Bridges of Time: Navigating Life through Revisits and Resets


(Originally posted on Candles Online)

It was just another ordinary day, yet it became a captivating conversation with my daughter. A simple outing became a small girl’s day filled with intriguing discussions. As we awaited our order at a local eatery, my daughter asked, “If you could have one superpower, what would it be?”

After contemplating, I shared, “I would love the ability to read people’s minds. What about you? Wouldn’t that be something you’d want?”

To my surprise, she promptly replied, “No.”

Perplexed, I inquired, “Why not, darling?” Her response left me in awe.

“Mom, knowing what’s in people’s minds opens us to the risk of getting hurt. Some genuinely like or dislike us, while others wear a facade—being outwardly nice while harboring mean intentions. We prefer the pleasant things, don’t we? Learning about the not-so-nice thoughts could shatter our hearts into a million pieces. So, having the power to know minds isn’t a wish-worthy superpower.”

Her profound explanation never ceases to amaze me. Kids possess an innate ability to simplify the complex, resetting the default settings of an adult brain to broader perspectives. Intrigued, I asked about her ideal superpower, and she effortlessly listed: “Being invisible, flying, freezing time”—inspired by on-screen fantasies.

In our conversation, she unveiled a unique perspective on freezing time: the power to revisit the past and reset things for a better future. If one fell short in exam preparation, freezing time would allow them to study, ace the exam, and voila!

Contemplating this notion, I wondered about my life with such a superpower. As enticing as it seemed, a major glitch surfaced—what if the consequences weren’t to my liking? Would I revert to where I started? What guarantees existed for success? The prospect of being stuck in an infinite loop was daunting.

Is this not a precarious situation? Or does revisiting and resetting hold a different connotation? The cliché that “you can’t change the past, and you don’t know the future; all you have is your present” has been beaten to death. Yet, we persist in walking on a shaky bridge of guilt and regret built on the debris of our present, commuting between the past and future—a bridge that leads to nowhere, freezing time in our conscience while moments slip through our fingers.

Should we burn down this bridge? Erase every page from the past? Imagining my daughter’s response, I envisioned her saying, “Why not build a stronger bridge? Make corrections because tearing away pages is not right, right?”

Unless afflicted by amnesia, we can’t alienate ourselves from the past. Our visitation should be a journey of learning, not an endless dwelling. Guilt and regret are not fixed deposits; nursing them is catastrophic. To have them is natural; to deal with them is healing.

Returning to the superpower of freezing time, a new perspective emerges. In this universe, mental and psychological time travel is possible. Revisiting the past is for observation; resetting is for making things right, just like correcting mistakes in a dictation.

Talking about guilt, regrets, revisiting, and resetting, I remember a recent event in my life that shook me to the core—I lost a close cousin. The sudden news came like a blow, puncturing the bubble of constant busyness I had enveloped myself in. This unexpected push forced me to stumble into the deep, dark pits of guilt – “Why didn’t I contact him for so long?” The pain of regret in my heart was too heavy as the moments we shared as kids rallied in front of my eyes. I certainly cannot undo what has happened; the question is what to do now to deal with the immense pain I am reeling in. To regret and forget or to change my ways, keep in touch with my loved ones, and remember?

As we navigate the intricate landscape of our lives, this poignant event reinforces the urgency to build a better bridge—one fortified with resilience, positivity, and the wisdom to make corrections. The past may be immutable, but our approach defines our present and shapes our future. Embrace the power to revisit, reset, and construct a bridge that propels us forward with strength and purpose.

Tribute to Life


We grew up together, making memories for a lifetime until our paths got separated;

The chaos of being an adult consumed us to the point that in our journeys, we got distanced.

Drifting away from each other, we stayed aloof from the essence of life in our race to earn a livelihood;

Lost in the complex cacophony of deadlines, we lost touch with the symphony of simplicity from our childhood.

We befriended procrastination and kept pushing relationships to the next possible date;

Engrossed in schedules and routines, we thought our loved ones had an eternity to wait.

But the cosmos does not go by our acquired gospel rule of “No news is good news”;

And suddenly, the greatest truth of death knocks at the door, exposing the hollowness breeding in our views. 

“They are no more”, meekly communicated words possess the vigour to drown us in overwhelming memories;

“I wish I would have…”, a pain so sharp that would leave the soul in tatters as it cries out loud in silence its apologies.

Eyes would struggle to hold the suppressed emotions back, but the tongue wouldn’t budge as if it is paralysed by grief;

Tributes and flowers on the grave will mark attendance as we adjust our grammar from is to was, and life turns a new leaf. 

Memories rally with their bags full of laughter, tears, pain, joy, failures, success, shame, pride and secrets we shared;

Leaving behind them a deafening blankness, urging an answer: “Were you so occupied that you never cared?”

In its final journey, the body merges into the nature it came from, and the tangible link between the soul and the world halts;

And we mourn the loss till our timetables permit us before they draw us in and the enigmatic chase of dreams starts.

Life is earmarked by uncertainty only to be embraced by a certainty called death, posing a pertinent question;

“How will you pay your tribute, by mourning death or cherishing life? Will you take moments to curate memories or regret your inaction?

Mom, why do we pray?


A page from mother-daughter diaries

Mom, why do we need to do Pooja (worship)?” my daughter inquired when I invited her to participate in our annual ritual of welcoming and celebrating Lord Ganesha, also known as the Elephant God, during Ganesha Chaturthi—a significant festival celebrated by Hindus worldwide. It may surprise you to hear me say “welcoming.” But for Hindus, our beloved Lord is the honoured guest we eagerly await during this time of the year. It’s Lord Ganesha’s birthday, after all!

“Dear, prayer provides us with solace in our busy lives,” I replied, aware that my eight-year-old might not fully grasp the weight of my words. I wish we had asked so many questions during our upbringing; it might have made things easier for us now. Nonetheless, this generation doesn’t settle for excuses or “no” as an answer. As a parent, I’m more than happy to encourage my daughter’s curiosity.

I wracked my brain for an explanation suitable for her young mind. “You know, when you talk to your friend and share all your secrets, sorrows, and joys, it makes you feel good, right?” She nodded. “Well, think of it this way: no matter what name we call Him by, God is our friend. We can open our hearts and confide our deepest sorrows without fear of judgment. He knows our deepest secrets. So, when we pray, it’s like having a one-on-one conversation with our dearest friend, God. It’s also a moment to express our gratitude for every privilege and happy moment we’ve been blessed with.”

My analogy seemed to partially resonate with her, although she was more interested in completing the Pooja and catching her favourite cartoon. I can’t blame her; after all, she’s only eight. But I realise it’s my responsibility to continue these traditional rituals and guide my children so they understand their roots.

Whenever my daughter questions me or shares her perspective, it offers me a new perspective to consider and introspect upon. This time, it made me ponder my relationship with god and how relevant are traditions and rituals in our lives. Can the concept of rituals be intertwined with the idea of “God”?

As a believer, I see myself as someone who loves god rather than fears Him, viewing god as an emotional support rather than a set of rules. My conversation with god can assume the shape of a ceremonial prayer, an emotional vent to my closest friend, or simply sharing my turmoil with my mother. I perceive the Nirakar (sans shape) form of god in every shape and form in my life. God is omnipresent in my life, offering steadfast love, so how can I not reciprocate that love? 🙂 And how do I express my love for the Almighty? In my limited understanding, it involves being kind to the world; spreading kindness is a love language God wants us to embrace.

Now, moving on to the second question: do traditions and rituals matter? Without a doubt! Customs and practices serve a purpose. They help communities communicate, express themselves, and identify with specific belief systems. Speaking of traditions, they carry a lineage, a backstory, and moral values to be passed down through generations. For example, we celebrate Dusshera in India—a festival with two narratives. Whether it’s the victory of Lord Ram over the demon king Ravana or the triumph of Devi Durga over the demon Mahishasura after nine days of fierce battle, the essence of the celebration is the triumph of good over evil. Whether we approach our traditions as mythology or history, we mustn’t let the spirit of our festivals and traditions fade away.

I reiterate: the responsibility is ours. Whatever the generation, the importance of values like righteousness, truth, kindness, etc., can never be undermined. They keep us grounded. In a practical sense, festivals provide much-needed breaks, enabling us to spend time with friends and family in our fast-paced lives.

Now, let’s understand a bit about rituals. Rituals are a set of actions, ceremonies, or practices performed in a specific and prescribed manner. For instance, writing a diary, a daily morning walk, a weekly outing, etc., can be a ritual. Talking of rituals out of religious context, they are synonymous with habits that bring order to our lives.

Religious rituals symbolise a connection with the divine, demonstrating devotion, invoking blessings, and reinforcing faith. For instance, in Hinduism, daily Shodasa Upachara (16 services) pooja involves purification, meditation, devotion, mindfulness, and discipline. Rituals across beliefs aim for divine connection, guidance, and commemoration. While they strengthen faith, blind adherence can lead to rigidity and fanaticism.

Conclusion: As a child, I might have never understood the importance of “Why”, but now I cannot look the other way towards my curiosities. To answer my kids better, I must question and seek. This resonates with the way and purpose human beings are made by the supreme lord, i.e., to think. How I respond to my children’s doubts might go a long way in shaping their personalities. Returning to this conversation that started around a religious practice, I want to emphasise that I don’t believe in imposing my beliefs on my kids because the relationship with god is personal for every individual. Traditions and practices are vessels for facilitating the divine connection and upholding values. But for those vessels to last long, they must be supported with reasoning. 

Autism – Challenge Accepted


A Heartfelt Note during Autism Awareness Month

Diagnosis and the journey thereafter

It has been nine years since my son was diagnosed with autism. He is a non-verbal autistic child on the higher end of the spectrum, and life has never been the same since then.

When my son started school at 2.5 years old, he was not speaking. We thought that the challenges of living abroad without extended family support and the demands of our daily routines were causing a speech delay, which is a common phenomenon in children. We hoped that he would develop new social contacts and skills that would encourage him to communicate more explicitly, but a few months passed, and there was no change. He couldn’t mingle with other children and was always sitting alone in one corner of the room while other kids played in groups.

Concerned about my child’s development, I sought expert advice. Before getting an appointment with the child development and psychological department of the hospital (which involved a long wait), I did some online research and discovered that my son had all the classic symptoms of autism, including delayed speech, little to no socialization, arranging toys in a linear pattern, flipping hands, no response to his name, no eye contact, high sensitivity to people, noises, and lights, etc.

I knew it was time to seek professional help to have a clear picture, but I still hoped I would be proven wrong. Unfortunately, the diagnosis confirmed my intuition, and it broke my heart despite my preparedness for the worst possible outcome.

https://www.autism.org.au/what-is-autism/?gclid=CjwKCAjw6IiiBhAOEiwALNqncT5m92FjCsp1AMYfkCZztgBB5qQsLwe2KyaF7kROXP72KaGyfeI4sRoCqUwQAvD_BwE

We faced a challenge by fate, and we had no other option but to catch it. A shortage of schools catering to special needs kids is common in Brussels, and our son’s first disappointment after being diagnosed was the rejection of his place in a regular school because the teachers were not trained in the special needs care required of autistic children. We had to pull him out of the school immediately, and we couldn’t blame the teachers for their honesty.

Fortunately, my son got a place in a day hospital that functioned like a daycare or a school for kids with different needs or issues. Autism was one of them, and before my son started his next school in 2016, he continued in the day hospital for two years. That was a great help indeed. By the time he got a place in the special school, he was toilet trained, understood how to use pictures for communication (PECS – Picture Exchange Communication System), and could use a word or two to communicate his needs.

https://nationalautismresources.com/the-picture-exchange-communication-system-pecs/

In 2016, he got a place in a primary school founded specifically for kids with Autism Spectrum Disorder. It’s been nine years since then, and the journey continues. We are still battling his agony of being unable to explain inner frustrations, high sensitivity to loud noises, and inability to concentrate for long periods on any particular activity (which impairs his learning abilities to read and write). There have been numerous occasions when his pent-up frustration would turn into a  meltdown, and he would end up shouting, crying, and hitting himself. At that moment the only thought that crosses my mind is “I wish I could understand your unsaid words”.

But it doesn’t mean that there has been no progress at all. He called me “mom” when he was eight years old, one of the happiest moments of my life. He is becoming more autonomous every day (can make a simple sandwich for himself when hungry), and more accepting of the changes proposed to him. He uses single word communication for stating what he needs. He has developed an interest in cooking which we would love to develop further.

Stigma Associated

Our journey with autism so far has been full of ups and downs. But I am happy that we didn’t shy away from seeking help and accepted the diagnosis and requisite guidance positively. That reminds me of an incident that dates back to 2004-2005. I used to teach kindergarten kids. I had a student who had similar issues like my son. But since I was not aware of the reason behind such traits (read lack of awareness then), I couldn’t specify clearly to the parents. I suggested parents see a child psychologist to understand the reason. Parents took it otherwise. His mother asked me upfront “Do you think my son is mad? All he needs is the teacher’s attention.”

Being a parent myself now, I accredit that mother’s response to a lack of awareness and an attached sense of embarrassment in such cases (especially in societies of the Indian sub-continent). The unfortunate thing is even after so many years, autism awareness is by and large still a bookish concept. Except for a few experts in the medical fraternity, psychologists, and the special education faculty autism isn’t a much-known concept among the masses. 

Even in 2023, when I told someone about autism, they had a blank expression and declined to know anything about it. What’s more worrying about the scenario is people consider autism to be some sort of disease that can be cured with medicines. My brother’s neighbour suggested that I must see a doctor as his nephew in a similar condition had a considerable improvement after the doctor’s intervention. I clearly don’t know what has transpired or what was the situation they dealt with but my stance was clear “Autism is not an illness”. Sadly a certain level of stigma is still associated with neurodevelopmental disorders that people don’t want to talk or accept about them openly. 

 A kid diagonised with autism needs therapies to enable him/her develop skills for daily life, communicate better (though every autistic is different when it comes to communication skills) and improvise the social interaction/behaviour. People with autism or any other neurodevelopmental issue deserve comprehension and compassion, period!

https://www.kennedykrieger.org/stories/myths-facts-about-autism-spectrum-disorder#:~:text=MYTH%3A%20People%20with%20autism%20cannot,friends%2C%20spouses%2C%20and%20children.

You can always share with me!

After I shared about my son’s diagnosis, a friend of mine called me and said she wanted to share something. She opened up about her son who was also diagnosed with autism spectrum. She poured out her heart about her struggles as an autism parent. She chose me to confide in, and I consider myself fortunate. Recently, another friend of mine shared her doubts about her child being on the spectrum. I understand how nervous that point can be to be at. 

 Being an autism parent isn’t easy (for that matter parenting comes with its own set of challenges). Constant efforts to provide better opportunities to enable their kids to learn and lead a life at par with any other person coupled with anxiety about “what after us” defines the lives of autism parents. 

I have had my fair share of struggles and still continuing to deal with them but would be happy to lend my heartfelt support to parents with autistic kids. I don’t have any professional training but have the heart at the right place to hear you out and understand your position. I think we deserve such support.

An Important Mention

Whatever my journey has been, I consider myself to be lucky enough to have found helping people and dependable organizations to smooth out the bumps in our ride. Since the diagnosis SUSA and FAMISOL (NGOs in Brussels, Belgium) have been constantly on our side, helping us to plan activities for my kid, seeking government aid/benefits, searching for a place in school, etc. My son’s school “Ecole AstronAutes” has been a great asset to us in this journey so far. Expertise alone can’t set things right, it’s love and care that work wonders. I am privy to this. 

In India, I came across a wonderful organization “ASHA HAI” which literally translates to There’s hope. True to its name, the organization with its well-trained faculty is putting in a lot of effort to turn around and make lives easy for kids with autism spectrum and other special needs.

Asha Hai – Aiming inclusivity & empowering young minds

Final words

Don’t let the definition of autism define or limit your love for your child or the dreams and aspirations of your kid. They have a different prism to look at things, perhaps not only different but beautiful as well than how we perceive the world around us.

The Moral Of The Story…..


Yet another page from the mother-daughter diary

Mom, please tell me a story and put me to sleep,” my daughter requested a routine part of our evening ritual. Sometimes, I read folk tales from books, while other times, I resort to YouTube bedtime stories (especially when my to-do list is long and anxiety creeps in). But occasionally, she craves fresh stories, complete with specific characters, names, and habits of her choosing. Her imagination knows no bounds, and she presents me with the juiciest story ingredients from the land of make-believe. Once she hands me these ingredients, the onus falls squarely on my shoulders to conjure up an enjoyable tale, always with a moral tucked within.

This time, she asked for a jungle story with a baby elephant named Daisy as the central character. Crafting instant stories can be challenging, but parenthood equips you with unique skills—either you become a multitasking pro or figure things out on the fly. I belong to the latter category, so let me dive straight into the story. Don’t worry; I won’t put you to sleep (that’s the purpose of a bedtime story), and I’ll keep it short.

The story:

Daisy had recently relocated to a new jungle colony where monkeys thrived. She was eager to make new friends. While her companions spent their days climbing tall trees, Daisy explored every nook and cranny of the jungle. Her mother, however, was displeased with Daisy’s seemingly unproductive days compared to her friends. “Why don’t you learn something from your friends?” her mother would lament. “At least give tree-climbing a try. You’re causing me a lot of anxiety,” her mother’s lectures would drone on. Daisy’s mother even persuaded her to participate in the annual monkey race. Daisy’s failure in the race left her with a bitter taste of disappointment and sparked a sense of resentment.

One day, Daisy’s parents had to leave for a nearby colony and entrusted her to the care of their neighbours. As everyone gathered on the ground, engaged in casual conversation, a rabbit named Bonny arrived in a panic. “Folks, I overheard hunters in the nearby fields; they’re planning to attack our colony,” Bonny shared, visibly distressed. A sombre mood settled over the assembly. While Bonny continued to speak, a gunshot shattered the tranquillity, setting off chaos. Monkeys scrambled to find cover, with a few perched high in the treetops, attempting to locate the hunters. Amid the chaos, Daisy realised she possessed the strength to make a difference and help others. She used her power to create obstacles for the hunters, uprooting trees and hurling them as a diversion to buy time for everyone to escape. A coordinated effort led by Daisy ensured the safe escape of her friends from the hunters’ clutches.

Upon their return, Daisy’s parents learned of the harrowing ordeal and were immensely proud of her bravery. Her mother patted her back with her trunk and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, my dear.” Daisy smiled and responded, “Mom, I couldn’t climb trees like you wanted.” Her mother left with a thoughtful expression, pondering her past behaviour of constantly comparing her daughter to others.

As soon as I finished the story, my daughter quickly remarked. “Daisy’s mother is just like you, Mom. You sometimes compare me to my cousins.”

When I created this story, I knew my clever daughter would likely identify real-life parallels, even though I struggled to be creative. I occasionally replace fish with elephants. As much as I pride myself on being a modern Gen X parent, I must admit to moments of anxiety and overenthusiasm. I’m not ashamed to admit that I sometimes compare my children to others. When I repeatedly notice my daughter making the same calculation mistake, paranoia sets in. I envision a matrix of future scenarios, each with its permutations and combinations. I end up citing examples of her cousins, who face a more extensive syllabus and a rigid educational system.

However, looking back, I realise that I, like many children of the ’80s and ’90s in India, grew up in an environment where parents often resorted to comparisons, especially in academics. They aimed to secure a comfortable future for their children, but the impact ranged from stress to agony. My mother, not highly educated herself, believed that tracking our grades and comparing them to our friends was the right approach. Whenever I performed poorly on an exam, nervousness overwhelmed me. I was worried about conveying my dismal results and the impending consequences. I confided in my brother, who had a simple solution: “Just tell Mom you did well, and when the results are out, you can face her wrath then. Why double your trouble?” Fortunately, things changed when I began my college education. My mother stopped comparing our results and began to value the learning process, emphasising understanding concepts. More importantly, she believed in me and my responsibility for my studies. It was a breath of fresh air, and I am proud to say I lived up to her trust.

But can you blame me for occasionally slipping into the “look at them” behaviour? (Ideally, you can; I am guilty and have no qualms about accepting it.) I have firsthand experience of this environment, which sometimes seeps into my thought process.

Returning to my current situation, I continuously train my brain not to succumb to the temptation of making comparisons of any kind. However, as a flawed individual, I do stumble at times. I find myself comparing my achievements to those of other successful women (though the definition of success is debatable). Each of us has our own set of problems, and those I compare myself to have their own stories. However, everything appears obscured to me, and I often turn a blind eye to the obvious. This is where self-doubt takes hold of my senses and abilities. I must mention the role my husband plays here. He never compares our children to others, as he went through a similar experience as a child. He believes that comparisons lead to pain and misery and erode confidence. He firmly stated, “I wouldn’t mind if our daughter chose to work in garbage collection as long as she is happy and honest.” (When she was younger, she expressed interest in becoming a garbage collector; her preferred career paths have since changed.) His priorities are well-defined, and I can learn much from him.

Let’s broaden our perspective:

Is comparison inherently evil? Or can it serve as a tool to drive improved performance? The impact of comparison on our lives hinges on how we employ it. We cannot entirely eliminate comparison from our lives, as it permeates both micro and macro levels, especially when dealing with quantifiable aspects. It is woven into our social fabric, manifesting among us at some point. If used as a tool for introspection, comparison can pave the way for crafting a concrete action plan to reach our goals. It becomes a means to leverage self-improvement. Comparison is a valuable tool for introspection when we are willing to acknowledge our weaknesses, identify our strengths, and chart a unique path toward our objectives. Customisation is critical because each individual employing comparison must consider their unique circumstances. Every journey, destination, and path is distinct. However, what if the element of customisation (an understanding of our own circumstances) is missing? You either end up idealising or criticising someone in a better position, all while neglecting your own life. In my native language, Telugu, there’s a saying that translates to: “A fox burned its skin to acquire the appearance (stripes) of a tiger.” It signifies the futility of trying to imitate someone else. Such attempts only lead to pain. If comparing oneself is to attain acceptance and conform to certain notions and standards, relentlessly pursuing these can result in irreversible losses. For instance, fashion influencers frequently indulge in fashion hauls, showcasing their brand-new purchases to garner attention online. Their vanity often rubs off on their young audience, who feel compelled to mimic them. The comparison cycle begins: “I must acquire the same clothing.” “I need to shop from the same brands.” “My wardrobe must rival the influencer’s.” These actions, undertaken without considering one’s needs and circumstances, can have severe mental, financial, and environmental consequences.

In conclusion (the moral of the story):

In a jungle colony like Daisy’s, comparison serves no purpose. However, for humans, comparison can be a valuable tool or a frivolous pursuit. Its impact depends on our acceptance of our circumstances, enjoyment of the learning process, and ability to carve a unique path toward our goals. The aim of comparison should always be self-improvement, never belittlement or self-misery.

Lastly, I shouldn’t deliver this profound speech to my 7-year-old daughter. Instead, I should refrain from comparing her to others, recognising her unique abilities and potential. My default mode should be mindfulness. As for myself, I should focus on my own path, embracing customisation.

Spelling of LOVE


 The flares of your seething rage when I fail to take a stand for myself spells love for me.

The Innocent faults you make to weave perfection in mundane activities spell love for me. 

The indifference you show towards my imperfections that make me queer spells love for me.

The calm and smile that you don as you fiercely weed out problems from my way spells love for me. 

The wary that veils your face at the slightest hint of discomfort tapping at my door spells love for me.

The way you cajole me to spread my wings against the winds of uncertainty spells love for me.

The comfort of your embrace that soothes the pain which had my soul and body wriggling spells love for me.

The happiness adorning your eyes as I succeed in conquering my fears spells love for me.

The lies that you never let respire between us as you always nurtured truth spells love for me.

The twinkle in your eyes as my name marks its presence on your lips spells love for me.

The warmth of the teacup slid through my fingers as sickness knocked me down spells love for me.

The detour to the memory lane that you zealously participate in every time with me spells love for me.

The stains of my tears on your sleeves that you have wiped off forever spell love for me.

The secrets of my worst self and darkest past that I confided in you spells love for me. 

The careless laugh on my face that you only are privy to in this world full of formalities spells love for me.

The way your perfections complement my imperfections and complete me spells love for me.

The nature of this union where my unspoken words are understood as I sigh spells love for me.

The fact that we are maturing together spells love for me. 

My Prized Possession


A question that put me in a dilemma,

What is your prized possession?

That one thing that reminds of you,

And not passed on in succession.

I glanced with pride at the riches amassed,

But saw them settle down as rubble beyond a trace, 

when fierce winds of time stuck with the lightening of change,

the proprietorship had a change of name and face.

I turned my gaze towards kith and kin,

looking through the prism of realisation.

They are bonds that bound me with responsibility and compassion

but soon will abandon me taking their route to liberation.

I contemplated my success and laurels.

But the happiness eluded me constantly,

as my desires soared in copious amounts and hunger was insatiable.

Everything I clasped with my fingers evaporated instantly.

Fatigue overpowered my soul and I collapsed,

at the threshold of reckoning and awareness.

My face was tucked deep in the vast dunes of sand called time,

As the incessant pain blurred my vision, I discovered queerness.

Oscillating between hope and despair I made quite a few marks,

trending between imprudence and wisdom, I left my footprints.

Travelling from a person to a personality, I have covered a huge stretch

Assessing gains and losses along the path, I had my own stint.

My abode will dissipate into the cosmos as dust,

my soul will have a new haven and destinations will have new seekers.

But my journey will resonate with my name forever,

for the paths may be common but the imprints differ.

My journey is my prized possession!!

No Pain Left…


Staring at the vast stretch of blank sky, I found the same emptiness dwelling deep within me;

Not batting an eyelid as the ambers burnt incessantly, leaving behind smoke engulfing my soul;

The rain drenched me to the extent of rot and the sun parched me to the extent of lifelessness;

No breeze could caress my heart, no rainbow could soothe my sight for there is no pain left either.

Amidst the cacophony of voices defining and defying me, I chose obscurity as my companion for I fear being identified;

As the echoes from the past are still eloquent in my ears, I chose to strangulate my opinions for I no longer wish to be heard;

Eternities passed by me as I longed for the solace of appreciation, I chose to embrace the earth beneath for I no longer seek;

Celebration of ironies and hypocrisies triumphed over acceptance, I chose defeat gleefully for there is no pain left either.

Crushed by expectations, my hopes fluttered in the cage as my dreams battled for their existence and breathed their last;

My knees trembled as the ground of reality kept slipping away and the broken arms struggled to keep up the burden of charades;

Making my way through the corpses of relationships, odour suffocated me as the ghosts of formalities pinned me down;

The line of difference between compassion and pretense blurred, as I lie cold in tatters with my heart charred, there is no pain left.

Kindness – A Value Inherited


I, as an individual hold “generosity” in high regard of all values a human must possess.  Because that is what makes a human “A Human”.  If your heart is unmoved and untouched by others’ misery then you are just any other specie born on earth, scientifically called Homo sapiens, and just a link to this ecosystem.  Nothing great to brag about, right?

And my very idea of being a human was shaped by my father and in due course of my life, I have met many people (some in my contact list and some unknown) who made me hold on to this value very dearly.

Talking about my inspiration, my father I would like to quote one thing best describes his outlook

“Exhibiting a value you believe in needs no audience and no appreciation in reciprocation “

Yes, this is how he was. I would like to mention one incident from his life that would suit the quote mentioned above perfectly:

We were having dinner when there was a knock at the door.  “Who it could be” was our question and when the door was opened my father found a neighbor of one of our acquaintances in that area standing in front of him. “Yes, what happened he enquired.  They seemed to be in a hurry to finish matters “Woh jo aapki bhasha bolte hain na unki tabiyat bahut kharaab hai aur ghar pe koi nahi.  Aakar dekh lijiye” (the one who speaks the same language as you is seriously ill and no one is around, come and check upon him) and left. It would be surely a waste of space discussing such shallow minds here so I skip to the situation. When my father reached there the situation was worse than what he thought. That person was suffering all alone with dire cholera, lying in a pool of his own puke and feces. That was a gross scenario to recreate. My father took him to the hospital immediately singlehandedly. Meanwhile, he was drenched as that man puked on my father as well but that didn’t deter him from exhibiting the value he believes in. He served him wholeheartedly and took care of him in hospital for two days at the expense of his own comfort till his family was back. But in the end, that man for some reason which my father had no knowledge of wrote off everything and uttered really mean stuff against my father. But as a real gentleman he was, he didn’t hold any grudge against him. When poked at being so generous always he said “neither his misery was planned by him nor my help was sought so why to make an issue of an intentional act on my part. I was not expecting any accolades for what I did. And anyways we must not keep a count of our good deeds at least, someone else is already doing it”.

I have always seen him in this light. No complications whatsoever when reacting as a human to the other’s pain.

Coming back to the question “whether values can be passed as inheritance or not?”  Frankly, I am clueless. But surely to keep the values alive they need to be drilled in the day in and day out. Since children imitate well it’s only through the practice of values we care for, that we can pass on to them the legacy, period! Had I not seen my father as a generous soul, doing his bit relentlessly how would I believe in such values?

In The Quest Of…


Just another day, another page from the mother-daughter diaries: A few days back, I had our usual “before bedtime” conversation with my daughter. She, as always, was brimming with questions. From her treasury of “Why, Who, What, When, and How,” she pulled out a gem that left me in contemplation when I couldn’t provide her with a convincing answer. Although she drifted off to sleep before I could respond, her question lingered in my mind, prompting introspection. She asked, “What is the most important thing in this world?”

The world seems to be caught in a never-ending loop—needs are supplanted by wants, and even wants, once fulfilled, drive us to seek more, explore further, and acquire more. This cycle of desire has driven advancements throughout human history, whether through territorial conquests of empires or the technological progress we currently enjoy. Lives, or perhaps more accurately, lifestyles, have undoubtedly improved. To illustrate this concept, consider a metaphor: envision the world as an aircraft powered by desires and dreams, constantly ascending to new heights of success. But what happens if the coolant is lacking, if the fuel is tainted with impurities, or if there’s no place to land? The fire initially meant to provide elevation could consume the entire structure. In this analogy, the coolant represents contentment and satiation, while impurities symbolise greed, which can obstruct progress when mixed with the fuel of dreams and desires. In this context, peace is the runway that allows the flight to safely land, employing the shock absorbers of realisation, enlightenment, and wisdom.

Let’s delve into historical examples:

Before King Ashoka of the Mauryan Empire became “Ashoka the Great” and adopted Buddhism, spreading the message of peace, he was much like any other ambitious king, driven by conquest and power accumulation. The Kalinga War, a brutal conflict caused by his army, shook him to the core. He renounced his old ways and embraced Buddhism, choosing the path of peace.

Before England existed as a unified nation, the land was marred by bloodshed and conflict. Alfred the Great, King of the West Saxons from 871 to c. 886, envisioned uniting this war-torn territory to foster prosperity. Despite the bloodshed along the way, his dream eventually became a reality when Athelstan, his grandson, became the first king of a unified land called England.

In modern history, the European Union is a testament to nations setting aside bitter rivalries for the greater good. The EU was born from a desire to end the frequent and devastating wars between neighbouring countries, particularly after the Second World War. The Schuman Declaration, which advocated the creation of the European Coal and Steel Community, laid the foundation for the modern European Union.

These historical examples underscore the world’s recurring need to embrace peace for the long-term well-being of humanity.

But is this peace absolute, or is it merely an agreement? The ground for peace has often been purchased at the steep cost of sacrifices, treaties, and mutual respect for territories and boundaries. The fear of breach sometimes leads to a show of military strength to maintain the status quo. Recent Indo-China border tensions are a stark reminder of the price nations pay to maintain peace. In hindsight, it appears more like an agreement, a strategic order strengthened to prevent chaos and discord. The bliss of absolute peace remains elusive.

The Anchors of Peace that we need are compassion, contentment, righteous actions, and enlightenment. While these principles may seem clichéd, they hold a truth we often overlook. Consider a simple example: casual body-shaming or mockery, disguised as harmless humour, can profoundly impact a person’s self-esteem and mental well-being. We recoil from crimes punishable under written laws but often neglect the unwritten rules of nature that call us to embrace our differences. Where is the peace in a world where souls are oppressed, raging, and in conflict?

Throughout the night, I contemplated whether my answer, peace, was the world’s most critical need today. In the morning, I asked my daughter if she had an answer to her question from the previous night. She smiled and said, “Yes, I know the most important thing in this world – ‘You & Me’.” Her words kept me pondering once again…