneath that calm exterior, while extroverts suspected some tragic shyness lurked behind the sudden, unexplained disappearances.

Friday evenings brought the real challenge. The extrovert wound up fifteen contacts and orchestrated a mini-reunion, somehow managing to get three times the food ordered and twice as many confessions out of everyone by midnight. The introvert, meanwhile, replied “maybe” to every invite before ultimately curling up with a book, achieving spiritual ecstasy at the cancellation of plans. The ambivert’s night was a coin toss between pub crawl and parallel binging the entire history of Indian stand-up comedy, only to end by doodling alone in the corner.

All three inevitably clashed at weddings—where the extrovert would hype the sangeet, the introvert would guard the dessert table, and the ambivert would be the only one to spot the runaway groom hiding near the samosas. Mismatched as they were, each had their own genius. The extrovert knew how to turn any situation into a celebration; the introvert brought depth, thoughtfulness, and an uncanny knack for escaping awkward rishtedaar questions; the ambivert, eternally adaptable, switched gears depending on the playlist, weather, or sheer vibe of the room.

By midnight, as the lights flickered and car horns beckoned outside, all three would be found united—devouring leftover biryani, swapping memes, and secretly grateful they’d survived each other, yet again. And somewhere, an aunty would still chase them, muttering: “Beta, mix with everyone.” If only she knew—they’d just spent all evening blending in as only an extrovert, introvert, and ambivert could.

#Personality #Extrovert #Introvert #Ambivert #SocialHumor #DesiLife #HumanNature #IndianBloggers #MBTI #Relatable #LifeWithHumor #IntrovertProblems #ExtrovertVibes #AmbivertLife #QuirkyThoughts #SocialMasala #Sarcasm #HyderabadiHumor #BlogLife #EverydayIndian

Adulting Is a Scam: The Unauthorized Manual for Surviving Grown-Up Life

When I first stepped into “adulthood,” I expected freedom, excitement, and independence. What I found instead was a mountain of bills, a maze of responsibilities, and a never-ending list of expectations. That rude awakening is what inspired me to write Adulting Is a Scam: The Unauthorized Manual for Everything Grown-Up.

This book is my unfiltered take on the reality we all live but rarely talk about. I wanted to write something different from the usual self-help books that promise happiness in ten easy steps or a “secret” formula for success. Life doesn’t work that way. Adulting is messy, complicated, and sometimes downright absurd. So why not call it what it really is—a scam?

In these pages, I take you through the pitfalls of modern adulthood: crushing debt, financial illusions, toxic workplaces, and the constant need to look like you have your life under control. I write with sarcasm, humor, and brutal honesty because let’s face it—sugarcoating won’t pay your rent or fix your burnout.

But this isn’t just about complaints. It’s also about awareness. I believe that once you strip away the illusions, you can actually start living with more clarity. I talk about the importance of financial literacy, setting personal boundaries, and learning to laugh at the absurdity of it all. These are the real skills of survival—skills we should’ve been taught in school but weren’t.

I’ve lived through the grease, the grind, and the quiet desperation that many adults carry behind their smiles. I know what it feels like to question whether this is really what life is supposed to be. Writing this book was my way of saying: you’re not alone, and no, you’re not crazy for feeling this way.

Adulting Is a Scam is part satire, part survival guide, and part lifeline for anyone navigating this impossible stage of life. If you’ve ever looked at your paycheck, your bills, or your endless responsibilities and thought, “Is this really it?”—this book is for you.

Get your copy of Adulting Is a Scam today → 

Amazon.com Buy from Amazon (International Readers)

Pothi.com (Buy HARDCOVER) (Indian Readers)

Pothi.com (Buy PAPERBACK) (Indian Readers)

Welcome to the Crossroads

Hello, and welcome to my corner of the internet.

For over two decades, I’ve navigated two seemingly disparate worlds: the high-stakes, data-driven reality of business and the boundless, imaginative cosmos of speculative fiction. In one, I was a strategist trying to make sense of profits and losses; in the other, a storyteller grappling with cosmic paradoxes and the nature of reality. The more I wrote, the more I realized these two worlds aren't so different after all.

This blog is where those worlds collide.

Here, you’ll find me exploring the very same themes I tackle in my books—whether it's the uncomfortable truths of an industry or the profound, mind-bending questions about our universe. You can expect posts on:

• The Business of Reality: No-holds-barred takes on entrepreneurship, economics, and the policies shaping our world. I'll be sharing lessons learned and candid insights from the business world's front lines.

• The Fabric of Fiction: Dive deep into the philosophical and scientific ideas that fuel my writing. We’ll talk about consciousness, memory, the nature of truth, and how to build a universe from scratch.

• The Craft: I'll pull back the curtain on my writing process, sharing my thoughts on storytelling, character development, and the art of shaping a narrative, whether it’s a policy blueprint or a sci-fi epic.

In essence, this is a space for those who are just as fascinated by the bottom line as they are by the final frontier. Thank you for stopping by. I'm excited to have you on this journey.