A Mumbai Story: Faith in Humanity

Malad West Metro Station

On May 19th, I lost my gold chain at Malad West Metro Station, Mumbai. This happened in the evening, on my way back from work. I realised it was missing only after I boarded the train. The first thing I did was call a colleague and request her to look for it on the office premises. My colleague was kind enough to do so and kept updating me. She was incredibly reassuring and kept telling me that I would find the chain.

I had to tell Mom about it. As expected — and yet completely unlike her usual reaction — she stayed calm, consoled me, and said that if it was truly meant to be ours, it would find its way back to its rightful owner. Once I got home, she continued to reassure and encourage me.

I informed my boss about the loss, after which I wrote to the admin staff, who directed me to the IT department to request CCTV footage. There is a young guy in our office who is like a little mouse; he is everywhere with his phone camera, constantly clicking away. That habit of his came to my rescue when he shared a photograph in which the chain was clearly visible around my neck.

This chain is an heirloom. It means a lot to me. It is the last material reminder of my grandmom. More than anything, the fact that I had lost it was what bothered me the most. I blamed myself for being careless and made all sorts of declarations and promises to the universe.

By the next morning, I had made up my mind to check the CCTV footage at both my workplace and the metro station to understand where I could have lost it. Usually, I would have simply let it go, believing that if something was meant to be mine, it would find its way back to me. But this time felt different. I wanted closure. I wanted to know the possible time, place, and circumstances in which I had lost the chain. It would help me “let it go,” especially because it belonged to my family and not just me. I felt answerable to Mom.

On my way to the office that morning, I approached the security staff at Malad West Metro Station and requested access to the CCTV footage. I knew it was a serious security concern for them; nevertheless, I tried my luck. The staff politely informed me that they would need a formal police report before they could show me the footage.

I then retraced my steps between my workplace and the metro station — a 10–15-minute walk I undertake every day. I searched roadsides, potholes, and gutters, hoping to spot the chain somewhere along the way.

It was then that I noticed two women sweepers I had often heard speaking in Tamil, my mother tongue. I approached them and shared my plight. The kind ladies listened patiently, took my number, and assured me that if the chain was meant to be mine, it would find its way back to me. Even in that moment of stress, their kindness comforted me.

Once at the office, the IT team promptly helped me access the CCTV footage. I confirmed that the chain was still around my neck when I left the office the previous evening. Unfortunately, the building’s CCTV footage disconnected just as I entered the lift, making it impossible to confirm whether I still had it on me when I exited the building.

It was still a mystery. Had I lost it on the way to the station, or at the station itself?

Still determined to continue searching, I visited Bangur Nagar Police Station and was then directed to the MHB Colony Police Station in Borivali. Though I had been to a police station before — mind you, for the right reasons — going there by myself still felt overwhelming.

But the officers I met changed that feeling almost immediately. They were patient, respectful, and genuinely willing to help. There was no irritation, no dismissiveness, and no unnecessary intimidation — only professionalism and guidance.

The duty officer explained the process clearly, arranged the required letter for the Mumbai Metro authorities, and two officers accompanied me to the Metro car shed. Even during the drive, the officers maintained a quiet professionalism that made me feel safe rather than anxious.

Then came the moment I will never forget.

At the Metro car shed, a senior officer confirmed that the GOLD CHAIN had been found.

I cannot describe the relief I felt. But more than relief, I remember feeling overwhelming gratitude toward a stranger I had never even met — the lady who had found my chain.

She could have easily walked away with it. Nobody would have known. Instead, she chose honesty. I was later informed that she had carefully handed the chain over to the metro authorities and had even documented the process properly to ensure it reached its rightful owner.

That single act spoke volumes about her character.

Back at Malad West Metro Station, the security staff recognised me immediately and escorted us through the formal process. The officials insisted on proof before handing over the chain, and I appreciated their diligence. Systems function only when the people within them choose integrity over convenience.

After paperwork, ID verification, and formalities, the chain was finally returned to me.

But what stayed with me long after was not just the recovery of the chain. It was the people.

The colleagues who reassured me.

The sweepers who comforted me.

The metro staff who followed due process responsibly.

The police officers who treated me with patience and respect.

And above all, the unknown lady who chose honesty when nobody was watching.

We live in times where negativity often dominates conversations. Stories of dishonesty spread quickly, while quiet acts of goodness often go unnoticed. But this experience reminded me that there are still people who choose integrity simply because it is the right thing to do.

Sometimes, humanity reveals itself in the smallest acts — a reassuring word, a patient officer, a diligent staff member, or a stranger returning something valuable that they could easily have kept.

This is a story about people who reminded me that honesty still exists, kindness still matters, and goodness still quietly survives in the world around us. 

Crochet Karnama

Recently, I found myself with a lot of free time. I wanted to pick up a skill—something that required me to use my hands, stimulate my mind, and did not burn a hole in my pocket.

I found the answer in an amigurumi shark, a gift from a cousin. Amigurumi is the Japanese art of knitting or crocheting small stuffed yarn creatures.

Growing up in a South Indian middle-class family, a girl child was usually taught to sew (which included crochet, knitting, and allied skills), besides singing and/or dancing. Nevertheless, by the end of my tutelage under the veteran ladies, Ms N. Kamala and Ms N. Savitri, I had produced two beautiful table covers and one never-ending muffler. I would often show off to friends that I could crochet and knit. Very childish, but it felt good. It still feels good, but in a different way now, when I see them. It reminds me of my quest to learn something new.

After so many years, crocheting, knitting, and several handicrafts were back in vogue, thanks to the lockdown during COVID-19. Cooped up in their homes, many people took to these crafts, posted them online, and started a movement of sorts. It proved to be life-altering for many—and now I understand why. It is very calming and satisfying.

Cut to the present day. I was at a 'PLACE' following a life-altering decision. That is when the amigurumi shark comes into the picture. I decided to give crochet a try. Armed with a crochet needle and yarn, I tried the basic stitches from memory. It turned out that my LTM (long-term memory) had erased my crochet skills. At times like this, it is YouTube zindabad! And it truly helped. Thanks to the many people who have uploaded their crochet videos, I was back on my feet and churning out swatches using various stitches. After several swatches of varying designs, I decided to move to the big league.

One of the first creations was a stuffed heart, followed by Frankenstein and a ball, which could be used as a Christmas decoration. I am supremely proud of my Christmas decorations: an angel (in white), holly leaves (green), and gift boxes (maroon and green with white ribbon) of varying shapes and sizes, all in Christmas colours. The crochet gift boxes were given to my friends as goodbye gifts. The angel is packed up somewhere, I think. However, the most difficult thing to create was Frankenstein as a beginner. I am really proud of myself. I wish I could share pictures of my creations. In a fit of helplessness, frustration, and anger over not knowing what to do with all my creations, I gave them away. 

I gave away my early creations because, over time, nobody really values them, and they just pile up in a corner. They become just ‘some useless things’. Nobody quite understands what goes into making them. I suppose I wanted to be a responsible artist, in my own way.

That call for purpose was answered when I heard about a lady, Mrs Jayashree Ratan and Saaisha Foundation, a non-profit organisation that supports women cancer survivors with crocheted prostheses called “knockers ”and beanies (caps) for children undergoing chemotherapy. Maybe this is why I returned to crocheting. 

Coexistence: Humans, Dogs, and the Streets We Share

Remember that feeling of panic as a child, separated from your parent in a crowded market? That sudden fear, that feeling of utter vulnerability, is something many of us can still recall. A few minutes later, the relief as your parent rushed back, hugging you tightly, only to be followed by a stern warning.

 

Dogs experience this same emotional rollercoaster. One day, they are cherished members of a family, the centre of attention, featured in countless social media posts. The next, they are abandoned at a shelter or, even worse, callously left on the side of a highway. The reasons given for these abandonments are varied: "The landlord doesn't allow pets," "We're moving," "We're too busy," "Allergies," "Destructive behaviour," "New baby," "Can't afford vet bills." While some reasons may be genuine, the reality is that a living creature, dependent on its human family, is left feeling lost and afraid.

 

How can we justify such actions? We claim this world as our own, but then we must also accept the consequences when wild animals, displaced by our encroachment on their habitats, venture into our cities. Dogs, however, are already here, living amongst us.

Many people feel a deep compassion for these animals, and a desire to help, yet they may be unable to take on the full responsibility of pet ownership. This often leads to well-intentioned but misplaced acts of kindness, such as feeding street dogs without considering the potential consequences for the animals themselves, and for the community. While these individuals may mean well, simply providing food without also providing for vaccinations, neutering/spaying, and necessary medical care can actually contribute to the problem. Uncontrolled populations of street dogs can lead to increased risks of disease, territorial disputes, and even traffic accidents. One person's act of love, without responsible follow-through, can inadvertently cause hardship for another, and ultimately harm the very animals they intend to help.

 

The impact of this is seen firsthand. Responsible efforts to help these dogs include not only feeding them, but also providing veterinary care, managing their population through spay/neuter programs, and working to educate the public about responsible pet ownership. Ensuring the dogs are healthy, safe, and integrated into the community responsibly is crucial.

 

Conversely, some harbour a deep-seated fear and dislike of stray dogs. Perhaps they had a negative experience, or perhaps it's a fear instilled in them during childhood. In many cultures, especially in families who didn't have pets, children are taught to fear dogs, a fear that often persists into adulthood. Changing these ingrained attitudes is a difficult but necessary step towards creating a more compassionate world for these animals. Not just a compassionate world, but also a world where creatures can coexist, because whether humans like it or not..." the earth is not just ours, it belongs to all living things."

 

Leaving Behind the Past, Embracing the Future

In 2024, after 10+ years of continuous service in the same company, I took a break from work. The break happened because I could feel myself going into a rut. I had begun questioning whether I was adding value to my work and, in turn, to the Company. Everybody and everything seemed to be against me. The perks were good, but at what cost? I did not enjoy going to work.

In the recent past, a lot of changes were introduced. With new leadership coming, with their perceived understanding of everything, things are bound to change. I took it all in my stride without much questioning. Soon it felt like I was left in the dark with a blindfold. No amount of calling out for help, or thrashing around brought any help from any quarters. Only the "call for help" and 'thrashing around' were highlighted as a 'lack of new ideas'. "...spend 10-11 years in the same company and learn nothing", when somebody says this, it hurts. Maybe true, maybe not. What if the earlier leadership never meant for us to do anything else. Are you aware of the mechanisation behind the brand over the years? How can one just jump in and judge people?

I felt like the 'goat being fattened for slaughter'.  I was charged with asking old employees, whom I worked with for years, to leave; and introducing changes, the team was not happy with. The resulting woes were heard by the boss and made to look like I was responsible for all the shit. Then the bomb was dropped, and I was informed about the arrival of my replacement and my subsequent shift. I accepted it. Then, I began to feel shitty. The new role I was put in was stifling. If I was not wanted, why did they not just say it? I may be somebody who does not openly retaliate. But when it gets too much, I speak up.

The last few months presented significant challenges that impacted my well-being. I experienced feelings of isolation and self-doubt. I couldn't speak up for myself. That is how lost I felt.

I needed to get out of there. Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore, I had the talk which ended with me mentioning depression and not enjoying coming to work. The constant pressure on my brain, the panic-stricken state, the mind fog, manipulative people constantly trying to put me down were just too much. However, nobody is going to accept it. The standard response, I guess is, that it comes with the role and everybody is trying to help.

I understand that I may have been an encumbrance to the company, and they were being kind to me based on my years of service. The tasks and situations presented to me were likely tests, which I unfortunately failed. I never claimed to be a master in this field. It was clear from the beginning that I was a first-time leader and required support. However, the extent and duration of this support are subject to debate.

My departure was quick. I was excused from the required notice period. I wanted a quiet exit. A week before the exit, the team was informed. On the last day, again a comment, " Oh! I thought you have spent over 15 years with the company...". How does it matter now, would it have helped if I had been here longer?

This experience, while challenging and ultimately leading to my departure, has highlighted the importance of valuing individual well-being and fostering a supportive work environment. Despite the difficulties encountered, I am confident in my abilities and the value I can bring to future roles. This break provides an opportunity for new learnings, reflection, self-discovery, and a renewed sense of purpose. I will pursue professional and personal goals while holding to my values. I am hopeful that future endeavours will allow me to contribute meaningfully while prioritizing my mental and emotional health. 

Year End Vacation Part 2- Assam

This post is in continuation with my earlier post on Shillong. We landed at Assam because direct flights to Meghalaya were not available. So after a comfortable flight with some turbulence, we finally touched down at Lokpriya Gopinath Bordoloi International Airport in Guwahati. 

I firmly believe that an airport is a city's calling card, its first impression. And let me tell you, what was Guwahati's first impression? Vibrant, colourful, and bursting with life – much like the flight itself!

As you navigate the maze of corridors towards the exit, you are greeted by a delightful assault on the senses. Local art spills out from every corner—think intricate bamboo idols and masks decked out in traditional Assamese attire: the iconic white and red Gamcha and the graceful Mekhala Chador. The colours are a feast for the eyes, a riot of hues that perfectly mirror the city's energetic spirit. I am already hooked.

After soaking in the sights at the airport, we readied ourselves for a five-hour car ride to Shillong, our first stop. Bijoy would be our driver for the duration of our trip. 

So, I embarked on a road trip to Meghalaya, blissfully unaware of the 5-7 hour marathon that awaited me. But hey, Northeastern India was calling, and I was answering! The initial hours were a sensory feast – vibrant colours, unfamiliar sounds, and aromas. Then, the inevitable happened: I succumbed to the lullaby of the road and drifted off to sleep. Humans have an internal alarm clock, an amazing invisible thing. I jolted awake as we approached the Assam border. And then I saw it: a glorious sign proclaiming "Welcome to Assam." I turned to the driver, utterly confused. "We're in Meghalaya, right?" I asked. He chuckled. "Yep, we're driving along the Meghalaya side of the road. If you want to be in Assam, just cross the street!" My jaw dropped. Apparently, the state line was literally just across the road! We were zooming past so quickly I couldn't even snap a picture (though you can see a similar image in Vibav Verma's post – check it out here!).

https://medium.com/design-bootcamp/north-east-trip-design-observations-and-things-i-learnt-1936b843ca71

After a week at Shillong, we were back in Assam, Kaziranga. 

Shillong was a week of misty mountains and musical evenings, but let's be honest, the real highlight of my North East adventure was the food. After surviving on questionable hotel fare, I finally found salvation at Anurrag Dhaaba, a roadside oasis of Assamese culinary delights. Forget Instagrammable plates; I was too busy inhaling the aroma of the Baingun Baaja (eggplant fry) to even think about photos. Honestly, the potato fry and raw banana fry were equally divine. It's no wonder bananas are a religion in the Northeast – they're practically a food group!

Kaziranga itself was a whirlwind of jeep rides and elephant encounters. The sheer scale of the reserve blew me away. It's not just a jungle; it's a vast ecosystem where humans and wildlife have coexisted for generations. It's a reminder that conservation is not just about fences and restrictions, but about finding a way for people and animals to thrive together. Now, if only they served that Assamese thali on the Jeep safaris...

Kaziranga. The name conjures images of one-horned rhinos, vast grasslands, and yes, elephant rides. While I was initially thrilled at the prospect of exploring this incredible sanctuary from atop these gentle giants, a pang of guilt quickly set in. 

Don't get me wrong, these elephants were clearly well-cared for. But seeing these magnificent creatures, the epitome of grace and power, reduced to a mode of transportation for tourists felt… wrong. It was like renting a Ferrari to go to the grocery store. I constantly battled the urge to apologize, assuring the elephant I'd gladly walk. Ultimately, I understand that these elephants are domesticated and cannot be released back into the wild. Perhaps, by supporting these rides, I was contributing to their upkeep. But let's be honest, it was a deeply conflicted joyride.

Okay, I'll admit it. I've always been a sucker for those classic National Geographic shots: the sun setting over the African savanna, a lone acacia tree silhouetted against the sky, and maybe a majestic elephant reaching for a branch.  But let me tell you, nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for Kaziranga. Every jeep ride, every sighting,  – my heart was doing a Bollywood-style tap dance in my chest. It was exhilarating, humbling, and utterly unforgettable. Kaziranga: where reality surpassed even my wildest National Geographic fantasies.

Image courtesy Pixabay

The rides were unforgettable. Early mornings, the air crisp, the sun just peeking over the horizon. The world was a symphony of nature, a far cry from the usual human noise. During these long drives, I felt a profound connection to the universe, a stillness that words can't capture. We encountered a multitude of rhinos, some curious, others more eager to shoo us away. Elephants, barasinghas, monkeys – the wildlife was a constant source of wonder. And then there was the rhino that played peek-a-boo with us – I tried to capture that mischievous glint in my camera, but the memory is far more vivid. Kaziranga wasn't just a safari; it was a spiritual awakening.

Though renowned for its tigers, this incredible reserve offers so much more. Beyond the thrilling glimpses of rhinos and elephants, I was captivated by the natural wonders scattered throughout. Two trees, in particular, left a lasting impression. The first, a testament to the raw power of nature, boasted an unusual growth, almost like a tumour, that locals believe has been developing over centuries.

According to the locals, this is a tree with a tumour that has been growing over the years.

Then there was the "Tiger Claw Mark Tree," a legend whispered among the guides. Supposedly, tigers use this tree to sharpen their claws, leaving behind a unique pattern of markings. Whether myth or reality, it added a touch of intrigue to the already magical landscape.

It was a truly fulfilling visit, leaving me with a deep appreciation for the wonders of the natural world and a burning desire to return and hopefully, finally, catch a glimpse of those elusive tigers. Kaziranga exceeded all expectations. 

The park surprised me with its hidden gems. One such gem was the Orchid Park, a treasure trove of Assam's natural and cultural heritage.

The Orchid Park offered a delightful mix of experiences. I wandered through a bamboo museum, marvelled at traditional musical instruments, and even climbed a treehouse! But the true highlight was the Assamese food – a symphony of flavours made with local ingredients.

The park's cultural show was equally captivating. A young host, brimming with pride for her state's traditions, showcased vibrant dance and music. It was a heartwarming display of cultural heritage without a hint of nationalism.

Finally, the Orchidarium itself was a revelation. Usually, I find them a bit monotonous, but this one was different. Our enthusiastic guide, whose name escapes me (mea culpa!), started with a charming introduction in Hindi. He then led us on an enchanting walk, revealing the quirky wonders of orchids – a testament to Mother Nature's playful creativity.

The Orchidarium itself was a revelation. Our guide, whose name I unfortunately forgot (I wish him all the best!), was incredibly enthusiastic. He led us on an enchanting walk, revealing the quirky wonders of orchids – a testament to Mother Nature's playful creativity.

Some of the most captivating flowers I encountered are featured in the accompanying pictures.

Assam captivated me with its lush beauty and vibrant culture. But the most profound experience was at the Kamakya Temple. Legend has it that the temple's power chooses its devotees. You may reach it, but entry to the sanctum is at the goddess's discretion.

Our flight was unexpectedly preponed, throwing our plans into chaos. Despite the panic, we persevered. The wait was agonizing, but at 1 PM, we were granted darshan – a surreal and humbling experience.

Earlier, a surprise stop at the Mritunjay Temple in Nagaon, shaped like a Shivalinga, strengthened our resolve to visit Kamakya the following day. It was a powerful reminder of the spiritual forces at play.

This trip to Assam, culminating in the unexpected grace of Kamakya, was an unforgettable end to the year.

To read about my experiences at Shillong click on the link below.

https://cleanslate-tabularasa.blogspot.com/2025/01/year-end-vacation-shillong-beyond.html

Year End Vacation Part 1- Shillong & Beyond

This year's vacation was a delightful detour thanks to a wedding invitation to Shillong, Meghalaya. This unexpected opportunity led to a delightful itinerary that blended the charm of Meghalaya with the allure of neighbouring Assam.

To avoid the fate of my previous travelogue (which, let's be honest, seemed to stretch on forever like Hanuman's tail!), I'll keep this post concise and visually driven. With a simple click, you can easily find detailed information about any of the places mentioned online.

The T-team

The Aunt, the Uncle, The Cuz and Moi 

Journey begins

Shillong, the "Scotland of the East," truly lived up to its name. The lush green hills, the misty air, and the vibrant local culture created a magical atmosphere.  

I was completely unprepared for the fact that the sun in the Northeast decided to call it a day around 5 PM. It was like someone flipped a switch, plunging the world into an eerie twilight. I half-expected to see a herd of dinosaurs emerge from the shadows.

Okay, let me be honest. I, a resident of the Bay, thought I was prepared for the "cold" of the Northeast. Turns out, my idea of winter involves turning the fan regulator down one notch on that one particularly chilly night when the temperature plummets to a bone-chilling 20 degrees.

Shillong, my friends, was a different beast entirely. It was butt-freezing! I swear, my nose hairs were icicles. I spent most of my time huddled in my jacket, looking like a Michelin Man. The locals, bless their souls, seemed perfectly content in one layer of jacket, while I was shivering like a leaf.

Shillong Club, the place we checked into is 142 years old and still going strong. We had a cosy cottage to ourselves, in the middle of the city, surrounded by greenery. I don't think I have ever stayed in a place older than the Shillong Club it is 146 years old. Wow! The Staff is friendly and helpful, and the food, is good too, especially dal, my soul food. 

The next morning, as I stepped out for a walk I was stopped by the 'self-appointed security', Oreo, checking out the new guests. He made it clear that he tolerated us in the territory. I was hoping for more friendly interaction now that we would spend time on his turf. 

Nevertheless, on my way back from the walk, I was welcomed by furry two brothers from different mothers, Hugo and Happy, the former an Indie and the latter a Labrador. Friendly, just like their young owner who was walking them. 

Walking around, I realised that Shillong had its fair share of festivals, celebrating its culture, geography, traditions and uniqueness. One such festival we missed was the Hill Festival and the Winter Tales Festival.

While the Elephant Falls and Shillong Peak were undoubtedly stunning, my heart truly belonged to two wonders: the Dawki River (or Ungot Lake, as the locals call it) – a mesmerizing turquoise expanse – and the mind-blowing Living Root Bridges.

After a bone-jarring two-hour drive through the Meghalayan hills, we finally reached the stunning Dawki Lake. The view was incredible – Bangladesh stretching out before us, and the riverfront was alive with activity. People from both sides of the border mingled freely, enjoying the water with reckless abandon. We jumped into a rowboat and drifted along, mesmerized by the crystal-clear water. Drifting along, surrounded by lush greenery, I felt a sense of pure bliss. It was one of those "pinch-me" moments – the kind where you're so overwhelmed by beauty that you almost forget to breathe. Alas, all good things must come to an end. We reluctantly headed back to shore, carrying with us the memory of that magical afternoon. Dawki, you were a dream!

As a traveller, I've always been intrigued by borders – those invisible lines that separate nations. So, after the magical experience at Dawki River, we drove a short distance to the Indo-Bangladesh border. I was expecting something dramatic, perhaps a heavily guarded checkpoint. But the reality was quite different. An archway, a milestone, and people taking selfies – it felt almost mundane. It made me ponder the nature of borders. Are they truly significant barriers, or just lines drawn on a map? In that moment, standing at the border, it felt more like a geographical curiosity than a political divide. This experience reinforced my belief that the human spirit transcends artificial boundaries.

On the Other Side is Bangladesh

After another long drive, we finally reached the awe-inspiring Living Root Bridges. We were immediately greeted by a local canine, a seasoned pro at charming tourists. With practised enthusiasm, she wagged her tail, gave us her best puppy-dog eyes, and even tried her luck with another couple when her efforts with us failed to yield any treats. 

Walking across the bridge, I was struck by the sheer ingenuity of nature and the resilience of the people who have learned to coexist with it. Living in the challenging terrain of Meghalaya has forced them to find creative ways to navigate their environment, and the Living Root Bridges are a testament to that remarkable adaptability.

When at Meghalaya, visiting Cheerapungee is a must. There is no one spot where you can see one of the rainiest places on earth.  You can stop at Orange Roots, a vegetarian hotel offering an array of delicious food. I was told that the owner is a South Indian, who married a local and decided to make Cherrapunjee his home. I am grateful for that.  This picture is from the terrace of Orange Roots overlooking the Ramakrishna Mission building.

Let me share something that truly impressed me: the remarkable cleanliness throughout the entire state! Every tourist spot featured restrooms (mostly clean)which made me think—could this be a government effort or perhaps a clever local initiative? My hunch? It's all about monetization! 

Visitors need to pay a small fee to use the facilities, but hey, that seems fair and reasonable, doesn’t it? Who wants to enjoy a beautiful view and then have to worry about where to go to the bathroom? This is a great example of how tourism can work well for everyone. Tourists get to enjoy the beautiful places and stay healthy, and the locals make money. Way to go, Meghalaya!"

"Soon it was time to say goodbye to Shillong, and I couldn't help but wonder what marvels awaited us in Assam." For the bit on Assam click on the link

 https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/preview/4627982019380925600/9059271679767229142

AI: Food for thought

 

My original thoughts

Thanks to the work I was doing, AI became a part of my life. Initially, I was reluctant fearing that dependency on machines would increase, leading to a loss of originality and human touch. Then again, we were encouraged, rather, nudged to actively use AI at work. That is when I felt, at what point does one turn to the machine to complete their tasks. Then claim that they have turned in their best work. Do remember man did create the machine and the machine gives you what you give it as 'input'. I may be diluting it way too much. 

AI helped frame grammatically correct, correspondences, speeches and much more. It helped create beautiful images based on the inputs given. Some of them were mind-blowing. It was definitely a great help. But, yes, the 'BIG BUT' somewhere I felt we were taking the easy way out. Was I? Everybody would like to believe that they have put in their best before taking help from the machine. Then again, who decides? It differs from person to person. Back to AI.

It was difficult at first. The 'prompt' had to be right for AI to generate the desirable result. For the prompt to be precise,  it was important to have a clear thought process, followed by the skill to articulate it. All of this is a skill in itself. It takes several permutations and combinations to crack the template for the right prompt.

Nevertheless, it was fun, and a new learning. But the downside is the desire to revamp all the earlier posts with the help of AI.  I have decided against it, simply because the thoughts in the posts were from then, that is how I felt when I was typing away, why mess with it now.

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AI-generated

AI, once a distant concept, has seamlessly integrated into our daily lives. Initially, I harboured concerns about overreliance on machines, fearing a potential decline in originality and human connection. However, as I delved deeper into AI, I realized its immense potential to enhance creativity and productivity.

AI has undoubtedly been a powerful tool, aiding in tasks ranging from crafting grammatically correct correspondence to generating stunning visual imagery. It can transform mundane tasks into efficient and creative endeavours. Yet, it's crucial to approach AI with a discerning eye. While it can be a valuable asset, it's essential to maintain our critical thinking and human touch.

The effectiveness of AI hinges on the quality of the input. A well-crafted prompt, born from a clear thought process and effective articulation, is the key to unlocking AI's full potential. This process itself requires skill and creativity.

As we navigate this evolving technological landscape, it's important to balance leveraging AI's capabilities and preserving our unique human qualities. Using AI as a tool rather than a replacement, we can harness its power to augment our creativity and innovation.

I find the AI-generated text too 'prim and proper'. Which do you prefer? Why?