Two days ago, I had an encounter that left me reflecting on persistence, feedback, and growth.

I was parked outside a bakery in my hometown, waiting for my friend to finish shopping. A man approached me, holding packets of pappad.

“Would you like to buy some?” he asked.
I politely declined.

But he wouldn’t give up. He began pleading, asking if I could take just one packet. I said no, repeatedly, but he persisted. Frustrated, I finally told him, “If you’re going to beg like this, you won’t get far in your sales career.”

He stiffened slightly and replied, “I wasn’t begging—I was just asking you to buy.”

He continued explaining himself. I thought he might feel better if I simply listened, so I gave him a minute. He explained how he wasn’t pleading, why it wasn’t begging, and why I had misunderstood.

When he finished, I calmly said, “You came to sell me something. I felt you were being pushy and told you. I may be right, I may be wrong—you can take it or leave it. You wanted to explain, and I listened. Now it’s even. So, bye.”

For a moment, he seemed to reflect on what I said. Then, as if something clicked, he asked, “So, you mean I was being pushy?”

“Yes,” I replied, “now you’re getting it.” 😁

And then something remarkable happened. His tone shifted entirely. He seemed to take the feedback to heart and started pitching differently as if he was doing a roleplay in a sales training. “Sir, this pappad is made at a home near mine. It’s made with the best ingredients, no chemicals, and is healthy and delicious. Would you like to try?”

I smiled. “Now that “would-you-like-to-try” part sounds better.”

I explained that not all strategies work everywhere and he may still have to use some of his old ways as long as he is selling the current items but learning and adapting is key. I bought a packet for ₹30 and wished him well. (Yeah, the coach paid for the coaching. 🥹)

All the best to that young salesman. He might just go far.

Vineeth Vinnie
Corporate Human Skills Coach

I was in the seventh standard, and it was the day of our school excursion to Mysore. The excitement in the air was palpable as the bus rattled down the road, students chattering and teachers trying to maintain order. Along the way, we were to pick up our headmaster, Appukkuttan ‘Sir’, near his home.

A few minutes before we reached his stop, one of our teachers suggested something unusual: she asked us to hail him loudly as he boarded the bus. It sounded odd, but we didn’t question her. However, as the bus pulled up to his stop, something strange happened—no one actually shouted. Except me.

With hesitation, I opened my mouth, “Appukkuttan—” but before I could finish, the boy sitting next to me gestured to shut up. He must’ve thought I was yelling our headmaster’s name, something strictly taboo in Indian culture. By then, I realized I was the only one doing it. I froze, mid-sentence.

What followed next still haunts me.

The headmaster stepped onto the bus. His eyes landed directly on me, and his expression turned into a storm of anger. Without asking what had happened or why, he unleashed a torrent of scolding. In front of the entire bus—students, teachers, everyone—I became the villain.

I wasn’t just reprimanded. I was humiliated.

I sat there, stunned and shaking, tears streaming down my face. None of the teachers, not even the one who had instructed us to hail him, came to my defense. They stayed silent, complicit in my shame.

Hours later, during a break, a teacher finally came to console me. But by then, the damage was done. The joy of the excursion was replaced with fear and sadness. And to make things worse, the headmaster declared that I had to meet him in his office the moment we returned to school.

The fear followed me for years. I internalized it. I began to see myself as arrogant, as someone who might unintentionally offend or attract criticism. To avoid that, I made myself small, invisible.

But years later, I realized something: I wasn’t wrong that day. I wasn’t arrogant. The headmaster, the teachers, and their silence were the real culprits. They judged me without understanding, reacted without empathy, and failed to see a scared, well-meaning child caught in a moment of confusion.

This incident taught me a lesson I carry to this day: never judge someone without understanding their intent.

Now, I strive to listen and try to understand before reacting, and to intervene when someone else is treated unfairly. That moment gave me immense pain, but it also made me more empathetic and less judgmental. 🌟✨

Vineeth Vinnie
Corporate Human Skills Coach

In this episode, let’s look at how leaders can inspire people to change and to engage in meaningful ways.

When I create content, I use a method that allows me to preserve my personal touch while utilising AI tools like ChatGPT. Truth be told, I was hesitant at first to use ChatGPT for content creation because I felt it often made everything sound robotic, stripping away the signature touch of the writer/creator. However, I recently decided to give it a try, and so far, I’ve written just a couple of posts using this method. It’s still early days, but I guess I have found a way to make it work for me while keeping my unique style intact.

It’s funny what algorithms make us do. Or sad, maybe. And day by day, it worsens.

You might have a straightforward message for the world—your story, an insight, something you’ve learned and want to share. But the algorithms turn it into a competition. It’s no longer about the message itself but about how it compares to what others are sharing. And once it becomes a competition, you have to play by the rules—the rules set by social media platforms and their creators. And then, you also got to fight the cheap dopamine stuff. So, what’s the way forward for us creators? Listen to the latest episode of Criyatmakam podcast with Vineeth Vinnie.

Inspiration can be found anywhere. The problem is in that it doesn’t usually affect us in such a way that it triggers the creativity. In this video, I rant about how to overcome it.

When you first create something—be it writing, a video, or any form of art—it's likely that only five or ten people will notice it. Even as you reach your hundredth creation, your creative journey might still feel quite solitary.

Accept this reality, and if your experience turns out to be different, consider it a pleasant surprise.

If your work hasn't yet found an audience that appreciates it, several factors might be at play:

• The right people who would value your work may not be in your current circle.
• Algorithms might not have directed your work to those who would care.
• People might not yet grasp what you're trying to convey.
• Trust in you and your work may still need to be established.

So, keep creating. Publish your work. Experiment and seek to improve.

I hope this book inspires you to find the courage to pursue your creative passions.

With love,

Vineeth Vinnie

Kindle edition available for purchase on Amazon.