Chanda: The Price of Devotion

In small towns, devotion has its own season.
It arrives with drums, bamboo poles, colored lights, and the familiar voice —
“Bhai, thoda chanda dena hoga.”(Bro contribution please)

Every year, a group of young men goes door to door collecting contributions for the local puja.
They carry a notebook, a smile, and sometimes, a little pressure.
Some people give with faith.
Some give for face.
Some give to avoid being talked about later.

Chanda behaves like respect — the more one gives, the higher the name appears on the list.
There are slabs — ₹500, ₹1000, ₹2000.
Above ₹2500, the name appears on the main board, in bright red paint.

One year, a young voice said,
“This time our pandal should be taller than Krishna Nagar’s. Bablu bro is paying ₹10,000.”
Bablu, a local contractor, was proud of his contribution.
The message was clear — height had become dignity.

But soon, arguments began — about who should be secretary, where the idol should be placed, whose name should come first on the banner.
A new group emerged and decided to make another pandal, just across the road.
Two gods.
Two committees.
Two receipts.

Now every house had to pay twice.
Morning one group came.
Evening another.
People smiled thinly and opened their wallets again.
Faith became a subscription — renewal compulsory.

Even Bablu bro was seen saying,.
“I’m with both sides. God is everywhere.”Bablu bro is thinking to step in politics.

And the street smiled —

“Yes, and the receipt books too.”

When both pandals finally stood, the lights shone bright, music roared, and colors filled the air.
But from a distance, both looked smaller than Krishna Nagar’s.
Two halves never make a whole.

After the aarti, organisers lay down — tired, dusty, some smelling of liquor, half asleep.
They had spent days in heat and nights in noise, making others’ faith visible.
Next morning, passersby whispered,

“Sab paisa kha gaye. Looters.” ( All money eaten)

Perhaps they looted their peace, not people’s money.

That year, Krishna Nagar won again — not because their pandal was taller,
but because they stayed one.
And maybe god saw all this — the giving, the dividing, the blaming —
and went home early that night.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

The Empty Showroom That Still Sells

Several times in malls, I walk into those big brand showrooms and find… no customers.
More salespeople than visitors.
If you remove the food court and the supermarket, the whole mall almost feels like a ghost city.

And I keep thinking — how are these brands profitable?

How can a 5,000 sq ft showroom with hardly any walk-ins survive?

One day I understood the game.
And after that, I never looked at malls the same way again.

The showroom is not there to sell.
The showroom is there to create value — in your mind.

When you walk into the store:
• premium lighting
• stylish shelves
• spacious rooms
• expensive mannequins
• well-dressed salespeople

Your mind receives one big message: “This brand is premium.”

That’s all the showroom needs to achieve.

You may not buy anything that day.
But the seed is planted.

And then — days later — the magic happens.

You see the same item online.
Price in mall: ₹4,000
Price online: ₹2,000

And suddenly you feel like a smart winner.

You tap “Buy Now” with happiness.

Not because it became cheap.
But because your brain already accepted ₹4,000 as the real price.

The ₹2,000 is not a discount.
It is a psychological victory.

The showroom is not the business model.
The showroom is the price anchor.
The sales happen online.

The store shapes your emotions.
The website takes your money.

And we call that “new retail.”

In today’s world:

Sales doesn’t happen where you see it.
Sales happens where your mind decides it.

The mall may look empty.
But the brand has already won — inside you.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

The Sweeper in the Park: A Small Story About Seeing People

Every weekend, I walk in a nearby park.Music in my ears, mind free, feet moving without effort.The park is always clean — almost spotless — long before most people arrive.And that’s because of her.An elderly woman, sweeping quietly at dawn.

By the time I enter, she is done with her work and sits on the pavement, resting.She never asks for anything.Her eyes simply follow the world passing by — people walking, jogging, talking, all in their own bubble.One morning, I gave her ₹50.A small gesture.But she looked up at me as if someone had finally noticed she existed.

The next weekend, I gave again.Then it became a rhythm.

₹50 on Saturday.₹50 on Sunday.If I missed a day, ₹100 the next time.Not charity.Not obligation.

Just something that felt right — a moment of acknowledgment in a world running on deadlines and headphones.

One day, someone saw me giving her the money and said,“You know she earns ₹24,000 salary every month?”I smiled and replied,

“It doesn’t matter.”Because it truly didn’t. Her salary met her needs.

My ₹50 met my nature.

Two accounts.Two different meanings.

Some people help only after calculating.Some help because they feel it.And some gestures lose their beauty the moment you explain them.She was not poor.

But she was invisible.I wasn’t helping her survival — I was helping her dignity.

And maybe in a small way, keeping my own humanity alive.Not every good act has to solve a problem.

Some acts simply remind us who we are.

Zara Hatke -Ranji

The Absurd Question

Disaster strikes. Accidents, negligence, failures — sometimes government, sometimes luck, sometimes both. People lose life, health, home, or loved ones. The government announces money. A sum. Someone asks: “Will this money bring back what we lost?” It sounds logical. It even feels right. But it’s quietly absurd. Money cannot replace life. Money cannot repair grief. Money cannot bring back what is gone. Yet society treats it as an answer. Here’s the kicker: the government is also us. Officials, bureaucrats, politicians — humans, like you, part of the same society. The system is funded, built, and run by us. Expecting miracles from it? That’s asking arithmetic to do poetry. ### When compensation matters It matters only in one situation: - If the earning member of a family falls, the money may keep the household alive. Otherwise? It is an administrative gesture. Nothing more. Nothing can replace what is gone. The money cannot. And the system cannot.

Zara Hatke- Ranji

30 Years Later – Same Bag, Same Beat

He started 30 years ago... and still does what a fresher does today.

Not because he wasn’t loyal.

Not because he didn’t work hard.

But because he didn’t rise inside.

He never learned to evolve.

To let go.

To move from hustle… to wisdom.

Now, the new shop owner with a digital brain and a T-shirt outplays him.

The MBA sales exec with quick slides and CRM fluency closes better than him.

He once taught the shops how to sell.

Today, he waits for them to say: “Bhaiya, order nahin hai.”

This is not failure.

It’s a forgotten update.

The market moved. He didn’t.

The customer changed. He didn’t.

And time punished that silence.

Who survives?

Not the most experienced.

But the most evolving.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

Do We Really Need to Read the Gita?

Let’s speak the truth — plain and hard.

Gita, in the end, is a book full of words. Like Bible. Like Quran. Like a thousand other texts. Most of the world hasn’t read it. Some never heard of it.

And yet — people live courageously, choose rightly, sacrifice deeply, and walk with kindness.

So ask again:

Is Gita the only way to God?
Is reading the Gita a passport to wisdom?

No. Not at all.

The truth of Gita is not in Sanskrit or shloka. It is in your clarity during chaos. It is in your action without greed. It is in your peace without attachment.

If a man in Africa builds his farm lovingly, helps others, and smiles through pain — he is already in Gita’s energy.

If a mother in a Latin village raises her child alone with strength — she has lived Bhagavad Gita without reading a line.

🪶 What I Believe

Gita is not to be worshipped on paper.
It’s to be breathed into living.

You can be Krishna without a flute.
You can be Arjun without a bow.

And yes — God does not operate a publishing house. He meets people through their honesty, not their bookshelf.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

Jana kahan hai – Pyar yahan hai

Sometimes I wonder — where exactly am I running?
And then I see the vegetable vendor at the corner.

He sells vegetables worth ₹30… and the way he laughs, the way he greets customers — it’s priceless.
There’s no MBA degree behind that laugh. No sales target behind that warmth. Just pure respect for the person in front of him.

I’ve been in boardrooms where the deals were worth crores, but smiles were rationed. And here, in the middle of the street, someone is handing out joy for free.

We keep thinking — “If I move to that city… if I get that job… if I reach that position…”
But truth is — if love and goodness aren’t here, inside you, they won’t suddenly appear there either.

I’ve seen people in small villages, less privileged places, constantly comparing with the big world. But who cares? The world isn’t watching your comparison.

When the goodness is inside, even a small place can feel like heaven.
When it’s missing, even the most beautiful city feels like a cage.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

The Bag We Carry

You know… I noticed something.

In India, it’s seen as a gesture of respect when a junior carries the senior’s bag—at the airport, the station, wherever.

And in many places, that’s just how it is. It’s considered normal. Some even feel proud doing it.

But when I started spending time in Europe and with professionals abroad, I saw something different.

There, the senior—not only avoids this—but often stops the junior.
They say, “No, no, don’t carry my bag. You’re not my helper. You’re my colleague.”

And I asked myself: what are we really carrying here?

Is it just a bag—or is it a mindset?

Because in one world, carrying the bag is about showing loyalty.
In another, not letting someone carry it… is about showing equality.

And I began to understand something deeper.

True seniority isn’t about how many people carry your bags.
It’s about how many people you lift up, not weigh down.

So today I say this:

I don’t want anyone to carry my bag. I just want them to carry belief—in themselves.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

Spa vs Yoga: The Truth About Leadership Development

In today's leadership and management education landscape, not all learning is equal. Many institutions offer short-term programs, executive certifications, and leadership accelerators. But are these experiences truly transformative—or are they just momentary relief?

Spa vs Yoga: A Metaphor

Spa symbolizes quick relief—prestige, comfort, and the illusion of growth. Yoga symbolizes inner transformation—discipline, discomfort, and real change. Both exist in leadership journeys. The danger is when we mistake one for the other.

Comparison: Spa vs Yoga Leadership

Spa Leadership:
- Short-term programs
- Brand-tag focused
- Talks about campus, faculty, hospitality
- No visible behavioural shift
- Resume-deep learning

Yoga Leadership:
- Full, immersive programs (done right)
- Identity-level change
- Introspective, uncomfortable, and honest
- Leads to belief shifts and new behaviours
- Root-deep learning

The problem isn’t with IIMs, IITs, or MBAs. Many full-time programs are like yoga—rich, immersive, and demanding. But when participants seek only the brand glow without internal grit, even the best programs become cosmetic.

“They are selling the feeling like a spa. But the disease remains. It can go only by yoga.”

Zara Hatke - Ranji

Lucky Number

Once upon a time, a lovely number meant 0001, 0007, 9999.

You needed money, luck, and blessings from the RTO gods.

Status was official.

Now status is… adjustable.

I saw a car number 34569.

But nobody saw that.

What everyone saw was 9.

The first four digits stayed quiet.

The last digit stood tall — confident, unapologetic.

Earlier, people bought lovely numbers.

Now they design them.

Why buy 0009 when you can stretch 9?

Same car.

Same EMI.

Different feeling.

If you can’t get a lovely number,

make your number look lovely.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

The Lucky Number (After Sometime)

For a while, the tall 9 worked.

People noticed.

People assumed.

The number felt… important.

Then more cars arrived.

All with tall numbers.

All feeling special.

Soon, nobody looked twice.

When everyone becomes 9,

9 stops standing tall.

What was once clever

started looking busy.

Lovely slowly became loud.

And loud is never lovely for long.

So what happens next?

Nothing dramatic.

People quietly move on

to the next small trick

that hasn’t been noticed yet.

Because status doesn’t disappear.

Only the design does.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

ONE CONFLICTING FACT

People say it with ease.

Almost as a gift.

“God helps everyone.”

It requires no proof.

No context.

No witnesses.

It floats well in conversations,

in calm rooms,

in neutral air.

Then something shifts.

A disagreement.

A stand taken.

A line crossed.

And suddenly, the language changes.

“If you fight me, no one will help you.”

Same world.

Same people.

Different confidence.

No one pauses to reconcile the two statements.

No one asks where everyone went.

God is not denied.

He is simply… not mentioned anymore.

Help becomes narrower.

Names appear.

Channels are counted.

Doors are mentally closed.

Faith stays philosophical.

Support turns practical.

Somewhere here, help stops being divine

and starts being negotiated.

No one announces the transition.

It just happens.

Belief remains untouched.

Power quietly enters the room.

And the mind is left doing its own work —

wondering:

Was the first statement ever about reality?

Or was the second one always more honest?

The page ends.

The conflict doesn’t.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

Misjudging Luxury: An Experience-Led, Zara Hatke Insight

Why I wrote this:
Because I experienced it deeply — not once, but repeatedly.
This is not an opinion. It is lived reality.

The Sleeper Bus Assumption:
People assume: AC bus, highway, sleeper berth — comfort guaranteed.
It sounds advanced. It looks premium.

Reality starts when the jolts begin.
Upper berth shakes.
The body misaligns.
Sleep turns into pain.

The Sitting Coach Realisation:
In a sitting coach, something fundamental works.
Feet firmly on the floor.
Strong back-support chairs.
The body aligns naturally.

What looks basic performs better.

My Personal Decision:
Now, for any travel, I choose sitting coaches only — and I enjoy the journey.
Comfort is no longer assumed. It is experienced.

The Market Irony:
Unfortunately, sleeper coaches have become a competitive requirement.
Passengers expect them.
Operators provide them.

Inside the bus, passengers struggle:
With pillows.
With bedsheets.
With broken sleep.

Comfort is marketed.
Discomfort is lived.

Most buses are sleepers today — not because they are better,
but because competition copies expectations instead of understanding experience.

Why This Is Zara Hatke:
This thinking goes against popular belief.
Everyone upgrades.
Very few question whether the upgrade actually works.

This insight is Zara-hatke because:
- It challenges the idea that “advanced” always means “better”.
- It respects basics over branding.
- It values alignment over appearance.
- It comes from experience, not trend-following.

The Bigger Insight:
In the pursuit of luxury, we sometimes redefine luxury wrongly.
We choose the idea of comfort instead of functional comfort.
That improvisation becomes a mistake.

Key Takeaways:
- Not everything advanced is comfortable.
- Not everything simple is backward.
- True luxury is alignment, not appearance.
- Markets often choose what looks advanced, not what works.

This applies beyond travel:
To life choices, leadership decisions, product design, and competitive strategy.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

Joking Mind

One of my friends visited me with his beautiful wife.

It was one of those relaxed moments — no agenda, no seriousness — just smiles, laughter, and comfort.

My wife looked at his wife and said,

“Your skin is so nourishing… so charming. What do you use? It even hides your age!”

My friend smiled proudly and added,

“Yes… her age is really hard to catch. You just can’t tell from her glowing skin.”

Then he quoted a famous ad line:

“Inki twacha se inki umar ka pata hi nahi chalta.”

(You can’t judge her age from her skin.)

I looked at myself and thought…

People can clearly judge my age.

Then my joking mind — or rather my joking friend — spoke:

“See… meri twacha se hi meri umar ka pata chal jaata hai!”

(Just the reverse — my age is clearly visible from my skin itself.)

Everyone laughed.

I laughed too.

And once again, I judged my own skin.

Because yes —

my wrinkles,

my tired skin,

my market years…

they all show.

And that’s okay.

Sometimes joking at yourself works better than wisdom.

It connects.

It relaxes.

It makes you human.

Later, the same friend came to my cabin with another colleague who was reporting to me.

Just to keep things casual, I asked,

“How’s the family?”

He smiled and said,

“All fine… all good.”

Then added,

“We’re planning to have a child now.”

Immediately, my friend leaned in and whispered:

“Ye lo… he’s talking about planning a family.

And here I am… my entire energy is going into planning to stop family!”

ZARA HATKE TAKEAWAYS

Life is full of contrasts and contradictions.

Humor works best when you joke at yourself first.

Observe the absurdity in everyday life — that’s where great stories come from.

Leadership, sales, and life:

Sometimes your energy goes exactly opposite to the plan.

Laugh at it.

Care for your skin.

Glow a little.

Hide your age.

And laugh anyway.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

The Almirah and the Key

A man bought a sturdy almirah.

Strong. Reliable. Secure.

It came with two keys.

He told his wife,

“Keep the spare key in a safe place.”

She nodded.

A few days later, he lost one key.

Naturally, he asked,

“Where’s the spare?”

She smiled and said,

“It’s in the almirah locker itself.

I thought that was the safest place.”

ZARA HATKE TRUTH

The safest place can also be the hardest place to reach.

What you protect the most is often the thing you cannot use.

WHY IT MATTERS

We protect what we value most, believing we are being careful.

But sometimes, safety creates distance.

In life, business, and sales, we design “safe” solutions—

controls, processes, approvals—

that backfire when they are not accessible and actionable.

The lesson isn’t about blame.

It’s about noticing where cleverness quietly turns into friction.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

KHUL JA SIM SIM — NOT LOUD, JUST TRUE

Ali Baba didn’t force the cave.
He didn’t argue with it.

Khul Ja Sim Sim — the password magic was already known to him.

He had seen it before.
So when the moment came,
he simply said it.

The cave opened.

Strange, isn’t it?

The Chalis Chor were not spiritual.
They were practical.
They didn’t believe in luck.

They simply decided:
“If someone wants to enter, this is the way.”

Clear rule.
Clear result.

Now look at life.

Most of us behave like we’re outside some invisible cave.
Knocking.
Explaining.
Trying harder.

We keep saying:
“Maybe this will work.”
“Maybe that will open things.”
“Maybe I should try one more way.”

Nothing opens.

Not because life is cruel.
But because the password is missing.

Life doesn’t open to effort.
It opens to clarity.

The moment you are clear about what you won’t do,
life becomes clear about what it will give.

The moment you stop negotiating with noise,
silence starts responding.

No drama.
No fireworks.

Just a quiet click.

The door was never stubborn.
It was waiting.

So don’t break the cave.
Don’t shout louder.

Just be clear.
Say your password.

Khul ja sim sim.

Zara Hatke - Ranji

The Monster and the Parrot

There was a monster no one could defeat.

He was devastating,

because he knew no one could kill him.

He believed his life was safe,

because no one knew about the parrot.

The monster’s life was not in his body.

It was in a parrot.

The parrot was hidden deep inside a cave.

Dark, unreachable.

Guarded by animals and snakes.

Everyone attacked the monster.

What they could see.

What was visible.

What was loud.

They fought harder.

They lost faster.

One man did something different.

He didn’t fight the monster at all.

He went looking for the parrot.

The moment the parrot was caught,

the monster collapsed —

without a fight.

Markets work the same way.

Big competitors look unbeatable

because they believe

no one knows where their life is.

Salespeople attack price.

Features.

Discounts.

That’s the body.

The life of the sale is elsewhere.

Hidden.

Protected.

In fear of change.

In habit.

In internal politics.

In the comfort of “this is how we do it.”

Snakes everywhere.

Average sellers fight the monster.

Smart sellers search for the parrot.

The moment you touch it,

price stops shouting.

Resistance disappears.

The monster falls quietly.

Zara Hatke truth:

Markets don’t win because they are strong.

They win because their parrot is hidden.

Sales is not about fighting harder.

It’s about knowing

where the life actually is.

Find the parrot.

Zara Hatke - Ranji