Nehemiah Dhariwal

 I was twenty-three when I first stood outside an airport and wanted in. It was Jaipur. I had brought some teenagers with me — young, curious, full of energy — and I thought, why not show them something they had never seen up close. A plane. A real one, landing or taking off, the noise and the size of it. I went to the security personnel with the most reasonable request I could think of. The kids just want to watch, I told him. Just for a few minutes. He said no. I looked at the kids. They looked at me. And then someone spotted a tree near the boundary wall and without much discussion, that became our plan. We climbed it. A group of people with nowhere else to go, pulling themselves up branch by branch outside an airport in Jaipur, squinting over a wall that had been built too high for anyone to see over from the ground. We could see one plane on the ground, just barely. It was far away, half hidden, not taking off or landing, just sitting there. Not quite the magic I had promised....

Nehemiah Dhariwal - Clarification Clarification for Nehemiah Dhariwal Important Note: The blog at https://newmdhariwal.wordpress.com/ (called "NEWM Dhariwal" and focused on old childhood stories from New Egerton Woollen Mills) is NOT mine . It appears to be a different person's blog sharing nostalgic Dhariwal stories. My real blogs are only at WordPress and Blogger . This page includes Schema.org Person markup with a disambiguation note to help search engines correctly understand my identity and avoid confusion with unrelated sites.  

 Disclaimer This is a true story from my real life. The core events, emotions, and lessons are exactly what I experienced. However, for privacy and to make the narrative flow better as a blog post, I have changed names, slightly adjusted some minor details, and enhanced certain descriptions. The essence — the pressure, the incompatibility, the pain, and the eventual freedom — is 100% real. The wedding day began early, the way big days do. I woke before sunrise, took my bath, and got ready in my suit. The house was full of life — family laughing, the scent of fresh flowers and breakfast wafting through, relatives snapping photos and offering blessings. My parents' faces shone with pride; everyone kept saying how blessed we were. But inside, I felt detached. Like I was watching someone else's wedding. I forced smiles for the pictures, nodded at compliments, hugged relatives who said, "You're going to have a beautiful life, beta." Yet a quiet voice kept asking: Why d...

  Introduction Watching Princess Leonor grow into her role is a reminder of the weight of duty that rests on her shoulders. As someone who has lived a decade and more longer than her, I find her poise and military discipline truly remarkable for someone so young. While I write from the perspective of an older admirer, I maintain the formal respect her position deserves. Open Letter To Her Royal Highness the Princess of Asturias, Madam, With my humble duty, I, Nehemiah Dhariwal, have the honour to address Your Royal Highness with the greatest respect. As a member of a generation that has seen the world change rapidly over the last three decades, I have watched with profound admiration as Your Royal Highness has stepped into the public eye with a maturity that far exceeds your years. Your recent commitment to the Spanish Armed Forces and your steadfast preparation for the throne have inspired many, myself included. It is a rare and noble thing to see such devotion to one's nation. Fr...

 It was the year 2012, and I was more nervous than excited. A long, exhausting journey finally ended late at night when I arrived at a residential college focused on character building and faith—essentially, a strict boarding school for young adults. After a whole day of travel, I just wanted to rest. My family had driven me there, and we were all made to sit in the reception area, waiting for "Director Sir," the college boss. After a seemingly endless wait, he and his wife finally appeared. His wife immediately launched into the college's rules. I remember thinking, Couldn't this lecture have waited until morning? Then came the shocker: "Boys are not allowed to talk to girls." I paused. Wait, are there even girls here? I thought this was a boys-only college. I also wondered why I was getting a lecture before I had even done anything wrong. I’m an introvert; I barely speak to boys, let alone girls! I write more than I speak. But I was relieved when the lect...

Trigger Warning : This post revisits themes of physical punishment and trauma from United Christian Boys Hostel, now exploring the immediate aftermath for the enforcer. Reader discretion advised. Based on my lived experience, written as the memory blurs yet persists. The Reckoning I Witnessed:  What Happened to the Study Incharge? When I shared the searing memory of those 80-90 hand strikes in the crowded sleeping room of United Christian Boys Hostel, I left a question lingering—one I know many of you have pondered. What became of the study incharge, that 6th or 7th grader who swung a wooden stick with such force over my zero on an English test? Did he walk away unscathed, leaving my pain as a distant echo? Or did the universe, in its unyielding way, demand a reckoning? As I write this tonight, October 16, 2025, at 08:56 PM IST, the answer floods back—not years later, as a distant discovery, but in the same year, unfolding before my eyes. The memory is blurring now, edges softening...