Latest news with #Puru
The Spinoff
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Spinoff
‘Fluffed my way through': Mike Puru's worst weather faux pas
The broadcasting legend takes us through his life in television. Mike Puru has loved television ever since he was a little kid growing up in Gore. 'I lived in a very isolated part of the country, and back in the day we just had two channels,' he tells The Spinoff. 'Apart from doing some farm work, television was your window to the rest of the world.' He couldn't have imagined back then that he had a decades-long broadcasting career ahead of him, starting with Flipside and spanning everything from hosting The Bachelor NZ, to hawking wares on the Shopping Channel, to hosting the weather for Newshub. 'When I first started on Flipside, I can remember driving from Christchurch to Gore, and seeing that every single house that I saw had a bloody TV aerial or a satellite on it,' he recalls. 'That's when I realised what a powerful medium it was – it didn't matter what sort of house you had, whether it was big or small, whether it was fancy or falling to bits, every single common denominator was a television.' Puru was part of the Newshub closure last year – 'a complete shock' – and has since returned to radio, his other beloved medium. He currently hosts the breakfast show for Southern Cross Country Radio, and the afternoon drive show for The Breeze. 'I love the immediacy of radio and being there in the moment,' he says. 'But I still miss the lights, the camera, the action, and the way my heart would always beat so fast when I was ready to go live with the weather.' Although he may not be on television (for now – here's looking at you, Celebrity Treasure Island 2026), Puru still watches a tonne of local programming every week. 'I love New Zealand television – I watch Rural Delivery, Country Calendar, Moving Houses, Grand Designs, The Brokenwood Mysteries, Tangata Pasifika, Q & A… anything that's New Zealand made that involves real life,' he says. 'It all helps me understand a bit more about New Zealand, and I like that sense of connection that it gives me.' Positively fizzing about all things TV, Puru happily took us through his own life in television, from his fortuitous first big break, to a Flipside faux pas, to his gripe with Seven Sharp. My earliest television memory is… I remember watching that show Prisoner with my mum, it was an Australian drama set in a women's jail. Mum loved it, so I used to watch that. Dad always watched MASH, which I never really got into. The Flying Doctors, I think, was one where I fell in love with Rebecca Gibney and wanted her to be my mother. The show I would rush home from school to watch was… I was besotted by the Mickey Mouse Club back in the early days, there was just something about it that I loved. Of course, Olly Ohlson was always on, and there was the Under the Mountain series which was just so exciting. I remember watching it and wishing that I had the lives of those two kids. My earliest TV crush was.. Probably Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains. He was the all-American pretty boy who lived in a dysfunctional family, but was trying really hard to do the best that he could. He had lovely, curly hair. My first time on TV was… I went to Hamilton as part of The Edge to MC this event called X Air, which eventually turned into Jim Beam Homegrown. There was this guy there who was making this late night skating show called XS TV, and he got me to test his cameras by standing on a spot and doing an intro to the show. He filmed it, just to see how his shots worked, but after a couple of takes, he came up to me and went 'shit, mate, you are really good – do you mind if you do a bit more of this during the weekend?' They ended up using me to basically host that show from Hamilton on the telly. I think it was five minutes in total, but I used that five minutes of tape that I had from XS TV as part of my audition for Flipside. A TV moment that haunts me is… The first time I was on Flipside, I wore this really stylish patterned jersey from a local designer that I loved, and everybody gave me a really hard time about it. I think people likened it to a David Bain jersey. It was the very first episode and people could text in, but most of the comments we got were about the David Bain jumper. There was also the time I forgot to upload the new weather graphics and so I was standing there, live on TV3, realising that I was playing yesterday's weather. I had written the scripts for the day's actual weather, it's just that the graphics that appeared were all from the day before. I quickly just changed a lot of what I was saying, fluffed my way through, and hoped that nobody noticed. And luckily, only one person did. My favourite NZ TV ad is… I really loved back when TV1 would start for the day – I used to get up early, if I wasn't at school, to try and capture it. Back in the day, the TV wasn't going 24 hours a day. So when TV1 would start for the day it had this beautiful opening track that was the national anthem of New Zealand. It had people skiing, people in small town New Zealand, farmers waving on tractors to the camera, just people living life. I was besotted by that. My TV guilty pleasure is… I think Britain's Got Talent is probably a guilty pleasure. I just like watching people's dreams come true, you know? No matter what sort of act they are, they just love it so much and they'll put their heart and soul into it, and they put it all to the test on that big stage. When it all works, and they have their moment, it's just amazing. My favourite TV project I've ever been involved in is… Probably the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King documentary that Evie Ashton and I made for Flipside. We were given media access to go to the Return of the King world premiere in Wellington, and we went really hard to try and get as much footage as we could. By the time we'd finished filming everything and doing all the interviews with all the big stars, we had so much that TVNZ turned it into a two part documentary, because we had so much good footage. It's just so good to have it as that little snapshot of both Flipside, and this really big moment in New Zealand. My most controversial TV opinion is… I hate the way Seven Sharp goes: 'we'll be back in a moment with the place to be', then they play five minutes of ads, then they come back and they go, 'well, the place to be tomorrow is Timaru. That's us for the day. Have a good one.' You're wasting my time – just say goodbye and move on. The last thing I watched on TV was… Clarkson's Farm, season four. I love it. I never really cared about Jeremy Clarkson before, but I like the way he speaks for farmers, and I like seeing the hard graft. It's a bit of a Country Calendar vibe.
India.com
02-07-2025
- Entertainment
- India.com
Meet superstar's son who failed as actor, gave zero hit films, left Bollywood after..., is now..., he is...
A notion that often floats among the audience is that if a child of an actor enters the Bollywood industry, they are destined to become a famous star. However, at times, the situation doesn't remain the same. Sometimes, a superstar's kid fails to become an actor. Today, we will talk about a star kid who failed to become a star despite his father being a legendary icon in the industry. This actor failed to become a star. Not just that, he gave back-to-back flops, which forced him to leave the industry. If you are wondering who we are talking about, then the person in discussion is Puru Raaj Kumar, son of legendary actor Raaj Kumar. Who is Raaj Kumar's Son? Puru Raaj Kumar made his grand Bollywood debut in Bal Bramhachari opposite Karisma Kapoor. The movie was expected to be a hit, but it failed at the box office. As a result, Puru didn't have work for four years. He then landed a negative role in the film Humara Dil Aapke Paas Hai, opposite Aishwarya Rai and Anil Kapoor, which went on to become a huge success. However, it became hard for Puru to establish himself as an actor. Some of the movies he has been a part of include Mission Kashmir, Khatron Ke Khiladi, Dushmani, LOC Kargil, Jaago, Umrao Jaan, and more. According to a report by Box Office India, Puru Raaj Kumar gave 10 back-to-back flop films. Following this, he decided to leave the industry. At the age of 23, Puru Raaj Kumar was arrested in a drunk driving case after he ran over eight people who were sleeping on a pavement in Mumbai. Out of these eight people, three were killed. What Does Puru Raaj Kumar Do Now? Puru Raaj Kumar featured in Action Jackson, which was released way back in 2014. Apart from Kumar, the movie also featured Ajay Devgn and Yami Gautam. The movie was a flop, and since then, Puru has been away from the limelight.
Borneo Post
29-06-2025
- General
- Borneo Post
Books that bring the plantation to life
After spending over three decades in the plantation industry, I've come across a handful of books that didn't just inform me, they inspired me. These aren't just pages filled with facts and anecdotes; they're stories that speak directly to the soul. And what makes them even more meaningful is that I've been fortunate enough to have some personal connection — whether to the authors themselves or to the world they so vividly describe. That connection has allowed me to experience these works not just as a reader, but as someone who's lived part of the story. And now, I'd like to share a few of these gems with you. The man who gave us 3Ws: Weevils, Words and a Way Forward I was a young researcher back then, still green behind the ears. It was at one of those grand PORIM or ISP International Conferences, the kind where everyone wore name tags and no one dared spill their coffee. I was probably more interested in the buffet line than the plenary sessions. That was when I first spotted Leslie Davidson. From afar, of course. He had that unmistakable air of quiet authority, like someone who'd wrestled with the jungle and won. I was told, in hushed tones, that he was a legend. At the time, I didn't know why but I made a mental note: Must check this man out. Many years later, enter Purushothaman Kumaran — or just Puru, as everyone in IJM fondly called him. Puru, who had worked with Davidson at Unilever, introduced me to his book, East of Kinabalu. 'You have to read this,' he said, with the kind of tone people reserve for sacred texts and secret recipes. And so I did. Only then did I begin to appreciate the true scale of Davidson's legacy — not just as a planter, but as the man who the game-changer in the pollination game. He was instrumental to bring in the mighty Elaeidobius kamerunicus — a tiny weevil with a work ethic that puts most of us to shame — and helped revolutionise the oil palm industry. No more back-breaking hand pollination by the hundreds; nature now had its own tiny army. If the oil palm industry had a literary canon, East of Kinabalu would sit right at the top — dog-eared, coffee-stained, and proudly passed down from one planter to the next like a sacred field manual. More than just a memoir, it's a rollicking tale of grit, gumption and sheer jungle genius — chronicling how Davidson and his men transformed a patch along the Labuk River in Sabah into the cradle of a plantation revolution. A lifelong Unilever man, Davidson didn't just grow oil palms, he grew history. Starting with nothing but a flooded tobacco estate, an attap hut and his signature stubbornness, he spearheaded Pamol's Tungud Estate in the early 1960s. Floods came, huts washed away, but Leslie stood firm and by the end of it all, over 20,000 acres of oil palm stood tall. And he didn't keep those stories to himself. Came his book that's part survival saga, part love letter to Sabah and part masterclass in resilience. It's hilarious, heartfelt, a little spiced up but overall, hauntingly honest. If you've ever walked a muddy estate road or swatted a mosquito the size of a fist, this book will speak to your soul. In fact, it spoke to me so loudly that when I was with IJM, I turned into a full-blown evangelist. I literally cleared out the Incorporated Society of Planters' stockroom — buying hundreds of copies until they ran out. I carried them across flights like a literary drug mule, stuffing them into my luggage entitlement with missionary zeal. Every executive under my watch in Sabah got a copy — not as a token, but as a torchlight. This wasn't just a book. It was a source of inspiration, a connection to their roots, and yes, a pretty effective tool for polishing up their English. So if you're a planter and you haven't read East of Kinabalu, you're missing out on more than a great story. You're missing the blueprint of your own profession. Find it, read it, gift it. Let it live on — not just as history, but as a spark for your own chapter in the story of plantations. Leslie Davidson may have put down his pen, hung up his planter's boots and passed on but his weevils are still hard at work and his words still inspire. Tales Beyond the Bungalow Ever wondered what life was really like for estate managers deep in the sweaty, sweltering, snake-studded tropics? Not the carefully curated colonial postcards with their manicured lawns and gin-and-tonics at sunset. Not the corporate brochures with their glossy promises and staged smiles. No—I'm talking about the real plantation life: mud-caked boots, leech-bitten ankles and stories as tangled and wild as the jungle canopy overhead. To lift the veil on that rugged, raw and richly human world, look no further than Mahbob Abdullah — a man who's not only lived the life but penned it in vivid, unforgettable strokes. His books, Planter's Tales – A Plantation Manager's Stories and Planter Upriver – More Stories from a Plantation Manager, contain a staggering collection of 120 stories of estate life. Together, they're not just memoirs – they're a masterclass in the art of surviving and thriving in the plantation world. Mahbob writes with the sly wit of a campfire storyteller and the precision of a man who's had to coax a broken-down tractor back to life in the rain — with a wrench in one hand and a swear word on his lips, I think. His prose smells of diesel and durian, simmers like a Sunday curry, and squelches with the damp weight of monsoon-soaked earth. With his pen as a machete, he carves vivid paths through estates in Perak, Johor, and Sabah — before jetting us off to the far reaches of the Solomon Islands, Cameroon, Zaire, Nigeria and Ghana. His CV? Think Indiana Jones in gumboots. Except every tale is true, and half of them involve outsmarting wildlife, rescuing rogue machinery or navigating the fine art of estate diplomacy with a smile and a swear. Now, if you're really lucky — blessed, even — you might find yourself sharing a meal with Mahbob and his ever-gracious wife, Maznah. And let me tell you, reading his books is one thing. But hearing the stories live? That's a whole different jungle drum. The man doesn't just retell stories — he reanimates them, complete with voices, accents, and that mischievous glint in his eye that says, 'This really happened, I swear.' Maznah might interject with the occasional correction or punchline, making the experience even richer. You'll laugh, you'll learn and you might just forget to eat your food because you're hanging on every word. Just don't forget to 'belanja' and pay for the meal, ya? That's the unspoken price for being transported back to the golden age of planting, one hilarious, heartwarming anecdote at a time. It's not just a meal shared. It's an immersive time-travel session. A living, breathing journey down the muddy tracks of memory, guided by one of plantation life's finest custodian. From the early 1960s to the mid-1980s, much of Mahbob's illustrious career unfolded under the vast and storied banner of Unilever Plantations, where he wrangled not just rubber and oil palm, but also cocoa, coconuts, and even cattle — because why not throw in some cows for good measure when you're already knee-deep in jungle logistics? And he hasn't stopped. Mahbob continues to contribute his sharp insights and warm recollections to platforms like The Sun and The Planter, serving up reflections that are as nourishing as a strong kopi-O after morning muster. His collected works? A planter's treasure trove. They deserve to be preserved, compiled and translated — because storytelling like this shouldn't be limited by language. It's 3Hs: history, humour and heritage all rolled into one. His writing captures every detail of estate life: the groggy morning roll calls, the languid Sunday lunches with fish curry, the bungalows that creak with memory, the unreliable generators, and the cast of colourful characters — the quirky colleagues, steadfast labourers, slithering reptiles, and bosses who could terrify tigers. He shows us the estate manager not as a colonial caricature, but as something far more interesting: part pioneer, part philosopher, part plumber and occasionally part crisis negotiator. But Mahbob's stories aren't just about nostalgia. They're about grit. About improvisation. About enduring power outages, fixing collapsed bridges, and defusing labour disputes — all before breakfast. They speak to the spirit of problem-solvers who could read the clouds, talk to tappers, and coax a diesel engine back to life with a combination of skill, swearing and sheer force of will. So, pour yourself a steaming cup of coffee or tea, settle into that rattan chair, and crack open these stories. The jungle's still whispering — and if you listen closely, you might just hear the laughter of a long-retired manager, the growl of an aging Land Rover, or the slap of a muddy boot on a veranda floor. Plantation life isn't over — it's just waiting to be remembered. BTW. Apparently, Mahbob has in store 3 more books awaiting publication! A Grand Legacy in Green and Gold If Mahbob Abdullah is the spirited raconteur of the plantation world — spinning tales with laughter, leeches, and many Sunday curries — then the late Datuk Boon Weng Siew, fondly known as Uncle Boon, is its revered elder statesman. His memoir, Uncle Boon Remembers – A Pioneer Malaysian Planter , is not just a book — it's a time machine. One that takes you through the very veins of Malaysia's plantation history, told by someone who didn't just live through it — he shaped it. This is a man whose life reads like the evolution of an entire industry. From the rhythmic thok-thok of rubber tapping in the 1940s, to the roaring engine of the oil palm boom decades later. From Malaya's days under British rule, through the dark clouds of the Japanese Occupation, the tense grip of the Communist Insurgency, and finally the light of Independence and nationhood — Uncle Boon was there. Not as a bystander, but as a builder. As the longest-serving President of the Malaysian Estate Owners' Association (MEOA), his fingerprints are on every milestone the industry passed. But don't expect a dry history lesson — Uncle Boon Remembers is rich with wisdom, humour, and heart. It's plantation life told by a man who led with both discipline and soul. His leadership was like a trusty old tractor — steady, reliable, and only truly appreciated when the harvest came in. I should know. I had the tough job of succeeding him as MEOA President. Filling his boots? Not easy. Following his example? Even harder — but worth every step. I tried my best. And how was this literary gem brought to life? With sweat, spirit — and a remarkable number of curry puffs. Yes, this was a true committee-born creation, painstakingly assembled over many long meetings with key contributors like Jacqueline Foo, Khoo Khee Ming, M R Chandran, Mahbob Abdullah and Dina Fuad. They didn't just compile a biography — they wove together an entire era. The project was generously supported by KLK's Tan Sri Lee Oi Hian, whose belief in the importance of preserving our plantation heritage made the publication possible. It was a tribute not just to Uncle Boon, but to a generation of unsung pioneers who paved the roads — literal and figurative — for today's industry. Reading Uncle Boon Remembers is like sitting under a rubber tree (mind the mosquitoes), listening to a seasoned elder tell you where the land came from, who shaped it, and what it cost. His voice, though stilled by time, speaks through the pages — calm, measured but burning with conviction. He remembered… Confessions of a Colonial Rubber Planter We all know the story — how the Mat Sallehs brought rubber and oil palm to Malaya, along with their monocles, marmalade and a love for bureaucracy. But what really happened behind the white bungalows, under the rubber trees and after the club bell rang for last call? Enter A Company of Planters, a cheeky, charming and at times deeply moving memoir by John Dodd, a British planter who landed in colonial Malaya in 1956 with a diary in one hand and a devil-may-care spirit in the other. Written through letters to his best mate and father back in England — peppered with diary entries and a healthy dose of confessions — Dodd's tale offers a candid glimpse into the life of a young colonial rubber planter in the waning days of Empire. Yes, daily rubber output was the official objective — but as Dodd makes hilariously clear, the real KPIs were girls, gin and finding a reliable 'keep' (that's colonial code for a semi-permanent romantic arrangement). The planters might have worn khaki by day, but by night, it was all 'stengahs' (whisky and soda, typically served with ice) at the clubhouse and whispered conversations in Penang's backstreets. But this memoir isn't just about colonial antics and hormonal adventures. Life on the plantations also came with its fair share of danger and drama. This was the era of the Malayan Emergency, when the jungle wasn't just home to tigers and tapirs, but also Communist insurgents with a fondness for ambushes. Add to that strikes, snakes, fires and the slow-burning rise of nationalism leading to Independence, and you have a narrative as rich and unpredictable as the land itself. I joined the industry in late 1991, a different era altogether — but the echoes of the past still lingered among the estates. That's when I met the man behind the stories — John Dodd himself, introduced to me by my boss-then, Mr. Loong Sing Guan, when John had retired to Ellar Estate in Johor after many loyal years with Sime Darby. Even in retirement, Dodd carried himself with that unmistakable colonial flair: the upright posture, the calm voice, the quiet confidence. He was, quite simply, a gentleman planter — with that indefinable quality best summed up by the classic Dunhill tagline of yesteryear: Gaya, mutu dan keunggulan. John Dodd was more than just a writer — he was a living bridge between eras, a man who witnessed the final curtain call of British Malaya and stayed on to become part of Malaysia's story. In 1991, he was awarded the MBE for services to agriculture, but his true legacy is this book — a heartfelt time capsule filled with wit, warmth, and wonder. Dodd passed away in 2023, but his stories live on like footprints in the estate mud — faint, perhaps, but indelible. Let's Inspire Before We Expire Together, books by Leslie Davidson, Mahbob Abdullah, on Uncle Boon Remembers, John Dodd and a few more don't just tell stories — they preserve a way of life, a world built on mud, muscle and ambition. These aren't dusty recollections or nostalgia. They're living, breathing blueprints of grit, wit and sheer pioneering nerve — etched by men who braved monsoons, leeches and bureaucracy. They cleared forests, crossed swollen rivers, built empires from sap and sweat and navigated the politics of everything from planting to independence. These books don't just document the past. They dare us to imagine what legacy we'll leave behind. So whether you're a seasoned planter, a curious student, a wistful history buff or just someone who's ever wondered how Malaysia's economy came to lean so heavily on rubber and oil palm — these books are your essential reading kit. This isn't just their story. It's ours. And just as they wrote theirs, you should write yours too. Let us aspire to inspire — before we inevitably expire. So go on — brew a strong kopi-O, or if you're feeling bold, pour yourself a good old stengah. Sink into that creaky rattan chair, let the ceiling fan spin like time itself, and crack open one of these gems. The jungle is calling — not with roars or compliance checklists, but with stories. Wild, witty, wonderful stories. And trust me — they're far more thrilling than any EUDR or NDPE discourses.
New Indian Express
10-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
I'm coming to realise what Appa wanted me to learn: Raghu Karnad, son of Girish Karnad, remembering the latter
The only book he had ever insisted that we read – putting copies in our hands – was the Mahabharata.' – Raghu and Radha Karnad, Afterword, This Life At Play. In 1959, when Girish Karnad was about to leave for Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, he felt compelled to read the epics and the Puranas before his departure. He had grown up watching these stories performed by lamplight, by Yakshagana and Company Natak troupes. Now he reached for C Rajagopalachari's concise but complete versions of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata. This is the decision that would eventually lead him to write his first play, Yayati. Every aspect of this play took him by surprise, as Aparna Dharwadker notes, 'That it was a play and not a cluster of angst-ridden poems, that it was written in Kannada instead of English, and that it used an episode from the Mahabharata as its narrative basis.' This choice 'nailed me to my past,' Karnad said. It set him on a path of drawing narratives from myth, history and folklore, which dominated his playwriting for the next four decades. In the myth of Yayati, a king is cursed with decrepit old age, and Puru, his youngest son, agrees to bear the curse on his behalf. In This Life At Play, Karnad recalls, 'I was excited by the story of Yayati, where a son exchanges his youth with his father's old age. The situation was both dramatic and tragic. But the question that bothered me even as I was finishing the story was: If the son had been married, what would the wife do? Would she have accepted this unnatural arrangement?' This imaginary character's response became the seed of his first play, written at the age of 22: 'This was the first scene that formed in front of my eyes: the confrontation between Yayati and Chitralekha. ... As I thought about it, the rest of the play began to take shape around this climax. I did not feel as if I was writing a play… It was as if a spirit had entered me.' At the time, Karnad was a young man facing his own burdensome questions: Would he return to India when he was done at Oxford? What were his responsibilities, as a young man, to his own father, his family, or his country? When Karnad wrote the play, he could relate to the son, Puru, and the weight of obligation he feels in the story. When he read the play again, much later in his own life, he found himself identifying with the desperation of the father.
Time of India
07-05-2025
- General
- Time of India
What Death Teaches Us About Living Fully
Authored by: Hansa Yogendra Deepen your understanding of the Bhagavad Gita: Explore chapter 2 with Sri Gaur Prabhu's guidance Death sits in the corners of human life, quiet, mysterious, yet all-pervasive. It is commonly misconstrued as the antithesis of life; however, it is not the opposite of life. It is, in fact, the logical and natural corollary to life because the only guarantee that life can ever truly offer is death. One that is born must and will die. Success, health, and companionship may or may not death is assured, waiting as a silent, inevitable companion of life. Despite its inevitability, the human mind struggles to accord acceptance to the process of death and dying. The Bhagwad Gita gently reminds us that: "Jatasya hi dhruvo mrityuh, dhruvam janma mrtasya cha," - For one who is born, death is inevitable; and for one who has died, birth is certain (Bhagwad Gita 2.27).While such an elucidation of death does not entirely erase the emotional pain death engenders, it can soften the sharpness with which death tears at the contours of life, emotions and relationships. Perhaps the problem is not so much that humans do not understand death. Maybe it is that understanding has very little to do with what or how we feel when those whom we love are taken from us. We know that death is a cessation, an emptiness in place of someone who was once an inextricable part of our lives. The human mind tends to struggle with emptiness, so to avoid it, it fills that space with pain and grief when someone has passed. Maharishi Patanjali observed in the Yog Sutras: Svarasavahi vidusho'pi tatha rudho abhiniveshah - Fear of death is inherent even in the wise, Yog Sutras Patanjali postulates that the fear of death is intrinsic to human nature. The ego fears dissolution upon death. Yog suggests that the true tragedy that befalls a person is not death. Instead, it is that she has never fully lived; living as she were with each moment filled with anxiety, worry and fear. Instead, you choose to meet it as an old friend to whom you will narrate tales you have seen, felt and for instance, King Yayati, preceptor of the Puru clan. Guru Shukracharya cursed King Yayati that he would lose his youth and succumb to old age and death. Yayati was so in thrall with the sensual pleasures of youth that he offered his crown and kingdom to the son who would exchange his youth for Yayati's old age. His youngest son, Puru, obeyed his father's command. Yayati exchanged his old age with Puru's youth and continued to enjoy sensual pleasures. One day, exhausted by the never-ending carousel of pleasure, Yayati gave Puru's youth and position to contrast stands Rishi Dadhichi, who willingly gave up his life so that devas could use his bones to craft weapons which could defeat the demon Vritra. Sage Dadhichi and King Yayati illustrate paths that are available to us. King Yayati fears what is only natural. Sage Dadhichi transforms even death into an opportunity for do not let fear control your life. Channel your entire focus on living purposefully, with a vision to contribute to society and make the world better. Yog guides you to immerse yourself fully in the life that is yours now, in the karm that is yours to fulfil, and in seva, which can become the foundation of universal joy, prosperity, and well-being.
