Rethinking economics, Culture, and work: One observation at a time - Shashi Bellamkonda

If you have traveled to Hyderabad recently, you know the landmark. On the elevated expressway to the Rajiv Gandhi International Airport, there is a massive building shaped like a fish. It is the National Fisheries Development Board, but for travelers, it is a milestone. When you see the fish, you know you are almost there. It is the bookend of the trip. Seeing it today, on my way out, marked the end of a journey "home" to India, and the start of the journey "home" to the US. The view on the way to the airport. The Break in School There is an old adage that has been on my mind during these weeks of observation: "You learn throughout your life, except for a short break in school." We often treat a vacation as a break from thinking. But this trip was the opposite. It was a fresh look. When you step out of your routine, the contrast clarifies everything. I watched India changing in real-time. I saw the seamless blend of technology and service,...

There is a specific melancholy that settles in during the final 48 hours before an international flight. My bags are open on the floor in Hyderabad. The weighing scale is sitting nearby—the impartial judge of what stays and what goes. I am going through the rituals of the diaspora. I am packing the pickles that won’t leak. I am wrapping the fragile items in layers of clothes. I am calculating the time difference between here and Potomac, Maryland. But this trip was different. Usually, I pack souvenirs. This time, I am packing words. ❖ The Creative Revival We often treat vacations as a "pause" from work. We say we are going to disconnect. But for me, this trip to Hyderabad was a reconnection. The change of pace—from the grid of the US to the flow of India—unlocked something I had been neglecting: my writing. I used these weeks to revive my two passion projects: ReadyThoughts.com : Where I look at leadership, culture, and life through the lens of a quie...

I am currently in Hyderabad, and the winter season here brings out the Nuvvulu (sesame seeds). You see them in Chimili , in laddus , and in the preparations for Sankranti. It is a warming food, rich and heavy. But if you try to hand a sesame sweet directly to a traditional elder here, they might recoil slightly. They will gesture to the table or a plate and say, "Petu" (Put it down). To the uninitiated, it feels like a rejection. It looks like they don’t want to touch you. But the intent is exactly the opposite. They are protecting themselves, and strangely, they are protecting you too. ❖ The Transfer of Shani The logic—if you ask a priest or an astrologer—is rooted in the association between sesame seeds and Shani (Saturn). In Vedic astrology, Saturn represents heavy karma, delay, and hardship. The belief is simple: If I hand you the sesame directly, I am symbolically—and perhaps energetically—transferring my Shani , my difficulties, to you. By placing it ...

I am sitting here in Hyderabad with three magazines spread across the table. India Today , The Week , and Frontline . It is January 2026. The dates on the covers are future-dated to next week, but the paper is real, heavy, and smells of ink. I belong to a generation that saw the beginning of serious magazine journalism in India. Decades ago, when I could not afford to buy feature magazines like Society or Savvy off the rack, I would buy them used—literally for their weight in scrap paper. That habit—buying words for scrap value—laid the foundation for who I became. From starting a magazine in my school to helping found one in college, the discipline of reading edited, curated thoughts shaped my mind. ❖ The Contradiction of Speed We live in a world where information is supposed to be fast, free, and digital. We are told that print is dead, that attention spans are shattered, and that nobody reads long-form anymore. Yet, here is India Today celebrating 50 years. ...

I am currently traveling in Hyderabad, and I have been reminded of a fundamental truth about hospitality in this part of the world: You cannot simply say "No" once. In the West, we often view a dinner invitation as a simple exchange. The host offers, the guest accepts or declines, and we move on. We value autonomy. We respect the first refusal because we assume the person knows their own appetite. But here, and in many other cultures I have visited, love and affection are expressed through persuasion. It is what I call "coercive love." ❖ If anyone invites you for dinner in a culture like this, you must be prepared to understand the syntax of refusal. It is a dance, not a decision. The first "No" is viewed as mere politeness. It is ignored entirely. The host assumes you are simply not wanting to appear greedy. The second "No" is interpreted as a "Maybe." It signals that you are considering it but need a bit...

Growing up in India, my first purchase of Brylcreem felt like a graduation. Until that moment, hair grooming meant one thing: coconut oil. It was effective and omnipresent, but in the eyes of a young professional starting work, it felt old-fashioned. Brylcreem, in its bright red container, was the certificate of modernity. It promised "smartness" without the oil. I always assumed it was a Reckitt Benckiser product—it had that British, reliable feel of Dettol. In reality, the brand has passed through many hands: from the original Beecham group to Godrej (under a Sara Lee joint venture) and finally to Unilever (HUL) today. When I moved to the US, the red tub vanished from the shelves. It became an import item I had to hunt for on Amazon, shipped from the UK. But on my recent trips back to India, I noticed something that shouldn't be happening. ❖ The Contradiction Logically, Brylcreem should be dead. Walk into a pharmacy in India today, and you see a war z...