This past summer, I poured my heart into exploring the philosophies, theories, practices, dilemmas, and solutions surrounding business ethics. A galley copy of the book is now available for review.
Your feedback is very important to me, as my writing journey (outside of research papers) began right here on ritika.stck.me in 2020, during the pandemic. Thank you for being a part of my journey!
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These days, I often come across articles discussing the impact of AI on jobs. I hear many conversations about AI replacing humans at work. I am privy to oft-repeated jokes and judgments about the reduced need for teachers and the threat to offline teaching from online models. Honestly, I feel a little nervous, like a mortal human, when conversations claim that AI poses a risk to my profession by performing, if not a better, at least an at-par job. But then, amid a clutter of several other more immediate, more urgent reasons to be anxious, I also feel amused by such claims. One of my super-favourite imaginations is of humans working with AI colleagues. It leads to many interesting questions and contradictions, which I share in this feature.
A few days back, I went out for dinner with an enthusiastic group of Generation Z students. It was a late dinner by my usual standard. The standard order comprised a chocolate shake, sizzler, butter naan, dal makhani, malai kofta, and brownie with ice cream and jalebi for dessert. I was devastated! It was not because I was paying the bill, but because I was the only one at the table softly requesting the manager if they served tava chapati. When was the last time I could digest an Oreo shake, noodles, and butter naan simultaneously? I don't think even my taste buds retain any memory of such a sort. My relationship with food, like all my other relationships, has evolved. We have come a long way. I thought of reflecting on this relationship, hoping that many of you would relate to my experience. One of the major purposes of writing, after all—or for that matter any form of art—is to express not just for yourself, but for those around you, too.
Interviews are terrifying for me. They are dreadful. Some pushed me into the valley of anxiety, made me question my existence, and left me wondering why I was selected after a barrage of humiliation. Rarely have I encountered a kind, warm, or comforting panel. The only time I felt interviewed, rather than interrogated, was during a recent selection process for a postdoctoral position. The panelists greeted warmly, introduced themselves before asking “tell me something about yourself,” explained the project's purpose and need, and shared what they already appreciated in my resume. They asked questions without immediate judgment, occasionally nodding or smiling in encouragement. Of all the interviews, this one stayed with me. I am not used to kindness in interviews.
Sun, GPT! Kya tere aane ke baad teachers ko naukri chhodni padegi?
I watched Mrs. two weeks ago and have since come across many articles, most of which fall into two schools of thought.
Europe is beautiful, amazing, and mesmerizing. India is also beautiful, amazing, and mesmerizing. But I live in India and am on holiday in Europe—a distant, expensive dream destination for a modest household in India. The dream began upon landing; the view was overwhelming. It was similar to what I experienced at the Taj Mahal. But the Taj Mahal is in India. Europe is different.
Diwali is one of the most beautiful festivals celebrated in India. If you’ve ever walked through the streets at this time—adorned with colors, lights, and glitter amid the joyful chaos—you’ll know exactly how this season feels. In northern India, the season transitions to a very mild chill, soaked in the scent of flowers and the warmth of earthen lamps. Lately, as capitalism and migration have forced people out of their homes to work in bigger cities, Diwali is about homecoming. It is a time for families to unite and spend some time together.
तीन पत्थर, गुड़िया के बुने कपड़े,छोटी सी गुल्लक, छोटे से सपने।बारिश की बूँदें, हलवे की ख़ुशबू,खाने का लालच, नींद और सुकून।
Everyone around is coping, struggling. If one starts venting out, the other person does the same. Sometimes, the venting-out session seems like a competition to demonstrate who is leading a more miserable life than the other. While if one switches to social media, the competition takes a 180-degree turn. On the virtual media, the pageant turns into "Who is leading the happiest life?" Fascinating, isn't it?
A: Good Morning! Laptop on a Saturday Morning?
Every semester, I include an assignment in my Communication course on reading a book. The students select a book (other than their textbooks) they haven't yet read and present a review toward the semester's end. For three years now, each batch has shown a similar pattern. There are broadly three groups. The students in one group buy the book well in advance, read it, devour it, and present it to the class in a way that shows they read it. The students in the second group select the book very late in the semester (including borrowing or downloading e-books), read it, and eventually realize that it was an exciting assignment. Finally, some students do not buy or read any books. They download, borrow, or create AI PowerPoint slides and present the review in a way that shows they did not read. A few students are at the borderline of these groups or present previously read books.
I have begun to feel the pinch of a mid-life crisis. My daughter is growing up, and my parents are growing old. My students have turned woke, and my seniors seem conservative. My upbringing has been traditional, and my exposure has become global. My life these days, and that of my peers around me, is mostly about coping with contradictions to find a balance. Some days are nerve-wracking, and on others, acceptance seeps into life. That's how I manage to go on!
मेरे पास समय नहीं है, बिज़ी हूँ!
Last weekend, I watched Chamkila on Netflix. It has stayed with me. As a friend said, "It still rests on my shoulders and walks with me", so much so that I am compelled to offload my thoughts amid a busy week.
मैं तुम्हें कैसे दिखाऊं, मुझे मेरा शहर नहीं दिखता!
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As part of the “Innovation and Design Thinking” course, we conducted an activity in the classroom with my bunch of uber-loving and enthusiastic students. It emerged from our discussions on traits of creative people and their process of creativity. In this article, I am sharing details about this activity, in case anyone is interested in replicating it in the class, and the collective insight we drew from the activity. The context, steps, and outcomes are described ahead, followed by a discussion.
"It's late", she said, "we must leave. I heard the locals say the palace is haunted." "Come, don't be a child", I told her, secretly wishing her to stay so that I have company. But as expected, she went away. Adult friends don't accompany you to haunted palaces; they only console you after tragedies. I decided to visit the palace on my own. Atheism helps; to be a non-believer works both ways. As I entered the darkness, I switched on the mobile torch. I could barely see discoloured walls, spider webs, hanging roots and furniture covered in white sheets. The entrance led to a long pathway. My heart pounded fast; I could match my footsteps to my heartbeat. I remember walking into a dungeon and eventually waking up in a tiny room without any windows. As I opened my eyes, I was greeted by a ghost - my host that evening.
I feel nostalgia is the most elusive emotion, more than love. It fools me, makes me feel "those" were the best days of my life, and keeps me discontent with the present. I believe I am wired to either live in the past or the future. I also realize it to a reasonable extent, but just like finding God or true love, I keep attending spiritual discourses for miracles to happen - to be able to live in the present.
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