Category: Life experience

The House That Time Forgot


A Masai Welcome dance

During our recent safari trip in Kenya, a visit to a Masai village was part of the itinerary. We went with curiosity, but also with the expectations of people accustomed to a very different world.

The Masai Mara is extraordinary not merely because animals still roam freely across its vast savannah, but because the Masai have, for generations, lived alongside that ecosystem without attempting to conquer it. They tend cattle, depend on them for milk and sustenance, and have retained traditions that seem to belong to another age. Yet, paradoxically, they appear to understand something that our supposedly advanced civilisation often forgets: Nature is not a resource to be consumed; it is a system to be lived within.

Masai Mara

The village itself was fascinating. A circular settlement, protected from predators by a dense perimeter of thorny shrubs, with homes around the outside and cattle occupying the central space. The houses were constructed from soil and cow dung. The village, we were told, eventually moves when termites begin destroying the structures. There was no attempt to make the place look modern for visitors. It was what it was. And then came the most revealing part of our visit.

A Masai elder invited us into his home. We entered through a tiny doorway into a dark, compact space. There was a fireplace for cooking, some firewood, a few simple utensils and a single light bulb powered by a solar panel provided for the village. There were small cots for the children. His bedroom had two tiny windows for ventilation and, remarkably, a little peephole through which one could see the outside world. He jokingly called it his television. I smiled at the simplicity of the joke. But it stayed with me. For us, television means hundreds of channels, streaming platforms and a world delivered instantly into our homes. For him, television was a small opening in a wall through which he could watch life unfold.

Then we heard a frail voice from behind a closed door. It was his elderly mother. She had to be kept inside because, having lost her sense of direction, she would wander away and not know how to return. We left the house quietly. Seven people lived in a space smaller than a room in many of our apartments. There was little comfort, almost no privacy and virtually none of the conveniences we consider essential to modern life. And yet, something troubled me about the easy conclusion that this was simply a primitive way of living.

The Masai knew about our world. Their children went to school, spoke English and understood modern technology.  But they rejected coal because in their own words, it would harm the environment. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were not living in the past. Perhaps they were reminding us of something we had left behind. Progress has given us comfort, convenience and extraordinary choice. But has it given us wisdom?

Standing inside that small Masai home, I wondered whether civilisation should be measured only by how much we accumulate—or by how little we need to live responsibly. The Masai may have much less than us. But perhaps, in one important respect, they have understood much more about life and living.

In musing…..                                                                           Shakti Ghosal

Acknowledgement: Masai Home photos (2) by my friend and fellow traveller Partha Banerjee.

20th July: Between a Briefcase and the Moon


There are some dates on the calendar that quietly gather meanings over a lifetime. For me, 20th July is one of them.

As a child in Delhi, I was fascinated by the Second World War. That fascination began at home. My father had an extraordinary gift for storytelling, and through his words I travelled to battlefields, cities in ruins and moments when the fate of the world seemed to rest on the decisions of a handful of people. Those stories led me to books, documentaries and films, and much later, to Berlin itself.

Over the years, I visited Berlin many times. Once, I even stayed in what had once been East Berlin, long after the Wall had disappeared. Yet the city still carried memories that no bulldozer could erase. Every street seemed to whisper history. Years ago, I wrote a blog titled Those Faces of Berlin (https://esgeemusings.com/2013/04/01/those-faces-of-berlin/ )  , reflecting on that remarkable city and, among other things, the failed attempt by Claus von Stauffenberg and his fellow conspirators to assassinate Hitler with a bomb hidden in a briefcase on 20th July 1944.

Operation Valkyrie failed. Hitler survived. Many of those who dared to resist paid with their lives. Yet what has stayed with me is not merely the failure of the plot but the courage behind it. Sometimes history remembers victories. Sometimes it remembers those who knew they would probably lose, yet chose to act because conscience demanded nothing less.

Bendlerblock, Berlin – Where the conspirators were executed

Exactly twenty-five years later, on another 20th July, humanity wrote a very different chapter.

I was a small boy then. I still remember my father listening intently to the live broadcast of the Apollo 11 Moon landing on the Voice of America. Later that day, we went to the United States Information Service near Mandi House in New Delhi to see the full-size replica of the Lunar Module. Like countless others of my generation, I stared at it in wonder. For days afterwards, our classroom conversations revolved around rockets, astronauts and a future that suddenly seemed limitless. Even 2001: A Space Odyssey, set what then felt like the distant future, no longer appeared to be science fiction.

Decades later, I travelled to that Mecca of Space travel, NASA’s Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. For me the trip was a pilgrimage in more sense than one. As I roamed between the life size models of the Saturn V rocket, the command and the lunar modules of the Apollo program, my mind once again went back to the 20th July of more than half a century back. I also came to know of the Artemis program tasked to once again send Man to the Moon. I wrote a blog on that visit : https://esgeemusings.com/2022/05/19/the-children-of-zeus/

Apollo 11 Lunar Module on the moon

It strikes me that these two events, separated by a quarter of a century yet sharing the same date, reveal the astonishing range of the human spirit.

On one 20th July, people risked everything to rid the world of tyranny. On another, human beings stepped onto another world altogether.

One date reminds us of humanity’s darkest impulses. The other celebrates its brightest possibilities.

Perhaps that is why every year, when 20th July arrives, I think not only of history but also of choice. We are capable of building dictatorships, and we are capable of building spacecraft. We can choose fear, or we can choose courage. We can remain trapped by our past, or we can reach for horizons that once seemed impossible. History does not merely tell us who we were. It quietly asks us who we wish to become.

What does 20th July evoke for you—a lesson from history, or a reminder of humanity’s endless capacity to dream?

In musing…… Shakti Ghosal

The Match That Refused to Become a Classic


Or perhaps, more truthfully…   The Night Football Taught Me One Last Lesson

For days, the build-up had been impossible to escape. Argentina versus Spain, the reigning World Champions against the reigning European Champions. Kolkata itself seemed to be preparing for battle. Giant screens were being erected across the city, clubs announced that their bars would remain open well past midnight, and even the Chief Minister joined the excitement by supporting public screenings across the districts.

My wife and I prepared with equal seriousness. Dinner was served early. Television was politely ignored. We even resisted the temptation of “just one episode” of our favourite series. Sleep was carefully scheduled like a military operation. For once, my biological clock decided to cooperate. I woke up five minutes before the alarm, feeling rather pleased with myself. If only Argentina had been equally punctual…….

From the opening whistle, Spain looked every inch the team we had admired throughout the tournament. Their passing was crisp, their movement effortless and their control of the midfield almost hypnotic. Watching Rodri and company was like watching expert chess players move pieces three moves ahead.

Argentina, on the other hand, looked strangely burdened. The flowing football that had carried them to the final had vanished. Passes went astray. Clearances seemed to arrive at Spanish feet with remarkable generosity. Creativity had apparently decided to sleep in, unlike me. The longer the match went on, the stranger it became. This was supposed to be a feast, instead, it felt like waiting for fireworks that stubbornly refused to ignite. Only one man seemed determined to keep Argentina alive, Emiliano Martínez, the Goal Keeper. Save after magnificent save, he single-handedly prevented the scoreline from becoming embarrassing. Had the trophy been awarded to goalkeepers alone, the ceremony could have ended much earlier.

Half-time came. Then full-time. Still no goals. Argentina was eventually reduced to ten men after a red card, and one could almost sense the inevitable drawing closer. In the second half of extra time, Ferran Torres finally found the breakthrough that Spain had threatened all night. It proved enough. Argentina launched one desperate final assault. Messi searched for one last moment of magic. Instead, his final effort struck a Spanish defender before the whistle brought an end not just to the match, but almost certainly to one of the greatest World Cup careers football has ever witnessed.

The image that stayed with me was Messi sitting quietly on the turf. Sometimes silence speaks louder than celebration. As I finally went back to bed at nearly four in the morning, I realised that football had once again wandered into philosophy. Every once in a while, we meet someone—or some team—that is simply better on that particular day. There is no shame in acknowledging excellence. In fact, there is wisdom in it. Spain didn’t win because Argentina failed. Spain won because they played almost the perfect tournament. And perhaps that is the hardest lesson of all. Not every disappointment is the result of our shortcomings. Sometimes, someone else simply deserves the applause……

Even if, somewhere in Kolkata, two sleep-deprived football fans quietly wished the ending had been different.

In musing….                                                             Shakti Ghosal

Proud to be Middle Class Indian


There is a particular species of Indian that flourished magnificently in the decades before online shopping, food delivery apps and children who believe Wi-Fi is a fundamental human right. I refer, of course, to the Indian middle class, of which I remain a reasonably well-preserved but vanishing specimen.

We grew up in households where economy was not merely a virtue; it was a performing art.

My earliest lessons in finance came from my parents. Nothing was ever thrown away if it still possessed even a faint pulse of usefulness. Plastic bags were washed and dried like delicate garments. Glass jars enjoyed a second career storing everything from spices to mysterious screws. A rubber band could expect a working life longer than that of many government administrations.

Food was treated with similar reverence. I learnt from my mother at a young age that leaving rice on one’s plate was considered a moral lapse bordering on criminal behaviour. Leftovers were not leftovers. They were tomorrow’s menu opportunity. Last night’s dal would return disguised as parathas. Yesterday’s vegetables would reappear as a perfectly respectable breakfast. In our kitchen, nothing retired. Everything was merely transferred to another department.

Clothes followed a similarly circular economy. My elder cousin’s shirts descended upon me in stages. By the time they reached my wardrobe, they had acquired wisdom, faded dignity and collars that had survived several rounds of repair. I never considered this unusual. The idea that some children received brand-new clothes simply because they had grown seemed extravagantly aristocratic.

School textbooks were inherited too. I recall books arriving complete with underlined passages, examination tips and occasional sketches that transformed national leaders into members of a travelling circus. Education was affordable because the same books appeared to educate multiple generations.

Then there was transport. A Tonga ride cost four annas. Four annas! I had been made to believe that such a sum spent without caution could destabilise our home economy, especially during the last week of the month. Consequently, we walked. Distances that modern people would consider suitable for expedition permits were covered cheerfully on foot. If a destination could be reached in forty minutes, spending four annas to arrive in ten was regarded as reckless financial behaviour.

And bicycles! Every middle-class household seemed to possess an ancient bicycle that had belonged to an uncle, a grandfather or possibly a forgotten Mughal emperor. We too had one and it lay peacefully in the courtyard for years until the day I had become old enough to learn cycling. The relic was resurrected, repaired and polished. Following instructions from elders, I climbed aboard with great optimism and immediately fell off. I was told that this trial process needed to be repeated until either I learned to ride or the bicycle surrendered.

Birthdays were modest affairs. A new shirt. A special meal. But what I would look forward to were the gifts of the ludo and the Chinese checker sets. I remember the occasion when I received the princely sum of a ten-rupee note from my uncle, surely during one of his generous and careless moments. That ten-rupee note was treated with the seriousness of an international investment portfolio. Weeks of deliberation preceded expenditure. For me, the pleasure lay not in buying, but in deciding.

Electricity was another matter. Leaving a fan running in an empty room could summon my father from astonishing distances. He possessed an almost supernatural ability to detect unnecessary power consumption. Lights were switched off with military precision. Water taps were closed firmly. Waste was viewed as a personal insult to future generations.

Looking back, none of this felt like hardship. We never considered ourselves deprived. We simply lived with the understanding that money was earned with effort, resources were finite and contentment did not depend on owning the latest thing.

Even today, I cannot throw away a half-used notebook. I switch off lights in hotel rooms. I feel guilty wasting food. Somewhere inside me lives that middle-class boy, still walking to save four annas and still trying to balance himself on an ancient bicycle. And truth be told, I am rather fond of him. For he grew up learning a lesson that seems increasingly rare: happiness is not about how much you have. It is about how little you need.

In Musing……                                                           Shakti Ghosal

The Day Strength chose Silence


I paused when I saw this photograph.

A tiger—nature’s embodiment of power—lying quietly on the face of the Buddha. What struck me was not the contrast, but the harmony.

As we grow older, many of us spend years trying to get rid of our inner tiger. Our anger. Our ambition. Our ego. Our restlessness needs to prove ourselves. But perhaps wisdom is not about killing the tiger.Perhaps it is about teaching it to rest.

The tiger is still there. The strength is still there. The fire is still there. But it no longer needs to bare its teeth at every passing challenge.

I have met people who were gentle because they were weak. And I have met a few who were gentle because they were strong enough to choose peace.The second kind are rare.

Looking at this image, I was reminded that the real journey is not from power to powerlessness. It is from power to self-mastery.

When the tiger learns to rest, the Buddha smiles.

In musing……         Shakti Ghosal

Those Cries in the Wild….


We had spent years chasing a rumour.

The Royal Bengal Tiger was always just beyond the frame—a whisper in mangroves, a rumour in grasslands, a story told by guides with knowing smiles.

In the Sundarbans, they warned us, “Don’t look too hard. If you see one, chances are you won’t be seen after.” We looked anyway. We saw nothing.

At Ranthambore National Park, dawn and dusk gave us…..
Pugmarks, droppings, and growing humility.

At Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary, they didn’t even pretend. “Forget it,” they said kindly.

And then— it was the turn of Tadoba Tiger Reserve……where, quite unexpectedly, fortune decided to shift…. and behave like Lucknow hospitality.

It began like a well-directed play. Our jeep was rolling lazily when the guide suddenly sprang up, as if the forest had whispered directly into his spine—
“Look behind!”

And there she was. A tigress. Standing squarely on the road. Unhurried. Unapologetic. Entirely in charge.



She gazed past us, not at us— as though we were merely an inconvenient paragraph in her story. A low, resonant rumble followed. And then another and another.

“That,” the guide declared with reverence, “is the mother calling her children.”

Of course she was. Even in the wild, mothers don’t wait forever.

What then transpired in front of our eyes was akin to a screenplay. But of the most elegant kind.

As we continued to be transfixed by the one behind, the guide shouted again and pointed. From the front, another tigress appeared—a sibling, perhaps…….She carried a prey in her jaws with the nonchalance of someone bringing snacks to a gathering.

The mother’s rumble deepened.

Translation (we imagined): “Food is fine. But where are the children?”

And then we saw them again. Three grown cubs, walking in a line— like reluctant teenagers responding to a call they had heard thrice already.

They were magnificent. And mildly disobedient.

The mother paced the shoreline now, her calls shifting between soft persuasion and unmistakable authority. It was a language older than words— half love, half command. The forest listened. So did we.



One cub made the first move. It slipped into the water, cutting through it with quiet determination—towards the waiting mother. The other two paused. Of course they did. Every family has those who hesitate at the edge.

The mother, now joined by the brave one, turned and looked back at the rest of the family on the other side. A decision was made and the mother and cub swam again. Not away, but towards the uncertain. And then, as if reminded of something fundamental, the remaining two followed.



For a moment, time forgot to move. Four tigers. Water rippling. Sunlight holding its breath. And us— utterly irrelevant, yet impossibly privileged.

We had spent years trying to see a tiger. This time we were seeing something else. Not power. Not danger. Not even wilderness. We merely saw a mother trying to gather her children.

And in that quiet, persistent calling, echoing across water and time, the jungle revealed its oldest truth: In every world, wild or civilised, the fiercest force is not the hunt—it is the pull of belonging. 

In musing………….. Shakti Ghosal

🍇 Savouring Sunshine, Wine, and Wind: A Journey through Hawke’s Bay, Napier and Wellington


🌿 Abstract

From the sun-drenched vineyards of Hawke’s Bay to the Art Deco charms of Napier and the cultured vibes of Wellington, our North Island journey in New Zealand was a heady blend of scenic beauty, fine wine, coastal elegance, and urban character. Here’s a glimpse of three unforgettable days soaking in the essence of Kiwi culture, cuisine, and charm.

Pacific Coastline

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New Zealand often conjures images of snow-capped peaks, sheep-dotted meadows, and fjord-streaked landscapes. But on the North Island’s eastern edge lies a less-trumpeted triad of experiences that seduce the senses in a quieter, more intimate way: the sun-drenched vineyards of Hawke’s Bay, the Art Deco elegance of Napier, and the cosmopolitan charm of Wellington.

We began the day heading toward Hawke’s Bay, a region known for its Mediterranean climate, rich soils, and status as one of New Zealand’s finest wine-producing areas. The road wound through rolling hills and vineyard vistas that stretched out like pages from a postcard. It’s no wonder that Lonely Planet calls Hawke’s Bay “a food and wine lover’s paradise… where long sunny days and fertile plains create the perfect recipe for indulgence.”

Hawke’s Bay

Our stop at Mission Estate Winery—New Zealand’s oldest established winery dating back to 1851—was the highlight of our visit. The elegant colonial-era structure welcomed us like an old friend, and we quickly found ourselves immersed in a world of subtle textures and fragrant bouquets. The Sauvignon Blanc stood out with its crisp minerality, but it was the velvety Syrah that stayed with us long after the last sip. A relaxed lunch followed in a shaded courtyard adorned with trellises, garden blooms, and birdsong. It felt more like a countryside dream than a scheduled stop.

Mission Estate Winery

The next chapter of our journey took us to Napier, a gem of a coastal town shaped by both tragedy and triumph. Rebuilt in the 1930s following a devastating earthquake, the town now proudly showcases one of the most concentrated collections of Art Deco architecture in the world. A stroll down its palm-lined promenade revealed a town wrapped in pastel tones and whimsical curves, as if time itself had taken a gentler turn here.

Art Deco

Condé Nast Traveler once described Napier as “a place where you’ll want to slow down and look up,” and that’s exactly what I did. As I meandered through the town, every façade seemed to carry a story—of resilience, rebirth, and remarkable aesthetic unity. Our hotel, perched with unobstructed views of the Pacific Ocean, felt like a poetic pause in this narrative. The sea, ever restless, offered a calming counterpoint to the symmetry of the streets.

The following morning, we descended further south to Wellington, the capital city nestled between rolling hills and a sparkling harbour. Where Napier wore nostalgia on its sleeve, Wellington was vibrantly alive—a city that fused culture and creativity with surprising sophistication. Its streets, both parallel and sloped, gave it a geometric charm, while cafés spilled out onto sidewalks filled with young creatives, office-goers, and the occasional street performer.

There’s something beautifully paradoxical about Wellington—it’s compact yet buzzing, orderly yet expressive. The Wellington Marina invited us to pause and breathe in the city’s rhythm. Boats bobbed gently in their berths, while locals wandered past us with wind-blown hair and takeaway coffees. No surprise then that the BBC once referred to Wellington as “the coolest little capital in the world.”

Wellington Marina

Dinner was a quiet affair, but we couldn’t resist passing by the city’s political heart—the Beehive, a part of the New Zealand Parliament complexes. The building’s modernist circular form is either intriguing or awkward, depending on your point of view. I found it oddly compelling, a symbol perhaps of the country’s bold architectural spirit, unafraid to provoke a reaction.

As we wound down our day in Wellington, I couldn’t help but reflect on the journey. Each place had offered something distinct: Hawke’s Bay’s pastoral elegance, Napier’s vintage soul, and Wellington’s urban charisma. Yet all were stitched together by a common Kiwi thread—warmth, nature, and quiet sophistication.

In a world where travel often tries to impress through spectacle, this journey stood out for its graceful subtlety. It didn’t shout; it sang.

In Musing……… Shakti Ghosal

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📚 References:

  1. Lonely Planet. (2023). Hawke’s Bay Travel Guide. Retrieved from: https://www.lonelyplanet.com/new-zealand/hawkes-bay
  2. Condé Nast Traveler. (2022). The Most Beautiful Towns in New Zealand. Retrieved from: https://www.cntraveler.com/gallery/most-beautiful-towns-in-new-zealand
  3. BBC Travel. (2021). Why Wellington is the World’s Coolest Little Capital. Retrieved from: https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20210315-wellington-the-worlds-coolest-little-capital

The ‘Puppy Dog Wag tail’ Syndrome: When the Need to Belong Undermines Authenticity


Abstract:

This article explores the social behavior commonly referred to as “Puppy Dog Wag Tail Syndrome”—where older individuals attempt to gain acceptance from younger social groups through excessive compliance, self-effacement, or mimicry, wagging one’s tail so to say! While this behavior stems from a natural human desire for belonging, it often compromises one’s authenticity and self-respect. Drawing from research in social psychology, this piece delves into the emotional drivers behind such behavior and advocates for embracing authenticity across generational lines.

Have you ever witnessed an elderly individual awkwardly trying to “blend in” with a younger group? Perhaps they crack out-of-place jokes, adopt unfamiliar slang, or seem constantly eager to please — laughing too hard, offering unsolicited help, or nervously seeking approval. This performative effort to fit in, often at the cost of dignity and self-awareness, is what might be called Puppy Dog Syndrome. Much like an over-eager pet desperate for affection, the individual’s behavior becomes centered around pleasing others, often sacrificing self-expression and confidence in the process.

While it may appear superficial on the surface, this behavior is rooted in something deeply human: the need to belong. Social psychologists Roy Baumeister and Mark Leary (1995) identified belongingness as a fundamental human motivation. Regardless of age, people crave connection, approval, and inclusion. Yet, when belonging feels uncertain — especially in cross-generational settings where values, cultural references, and energy levels diverge — the fear of exclusion can drive compensatory behaviors.

Older individuals, particularly in youth-dominated spaces like workplaces, social media platforms, or casual gatherings, may feel a loss of relevance or influence. In such settings, some try to gain favor by imitating youth or subordinating themselves — often unconsciously — in exchange for social acceptance. But the cost of such behavior can be significant. Carl Rogers, the humanistic psychologist, referred to this pattern as living according to “conditions of worth” — behaving in ways that earn external validation rather than expressing one’s true self.

This misalignment can take a psychological toll. A 2006 study by Kernis and Goldman found that chronic inauthenticity is associated with lower self-esteem, increased anxiety, and reduced life satisfaction. It’s a hollow kind of belonging that demands constant performance, rather than one built on mutual respect and individuality.

What’s most tragic about Puppy Dog Syndrome is that it often masks the rich experience, insight, and stability that older individuals have to offer. Rather than chasing youth, they might be better served — and more appreciated — by showing up as their authentic selves, offering perspective rather than parody.

Intergenerational engagement works best not through mimicry but through mutual curiosity and honesty. Younger generations often value authenticity more than they let on. There’s strength in standing tall in one’s own identity, wisdom in speaking with one’s own voice, and grace in not needing to follow the crowd.

In a world obsessed with fitting in, perhaps the most radical act is simply being yourself — fully, unapologetically, and without the need for approval.

References

  • Baumeister, R. F., & Leary, M. R. (1995). The need to belong: Desire for interpersonal attachments as a fundamental human motivation. Psychological Bulletin, 117(3), 497–529.
  • Kernis, M. H., & Goldman, B. M. (2006). A multicomponent conceptualization of authenticity: Theory and research. Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, 38, 283–357.
  • Rogers, C. R. (1959). A theory of therapy, personality and interpersonal relationships as developed in the client-centered framework. In S. Koch (Ed.), Psychology: A Study of a Science, Vol. 3. McGraw-Hill.

In musing……… Shakti Ghosal

Where Fire Meets Ferns: A Journey Through Rotorua, Murupara, and Taupo in New Zealand


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Abstract :Volcanoes, Redwoods, Maori traditions, and turquoise waterfalls—our journey through Rotorua, Murupara, and Taupo was like walking through nature’s raw and sacred diary. From the haunting silence of a buried village to the fiery hiss of boiling mud pools, and the warmth of a traditional Maori Hangi—New Zealand never stops surprising. 🌋🌲🌊

We skirted the edge of Lake Rotorua in hopeful anticipation, eyes squinting past the mist, searching for the silhouette of the legendary Mount Tarawera. But nature had other plans. Clouds draped the landscape like a reluctant curtain, denying us a view of the volcano that, in 1886, tore apart an entire region in a violent, unforgettable eruption.

Lake Rotorua

As we moved closer to the remnants of this catastrophe, we reached the Buried Village of Te Wairoa. It was haunting, almost sacred. Buildings lie preserved in ash, stories frozen in time, and silence whispered louder than words. Our guide painted a vivid picture of the night the earth roared—of ash raining down, of craters splitting open, and lives changed forever. According to the Buried Village site, it is “New Zealand’s most visited archaeological site, where stories of resilience and survival rise from the earth.” (Reference 1) And indeed, walking among the ruins, one feels that spirit deeply.

Buried village of Te Wairoa

From volcanic scars, we sought the solace of trees—and what trees they were! The Whakarewarewa Forest, just outside Rotorua, offered a surreal contrast. We wandered under towering Redwoods—some over 100 years old—and marveled at the magnificence of Douglas Firs and the ethereal grace of silver ferns, New Zealand’s national icon. Walking in their shadow, one feels both infinitely small and impossibly privileged. As described by Whakarewarewa Village, this forest is home to “majestic trees from California alongside native species in a uniquely Kiwi blend,” and the harmony between old world and new world flora is breathtaking.

Those Redwoods of Whakarewarewa

Yet Rotorua wasn’t done with its drama. The ground here breathes fire. Boiling mud pools gurgled around us, sending plumes of steam into the crisp morning air. Lakes hissed and steamed as though conversing with ancient gods. The smell of sulphur lingered, sharp and earthy. And yes, the unsettling thought did strike—what if another eruption lay dormant beneath our very feet?

Boiling mudpools of Rotorua

From geothermal energy to spiritual energy, we travelled onward to Lake Aniwhenua in Murupara. Here, the journey took a cultural turn. We were welcomed by the Māori people in a traditional ceremony that blended chants, fierce expressions, and deep respect. Though the language was unfamiliar, the sincerity needed no translation.

Maori temple

The highlight was witnessing the preparation of a traditional Hāngi meal—an earth-oven cooking method that has nourished Māori communities for centuries. Watching the fire-heated stones laid into a pit, food wrapped and buried under earth, felt remarkably similar to the tandoor cooking I’ve seen in North India. Different continents, similar soul food.

Hangi preparation

Later that afternoon at the Māori lodge, as the Hāngi was unveiled and its earthy aroma filled the air, it felt like we were not just eating a meal—we were partaking in a ceremony of memory, tradition, and togetherness. As the village itself puts it, “Whakarewarewa is more than just a village—it is a living legacy of Māori culture and community,” (Reference 2) and every moment we spent there reinforced that truth.

Traditional Maori meal

The final leg of this segment took us to Taupo, but not before a breathtaking interlude at the Huka Falls. The water there doesn’t just fall—it thunders. A hypnotic blue torrent squeezes through a narrow gorge before erupting into a frothy cascade. According to LoveTaupo.com, this “220,000 litres per second of crystal clear water” ( Reference 3)  surging through the Waikato River is one of New Zealand’s most visited natural attractions—and for good reason. It’s power and poetry in motion.

The blue torrents of Huka

As we stood watching the falls, droplets misting our faces, I realised New Zealand isn’t just a destination—it’s an emotion. It stirs awe and respect in equal measure. One moment it shows you the fury of nature, and the next, it cradles you in cultural warmth.

And so, this chapter of our journey closed—not with an exclamation, but a deep, quiet breath of gratitude.

References:

  1. The Buried Village of Te Wairoa – Rotorua’s Most Visited Archaeological Site
    https://buriedvillage.co.nz/
  2. Whakarewarewa – The Living Māori Village
    https://whakarewarewa.com/
  3. Huka Falls, Taupo – New Zealand’s Most Visited Natural Attraction
    https://www.lovetaupo.com/en/see-do/all/huka-falls/

In musing………….. Shakti Ghosal

How AI is Transforming the HVAC Industry: An Impact study on a matured engineering domain


Centrifugal machines running on principles of Thermodynamics

I spent a part of my career in the HVAC industry many decades ago, at a time when it was firmly grounded in the disciplines of mechanical engineering and thermodynamics—both mature and deeply technical fields. Back then, optimizing system performance meant manually tweaking airflow, calculating heat loads, and understanding refrigerant behavior. I had worked with Voltas, a market leader in central HVAC systems and Fedders Lloyd, which manufactured and marketed low end Airconditioning units.

Controls of HVAC system
Of nuts, bolts, pipes and ducts

I find it fascinating to observe how today, the game has changed. This has been significantly due to Artificial Intelligence (AI)—a disruptive force that’s injecting intelligence, adaptability, and automation into an industry that once thrived on nuts, bolts, and thermal dynamics.

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✅ Smarter Diagnostics and Predictive Maintenance

AI-powered tools now enable HVAC systems to identify faults before they cause breakdowns. Instead of relying on trial and error, it is now possible for technicians to use sensor data and predictive analytics to find the root cause quickly—whether it’s a refrigerant leak or an airflow issue.

“AI algorithms enable predictive maintenance by monitoring operational data such as temperature, pressure, and energy consumption to detect potential issues before they escalate.” — [ATA College, 2025]

These AI systems don’t just detect problems—they help prevent them, significantly reducing downtime and maintenance costs.

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🌱 Energy Efficiency: Better for Business and the Planet

Energy consumption has always been one of the biggest pain points in HVAC operations. AI  can address this by learning occupancy patterns, weather forecasts, and energy pricing to optimize performance in real time.

“AI can optimize HVAC operations by responding dynamically to external conditions and human behavior, ensuring comfort without excess energy use.” — [Cooling India, 2025]

The result? Lower energy bills, improved comfort, and a smaller carbon footprint—benefiting both the bottom line and the environment.

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🌡️ Personalization and Smarter Design

Modern HVAC systems don’t just heat or cool—they adapt. AI makes it possible to personalize climate control for zones or individuals based on learned preferences.

Beyond user experience, AI is improving the design phase too. Engineers can now simulate various configurations before installation, ensuring better efficiency and fewer on-site errors.

“AI is being used to create virtual simulations of HVAC systems during the planning phase, helping engineers choose the most efficient configuration.” — [Digital Defynd, 2025]

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🏢 Automation and Operational Efficiency

AI doesn’t merely stop at system optimization. It can streamline administration tasks like scheduling, dispatch, and customer service through chatbots and intelligent platforms.

In smart buildings, IoT-connected HVAC systems can adjust automatically to changing conditions, cutting operational costs and improving system responsiveness.

“Intelligent building systems that include AI-driven HVAC control are emerging as a top growth area for the industry.” — [Frost & Sullivan, 2025]

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⚠️ But It’s not all smooth sailing…

Ai has also brought with it certain downsides and risks.

  1. Cybersecurity is a growing concern. As HVAC systems get more connected, they become more vulnerable to attacks. To combat, companies would require to invest in data security and system integrity.
  2. Cost: AI tools, sensors, and integrations require significant upfront investment—posing a barrier for smaller firms.
  3. People factor: Many technicians will need to upskill to stay relevant. The shift is as much about mindset as it is about knowledge of the machinery.

“The technicians of tomorrow must be as comfortable with data analytics as they are with ductwork.” — [ATA College, 2025]

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🌍 Looking Ahead

One needs to hold the perspective that AI is not just an upgrade—it’s a paradigm shift for HVAC. Those who embrace it will find new opportunities in efficiency, customer satisfaction, and sustainability. But success will depend on thoughtful implementation, investment in skills, and a willingness to adapt.

As someone who once worked in the traditional world of HVAC, I find it both exciting and humbling to see how far the industry has come—and how far it can still go.

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💬 Let’s Discuss:
Are you seeing AI being adopted in your HVAC projects or buildings? What challenges or benefits are you encountering?

📚 References and Further Reading

# HVAC , # AI, #Industry transformation, # Diagnostics, #preventive maintenance, #Energy efficiency, #design, #automation

https://www.linkedin.com/posts/shaktighosal_artificial-intelligence-ai-is-revolutionizing-activity-7326516417451745303-93Sn?utm_source=share&utm_medium=member_desktop&rcm=ACoAAAFhtrQBZifHiS32iPRurc2ncs8rrmZK4zI