If you miss the crux of this blog, you’ll miss the essence. So try concentrating. 🙂
God has the greatest sense of humour. He wired our minds to derive more pleasure from aspiration than from actual possession. Wanting something, dreaming of it, working toward it—that chase excites the human spirit far more than finally having it.
That’s why yearning for a new iPhone feels more thrilling than holding one in your hand.
But here’s the trick: God deprives you of “the best” for most of your life. If you get the best too early, everything else will seem dull by comparison, and life itself may start to feel pointless.
Take sex for example. Suppose in your teenage years, you meet a woman who’s extraordinary in bed. Years later, you marry someone who can’t match that experience. What happens? You live in quiet disappointment, always comparing. God knows this, so He deliberately keeps you deprived—so you continue to aspire, to chase, to keep life moving. If you realised too soon that life is useless, you’d stop running around, stop reproducing, and humanity would collapse.
But sometimes, perhaps out of love, God does give you “the best.” It happened to me a few times, and it changed me forever.
Mutton Biryani
Until I was 36, I was content with the biryani I ate in India. It was good—spicy, filling, satisfying. Then, one evening in Abu Dhabi, I ordered a nalli dum biryani at a premium restaurant.
The first spoonful changed me.
Flavour. Aroma. Texture. Ecstasy.
Even today, 14 years later, that taste gives me goosebumps. For the next two years in the UAE, I ate it every week—worth every expensive penny. But the consequence is this: no biryani in India has ever satisfied me again. My mind always compares it with that one.
Slow-Cooked Beef Steak
A European friend once invited us home for lunch. He promised steak, and I expected the usual—something I’d had in Europe before. He showed us the setup: cuts of beef vacuum-sealed and slow-cooked. Nothing impressive. Looked bland on the plate too.
Then I tasted it.
Holy cow.
The meat melted in my mouth like sponge. I wanted to chew forever, never swallow. No spice, no colour—just pure, slow-cooked perfection. Seven years later, I’ve never tasted better meat.
And yes, I know the religious sentiments around beef in India, but after that experience, I can say this: depriving someone of a slow-cooked steak is the real sin.
Conversations with Humans
Now let’s talk intelligence. I’m 50, and in half a century, I’ve met maybe five genuinely intelligent humans. Three were good, two were extraordinary. All of them men.
I know “intelligence” is subjective. Some people point to IIT, UPSC, or a job at Google. For me, intelligence means someone who penetrates your soul, lifts your spirit, and puts you on the track of wisdom. Only two men have done that for me.
Here’s the catch: once you’ve interacted with such minds, everyone else feels like noise.
I’ve had many female friends, but by my yardstick, I haven’t met a single woman who inspired me intellectually. Not one drop of wisdom. Maybe they exist, maybe I’ve just not met them—but my lived reality stands.
Why I Don’t Argue with Women Online
So when women throw comments on my posts, or try to provoke me, I usually stay silent. Then comes the predictable line: “So, is your ego hurt?”
Yes, I have a King Size ego. But you can’t hurt me if you’re not in the league at all. It’s like me saying: “Donald Trump doesn’t reply to me because his ego is hurt.” No—he doesn’t reply because for him, I don’t exist.
And that’s exactly how I see most of these online women. They don’t exist for me.
Women are loved for their looks, their grace, their kindness—not for their intelligence. Education doesn’t make you intelligent; you have to be born with it.
So, when you see me ignoring a woman’s online tantrum, don’t mistake my silence for a wound to my pride. My silence is contempt. My silence is the statement.
Because once you’ve tasted the best biryani, the best steak, the best conversations—you don’t waste time chewing on leftovers.