nomad @span26

Recently Dr Azra Raza held a beautiful evening with Sharmila Tagore at Azra Mahal, New York. Tahira Syed Sahiba was there along with Manoj Bajpai, Rahul Chittela and others. This is a small segment from the mehfil where Tahira Syed sang few verses from Abhi to mein jawan hun at the request of the host. Dr Azra Raza is an oncologist, Professor of Medicine and Director of the Myelodysplastic Syndrome (MDS) Center at Columbia University in NY. Urdu poetry is her passion. She is almost like a present day Zia Mohiuddin when it comes to narrating the classic Urdu poetry 🌺 Sharing some beautiful moments 🌹@AzraRazaMD @BajpayeeManoj @UrduVirsa @Rekhta @Sharmila_Tagore #lifeisbeautiful #gratefulheart #urdupoetry #poetry #حافظ_صاحب_چھا_گئے

@InvestWithAkhil STOCK MARKET

It was 4 pm at a plush Wealth Management office in Nariman Point, Mumbai. Arjun, 40 years old, a high-frequency trader from London, walked in straight from the airport. He was wearing a bespoke suit and carried two iPhones that buzzed incessantly with market alerts. His father, Vishwanath, a retired government clerk, had passed away a week ago. Arjun looked at his watch. "I have exactly forty minutes. I need to liquidate my father’s portfolio, sign the probate documents, and head back to the airport. I have a major opening on the London Stock Exchange tomorrow." Vikram, the family’s long-time financial consultant, sat across from him. He had a thick file ready on the desk. "Arjun, your father was a very disciplined man," Vikram said softly. "He started investing with me thirty years ago." Arjun tapped his fingers on the mahogany table. "I’m sure he was. But let’s be realistic—he was a clerk. How much could he have saved? Five lakhs? Ten? Just give me the total Net Asset Value (NAV). I’ll sign the papers, and you can wire the money to my UK account. I don’t have time for a presentation." Vikram didn't open the digital spreadsheet. Instead, he handed Arjun a small, old-fashioned leather diary and a single envelope. "Your father told me that on the day you come to 'collect' your inheritance, I should give you this first. He said the numbers won't make sense without the words." Arjun sighed, visibly annoyed, but opened the envelope. The handwriting was shaky, the ink slightly faded. "Dear Arjun, I know you are looking at your watch right now. I know you are calculating the 'opportunity cost' of sitting in this office instead of a trading floor. Son, I watched you grow up. I watched you turn into a man who knows the price of everything but the value of nothing. You always told me, 'Dad, money makes money.' But you forgot that money is also supposed to buy time. In this folder, you won't find a massive fortune. You will find something else. I have invested in 'Time.' Every year, instead of buying a bigger car or a luxury watch, I bought 'Freedom.' I have cleared the mortgage on our ancestral home. I have set aside a fund that yields exactly what you earn in a month in London. I did this so that if one day you felt tired—if your heart felt heavy from the race—you could stop. I didn't invest so you could become richer. I invested so you could afford to be 'Poor' for a while and spend time with your daughter, the way you couldn't spend with me. The compounding I cared about wasn't just interest. It was the compounding of memories. Please, don't liquidate this. Use the dividends to buy a Sunday afternoon. Use the principal to buy a peaceful sleep. Your father, who always had enough because he had you." Arjun stopped tapping the table. The buzzing of his iPhones suddenly felt like noise, not signals. He looked at the portfolio. It wasn't billions, but it was enough. It was a safety net woven out of thirty years of his father’s sacrifices—small SIPs, avoided luxuries, and quiet discipline. His father hadn't been building a "Portfolio"; he had been building a "Prison Break" for his son. The phone in Arjun’s hand vibrated again. A "Sell" alert. Arjun looked at it for a long second, then turned the phone face down. "Vikram," Arjun’s voice was thick. "I’m not liquidating anything today." "Are you going to miss your flight?" Vikram asked. Arjun looked at the old leather diary, where his father had noted down every dividend he ever received, alongside notes like "Arjun’s 10th birthday—bought 10 extra shares today." "The market will open tomorrow without me," Arjun said, a tear finally hitting the glass of his expensive watch. "But my daughter’s childhood won't wait for a bull market." The Lesson In the world of investing, we often obsess over CAGR, Alpha, and Portfolio Diversification. We treat money as a scoreboard to prove we are winning. But the greatest return on investment (ROI) isn't more money—it is Autonomy. * Real Wealth is the ability to say "No" to a job you hate or a meeting you don't want to attend. True Legacy isn't leaving behind a pile of cash; it's leaving behind the gift of "Time" for those you love. Don't just invest to retire. Invest so that your loved ones don't have to sacrifice their soul for a paycheck.

My submisson

nomad @span26

7 months ago

@qatarairways

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@qatarairways

@mohitrai55 Prompt

@BossInvestor24 Hi

@traderayushi Yes

ये जय विजय सचान हैं बेहद कमाल के मिमिक्री आर्टिस्ट हैं...ऐसा लग रहा है इन्होंने ओशो को अपने अंदर आत्मसात कर लिया है। ओशो होते तो वो भी हैरान रह जाते...बहुत शानदार❣️

@safiranand But the election results are saying something else and the govt is considering its policies to be correct and it is becoming increasingly adamant about its policies and has stopped listening to the voice of the industry and is considering any data other than its own to be wrong.

I wish somebody had told me earlier. Repost this for every young guy out there to see.

@raghavwadhwa Pooja western metalik

Education is about progress, not exam results.

@safiranand Please listen

VINI 💞 @_Attitude_Vini

2 years ago

*ये महाराष्ट्र के बीड़ जिले के कवि हैं,इनकी इस कविता से प्रभावित हो कर मोदी जी ने इन्हें मिलने के लिए आमंत्रित किया है* बस शान्ति से सुनें।

209 3K 9K 241K 1K

He is Master

After effects of mkt- BREAKING NEWS New SEBI rules for those who wish to trade in stocks.... 1 PAN Card 2. Latest ECG 3. BP readings of last 10 days 4. Medical Fitness Certificate. 5. Life Insurance Policy 6. Noc from family

The #ValentinesDay Ht of it!

@EuremOm Name please

#OTD in 1996, Carl Sagan died: 27 years without Carl «When my husband died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me ― it still sometimes happens ― and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again. Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don't ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous-not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance. That pure chance could be so generous and so kind. That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time. That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful. The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don't think I'll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful». ― Ann Druyan

@safiranand Happy birthday Safir 💐🎂