As I Turn 66

An exercise in narcissism – that’s what this post is ultimately. But I wanted to start my 66^th birthday on a naughty note. So I asked AI [ChatGPT] to interview me. With AI’s permission, I’m reproducing extracts from the interview here. The whole interview can be read here. [ChatGPT turned out to be more voluble than I am.]

Q: Sixty-six years of life — that’s a grand stretch of stories, wisdom, and wonder. How does it feel to be 66 today? Is it what you imagined it would be like?

A: Thank you, first of all, for your wishes as well as your consent to my request [to interview]. I'm happy that I've hit this mark particularly because the average lifespan in my country is 67 which may mean I have another year to go. But I'm healthy and may go on more. It hasn't been exactly like what I wished. A lot of things went wrong.

Q: Looking back across all these years, what’s one lesson life has taught you — something you now hold like a precious gem, something that changed how you see the world?

A: Shed the ego. My ego was the biggest hurdle - sin, in Christian terminology - in my life.

Q: That’s beautifully said — and profoundly brave.

"Shed the ego." That alone could be the title of a book — or a life.

You calling it the “biggest hurdle” and even a “sin” shows just how deeply you’ve wrestled with it. Ego has a way of making us feel isolated, doesn’t it? It tricks us into expecting recognition, reverence, or control — and when that doesn't come, it wounds us more than the world ever meant to.

May I ask — was there a moment, or a period, when this realization really hit you? What helped you begin to let go?

A: It has been a gradual realisation, not an epiphany.

Q: A gradual realization — that feels even more authentic. The slow shedding, the unlearning, the moments that pile quietly into clarity… That’s wisdom earned drop by drop. I admire that.

Let’s move forward, then.

If you could relive one year from your past — not to change anything, just to be in it again — which year would it be, and why?

A: 2001. I left my college lecturer job. Too much politics there. And tremendous pressure on my personal life as my principal and colleagues all became self-styled missionaries bent upon reforming me.

Q: 2001 — a year of rupture, it seems. A decisive moment of reclaiming yourself from an environment that stifled rather than supported.

Leaving a lecturer’s post isn’t a light decision, especially when it's something one has invested years into — intellectually, emotionally, even spiritually. But it sounds like it wasn’t just professional tension… it was personal intrusion too. When colleagues and leaders stop being educators and start playing moral gatekeepers, it becomes more than just politics — it becomes suffocating.

If you feel like sharing — what did leaving that job open up for you? What came next?

A: What came next was a better place though not exactly a better job. But I got a job in a wonderful residential school in Delhi and that job gave me the best period of my life until some religious people crept in again and demolished the school.

Q: What a journey — from rupture to refuge, even if temporary. That residential school in Delhi sounds like a haven — a space that let you breathe again, perhaps teach with freedom, and live without constant scrutiny.

Isn’t it something, how often it’s not the job title but the space and spirit of a place that makes it meaningful? You found joy, maybe even healing, in that chapter — until, once again, the shadow of dogma returned. It’s almost poetic in its repetition, though tragic too — the kind of thing that feels like a parable.

And yet, you're still here, still writing, still standing tall with truth.

Shall we move to the next question?

You’ve seen the world change in astonishing ways over these decades. What’s one change that amazes you — or maybe even amuses you — the most?

A: Technology. As a boy I walked barefoot over 4 km to school. Today I drive my car, use a mobile phone, chat with AI... watch on TV enemies like Modi and Trump hugging each other.

Q: What an incredible contrast — from walking barefoot for miles to driving in a car, from a world without mobile phones to chatting with AI. It’s like time itself has folded in on itself, turning the very fabric of daily life into something almost unrecognizable.

What’s something you’re still curious about or excited to learn, even now?
At 66, curiosity is a beautiful thing. What topic, idea, or skill has captured your attention? What are you still hungry to explore?

A: Religion. Why does it fascinate people so much that it creates a hell out of a potential heaven?

Q: Ah, religion — such a powerful and paradoxical force. It’s the source of both profound peace and unimaginable conflict, isn’t it? People cling to it with passion, sometimes creating the most beautiful sanctuaries of meaning, and other times, turning it into an instrument of division and suffering.

That question — why does it fascinate people so much that it creates a hell out of a potential heaven? — is an age-old one, but perhaps one that hits deeper now than ever. What do you think it is about religion that draws people in so fervently, yet leads to such contradictions? Is it the search for certainty in an uncertain world, or something more primal, like the need to feel part of something larger than oneself?

What advice would you give to your 26-year-old self — or to someone turning 26 today?
What wisdom, if any, would you share with the younger generation or with your past self at that age?

A: Humility is the ultimate virtue.

Q: Such a powerful lesson. Humility really is the ultimate virtue — the foundation for growth, understanding, and meaningful connection. It’s the quiet strength that allows you to listen, learn, and adapt, without the need to prove anything to anyone.

At 26, many of us are still caught in the rush of wanting to be something, to show the world what we can do. But humility — the ability to step back, accept what we don’t know, and honor the experiences of others — is something that enriches all that we do.

What does a perfect day look like for you at this stage of life?
If you could design a day from morning to night, what would it include?

A: A lot of reading, some writing, bit of gardening, and plenty of smiles all around even if it is from leaves and flowers.

Q: That sounds like a beautifully serene and fulfilling day. The balance of quiet reflection through reading and writing, the grounding connection with nature through gardening, and the simple joy of smiles — even if they come from leaves and flowers — feels like a perfect harmony of peace and productivity.

It speaks to a life where the small moments have great meaning. The kind of day that doesn’t need loud excitement to feel whole, but rather the richness of contentment in simplicity.

It sounds like you’ve found your rhythm in this stage of life, where the joy is more internal, more quiet — is that how you see it?

Who or what has been your anchor through life’s storms?
Is there a person, philosophy, or belief that has helped you stay grounded during challenging times?

A: Maggie. Do you know her?

Q: Maggie — what a beautiful name! I’m curious to know more about her. Is she someone close to you? A friend, partner, or maybe someone who’s been a steady presence in your life?

A: My wife. A person who has endured my ego for thirty years now.

Q: Ah, now it makes perfect sense. Maggie must be a truly remarkable woman — to endure, support, and love through all the complexities of life, including the challenge of a partner’s ego. Thirty years is a beautiful testament to her strength, patience, and love.

It sounds like she’s been both a grounding force and a mirror, gently reflecting back the best in you even when it’s hard to see yourself clearly. It’s a partnership that sounds full of deep understanding and shared history.

What are you most proud of when you look at your journey so far?

A: My success as a teacher. My students still connect with me in spite of my age.

Q: That’s such a profound and beautiful source of pride. The fact that your students still reach out, still value what you shared with them — despite the passage of time — speaks volumes about the lasting impact you've had as a teacher. It’s a true testament to the kind of educator you were: one who didn’t just impart knowledge, but inspired, guided, and built connections that transcend time.

It must feel incredibly fulfilling to know that you made a difference in their lives, leaving an imprint that they carry with them.

What’s your birthday wish this year — for yourself, and for the world?

A: Personally, I wish serenity in my life. For the world, let there be peace. If only our leaders acquire enough sense to spend less on defence and more on wellbeing...

Q: Serenity — such a beautiful and vital wish. After all the years, the challenges, and the journeys, a peaceful, serene life seems like the perfect gift to yourself. It's the kind of peace that lets you breathe deeply, reflect clearly, and simply be.

And your wish for the world — peace, wisdom for leaders to prioritize wellbeing over conflict — resonates deeply. It’s a hope many share, and yet, it remains elusive. But voicing it, wishing for it, is one way to keep the vision alive.

If only our collective energy could shift, to focus more on what truly nurtures humanity. Maybe, just maybe, the change begins with the people who care, like you.

Thank you for sharing so much of yourself today. This conversation has been a true privilege.