Shakti Ghosal – A New Beginning

Nature Never Reads Our Rulebook

A newspaper report I read the other day literally stopped me in my tracks. It spoke about an unexpected consequence of the geopolitical tensions around the Strait of Hormuz. As ships remain berthed for prolonged periods, marine scientists are warning of an increased risk of invasive organisms hitching a ride across oceans, disrupting ecosystems thousands of kilometres away. At first glance, it appeared to be a story about shipping and marine biology. But as I read further, I realised it was really a story about something much larger.

Nature rarely responds in straight lines. A political conflict can become an environmental risk. A delay in maritime traffic could alter the movement of microscopic life. Human decisions in one corner of the world quietly reshape ecosystems in another.

While writing 2056: The Year of Water and Fire, I had found myself returning repeatedly to this thought. We often imagine climate change as a sequence of visible catastrophes—cyclones, floods, rising seas. Yet the more profound transformations are often quieter. Species migrate. Rivers redraw themselves. New ecological relationships emerge. Life adapts in ways we neither anticipate nor fully understand. Toward the end of the story, after a devastating cyclone had rewritten the geography of the Sundarbans, the first instinct of the survivors was despair. But when the dronobots began mapping the devastation, they uncovered something unexpected. Amid the destruction, nature was already experimenting. Islands were shifting. Mangroves were finding new footholds. Wildlife was adapting. The ecosystem, scarred but alive, was quietly reorganising itself for a different climate. It was neither revenge nor redemption, it was recalibration.

That thought had stayed with me because it challenges one of our deepest assumptions. We often speak of “saving nature,” as though it were a fragile object waiting for human intervention. History suggests something more humbling. Nature has an extraordinary capacity to reinvent itself. It is we who struggle to keep pace with the consequences of that reinvention.

Perhaps the real lesson is this. The future will not unfold as a neat extension of the present. It will emerge through countless interactions we barely notice today—between politics and ecology, technology and biology, human ambition and planetary resilience.

In 2056, Nayanjol, the sentient boat, eventually becomes more than a machine. He becomes a guardian who understands that survival does not lie in resisting nature, but in learning to listen to it.

Maybe that is the question our own times are quietly asking. Not whether nature will adapt. But whether we will.

In musing….. Shakti Ghosal

#ClimateChange #Nature #Resilience #TheLastWriterOfKolkata #2056TheYearOfWaterAndFire #SpeculativeFiction #FutureOfHumanity #Sundarbans #EnvironmentalChange #ShaktiGhosal

Has Gen Z Become Less Intelligent—Or Are We Measuring Intelligence the Wrong Way?

The recent discussion surrounding the reversal of the Flynn Effect has generated understandable concern. For nearly a century, psychologists observed a remarkable trend: each successive generation appeared to outperform its predecessor on IQ tests. Better nutrition, improved healthcare, expanded education and increasingly complex environments seemed to produce steadily rising cognitive performance.

Now, according to research presented by Dr. Horvath before a Senate Committee in January 2026, that trend appears to have reversed. Generation Z is reportedly the first generation in modern history to register a decline in average IQ compared to those who came before it. Researchers have also noted reductions in reading comprehension, sustained attention and memory performance.

If these findings are robust, they deserve serious attention.

But before concluding that an entire generation has become “less intelligent,” perhaps we should ask a more fundamental question.

What exactly are we measuring?

An IQ test is not a thermometer that measures intelligence in the way a thermometer measures temperature. It evaluates performance across selected cognitive domains—logical reasoning, pattern recognition, verbal comprehension, working memory, processing speed and spatial reasoning. These were chosen because they were believed to predict learning ability, productivity and success in an industrial and later knowledge-based economy.

That assumption itself deserves scrutiny.

Every civilisation defines competence according to the challenges it faces. The skills that made an exceptional engineer in the 1970s (That was my generation!) are not identical to those required of an AI architect today. The competencies that distinguished an outstanding accountant thirty years ago are very different from those needed in an age where algorithms perform much of the routine analytical work.

Perhaps intelligence itself has not declined as much as it has changed its centre of gravity.

Today’s young adults navigate digital ecosystems with remarkable ease. They process multiple streams of information simultaneously, learn unfamiliar software intuitively and adapt rapidly to technological change. These abilities are not trivial. Yet traditional IQ tests may capture only a small part of this emerging cognitive landscape.

This is not an argument for dismissing the reported decline. Reading comprehension, sustained attention and memory remain foundational human capabilities. Civilisations are built upon the ability to think deeply, read patiently, remember accurately and reason independently. If these capacities are genuinely weakening, the consequences could be profound.

But neither should we confuse what is measurable with what is meaningful.

Throughout history, societies have periodically redefined excellence. Education evolved. Work evolved. Technology evolved. It would be surprising if our understanding of intelligence remained frozen in time.

The reversal of the Flynn Effect may therefore be asking us two questions instead of one.

The first is whether some essential cognitive abilities are indeed declining.

The second—and perhaps the more important one—is whether the very framework through which we define and measure human intelligence is keeping pace with a world that is changing faster than at any previous point in history.

The future may not belong to those with the highest IQ as traditionally measured. It may belong to those who combine analytical thinking with creativity, adaptability, emotional intelligence, ethical judgment and the wisdom to know when technology should assist the human mind—and when it should never replace it.

In musing……. Shakti Ghosal

The Invisible Architecture of Success

We often admire people’s discipline, without ever seeing the structures that quietly support it.

Some months back, during my morning walks, I started noticing an elderly gentleman doing his exercises in the central garden of our residential complex.

He was there every day, almost at the same time and doing the same routine. For many mornings, I simply admired his discipline from a distance but one day, curiosity got the better of me. I wished him ‘Good Morning’ and soon we were sitting on a nearby bench, I remarked, “I see that you have incredible willpower.”

At that, he laughed, “That’s what everyone thinks. But it isn’t really true. Not really.”

As I looked at him, puzzled, he pointed towards his wristwatch, “My alarm rings at five-thirty.”

“So does mine,” I smiled.

He continued, “My walking shoes are beside the bed every night. My exercise clothes are laid out before I go to sleep. My doctor expects to see my blood sugar readings every month. And my granddaughter has made me promise that I’ll be healthy enough to dance at her wedding.”

He paused, “Now tell me… where exactly does willpower come into the story?”

For a few moments, I didn’t have an answer. I seemed to have mistaken discipline for determination. What I was really seeing was structure.

As we got up to walk back to our respective towers, he said something that has stayed with me ever since, “Most people wait to feel motivated. I prefer to prepare my environment.”

That single sentence shifted my perspective. How often do we rely on willpower alone? We promise ourselves we’ll read more, exercise regularly, spend less time on our phones, learn a new skill. In my case, it is even, write that book. In your case, it might be to start that business.

Then, when our enthusiasm fades, we conclude that we lack discipline. Perhaps the problem isn’t our commitment. Perhaps, it’s our architecture. It became increasingly clear to me that our lives are already full of structures. Some quietly support the future we want. Others quietly support the habits we’re trying to leave behind.

Success is rarely built on one heroic act of determination. More often, it is built on dozens of small decisions made long before the moment of action arrives.

Before we parted, I thanked the gentleman for the conversation. He smiled and said, “People spend too much time trying to become stronger. They spend too little time making the path easier.”

As I walked home, I realised that remarkable lives are not held together by extraordinary willpower. They are held together by ordinary structures, repeated with quiet consistency. Perhaps that explains why success often looks effortless from a distance.

We see the destination.We applaud the discipline.But we rarely notice the invisible architecture that made the journey possible. And perhaps that’s the first structure worth building.

In musing……. Shakti Ghosal

What if…

……when a generation no longer asks for privilege, but for credibility.

July 2026

A few mornings back I learnt that an entire movement has chosen to call itself the ‘Cockroach Janta Party’. I smiled. Not because the name is amusing. But because history has always had an odd habit of allowing the insulted to reclaim the insult. (I recall many years back, the Chai-wallah epithet had provided a positive momentum to Prime Minister Modi’s persona)

There was a time when young people marched carrying flags. Today they march carrying memes. Yesterday’s slogans have become today’s hashtags.

Yet beneath the humour, I hear something painfully familiar. It is not anger; it is disappointment.

Every generation believes the next examination will open the next door. When that examination itself becomes the subject of doubt, it is not merely a paper that leaks. Trust does.

The young are often accused of being impatient. Perhaps they are. But there are few things more dangerous than asking an entire generation to wait while uncertainty becomes a way of life.

Governments may negotiate. Oppositions may protest. Television studios will certainly debate. But none of them can afford to overlook the quiet question echoing through millions of homes, ‘If merit itself begins to look negotiable, what exactly are young people expected to believe in?’

As I folded the newspaper, I realised that the greatest examination before our nation is no longer the one written by students. It is the one our institutions are writing every day. And unlike the students, they will not be judged by the answers they give. They will be judged by the trust they restore.

— Rudra Bose,
The Last Writer of Kolkata

#WhatIfWithRudraBose #RudraBose #TheLastWriterOfKolkata #ShaktiGhosal #PoliticsAndSociety #Democracy #Justice #HumanNature #ReflectiveWriting #WritersOfInstagram

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

Another night. Another World Cup. Another reminder that sport is often life, compressed into ninety minutes.

Just after midnight, my wife switched on the bedroom television.

“We’ll watch for a little while,” we told ourselves.

It was well past 2:00 a.m. when we finally went to sleep.

Some football matches don’t merely decide who reaches a World Cup final. They quietly dismantle the assumptions we carry into them.

Like millions around the world, I had convinced myself that France would find a way. Kylian Mbappé had been in breathtaking form throughout the tournament. The media had almost made it sound inevitable that France would be playing in the final.

But football has an inconvenient habit of ignoring predictions. Spain didn’t just beat France 2-0. They educated them.

From the opening whistle, Spain controlled the rhythm of the game as though they were conducting an orchestra. Rodri, Fabián Ruiz and Dani Olmo seemed to have all the time in the world. Every French pass near the Spanish goal arrived a fraction too late. Every misplaced touch was punished. Every attempt to speed up the game was calmly absorbed before Spain slowed it down again.

What impressed me most was not Spain’s goals. It was their patience.

In an age where everyone celebrates speed, Spain reminded us that control is often the greater strength. They never appeared hurried. They trusted the process, trusted each other and trusted the game plan.

Perhaps the most striking moment came after the final whistle. There were no excuses. Mbappé admitted that France had been outplayed. He spoke of the tactical shortcomings, the lack of communication, the technical mistakes and Spain’s superiority in controlling the midfield. It takes courage to win. It takes even greater courage to lose with honesty.

That, for me, was the lesson of the night. Spain didn’t produce magic. They produced mastery.

As I finally switched off the television sometime after two in the morning, I realised that the World Cup had once again offered a lesson far beyond football. The game does not always belong to the team with the biggest stars. Sometimes, it belongs to the team that plays the better game. And perhaps life works that way too.

In musing…… Shakti Ghosal

The Promise We Break Most Often

The strongest form of accountability isn’t to your boss. It’s to yourself.

I still remember a conversation with a young manager many years ago. He had walked into my office carrying a notebook filled with plans.

“I don’t understand myself,” he confided, almost apologetically. “Every New Year I make a list. I promise myself I’ll exercise regularly, read more, spend time with my family, learn a new skill…” He then smiled sheepishly. “By March, I’ve broken most of those promises. Even though I had genuinely meant every word when I wrote those goals.”

I laughed at that. “So have millions of others. Including myself when I was your age.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Tell me,” I asked, “if your Managing Director asked you to submit a report by Monday, would you? Or if your biggest customer expected you at a meeting at ten o’clock?” Or if your child was waiting for you at the school annual function?”

“Of Course! I would do all of those and on time.”

I smiled, “So you’re very good at keeping promises.”

He looked confused. “No,” he replied. “I just told you I’m terrible at it.”

I reassured him, ” I would say you’re excellent at keeping promises to other people. You just struggle to keep promises to your own self.”

He looked at me for a long moment before quietly admitting, “I’ve never thought about it that way.”

Well to be frank, neither had I, until years earlier when someone had challenged me with the same question. The truth is, most of us don’t lose confidence because we fail. We lose confidence because we repeatedly break our own word.

Every time we say to ourself, ‘I’ll start tomorrow,’ and tomorrow becomes next week… Every time we promise ourselves, we’ll make time for our health, our family, our learning or our dreams… and then quietly move them to the bottom of the list…

Something invisible starts happening. Our self-trust begins to erode. Others may still trust us. Our colleagues may admire our reliability. Our clients may praise our commitment. But somewhere inside, we begin to doubt ourselves. Not because we lack ability. But because we’ve stopped believing our own promises.

I came out of my reverie with a start; my colleague was looking at me thoughtfully. “So, accountability isn’t really about someone checking up on me?” he asked.

I shook my head. “That’s compliance. Accountability is much more personal. It is choosing to become someone whose word matters—even when no one else is listening.”

As he stood up to leave, he closed his notebook and smiled, “I think I’ve been writing goals. What I really needed was to start keeping promises.”

That conversation has stayed with me ever since. The older I grow, the more I realise that confidence is not built through motivational speeches or inspirational books. It is built quietly. One kept promise at a time. Perhaps that is why integrity is such a powerful word. It doesn’t begin with how faithfully we honour our commitments to others. It begins with how faithfully we honour the commitments we make to ourselves.

Because the person listening most carefully to every promise you make… is you.

In musing….. Shakti Ghosal

#accountability, #Integrity, #selfpromise, #goalkeeping

When Time Took the Hill Road to Kurseong

A couple of weeks ago, over an evening drink at the Calcutta Cricket and Football Club (CCFC), a friend casually mentioned Kurseong. The name somehow lingered long after the conversation had moved on. Ever since my ankle surgery earlier this year, I had been dreaming of escaping to a quiet corner wrapped in green, where the loudest sound would be birdsong and the fastest thing in sight would be drifting clouds. I scarcely had to drop hints to my wife Sanchita, she was more than ready and Kurseong quickly graduated from dream to destination.

Four nights at the Nirvana Retreat ( it advertises itself as the place where time stands still) were booked, followed by the to-and-fro flights to Bagdogra. The monsoon tossed our aircraft around just enough to remind us who was really in charge, but we landed safely and were soon winding our way up the hills. Every bend seemed to reveal another postcard—the tea gardens, little hillside homes, and forests wearing a soft veil of mist.

Our balcony overlooked towering pine trees standing like silent soldiers in green-grey uniforms, their pointed helmets disappearing into drifting clouds. Kolkata, with its humidity, traffic and relentless pace, already felt like another country. There was no television worth watching here. Nature had taken over the programming.

The hills invited long walks, but wisdom prevailed over enthusiasm. Recovering knees have a language of their own and mine spoke with remarkable clarity. So, instead of trying to conquer the hills, we surrendered to them. We embraced a different adventure—the increasingly rare luxury of doing very little, and doing it without feeling guilty.

Each morning began with meditation on the balcony as the mist slowly swallowed the pines before releasing them again, almost playfully. Unknown birds held conversations in a language neither of us understood, yet somehow it all made perfect sense. Then came our familiar ritual: the kettle on, two cups of fragrant Darjeeling tea, and unhurried conversations that needed no destination. We discovered that silence, shared with someone you have known for years, can sometimes be more eloquent than words.

Breakfast was delightfully confused—hot puris and sabzi giving way to eggs sunny side up, toast, sausages and the incomparable Makaibari tea. The ever-smiling staff seemed personally invested in ensuring that no guest left the dining room even remotely hungry. Resistance, we soon discovered, was entirely futile.

We faithfully visited Dow Hill School on behalf of a friend who had boarded there during his childhood, only to be politely prevented from entering those hallowed precincts by an immovable security guard. Some memories, it would seem, are best revisited through stories rather than school gates.

The mist also conspired against us at Eagle’s Crag and the Chimney, ensuring that the famous panoramic views remained a matter of imagination. Yet the ancient pine forests more than compensated. Walking beneath those towering trees, lovingly planted by the British generations ago, one could not help but marvel at how some acts of planting outlive the people who planted them.

A description of Kurseong would be incomplete without mentioning the historic Hill Cart Road—the town’s bustling lifeline where shops, cafés and homes jostle for space, and where the iconic Darjeeling Himalayan Railway toy train track (did not see the train passing through when we were there) meanders through the streets with unhurried confidence. As pedestrians and vehicles patiently made their way, it felt like watching history politely negotiate with the present.

The highlight for me, however, was the Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose Museum. His letters, photographs and personal artefacts quietly brought history to life, reminding us that extraordinary lives are often built upon ordinary moments of conviction and courage.

Netaji Subhas Bose’s address as President of Congress Party

We returned with few spectacular photographs but something far more valuable—a reminder that the finest journeys are not always about seeing more. Sometimes they are about slowing down enough to see ourselves again. In a world forever urging us to move faster, Kurseong gently whispered a different lesson—that there is quiet wisdom in standing still.

In musing……. Shakti Ghosal

The Most Important Person You’ll Ever Lead

‘Leadership doesn’t begin with managing people. It begins with understanding the person in the mirror.’

I recall a conversation of several years back.

It was late evening and I was preparing to go home. Hearing a knock, I looked up to see a colleague standing outside my glass door, smiling. He was one of the bright managers from our Supply Chains division. As I gestured him to a chair, I sensed something was on his mind. After the usual pleasantries and how things were going at work, I asked what I could do for him.

“Sir, while I seem to be doing okay at work based on the feedback of my Divisional Head, deep down I fear I’m failing as a leader,” he blurted out.

” Hmm! That’s a strong statement,” I replied. “What makes you say that?”

He sighed, “I am trying to be a better leader. I’ve read leadership books. I keep trying new leadership techniques…… but somehow I feel a sense of inadequacy and a lack of being authentic.”

Pondering over what I had just heard, I asked, “When was the last time you studied yourself?”

My colleague frowned. After a few moments he admitted, “I don’t think I ever have.”

“You know,” I said, “most of us believe awareness means noticing what’s happening around us. For instance, the market. Our competitors. Our customers. Our bosses. We become experts at observing everyone else’s behaviour. We know exactly what our colleagues need to improve. We notice the habits holding others back. We can often predict how someone else will react in a meeting. But ask us why we react defensively to criticism… why certain conversations drain our energy… why we repeat the same mistakes… and suddenly the answers become less clear.”

He looked at me for a few moments before replying, “So you’re saying I’ve been looking in the wrong direction?”

“Not the wrong direction. Just one direction.”

Looking out of the window, he said softly, almost to himself, “I’ve been trying to model myself on people I’ve admired.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with admiration,” I said. “The problem begins when admiration turns into imitation. We can borrow someone’s ideas. We can learn from someone’s experience. But we can never build our leadership by becoming a copy of someone else’s story.”

There was a silence. Then the colleague asked quietly, “So what does awareness really look like?”

I realised that we were now entering the deep end of our conversation. I said, “It is knowing your strengths without becoming arrogant. Recognising your weaknesses without becoming discouraged. Understanding your patterns before they begin to define you.”

I concluded by saying, “It is having the courage to ask not, ‘How do I become like them?’ but ‘Who am I becoming?’“

As my colleague got up to leave, he paused at the door and said, “I’ve spent years trying to improve my leadership. Perhaps I should spend more time understanding the leader.”

The conversation stayed with me. The older I grow, the more I realise that personal growth rarely begins with learning something new. More often, it begins with seeing ourselves a little more clearly.

Self-awareness is perhaps the only mirror that becomes clearer the longer we are willing to look into it. Leadership is not the journey from ignorance to knowledge. It is the journey from unconsciousness to awareness. Because the greatest breakthroughs in life seldom come from changing who we are. They come from discovering who we have been all along. Perhaps the most important meeting you will ever have is not with your team, your boss, or your client. It is the quiet conversation you have with yourself.

Is that meeting long overdue?

Reflections….. Shakti Ghosal

When Fiction meets Foresight

When Fiction Meets Foresight: A Reflection on The Last Writer of Kolkata and Other Stories based on the BCG Henderson Institute report.

Author – A BCG Consultant ( name kept confidential)

Reading the ‘Last Writer of Kolkata and other stories’ in the context of BCG Henderson Institute’s Beyond Tomorrow: Four Scenarios for the World of 2050 produces an unexpected sensation. I can confirm that the report is the product of rigorous analysis of megatrends, historical data and expert interviews. Shakti Ghosal’s book is speculative fiction. Yet both seem to be looking at the same horizon.

The BCG report reminds us that “the decisions leaders make over the next 5 years will shape the next 25.” It does not attempt to predict the future. Instead, it explores plausible futures emerging from forces already visible today. The four stories in this collection do something remarkably similar.

Consider The Last Writer of Kolkata. BCG’s “AI Abundance” scenario describes a world where AI transforms work, creativity and identity, leaving people searching for “meaning and identity beyond employment.” The ageing writer Rudra Bose inhabits a future shaped by a similar question. If machines can write, create and remember, what remains uniquely human? The story is not really about technology. It is about dignity, relevance and the stubborn human need to leave behind a voice that matters.

In Echo Chamber, technology enters an even more intimate space—memory itself. The BCG report warns that future societies may trade elements of personal freedom for stability, efficiency and social cohesion. The story asks a disturbing question: If our memories can be edited, curated or manipulated, what becomes of our identity? Memory, after all, is not merely a record of our lives. It is our life.

The environmental anxieties running through 2056: The Year of Water and Fire find an echo in BCG’s climate scenarios. The report speaks of a world facing “stress on food and water systems” and increasingly extreme weather. The story translates those trends into human experience. Climate change is no longer a scientific projection; it becomes a force that shapes survival, migration and moral choices.

Perhaps the most poignant parallel emerges in When the Rain Remembered. BCG highlights ageing populations, declining fertility and shifting demographics as defining features of the coming decades. Ghosal imagines the emotional consequences of those trends. The story asks what happens when societies grow older, families become smaller, and loneliness becomes a public condition rather than a private feeling.

What makes this collection noteworthy is that it does not offer technological optimism or dystopian despair. Instead, it explores the fragile space in between. Like the BCG report, it understands that the future is not a destination but a series of choices.

The greatest compliment one can pay The Last Writer of Kolkata and Other Stories is this: the book does not feel like fiction written about tomorrow. It feels like tomorrow trying to speak to us today.

Reference

1)bcg-scenarios-2050-apr-2026-web.pdf

2) http://www.shaktighosal.com

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