And it’s a wrap! This is the last weekend of the year. 2025 is on its way out, and 2026 is waiting for us in the wings, all new and shiny, with potential and hope and a sense of expectation. This weekend is a time for a quiet pause before the calendar turns, before resolutions rush in and expectations follow. It’s time to look back, acknowledge how far we’ve come, and let the rest be. Close the year softly; some endings don’t need fireworks, just a deep breath and a little gratitude.
Today’s quote is by South African Anglican archbishop, theologian, and human rights activist Desmond Tutu. A leading voice against apartheid, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984 for his nonviolent struggle for justice and reconciliation. Tutu was widely respected for his moral clarity, warmth, and unwavering belief in shared humanity.
This quote captures the quiet power of everyday choices. Ubuntu is an African philosophy often summed up as I am because we are. It reminds us that our humanity is deeply interconnected, shaped not in isolation but through our relationships with others. Tutu’s message is practical, not idealistic. He isn’t talking about grand gestures or world-changing heroics. He’s pointing to the small, ordinary moments where goodness can be practised: how we speak to people, how we listen, and how we show patience, fairness, and compassion. Peace, in this view, doesn’t begin in institutions or treaties. It begins in daily interactions, in choosing dignity over ego and kindness over indifference.
Ubuntu reframes responsibility. Instead of asking, What can the world do for me?, it asks, How am I showing up for the world right now? Each moment becomes an opportunity to either strengthen or weaken the social fabric. Even in difficult circumstances, conflict, disagreement, exhaustion, and striving for goodness, create ripples that extend far beyond the individual. The quote also carries hope without naivety. It accepts that the world is imperfect but insists that peace is still possible through conscious effort. You don’t need ideal conditions to live in Ubuntu. You practice it wherever you are, exactly as you are.
We’ve been a sick family this week, with just S escaping a bout of cold and cough, but we’re getting better now, and I want to enter the new year in good health. I will also be taking time this weekend to think about my journey in 2025 and what I hope to achieve in 2026. What about you? Will you spend time in reflection before the clock turns to another year?
Today’s motivation is about acknowledging our journeys. It’s time to acknowledge our incredible journey. We’ve achieved so much more than we give ourselves credit for. Too often, we become so preoccupied with what we don’t yet have that we forget to appreciate how far we’ve already come. We’ve stayed true to ourselves, no matter what. We stood firm in our convictions, refusing to be swayed by others’ opinions. Today, remind yourself that you’ve overcome situations that once felt impossible. Celebrate the moments of growth you’ve experienced.
As the clock ticks down to the new year, celebrate yourselves and look forward to the new year!
An African History of Africa: From the Dawn of Humanity to Independence – Zeinab Badawi
Everyone is originally from Africa, and this book is therefore for everyone.
For too long, Africa’s history has been neglected. Dominated by western narratives of slavery and colonialism, its past has been fragmented, overlooked and denied its rightful place in our global story.
Now, Zeinab Badawi guides us through Africa’s spectacular history, from the origins of humanity, through ancient civilisations and medieval empires with powerful queens and kings, to the miseries of conquest and the elation of independence.
Seeking out occluded histories from across the continent, meeting with countless historians, anthropologists, archaeologists and local storytellers, and travelling through more than thirty countries, Badawi weaves together a fascinating new account of an epic, sweeping history of the oldest inhabited continent on the planet, told through the voices of Africans themselves.
Rising from the fertile plains of the Pune district, the Mahaganapati Temple at Ranjangaon stands as the culminating jewel of Maharashtra’s Ashtavinayak pilgrimage. Revered as the seat of Mahaganapati, the “Great Ganesha”, this temple is steeped in legend, history, and architectural grandeur. Here, Lord Ganesha is worshipped in his most potent form, invoked even by Lord Shiva himself in the cosmic battle against the demon Tripurasura. For centuries, devotees and warriors alike have sought Mahaganapati’s blessings, making Ranjangaon not just a spiritual destination but a living testament to the enduring power of faith and myth.
Ranjangaon is a tranquil village located about 50 km from Pune, along the Pune-Ahmednagar highway. The temple’s strategic location made it a favoured stop for Maratha chieftains and pilgrims journeying through the Deccan. Today, it is the eighth and final stop for those completing the revered Ashtavinayak Yatra, a circuit of eight self-manifested Ganesha temples across Maharashtra.
Historical records and the temple’s stone pillars suggest that the Mahaganapati Temple was originally constructed in the 9th or 10th century, with significant enhancements during the Peshwa era. Shrimant Madhavrao I, the Peshwa ruler, was a devout worshipper who regularly visited the temple before heading to battle. He built a stone sanctum around the idol and created a special cellar to safeguard the deity during times of turmoil. The temple’s hall and surrounding apartments, or owaris, were commissioned by Sardar Kibe, Sardar Pawar, and Sardar Shinde, prominent nobles of the time. In modern times, the temple’s Nagarkhana, or drum house, above the entrance, was inaugurated by Chief Minister Manohar Joshi in 1997, reflecting ongoing reverence and restoration.
The temple boasts a massive and ornate entrance gate, flanked by two imposing dwarapalas, or gatekeepers, visible from the main road. The temple is ingeniously constructed so that during Dakshinayana, the sun’s southern movement, the rays of the rising sun fall directly on the main idol in the sanctum, a marvel of ancient engineering. The drum house above the entrance is used during festivals and processions, adding to the temple’s festive aura. The sanctum houses the swayambhu, or self-manifested idol, of Mahaganapati, seated on a lotus and accompanied by his consorts, Riddhi and Siddhi. Local tradition holds that the original idol, known as “Mahotkat,” is hidden in a basement and is said to have ten trunks and twenty arms, though the visible idol is more conventional in form.
The temple’s enduring myth centres on the cosmic battle between good and evil, with Mahaganapati as the divine catalyst. According to legend, the esteemed sage Grutsamad once sneezed, and from this act, a boy named Tripurasura was born. Tripurasura, raised with spiritual wisdom, learned the Ganesh mantra from his father and performed severe penance to Lord Ganesha. Pleased, Ganesha granted him a boon: Tripurasura would become the most powerful being in the universe and could only be defeated by Lord Shiva, after which he would attain liberation.
Empowered by this boon, Tripurasura’s pride grew unchecked. He conquered the underworld, the heavens, and even threatened the gods themselves. Lord Brahma hid in a lotus, and Lord Vishnu retreated to the cosmic ocean, unable to withstand Tripurasura’s might. Desperate, the gods turned to sage Narada, who advised them to worship Lord Ganesha. Ganesha, taking the form of a Brahmin, approached Tripurasura and offered to create three flying chariots that could only be destroyed by Shiva. In exchange, he asked for the Chintamani jewel from Kailash. When Tripurasura demanded the jewel, Lord Shiva refused, leading to a fierce battle.
Despite his power, Shiva could not defeat Tripurasura. Realising his mistake in not honouring Ganesha first, Shiva paused and recited the Shadaakshar Mantra to invoke Ganesha. Blessed with a special beejmantra, or seed mantra, Shiva was finally able to destroy Tripurasura with a single arrow]. This victory was possible only after seeking Ganesha’s grace, emphasising the deity’s role as the remover of all obstacles, even for the gods!
The site where Shiva invoked Ganesha and achieved victory became Ranjangaon, and the form of Ganesha worshipped here is known as Mahaganapati or Tripurarivade Mahaganapati, the destroyer of Tripurasura.
The idol at Ranjangaon is revered as one of the most powerful forms of Ganesha. Mahaganapati is depicted seated on a lotus, flanked by his consorts Riddhi, or prosperity, and Siddhi, or spiritual power. The idol is Swayambhu, believed to have emerged naturally from the earth. In some traditions, the idol is described as “Mahotkat,” possessing ten trunks and twenty arms, though it is more commonly seen with eight, ten, or twelve arms.. The idol’s serene yet commanding presence embodies both the gentle and formidable aspects of the deity.
Each day, the idol is ritually bathed with water, milk, and fragrant substances, accompanied by the chanting of Vedic mantras. Morning and evening aartis are performed with lamps, bells, and devotional songs, filling the temple with a vibrant spiritual energy. Offerings of modaks, coconut, and flowers are made to the deity, and prasad is distributed to devotees as a blessing.
Sahastravartan is an elaborate ritual that involves the recitation of Ganesha’s names or mantras a thousand times, seeking his blessings for the removal of obstacles and the fulfilment of wishes. The Satyavinayak Pooja is a special worship performed for significant life events or to fulfil vows. During the Bhadrapada festival, devotees perform “Lotangan”, which means rolling their bodies in prostration along the path to the temple as an act of surrender and devotion.
Unlike many other villages, the people of Ranjangaon do not bring Ganesha idols into their homes during Ganesh Chaturthi. Instead, the entire community gathers at the Mahaganapati Temple for collective worship, reinforcing the temple’s role as the spiritual heart of the region.
Ganesh Chaturthi is celebrated with immense fervour at Ranjangaon. The temple is adorned with flowers and lights, and special rituals, abhisheks, and aartis are performed. On the fifth day of the festival, a grand feast called a mahabhog is offered to the deity, and the idol is taken in a flower-bedecked palkhi, or palanquin procession, around the temple grounds. Wrestling matches and cultural events are also organised, drawing large crowds from nearby villages.
A unique sixth-day celebration during Bhadrapada sees devotees flocking to the temple, performing special rituals, and participating in communal festivities. The atmosphere is one of joy, devotion, and unity.
The Mahaganapati Temple is more than a place of worship; it is a symbol of the triumph of wisdom and humility over pride and chaos. The legend of Tripurasura underscores the importance of invoking Ganesha before any new undertaking, a tradition now embedded in Hindu practice. The temple’s sun-aligned architecture, powerful idol, and living rituals all reinforce the message that with faith, even the greatest obstacles can be overcome.
Ranjangaon is the eighth and final stop in the Ashtavinayak circuit, making it the spiritual culmination of the pilgrimage. Pilgrims often report a sense of completion and fulfilment upon receiving Mahaganapati’s blessings, believing that their prayers and efforts throughout the yatra have been acknowledged and rewarded.
After Ranjangaon, pilgrims go back to the Moreshwar Temple to complete the Ashtavinayak circuit. And with that visit, they complete the pilgrimage. This circuit is something I have wanted to do for a while, given that the circuit is in my home state, and it is a pilgrimage for my ishtadev! I will do this sooner rather than later; that’s my promise to myself.
The Woman Who Wasn’t There: The True Story of an Incredible Deception – Robin Gaby Fisher, Angelo J. Guglielmo Jr.
The astounding story of Tania Head, whose heartrending account of surviving the World Trade Center attacks made her a celebrity—until it all turned out to be an elaborate hoax.
It was a tale of loss and recovery, of courage and sorrow, of horror and inspiration. Tania Head’s astonishing account of her experience on September 11, 2001—from crawling through the carnage and chaos to escaping the seventy-eighth-floor sky lobby of the burning south tower to losing her fiancé in the collapsed north tower—transformed her into one of the great victims and heroes of that tragic day.
Tania selflessly took on the responsibility of giving a voice and a direction to the burgeoning World Trade Center Survivors’ Network, helping save the “Survivor Stairway” and leading tours at Ground Zero, including taking then-governor Pataki, Mayor Bloomberg, and former mayor Giuliani on the inaugural tour of the WTC site. She even used her own assets to fund charitable events to help survivors heal. But there was something very wrong with Tania’s story—a terrible secret that would break the hearts and challenge the faith of all those she claimed to champion.
Told with the unique insider perspective and authority of Angelo J. Guglielmo, Jr., a filmmaker shooting a documentary on the efforts of the Survivors’ Network, and previously one of Tania’s closest friends, The Woman Who Wasn’t There is the story of one of the most audacious and bewildering quests for acclaim in recent memory—one that poses fascinating questions about the essence of morality and the human need for connection at any cost.
The Bangkok heat clung to everything, even at seven in the evening on Christmas Eve. Sophie wiped sweat from her forehead as she navigated through the crowded Chatuchak Weekend Market, her sister Emma trailing behind, camera in hand.
“This is mental,” Emma laughed, dodging a motorbike taxi. “Christmas in thirty-five degrees. Mum would have a fit seeing us in shorts and tank tops right now.”
Sophie smiled, fingering the small silver lighter in her pocket. Their grandfather’s lighter—the one thing she’d insisted on bringing to Thailand, despite Emma’s protests about unnecessary baggage. The engraved initials “J.H” caught the light from the market stalls as she turned it over in her palm.
They’d planned this trip for months. Two weeks in Thailand, escaping the dreary December rain of Manchester, escaping the first Christmas without their grandfather. The old man had been obsessed with travel stories, filling their childhood with tales of places he’d never quite managed to visit himself.
“Look at this,” Emma called, holding up a Buddha statue made of recycled glass. “Grandpa Joe would have loved this market. All these little treasures.”
Sophie nodded, but her throat felt tight. That’s exactly what he would have said—little treasures. He’d collected them from the few places he had managed to reach: a wooden spoon from Scotland, a pressed flower from Ireland, and a smooth stone from Wales. His mantelpiece had been a museum of modest adventures.
They bought Pad Thai from a street vendor and found a plastic table under string lights. The familiar ache of missing their grandfather settled between them as they ate in comfortable silence. Around them, Thai families laughed and ate together, children running between the stalls with sticky fingers and bright smiles.
“I keep expecting him to text me,” Emma said quietly. “Asking for photos, you know? Making me describe everything in detail.”
Sophie pulled out the lighter, setting it on the table between their steaming plates. The silver caught the warm glow of the market lights.
“I brought this because… I thought maybe I’d leave it somewhere. Like, scatter his ashes or something symbolic.” She gave a small laugh. “Stupid, really. It’s just a lighter.”
Emma reached across and touched the worn metal. “It’s not stupid. Remember how he always carried it? Even after he quit smoking twenty years ago.”
“Emergency fire,” they said in unison, mimicking their grandfather’s gravelly voice. He’d claimed you never knew when you might need to start a campfire or light someone’s way in the dark.
A group of Thai teenagers at the next table burst into laughter, and one of them, a girl about Emma’s age with bright pink hair, caught Sophie’s eye and smiled. Before Sophie could think too much about it, she found herself walking over.
“Excuse me,” she said in careful English. “My sister and I are here for Christmas. We’re from England. Do you… Would you like to share our table? It’s Christmas Eve.”
The pink-haired girl’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Yes, please!” Her friends gathered around, chattering in rapid Thai mixed with English. Their names tumbled out: Nim, Ploy, Bank, and Kao.
Soon, both tables were pushed together, and the teenagers were helping Sophie and Emma order more food, teaching them to say “Merry Christmas” in Thai: “Suk San Wan Christmas.” The lighter sat forgotten on the table as stories were shared through a mixture of languages, Google Translate, and lots of gesturing.
Nim, the pink-haired girl, was studying in Bangkok but was originally from a small village north of the city. She was spending Christmas Eve at the market because she couldn’t afford to travel home until New Year’s.
“Family is very important,” she said, her English careful but warm. “But sometimes… friends are family too, yes?”
Emma and Sophie exchanged glances. Their grandfather had always said that chosen family could be just as precious as blood family.
As the evening wore on, Bank produced a small Bluetooth speaker and played a mix of Thai pop and Christmas songs. When “White Christmas” came on, Nim giggled and pointed at Sophie and Emma.
“You miss white Christmas?” she asked.
“Actually,” Sophie said, surprising herself, “I think I prefer this. The warmth, the food, the…” she gestured around the table, “the people.”
Ploy noticed the lighter then, picking it up carefully. “Very beautiful,” she said.
Sophie found herself explaining about their grandfather, about the trip they’d taken in his memory, and about how she’d planned to leave the lighter somewhere meaningful. As she spoke, she realised the ache in her chest had softened somehow.
“But you know,” she continued, looking around the table at their new friends, “I think he would have loved this. This exact moment.”
Emma nodded, tears in her eyes. “He always said the best souvenirs were the people you met.”
When midnight approached, they all walked to a nearby temple where families had gathered for late-night Christmas prayers, Buddhist families celebrating the Christian holiday with the same spirit of love and togetherness that transcended specific traditions.
Standing there under the temple lights, surrounded by the gentle murmur of prayers in Thai and the warm presence of both strangers and new friends, Sophie made a decision. She pulled out her grandfather’s lighter and handed it to Nim.
“I’d like you to have this,” she said. “My grandfather would have wanted it to travel, to see the world he never got to explore.”
Nim’s eyes widened. “I cannot… this is too precious.”
“Please,” Sophie insisted. “Promise me you’ll carry it somewhere beautiful. Light someone’s way.”
Nim held the lighter reverently, then smiled. “I promise. Emergency fire, yes?”
“Emergency fire,” Sophie laughed, and Emma joined in.
As they exchanged contact information and promised to stay in touch, Sophie realised that this Christmas, sweat-drenched and thousands of miles from home, felt more full of joy and connection than any she could remember. Their grandfather’s lighter was beginning a new adventure, and somehow, so were they.
Walking back through the quieter streets to their hostel, Emma took Sophie’s hand.
“I think Grandpa Joe got his Christmas wish after all,” Emma said.
“What’s that?”
“He always wanted to travel the world and meet interesting people. I think he just did.”
Sophie squeezed her sister’s hand and looked up at the Bangkok sky, where no snow would fall, but where the warmth of human connection felt like the most perfect Christmas gift imaginable.
