2 Communication Lessons That Changed How I Speak and Write
I recently revisited Made to Stick by Chip and Dan Heath — and it reminded me of two communication lessons that completely changed how I speak and write. This was a book I first read when I was just beginning to coach people on communication. This time, two ideas jumped out at me all over again. They’re simple, but incredibly powerful if you want your message to stay in people’s minds long after they’ve heard it.
Over the years, I’ve realized that most of us don’t struggle to find good ideas — we struggle to make others feel them. We throw logic, data, and advice at our audience, but it slides right off. These two lessons changed that for me. They made my speeches, my writing, and even my everyday explanations far more memorable.
Let’s dive into them.
1. “Try Before You Buy” — Let People Experience Your Idea
Instead of telling people something is true, let them test it. The audience should get a tiny taste of your idea before they decide to believe it. It’s like offering a free sample at a supermarket — once they taste it, they’re far more likely to buy in.
When people experience something for themselves, it doesn’t just stay in their minds; it lands in their bodies. They feel it, and feeling always beats explanation.
Here’s how it works
a) The Mini Thought Experiment Instead of saying:
“Most of us waste time on social media.”
Try this:
“How many of you checked your phone this morning before brushing your teeth?”
Instantly, everyone recalls that tiny, guilty moment — and your point has already landed. You didn’t tell them they waste time; they discovered it themselves. That’s far more persuasive than any statistic.
b) The Personal Reflection Prompt Instead of saying:
“Gratitude changes how we see life.”
Try this:
“Think of one person who helped you last week. Did your mood just lift a little?”
That subtle pause — the moment they recall a person’s face and feel a flicker of warmth — is where real communication happens. Your audience feels your message, not just hears it.
c) The Live Demonstration When I speak about public speaking fear, I often say:
“Take a deep breath. Notice how your shoulders dropped? That’s your body resetting.”
In those three seconds, they’ve just experienced the truth of what I’m saying — that a deep breath calms the body. No slides, no science — just proof they can feel.
That’s what “try before you buy” means: let people sample your message first. When you do, they don’t just understand your idea; they own it.
This lesson also works beautifully in writing. The next time you write a blog, an email, or a caption, ask yourself: Can my reader experience what I’m saying, even in a small way? Maybe through a question, a visualization, or a one-line challenge. If they can, you’ve already won them over.
2. Let the Idea Carry Its Own Weight
The second idea is equally powerful — and equally humbling. It’s this:
Let your idea stand on its own. Don’t lean on your authority to make it believable.
When we speak or write, it’s tempting to build credibility by introducing ourselves — “As a coach,” “As a manager,” “As a parent.” But when your idea is truly strong, it doesn’t need credentials. It proves itself.
Here’s an example. Instead of saying:
“As a communication coach, I’ve seen that fear of failure stops most speakers.”
Say:
“How many of you rehearse your speech silently in your head but freeze on stage?”
Now the idea doesn’t depend on who said it. The audience recognizes themselves in it — and that recognition makes it real.
When you let the idea carry its own weight, your audience becomes the proof. They connect the dots themselves. It’s no longer about your experience; it’s about their experience.
This mindset also frees you from the pressure of sounding “expert.” You don’t need to prove your worth before you speak. You just need to craft your message so well that it proves itself.
And when an idea carries its own weight, it travels further. People repeat it, quote it, and apply it — not because you said it, but because it worked for them.
The Big Takeaway
In a great speech or a great piece of writing, the audience doesn’t just hear your point — they prove it to themselves.
That’s the difference between communication that’s merely clear and communication that’s unforgettable.
When I look back at my early speeches, I realize I used to explain too much. I wanted people to understand, so I told them everything. But the more I learned, the more I saw that great communication is about inviting, not instructing. It’s about letting people see, feel, and test your message in real time.
So the next time you speak or write, try this simple test:
Don’t just say it — let them see it.
Don’t just claim it — let them feel it.
Don’t just explain it — let them experience it.
Because when your audience experiences the truth of your idea firsthand, it sticks — not because you said it, but because they lived it.
💬 A Quick Note If you’d like to catch shorter, bite-sized versions of these communication tips — the kind you can watch on the go — stay tuned to my Instagram blog. I share quick, actionable insights there every week to help you speak and write with more impact.
Stepping onto the TEDx stage wasn’t just about the red dot. It was about years of practice, growth, and the quiet courage to break my own boundaries. The official video is still awaited, but here’s a glimpse into my experience.
The TEDx tag attached to this whole affair made me a little apprehensive before my first TEDx talk. But more than anxious, I was curious—curious to see how it all comes together. How does a TEDx event work behind the scenes?
Right after my speaking slot was confirmed, I was put in touch with the vice principal and the student in charge of the event. The vice principal, staff members, student coordinators, and volunteers were all incredibly cooperative.
The aura, the hustle, and the meticulous way they adhere to their roots fascinated me. For example, there are a few rules regarding the content and the PPT slides you present. You can’t name any private organization, even if it’s your own, or mention any particular title you’ve won. In my case, they asked me to remove the names of the film festivals where the documentaries I had scripted won accolades. It was this exclusivity and weight surrounding TEDx that made me a little conscious about my presentation—and yet, it also made the experience feel special.
In many ways, though, the atmosphere felt familiar. For the past seven to eight years, I’ve been visiting institutes as a guest speaker, sharing my experiences in the media field or as an author. So stepping onto this stage to share my story wasn’t entirely new, but it carried a different kind of energy. Once everything was ready, I was completely at ease.
The day before the event, we had a practice session in the empty hall, complete with our PowerPoint slides on screen and the mic on stage. This eased not just my concerns, but also those of the other speakers. The best part, however, was meeting them—some truly charming and pleasing personalities, some dynamic individuals from diverse fields, including one working in AI psychology, which I found fascinating.
Over tea and snacks, we bonded, swapping stories and laughter. I also had the chance to interact with a few suave and intelligent faculty members who were proactive and confident.
When I climbed the stage for practice—and again during the actual event—I was reminded of something Geeta Ramanujam, a well-known storyteller from Bangalore, once said at the Toastmasters Eloquence District Conference: there’s a vast difference between stepping onto the stage for the first time and stepping onto it for the hundredth. That thought immediately grounded me. I realized that, over the years, I’ve stepped onto countless stages—be it at institutes, conferences, or club meetings—and each experience has honed my presence, timing, and composure. This wasn’t uncharted territory for me anymore; muscle memory had kicked in, and the stage felt less like an intimidating spotlight and more like a familiar workspace where I could truly connect with my audience. That mindset allowed me to step into my TEDx slot with a calm focus, letting the content flow naturally and my connection with the audience take center stage.
What I truly enjoyed most was writing and editing my speech. I love this part—tweaking it to match the rules and the theme of Breaking Boundaries, sitting with my mentors to refine it, and gathering invaluable tips from my coaches. I practiced the speech multiple times a day, timer in hand. I also decided on my attire early—a mix of formal and semi-formal, something that always works for me. I resisted buying anything new or expensive; for me, comfort is non-negotiable.
Practicing in front of my family, however, is a different story. I find it a little awkward and often end up laughing, but their feedback is gold. They know me well, not just as a person but as a speaker—what I’ll be comfortable saying and the words I’ll enjoy delivering. Both my husband and kids are great listeners and my most genuine well-wishers, so this “pilot testing” is something I can’t skip. It was my husband who suggested I define empathy in a way my audience would truly understand—an insight that added depth to my speech.
I slept well the night before, woke up on time, had a good breakfast, and reached the venue early. That calm, unhurried start set the tone for the day.
And now, the learnings.
Efforts in the right direction, aligned with your passion, will always suit you. Passion connects you with people who are equally driven and competent in their fields—and some of them may become great friends.
Remember—just as I did this time—your ultimate goal as a speaker is to connect directly with your audience and captivate them through both your content and delivery. That focus helped me overcome anxiety, stay grounded through repeated rehearsals, and rise above petty distractions.
Another lesson: observe your audience. Even through the dim light, I could see students taking notes and smiling at just the right moments. That told me I was making sense to them.
And finally—seek feedback, but choose wisely. I invited my aunt and my son—both intent listeners and honest critics—to attend. Before I could even ask my aunt for her opinion, she told me how the vice principal had walked up to her, congratulated her, and praised my talk. Moments like that stay with you. But it’s important to remember—don’t seek feedback from everyone. Seek it from those you trust to be honest, constructive, and kind, even if they’re strangers you instinctively trust.
The TEDx stage wasn’t just about the famous red dot. It was about what unfolded before, during, and after—the preparation, the presence, the reflections that followed. And, above all, it was about breaking my own boundaries in how I speak, how I carry my confidence, and how I connect with those listening.
The official video isn’t out yet, but I’ll share it as soon as it’s released!
After spending time in Mumbai—where I worked as a TV host and a freelance voice artist, following my one-on-one coaching with renowned voice artist Kodas Wadia—I returned to my hometown. I continued freelancing as a voiceover artist alongside teaching media communication. I’ve always been fond of the audio medium. So when the opportunity came to contribute to Toastmasters beyond club meetings, I knew I had to take it.
After a nudge from my mentors, I decided to serve as the Podcast Chair for Toastmasters District 101. I wanted to build something meaningful, something that would inform, inspire, and elevate the Toastmasters experience for members across the district.
But, truth be told, I didn’t know many people.
Networking was a big challenge at first. I had very few names on my list. But once I started reaching out, one conversation led to another. My mentors helped connect me with people. Slowly but steadily, I began building a circle of inspiring communicators and leaders, each with a story worth sharing.
The best part? The conversations.
Whether it was brainstorming with guests, listening to their Toastmasters journeys, or discussing how they found leadership lessons in everyday challenges—it was powerful. Talking to someone like Wendy, for instance, gave me the courage to take on a leadership role myself—as Vice President Membership in my home club.
What truly made the experience special was the team I worked with.
From Tonia—who helped shape the podcast vision—to Grace, who brought it to life through thoughtful design, I had the privilege of working with people who were committed, creative, and full of heart. We operated across time zones, cultural nuances, and even the occasional miscommunication. But through it all, we held space for each other’s ideas.
There were small bloopers in the recordings, sure—but I chose to keep them. Because the idea was to make these episodes feel real, conversational. I wanted them to sound like two friends chatting—not a scripted show. And our guests appreciated that.
In fact, some of the best moments happened after we hit stop on the recording—casual chats, deep reflections, and genuine gratitude exchanged.
And then something incredible happened…
From just 414 YouTube views in April 2024, our podcast shot up to 6,378 views in April 2025. We went from 81 subscribers to over 500. The feedback was overwhelming. When my term ended, I felt there was so much more to share—so I requested to continue. And with full support from the new PR head, I’m thrilled to continue for another term!
What started as an idea grew into a passion project—and now, a full-fledged platform for inspiring voices.
If you’ve ever doubted yourself, or thought, “I don’t know enough people,” let this be a reminder: You just have to start. One conversation, one connection, one story at a time.
I invite you to listen to the episodes—and be part of the journey we’ve built.
Three Doors, Three Worlds: A Journey Through Storytelling
At Wordnama, our monthly book club dedicated to short fiction and book discussions, we’ve spent the past three months immersed in three wildly different but deeply compelling stories. From the bleak border of war in Saadat Hasan Manto’s The Dog of Tithwal, to the crumbling dread of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher, and the surreal satire of Etgar Keret’s Lie Land—each story opened a door to a distinct world and a unique form of storytelling.
This trio of tales sparked some of our most thought-provoking discussions yet—touching on themes of human absurdity, psychological decay, and the elusive nature of truth. If you’re looking for a rich, contrasting reading experience, I highly recommend exploring these three stories this coming month. And as always, feel free to read along and reflect with us.
Discussion links are available at the end of this post.
“Lieland” by Etgar Keret
“Lieland,” a short story by Israeli writer Etgar Keret, delves into the consequences of habitual lying through its protagonist, Robbie. The narrative begins with Robbie experiencing a dream about his deceased mother, who expresses boredom in the afterlife and requests a gumball from him. This dream prompts Robbie to recall a lie he told about a paralyzed dog, among many other fabrications throughout his life. Intrigued, he visits a place called “Lieland,” a surreal realm where all his past lies have materialized into reality. In Lieland, Robbie encounters the very characters and scenarios he fabricated, such as the paralyzed dog and other figments of his imagination. This confrontation forces him to reflect on the impact of his dishonesty. The story reaches a turning point when Robbie meets Natasha, another individual whose lies have manifested in Lieland. Together, they contemplate the nature of their falsehoods and the possibility of creating more positive, harmless lies in the future. His lies still weigh heavily on him. It’s almost equivalent to sinning. Perhaps that’s also why he lacks the courage to manifest the reality of marrying Natasha in real life. In the “lie land,” it’s safe, easy, and convenient, a space where he knows his truths are guaranteed to manifest without resistance.
The central theme of “Lieland” revolves around the tangible consequences of lying. Keret illustrates that lies, regardless of their perceived insignificance, can accumulate and create a complex web that one may eventually have to confront. The story suggests that while lies might serve as convenient escapes or solutions in the short term, they have the potential to manifest in unforeseen ways, compelling individuals to face the realities they’ve fabricated. Additionally, the narrative touches on themes of accountability, the blurred line between reality and fiction, and the human tendency to fabricate stories to navigate life’s challenges.
Setting the Stage: Cigarettes, Childhood, and Coping
Robbie’s mother’s casual request to buy her a pack of cigarettes reminds us of a time when it was normal, even expected, for children to run errands like buying “king-size Kents,” a popular cigarette brand in the mid-to-late 20th century.
This one detail roots us in a particular socioeconomic and cultural backdrop. It paints Robbie’s mother as a woman hardened by circumstance, perhaps dependent on smoking as a coping mechanism. It also reflects Robbie’s upbringing in a financially struggling household—where navigating adult issues at a young age may have driven him to find refuge in small, convenient lies.
Lying, then, became a form of survival.
“What if your lies came to life?”
Etgar Keret’s short story “Lieland” begins with this unsettling premise—and ends with a deeper, more introspective question: What happens when the lie becomes more comforting than the truth?
The Lies We Wear: Black-Tie Lies and Lies That Steal
Keret distinguishes between “black-tie lies”—polished, socially acceptable deceits—and “lies that could steal,” ones that rob others of joy, trust, opportunity, and sometimes even innocence.
Take Robbie’s lie about the paralyzed dog. On the surface, it seems harmless. But in Lieland, where every lie is given form, it becomes a haunting reminder of the emotional weight he has carried—and inflicted.
We are reminded that a lie can be a performance, dressed up in a tuxedo, or a theft, robbing someone else of a moment, a truth, or a dream.
In essence, “Lieland” serves as a metaphorical exploration of the landscapes our lies can create and the inevitable reckoning with the truths we’ve distorted.
The Dog of Titwal is a short story set on the India-Pakistan border, where soldiers from both sides face each other on identical hills, in a largely uneventful and routine conflict. Amid this tense yet stagnant standoff, a stray dog wanders into the Indian camp. Jamadar Harnam Singh ties a note around its neck, declaring it an Indian dog named Jhun Jhun, knowing it will cross over to the Pakistani side.
The Pakistani soldiers rename it Shun Shun and claim it as theirs. The dog continues to move between the two camps, soon becoming a symbol of mockery and misplaced nationalism. Suspicion and irritation rise. One day, as the dog returns from the Pakistani side, both camps open fire on it, ultimately killing it. Jamadar Harnam Singh shrugs off its death as meaningless, saying the dog “died a dog’s death,” while Subedar Himmat Khan from the other side mourns, calling it a martyr.
I believe that to analyze the story effectively, we must first understand its context—the setting in which it was written. It was when one of the soldiers called the dog a ‘refugee’ that I felt compelled to research the background of the story.
The story was written soon after the 1947 Partition of India. Millions were displaced, crossing borders between the newly formed India and Pakistan. People were often labeled as “ours” or “theirs” based on religion, not identity.
I think, in that sense, the dog being called a refugee mirrors those displaced people—stateless, nameless, and caught between opposing sides.
Just a quick note before we begin—while we might feel inclined to draw parallels to current events, let’s try to stay rooted in the context in which The Dog of Tithwal was written, because the story has its own historical and emotional setting.– post – partition, a very specific time in history that shaped Manto’s voice and purpose.
The “India Zindabad” Moment – Why does the dog freeze?
There’s a scene when the dog, enjoying a cracker, hears a soldier shout “India Zindabad!” (Long live India), and instead of reacting with joy, it freezes, and tucks its tail. Harman Singh laughs and says, “Why are you afraid of your own country?”
The interpretation could be that it reacts not as “Indian” or “Pakistani,” but as an animal afraid of aggression.
→ It might show how ideologies don’t make sense to those not caught up in them.
The futility of war could be the heart of Manto’s message. The dog, voiceless and harmless, is caught in the crossfire only because he crossed imaginary boundaries. Even in death, he becomes the subject of sarcastic remarks – one side calls it martyrdom, the other says he dies a dog’s death. The contrast reflects the meaningless glorification and casual cruelty often present in war. It highlights how even something as innocent as a dog can become a symbol, then a target, all to maintain the illusion of war.
The war also breeds an emotional numbness in soldiers. The soldiers are resigned to their own deaths or have become emotionally detachedfrom it and therefore become indifferent to the death of the dog. For a soldier, death is always close, lurking quietly in the background, impossible to ignore or escape. There’s no reverence attached to it and therefore, they come across as unsympathetic or even indifferent toward the dog’s suffering. It reflects how war affects people, turning them numb even to the loss of innocent life. So for me, that casual attitude toward death adds another layer to the story’s commentary—not just on war, but on the emotional cost it exacts on those who live in its shadow.
One of the most touching layers of the story is its quiet nostalgia. When the soldiers hum old folk songs or tunes from back home, it’s a reminder that beneath the uniform, they’re still human—connected to their memories, families, and culture. These small, intangible things—songs, memories—become their emotional anchor in a life that’s otherwise harsh and detached. Manto brings this out subtly, but beautifully. It shows that even though soldiers may have accepted death as part of their duty, their hearts still long for the world they left behind.
The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe is a gothic short story that follows an unnamed narrator who visits his childhood friend, Roderick Usher, at the Usher family mansion. The house is eerie and decaying, almost as if it has a life of its own.
Roderick is suffering from intense psychological distress, and his twin sister, Madeline, is gravely ill. When Madeline apparently dies, Roderick buries her in the family vault beneath the house. However, it turns out she was buried alive. She reappears, leading to both her and Roderick’s death in a final moment of horror.
As the narrator flees in terror, the mansion itself collapses, symbolizing the literal and figurative fall of the Usher family line. The story blends elements of madness, decay, and the supernatural to explore themes of fear, isolation, and the power of the human mind.
The story reminds me of another tale and the only other story I remember of Poe called The Cask of Amontillado. It’s about a man who tricks his enemy into going down into an old underground burial tunnel/vault and then traps him there forever.
A classic whodunit set in a country manor, The Murder Game by Tom Hindle delivers modern twists with old-school charm.
Book Review: The Murder Game by Tom Hindle
A Modern Whodunit with a Classic Twist
Every now and then, a book promises to take you back to your reading roots. The Murder Game by Tom Hindle did just that for me. Right there on the cover, it claims Hindle is the “new heir to Agatha Christie.” Naturally, I was intrigued. After all, I spent many of my school days devouring Nancy Drew mysteries. Somewhere along the way, though, I drifted away from the murder mystery genre—caught up in short stories, romance fiction, and everything in between. You know how it goes!
But this one… this one caught my eye. I won’t say it was unputdownable (in fact, I had to push myself to keep going at times). Still, I’d challenged myself to finish it before our book club meet, and I’m glad I did. It turned out to be a rewarding read.
The Premise
Set in a classic country manor, The Murder Game revolves around—yes, you guessed it—a murder that happens during a game night. It’s everything you’d expect from an Agatha Christie-style whodunit but with a modern flavor. A closed environment, a cast of suspicious characters, hidden backstories, and a killer on the loose.
What Worked for Me
One of the first things I appreciated was the language. Hindle keeps it simple and accessible—no heavy prose or complicated narratives to wade through. And as someone who mostly reads Indian and American novels, I found the British phrases and idioms refreshing. They gave the story a distinct charm and authenticity.
The second half of the book was where things really picked up. As you dive deeper, you uncover the tangled backstories of the guests. Suddenly, everyone seems tied together in unexpected ways. And just when you think you’ve got it figured out—bam! A second murder takes place. Right under everyone’s noses, when they’re all supposed to be in the same room. That twist had me sitting up, thinking, “Wait, who wasn’t there? Who could’ve slipped out without anyone noticing?” Classic misdirection. Cleverly done.
What Didn’t Work So Well
The pacing, especially in the first half. I found myself 250 pages in, still waiting for things to really happen. If you prefer fast-paced thrillers, you might find it a bit slow going in the beginning. But hang in there—the payoff is worth it.
Final Thoughts
If you enjoy classic murder mysteries where you get to play detective, The Murder Game is a solid pick. It’s not flawless, but the satisfying conclusion makes up for the slower start. Think modern Agatha Christie vibes—perfect for a cozy weekend read, preferably with a hot cup of tea in hand.
