I investigate the forces reshaping industries — and advise the leaders navigating what comes next.

By Sindhya Valloppillil

I have wandered many lands,
but your soul, México, hums in mine.
I grew up in Texas — once your own —
and perhaps that’s why your heartbeat
feels like home beneath my skin.

You are color made holy:
bougainvillea against stone,
murals that pray in pigment,
music that sways even the air to dance.

Your people — kind as the morning sun,
warm as the tortillas they share —
smile like they’ve known you forever.

Your streets breathe —
lined with luscious trees,
alive with green and grace.
Your kitchens are fragranced with fire:
chili, garlic, cumin, and rice —
the same notes my mother’s hands stir.

In you, I see India’s reflection —
family gathered,
ancestors remembered,
love served hot and slow.

México, you are not just a place I visit,
but a feeling I return to —
a rhythm, a reverence,
a home my heart recognizes.

México, te amo.

By Sindhya Valloppillil

Laughter spilled like champagne,
tears shimmered without shame,
the night swayed with us—
and love felt infinite.

For one shimmering weekend,
time slowed.
We were witnesses to your love,
to vows and tears,
to families becoming one.

We met your dear family and friends,
heard their stories,
saw your past and future
in the same room.

We celebrated your forever
and remembered our own beginnings.

Thank you—
it was a blessing and an honor
to stand beside your joy,
to feel the room glow
with everything love is meant to be.

To be a guest at your wedding
was to be reminded—
that joy can be contagious,
that love can fill a room,
and that hope, when shared,
can feel infinite.

What a gift it was to be there.

For Haylee and John

You walked down the aisle to Interstellar,
and we held our breath.
Then, without pause, you sat at the white grand piano—
hands finding keys the way stars find constellations—
and the music became grace.

The melody lingered, filling the air with wonder.
Haylee, to watch you play
is to see art meet soul—precision so pure it becomes prayer.
Piano, electric violin, keyboard guitar—
each note a love letter, each chord
a promise that art is still holy.

And John—
your smile lit every room,
your playful enthusiasm set the tone.
You DJed with joy so infectious it lit the night,
turning the air electric,
and the dance floor alive.
From the color and soul of Día de los Muertos
to the elegance of black tie,
to the wild freedom of Burning Man,
you made each night a new universe—
love and music as your compass.

At Hacienda Zotoluca, beneath the halo of marigolds and moon,
you gave us more than a wedding—
you gave us a masterpiece:
of joy, of artistry, of love uncontained.

And how fitting—
that your altar honored your lives before,
as Interstellar carried you into what’s next—
a reminder that your love, like time and space,
is infinite,
everfolding,
beyond measure.

Then came the fireworks—
a sky painted in wonder,
as if the stars themselves were applauding.
And the fire dancers,
their flames moving like your love—
bold, alive, impossible to contain.

To be in your orbit
is to feel something stir—
a reminder that passion is contagious,
that beauty begets creation,
that love, when shared this fully,
ignites us all to live louder.

Thank you
for the gift of witnessing your love—
for the music,
the magic,
and the reminder
that when love becomes art,
it bends time itself.

— With love, Sindhya