Author Ranjit Kulkarni

It was one of those evenings last weekend when Swami arrived at our café table looking as though he’d wrestled with a tiger. Except the tiger was invisible, and possibly digital.

“I wasted an entire hour last night,” he began, even before ordering his coffee.

Jigneshbhai did not take Swami’s exhaustion seriously. I thought Raichand had given Swami some deadline again. So, I raised my eyebrows. “On what?” I asked.

“On Netflix,” Swami said, shaking his head. “Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. So many shows. So many movies. So many options. And you know what I watched in the end?”

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing! So many choices. I kept checking reviews, trailers, ratings. I was so tired of choosing that finally I went to bed.”

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The Streaming Choice Paralysis - Ranjit Kulkarni Scrolling endlessly on Netflix and still watching nothing? A café conversation with Jigneshbhai and Swami on why too many streaming choices lead to paralysis, not pleasure.

“Can we move to the next slide?” Swami yelled while sipping his coffee the other day. Jigneshbhai and I could see that he was in a bad mood. We didn’t stop him.

“Let us get straight to the insights!” Swami howled.

“Come on, who is the time-keeper? We don’t have all day,” he shouted.

“Was it Raichand who said all this?” I asked with trepidation.

“Who else? Raichand, his gang, and even the client executives who Raichand spurred on during my presentation!”

“As if all of this is a piece of cake,” Swami yelled, throwing the notebook with his notes. We knew he had an important presentation. It didn’t seem to have gone as per plan.

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The Urgency for an Answer - Ranjit Kulkarni A Jigneshbhai and Swami coffee conversation where they discuss why the urgency for an answer often leads to not asking the right question.

“On our trip to Meghalaya earlier this year, we went to Krang Suri Falls. It is a trek down the hill in the middle of lush green mountains,” Swami told us the other day when we met for coffee.

“You can see the falls from a distance even at the start of that trek,” Jigneshbhai remarked. He had been there a few years back.

“Yeah. But you can’t quite make out how long and winding the trek route might be. In the post lunch afternoon, it seemed like a lot of effort,” Swami remarked. He continued narrating his experience.

‘”Is this all we will see?” I asked my wife, looking at the waterfalls from a distance’ Swami said. ‘”It seems like a small waterfall,” I added.’

“So, what did she say? Did you continue?” I asked in all eagerness.

“She didn’t respond, but clearly, she wasn’t as negative about going there as I sounded,” Swami answered.

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Which Way to Where? - Ranjit Kulkarni Which Way to Where? A Jigneshbhai and Swami coffee conversation after Swami's trip to Meghalaya and how a tourist guided him perfectly!

“An error of omission is a mistake that happens when something that ought to be done isn’t done,” Jigneshbhai read aloud from a book that he was carrying. It drew my and Swami’s attention from our coffee.

“But are they errors always? The things that you miss. The stuff that you omit?” he asked us.

Swami was enthusiastic as always to respond to our wise friends’ questions. For once, he was not the one asking them. He always sought opportunities to give answers.

“That may be relevant in some cases,” he said. “But I find myself most often doing the wrong things – something that ought not to be done in the first place.”

It brought a smile on Jigneshbhai’s lips. I tended to agree with Swami on this.

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Blessings of Omission - Ranjit Kulkarni Blessings of Omission - a Jigneshbhai and Swami conversation on why some things if omitted altogether are not errors but blessings!

Swami was worried last evening. I realized it by seeing the way he walked into the cafe for our coffee meet.

“The next few months are going to be bad for the markets,” he said. “But I think it is a good time to buy mid-cap stocks now. Do you have some ideas in mind for my retirement corpus?” he asked Jigneshbhai.

Meanwhile, our wise friend was unperturbed sipping his coffee, neglecting whatever Swami said altogether.

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https://ranjitkulkarni.com/wrong-correlations/

Hello:

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“In my apartment, the parking is in the basement,” Jigneshbhai said when we met last weekend for coffee.

“Nothing new in that. Most apartments in urban areas have that,” Swami cast him off with a ‘what’s the big deal’ look. But I knew our wise friend wasn’t done, so I waited for him to say something.

“The interesting thing is that there is a sign as you enter the basement which says “Entry”,” Jigneshbhai said. Then he went on the explain the layout of his entire basement parking. “And then when you get into the basement, there is a sign that says “Driveway.””

Swami and I kept wondering what he was getting at. But Jigneshbhai didn’t stop. “And then there is a long driveway that goes circular where there is no sign. And when you come close to the exit, there is a sign that says “Exit.””

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Who is the sign for? - Ranjit Kulkarni Who is the sign for? An amusing Jigneshbhai and Swami coffee conversation about signs that don't help the people they are meant for!

My flight to Amritsar landed at 12:30 pm.
With admirable optimism and accurate mathematics, I assumed I would reach the hotel by 1. And I did—as efficiently as a person with one backpack and no checked-in baggage can.

What I hadn’t accounted for was the small but mighty detail printed clearly on my booking:
Check-in: 3:00 pm.

The staff at the reception confirmed it with the politeness of people who have delivered this message many times.

“You’re a bit early, sir. The room is still being prepared.”

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While Waiting for Hotel Check-In - Ranjit Kulkarni While Waiting for Hotel Check-In - a brief reflection based on my experience and observations at a hotel lobby, and what if Jigneshbhai and Swami were here.

It was only the second week of January when Swami walked into the café looking like a man who had already been defeated by the year.

He plonked himself on the chair opposite Jigneshbhai, sighed heavily, and declared, “It’s over.”

Jigneshbhai looked up from his coffee, mildly amused. “What’s over, Swami? The year’s barely begun.”

“My resolution,” Swami said dramatically. “The one to wake up early, meditate, and go for a morning walk. It’s gone. Dead. Vanished. Like my motivation.”

Jigneshbhai smiled, the way only he could — calm, knowing, almost indulgent. “Ah, that one. I thought it lasted a bit longer this year.”

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The Resolution That Refused to Stay - Ranjit Kulkarni We often treat resolutions like contracts with perfection, forgetting they’re really conversations with ourselves. Sometimes, what matters isn’t keeping every promise, but returning to the table — again and again — to make a better one. A Jigneshbhai and Swami coffee conversation that reinfo...

When Swami walked into the café last Sunday, he wasn’t looking at us.

He was staring at his wrist.

“Sixty-eight,” he muttered. “No, now seventy-two. How can it change so fast?”

Jigneshbhai didn’t even look up from his coffee. “What’s changing?”

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https://ranjitkulkarni.com/the-smartwatch-syndrome/

The Smartwatch Syndrome - Ranjit Kulkarni When Swami walked into the café last Sunday, he wasn’t looking at us. He was staring at his wrist. “Sixty-eight,” he muttered. “No, now seventy-two. How can it change so fast?” Jigneshbhai didn’t even look up from his coffee. “What’s changing?” “My heart rate!” Swami exclaimed...

Swami looked restless even before we sat down at the café. His phone screen was glowing with multiple tabs open. I recognized the familiar pattern — Swami was in the middle of a health scare.

“Jigneshbhai!” he said in a hushed, urgent voice. “Last night I had this dull ache in my shoulder. I googled it. Do you know what it could be?”

Across the table, Jigneshbhai calmly stirred his coffee. “Hmm,” he said.

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The Doctor’s Appointment - Ranjit Kulkarni In a world where every symptom leads us to search engines, we forget that not every ache needs a diagnosis.Sometimes, the best prescription is patience — and a hot cup of coffee.