What’s the best online course you’ve ever taken?

The Best Course I Never Took: Lessons Beyond the Classroom

Sometimes, the most valuable education comes not from an online course, but from the people we meet, the experiences we gather and the mistakes we learn from.

In an age when learning is only a click away, online courses have become an integral part of personal and professional development. From artificial intelligence and digital marketing to creative writing, leadership and financial management, there is a course for almost every interest imaginable. People proudly share their certificates, discuss their learning experiences and recommend platforms that have transformed their careers.

But what happens when someone asks me, ‘What is the best online course you have ever taken?’

My answer is rather simple: I have never undertaken a formal online course. My learning, instead, has come through workshops, professional training programmes, interactions with people and, above all, the classroom of life.

Does that mean I have missed out on something important? Perhaps. But I have also learnt that education cannot be measured solely by the number of courses completed or certificates collected.

My Classroom Was the World

Having spent several decades in education, including many years as a teacher, principal and academic administrator, I have had opportunities to participate in workshops, seminars and professional development programmes. These experiences exposed me to new ideas, evolving educational practices and the importance of remaining receptive to change.

Workshops have their own advantages. They bring people together, encourage discussions and allow participants to exchange experiences. Unlike a pre-recorded online lecture, a live workshop often offers the opportunity to ask questions, challenge assumptions and learn from the practical experiences of others.

As an educator, I have always believed that learning becomes meaningful when knowledge can be applied. A theory may sound impressive in a presentation, but its real value emerges when it helps a teacher understand a child better, enables a school leader to resolve a difficult situation or encourages an institution to improve its standards.

For me, such experiences have often been more valuable than a certificate hanging on a wall.

Experience: A Course Without a Completion Certificate

Life has a peculiar way of teaching us lessons without announcing the beginning of a class. There are no enrolment forms, no scheduled lectures and certainly no certificates at the end.

A difficult professional decision teaches us judgement. A disagreement teaches us patience. A failure encourages us to examine our assumptions, while success reminds us that confidence must always be accompanied by humility.

During my years in school leadership, I learnt that managing an educational institution involved far more than academic results, administrative procedures and infrastructure. It required understanding human behaviour, resolving conflicts, motivating colleagues and recognising that every child carried a different set of circumstances, abilities and aspirations.

No single workshop could have prepared me for every situation. Experience gradually filled those gaps.

The most memorable lessons often emerged from moments when there was no ready-made answer. One had to listen, reflect, consider the consequences and make a decision. Sometimes the decision proved right; at other times, it became a lesson for the future.

Perhaps this is the most demanding course of all: learning while living, with no guarantee that the examination questions will be familiar.

Have I Missed the Digital Learning Revolution?

I would be unfair if I dismissed online education simply because I have not pursued a formal course myself.

Digital learning has opened remarkable opportunities. A student in a small town can now access lectures from distinguished universities. A working professional can acquire new skills without leaving a job. A retired person can explore subjects that professional responsibilities once left little time to pursue.

Online courses also offer flexibility. Learners can progress at their own pace, revisit difficult concepts and choose subjects according to their interests. For those who are disciplined and curious, the internet can become an extraordinary educational resource.

The challenge, however, is not the availability of knowledge but our willingness to use it meaningfully. We live in a world where information is abundant, yet understanding requires effort. Watching a lecture is not the same as mastering a subject, just as obtaining a certificate does not automatically translate into competence.

The real test of learning lies in what we can do with what we know.

If I Were to Choose a Course Today

If I were to enrol in an online course today, I would choose something that complemented my experience while introducing me to possibilities I had not fully explored.

Artificial intelligence in education would be an interesting choice. I would like to understand how emerging technologies can support teachers, personalise learning, reduce routine administrative work and help schools make better-informed decisions. Equally, I would be interested in courses on contemporary writing, digital publishing and the changing world of books.

As an author, I recognise that the world of publishing is evolving rapidly. Readers discover books through digital platforms, writers communicate directly with their audiences, and search engine optimisation has become an important consideration for those who publish online. Learning more about these areas could help me reach readers more effectively.

I would not choose a course merely because it was fashionable. I would look for one that offered practical knowledge, credible instruction and opportunities to apply what I learnt.

At this stage of life, learning is less about collecting qualifications and more about remaining intellectually alive.

The Teacher Must Remain a Student

One of the greatest dangers in education is the belief that experience has made further learning unnecessary. The longer we work in a profession, the easier it becomes to rely on familiar methods and established opinions.

Yet the world does not stand still. Students change, technologies evolve, professional expectations shift and society asks new questions. What worked yesterday may require reconsideration tomorrow.

I have always felt that a teacher must remain a student, irrespective of age or designation. The same principle applies to principals, administrators, writers and professionals in every field.

Being a student does not necessarily mean returning to a classroom or enrolling in an online programme. It means retaining the humility to acknowledge what we do not know and the curiosity to discover what we might learn.

Sometimes, a conversation with a young colleague can challenge an old assumption. At other times, reading a book, attending a workshop or reflecting on a personal mistake can offer a fresh perspective.

The format matters less than the attitude.

My Best Course Is Still in Progress

So, what is the best online course I have ever taken?

Strictly speaking, I have not taken one. My professional learning has largely come through workshops, training programmes, discussions and decades of experience in education. I would rather acknowledge that honestly than invent a course or claim an experience I have never had.

Nevertheless, I do not consider myself deprived of learning opportunities. My journey has provided its own curriculum, although it has not followed a conventional syllabus.

There have been lessons in leadership, communication, patience, responsibility and human relationships. Some were learnt through books and mentors; others came through challenges that I would not have chosen but could not avoid.

And there is still so much to learn.

Perhaps one day I shall enrol in an online course and discover a new subject that changes the way I think. Until then, I remain open to knowledge in whatever form it arrives.

After all, education is not a race to accumulate certificates. It is a lifelong process of becoming more informed, more thoughtful and, hopefully, more understanding.

The best course may not always be the one we enrol in. Sometimes, it is the one we are willing to undertake every day—with curiosity as our guide, experience as our teacher and humility as our companion.

And unlike most online courses, this one has no final examination. The learning continues for as long as we remain willing to learn.

Four Novels, Four Worlds: The Stories Behind Power, Secrets, Love and Forgiveness

Four Novels, Four Worlds: The Stories Behind Power, Secrets, Love and Forgiveness

From the pursuit of social justice to the darkest corners of corporate deception, from the fragility of love to a family secret preserved for more than half a century, Prashant Kumar Lal’s four novels explore the mysteries of human nature and the moral choices that define our lives.

Introduction: Beyond the Boundaries of a Single Genre

What connects a visionary leader fighting for human dignity, an investigator following a trail of concealed financial wrongdoing, a successful woman confronting the uncertainties of love, and a family heir uncovering a decades-old deception?

At first glance, these characters appear to belong to entirely different literary worlds. Their circumstances, conflicts and motivations differ considerably. Yet their stories share a deeper concern: the relationship between truth and appearances, power and responsibility, love and possession, and deception and forgiveness.

Prashant Kumar Lal, an educator, retired school principal and author, explores these themes through four distinctive novels: The Legend of Inara Wali, Debts of Silence, Empty, Still Fragrant and The Forgiven Fake.

Each novel follows its own narrative path. One explores leadership and social transformation; another enters the world of forensic investigation and corporate secrets. The third examines emotional vulnerability and the complexities of love, while the fourth considers the moral consequences of a family deception.

Together, they offer four different perspectives on the human condition.

1. The Legend of Inara Wali: When Leadership Becomes a Moral Responsibility

Can power truly be called successful if it fails to improve the lives of those who need it most? Is leadership a privilege to be enjoyed, or a responsibility to be carried?

These questions lie at the heart of The Legend of Inara Wali, a philosophical work that explores justice, compassion, education and human dignity through an expansive, allegorical narrative.

The novel centres on Sujata CDO, whose journey brings questions of duty, authority and personal morality into sharp focus. Her struggles are not merely about overcoming external obstacles. They also concern the values that must guide a person entrusted with responsibility for others.

The story examines the difference between holding a position of authority and becoming a genuinely transformative leader. Status may command attention, but it is compassion, integrity and a commitment to the common good that give leadership its deeper meaning.

Education occupies an important place in this vision of social progress. Knowledge is presented not merely as a means of individual advancement, but as a force capable of challenging injustice, widening opportunities and enabling people to participate more fully in society.

The novel’s philosophical dimension invites readers to consider whether development can be meaningful when it leaves the vulnerable behind. It also raises an enduring question: what is the true measure of an individual’s greatness?

The answer suggested by the narrative lies not in the accumulation of wealth or power, but in the lives one helps to improve.

Drawing upon concerns closely associated with education and public service, The Legend of Inara Wali offers a reflection on the moral foundations of leadership. Its larger message is that lasting social change begins when authority is guided by conscience and the dignity of every human being is treated as non-negotiable.

At its heart: This is a novel about leadership as service, education as liberation and the possibility of building a more humane society.

2. Debts of Silence: When the Numbers Begin to Speak

Silence can protect a secret, but it can also become an accomplice to wrongdoing.

In Debts of Silence, the world of corporate transactions, financial irregularities and concealed assets provides the setting for a mystery in which facts must be reconstructed from the evidence people leave behind.

The novel follows Divya Rao, a former CBI officer who turns to forensic auditing. Her investigative approach relies on the patient examination of financial records, asset trails and documentary evidence rather than on instinct alone.

For her, numbers are not merely entries in accounts. They can reveal patterns, expose inconsistencies and lead towards truths that powerful individuals or institutions would prefer to keep hidden.

The premise brings together the precision of financial investigation and the uncertainty of human motivation. Behind a suspicious transaction may lie greed, fear, betrayal or an elaborate attempt to conceal responsibility. Each discovery has the potential to reveal another layer of a larger deception.

The international settings of Mumbai, Dubai and London give the narrative a wider geographical scope. Yet the central conflict remains deeply human: the struggle between those who seek to conceal the truth and those determined to uncover it.

What makes this kind of mystery compelling is the possibility that apparently unrelated details may eventually form a coherent picture. A discrepancy in a financial record, an unexplained movement of assets or a missing piece of documentation can become the clue that changes everything.

But the investigation also raises a moral question. When wrongdoing involves powerful people or institutions, how far can the pursuit of truth proceed before it encounters resistance?

Debts of Silence brings procedural investigation into conversation with questions of accountability, trust and institutional responsibility. It explores how silence can allow wrongdoing to survive, and how careful scrutiny can challenge even the most carefully constructed appearances.

At its heart: This is a forensic mystery about the price of concealment, the persistence of evidence and the courage required to pursue accountability.

3. Empty, Still Fragrant: The Enduring Presence of Love

An empty room may appear to contain nothing. Yet a familiar fragrance, a second coffee cup or a bunch of lilies can preserve the memory of someone who is no longer there.

In Empty, Still Fragrant, these ordinary details acquire an emotional significance that reaches far beyond their physical presence.

The novel centres on Ananya, a successful woman whose carefully ordered life begins to unravel as she confronts the uncertainties of love and the consequences of truths left undisclosed. What begins as a story of attraction and emotional connection gradually develops into a mystery involving the past, fractured trust and questions that cannot be answered by professional achievement alone.

Ananya’s journey is both emotional and personal. As concealed truths emerge, she must reconsider not only the people around her but also the assumptions upon which she has built her life.

The novel’s strength lies in the relationship between its intimate emotional world and its underlying mystery. Romantic attachment offers the possibility of happiness, but it also creates vulnerability. To love someone is to allow that person to matter; to trust someone is to accept that uncertainty cannot be eliminated entirely.

The story explores the consequences when trust is tested by secrets and when the past intrudes upon the present. Yet its deeper concern extends beyond the discovery of hidden information.

What does it mean to love another person without trying to possess them? Can forgiveness coexist with self-respect? And how does one move forward when the truth changes the meaning of everything that came before?

Ananya’s evolution brings these questions into focus. Her journey towards understanding involves recognising that love cannot be sustained through control or through decisions made on another person’s behalf. Genuine affection requires honesty, respect and the freedom to choose.

The lilies and the empty room serve as recurring reminders of the novel’s central paradox: absence does not necessarily mean that something has ceased to matter. A person may leave a room, a relationship may change, and an old certainty may disappear, yet the emotional consequences can remain.

The title captures this idea with particular tenderness. Something may be physically absent and still leave behind a presence that cannot easily be erased.

At its heart: This is a contemporary romance-mystery about love, concealed truths, emotional healing and the freedom to choose one’s own life.

4. The Forgiven Fake: A Lie That Outlives Its Maker

Some family secrets disappear with the passage of time. Others become more powerful because nobody dares to question them.

In The Forgiven Fake, a bronze Nataraja statue becomes the unlikely starting point for an investigation into a deception that has survived for fifty-six years.

The discovery takes place in an attic in Mumbai’s affluent Malabar Hill neighbourhood. The statue bears a startling inscription: “FAKE / MORADABAD / 1967.” A receipt and a handwritten statement deepen the mystery, leading Aaravi Varma towards a concealed chapter of her family’s history.

Among the most intriguing elements of the premise is the sentence: “Let it be the one lie I tell God.”

Those words transform the mystery from a question of authenticity into a question of conscience.

Why would someone deliberately preserve a lie for so long? Was the deception motivated by greed, fear, love or a desire to protect someone from a painful truth? And does understanding the motive change the moral significance of the act?

As Aaravi investigates the past, the story examines the burden that inherited secrets place upon subsequent generations. People who did not create a deception may nevertheless find themselves responsible for deciding what to do when it is finally exposed.

The movement between Mumbai and London’s Hackney adds another dimension to the narrative, suggesting how family histories can travel across places and generations while retaining their power to influence the present.

Unlike a conventional mystery concerned solely with identifying the culprit, The Forgiven Fake invites a more nuanced examination of responsibility and reconciliation.

The revelation of a lie need not automatically lead to hatred, just as forgiveness need not require the denial of wrongdoing. Understanding why someone acted as they did can illuminate the past, although it does not necessarily erase the consequences.

This distinction gives the novel its philosophical interest. It asks readers to consider whether compassion can coexist with moral clarity, and whether a family can move forward without pretending that its history was free of mistakes.

The statue may be false, but the emotions surrounding it, the consequences of its concealment and the questions it raises are very real.

At its heart: This is a literary mystery about family inheritance, moral ambiguity, the weight of concealed history and the difficult possibility of forgiveness.

Four Novels, Four Different Questions

Although these works belong to different genres, they share an interest in what lies beneath the surface of human behaviour. Novel Central concern The question it raises The Legend of Inara Wali Leadership, justice and human dignity What makes power worthy of trust? Debts of Silence Financial wrongdoing and accountability Can the truth remain hidden when the evidence is followed? Empty, Still Fragrant Love, trust and emotional discovery Can love survive without becoming possession? The Forgiven Fake Family secrets and forgiveness Can a painful truth lead to understanding rather than permanent division?

The contrast between the four novels is part of their appeal.

The Legend of Inara Wali looks outwards towards society and the responsibilities of leadership. Debts of Silence examines the systems through which wrongdoing may be concealed. Empty, Still Fragrant turns inward to the emotional consequences of love and secrecy. The Forgiven Fake looks backwards across generations to explore the moral inheritance families leave behind.

Their settings and narrative approaches differ, but each story examines the consequences of human choices.

The Common Thread: Truth, Conscience and Consequences

Truth is not treated in precisely the same way in these four novels.

In The Legend of Inara Wali, it is connected with justice, integrity and the responsibilities of leadership. In Debts of Silence, it must be established through evidence and painstaking investigation. In Empty, Still Fragrant, it emerges through the complicated territory of relationships, where emotional honesty can be as important as the facts themselves. In The Forgiven Fake, it forces characters to confront the difference between understanding a deception and justifying it.

These distinctions reveal the range of questions that fiction can explore.

A leader may possess authority yet lack compassion. A financial record may reveal wrongdoing that a powerful individual wishes to conceal. A person may profess love while failing to respect another’s independence. A family may preserve a lie for generations because its members believe that the truth would cause greater harm.

In each instance, appearances are only the beginning of the story.

The deeper challenge is to understand the motives behind human actions without losing sight of their consequences. Compassion without accountability can become an excuse, while accountability without compassion can become little more than punishment. Love without freedom can turn into control, and authority without conscience can become an instrument of oppression.

These are difficult balances, and they are precisely what make such themes enduring subjects for literature.

Four Stories, One Enduring Fascination with Human Nature

A philosophical novel, a forensic mystery, a contemporary romance and a family drama may appear to have little in common. Yet all four can lead readers towards the same fundamental questions.

What do we owe one another? How should we respond when the truth threatens our comfort? Can people change after confronting their mistakes? And what remains when power, certainty, trust or cherished illusions are taken away?

Through The Legend of Inara Wali, Debts of Silence, Empty, Still Fragrant and The Forgiven Fake, Prashant Kumar Lal explores these questions through four distinct narrative worlds.

Readers drawn to social philosophy may find themselves reflecting on leadership and justice. Those who enjoy investigative fiction may be intrigued by the pursuit of hidden financial truths. Readers interested in relationships may connect with Ananya’s emotional journey, while those fascinated by family mysteries may find Aaravi’s discovery particularly thought-provoking.

The four novels offer different experiences, but each encourages readers to look beyond the obvious and consider the motives, choices and consequences that shape human lives.

Perhaps the enduring appeal of fiction lies in precisely this ability. A story may transport us to another world, introduce us to unfamiliar circumstances or draw us into a mystery. Yet, somewhere along the way, it also asks us to examine our own assumptions about truth, love, responsibility and forgiveness.

And when the final page is turned, the most meaningful question may not be whether the mystery has been solved or the conflict resolved, but whether the story has helped us understand something more about ourselves.

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About the Author

Prashant Kumar Lal is an educator, retired school principal and author whose writing spans philosophical fiction, contemporary romance, mystery and educational literature. Drawing on extensive experience in school education and leadership, he explores questions of human relationships, moral responsibility, social justice and the choices that shape individual lives.

Explore his books through his Amazon author catalogue and visit his literary blog for further reflections and discussions.

Which celebrity would you love to meet, and what would you talk about?

Beyond the Spotlight: What Makes a Celebrity Worth Meeting?

Fame may make a person recognisable, but character makes that person unforgettable.

We live in an age when celebrity has become almost a currency. A face appearing on television, a name trending on social media, a film earning millions at the box office or a cricketer hitting a match-winning six can transform an ordinary individual into a household name. We follow their lives, celebrate their achievements, discuss their relationships and sometimes know more about their daily routines than we know about our neighbours.

But have we ever paused to ask a fundamental question: What truly makes someone a celebrity? Is it wealth, talent, popularity, influence or the ability to command attention? And if we were offered an opportunity to meet any celebrity in the world, whom would we choose, and what would we want to talk about?

These questions deserve more than superficial answers.

Is Fame the Same as Greatness?

A celebrity is generally someone who enjoys widespread public recognition. Actors, musicians, sportspersons, writers, political figures and social activists may all become celebrities. Some earn fame through exceptional talent; others through controversy, wealth or sheer visibility.

Yet fame and greatness are not necessarily synonymous.

A person may be famous without contributing anything meaningful to society. Another may spend a lifetime teaching children, treating patients, helping the underprivileged or protecting the environment without ever appearing on a television screen. The first may be recognised by millions, while the second may be remembered with gratitude by only a few hundred.

Who, then, has made the greater difference?

Perhaps celebrity is about being known, whereas greatness is about being valued. Fame attracts attention, but character earns respect. Popularity can disappear with changing fashions, while the influence of a truly remarkable person may continue for generations.

In my view, a celebrity becomes genuinely worthy of admiration when talent is accompanied by humility, success by responsibility, and influence by a willingness to make the world a little better.

Whom Would I Choose to Meet?

If I could meet any celebrity, I would choose A. P. J. Abdul Kalam, the former President of India, distinguished scientist, teacher and author.

His life represents something far more enduring than conventional fame. He rose from modest beginnings in Rameswaram to become one of India’s most respected scientific minds and eventually its eleventh President. Yet, despite his extraordinary achievements, he remained approachable, curious and deeply committed to young people.

What fascinates me most about Dr Kalam is the combination of scientific thinking and spiritual reflection that characterised his outlook. He demonstrated that intellectual achievement need not diminish humility and that occupying the highest constitutional office need not distance a person from ordinary citizens.

I would not want to meet him merely to obtain a photograph or collect an autograph. Such mementoes have their place, but a meaningful conversation with an extraordinary individual could offer something much more valuable: a new way of looking at life.

I would want to sit across from him, perhaps with a cup of tea, and ask questions that go beyond his public achievements.

The Questions I Would Ask

My first question would be: How can we teach young people to dream ambitiously without making them impatient with the slow, demanding process of achieving those dreams?

Having spent much of my professional life in education, I have come to appreciate that the real challenge is not merely to help students score well in examinations. It is to prepare them to think independently, face failure courageously and make responsible decisions. Dr Kalam’s faith in the power of young minds would make his response particularly valuable.

My second question would concern the relationship between success and happiness. When a person has achieved professional recognition, financial security and social status, what should that person seek next?

Modern society often encourages us to keep moving the goalposts. We obtain a qualification and pursue another; secure a position and aspire to a higher one; acquire possessions and begin desiring more expensive ones. Ambition is not inherently undesirable, but endless comparison can prevent us from appreciating what we already possess.

I would be interested to know how Dr Kalam reconciled the pursuit of excellence with contentment, and how he maintained his sense of purpose amid the demands of public life.

My third question would be about leadership: How can a leader remain honest and compassionate when circumstances demand difficult decisions and people expect immediate results?

As a former school principal, I understand that leadership is rarely as simple as issuing instructions. It involves listening, accepting responsibility, managing disagreements and sometimes making unpopular decisions. The quality of a leader is revealed not merely when everything goes well, but when competing interests make every available choice difficult.

Finally, I would ask him what he considered his greatest achievement. Would it be his scientific contributions, his presidency or the inspiration he provided to generations of students?

I suspect that his answer would reveal something important about the difference between a successful career and a meaningful life.

Beyond Dr Kalam: The People Who Inspire Us

Of course, the celebrity we choose to meet depends on what we value and what we hope to learn.

A passionate admirer of cinema might choose an accomplished actor to understand the discipline, emotional preparation and sacrifices behind memorable performances. Someone who loves music might prefer a legendary singer and ask how a melody can communicate feelings that ordinary language cannot express.

A young entrepreneur might seek the counsel of an innovative business leader, while an aspiring sportsperson might want to understand how champions cope with defeat, pressure and the fear of failure.

Writers, too, offer fascinating possibilities. A conversation with a celebrated author could explore the origins of creativity, the relationship between imagination and experience, and the extraordinary ability of words to preserve human emotions across generations.

And what about meeting a social worker who has devoted decades to helping people whose suffering rarely attracts public attention? Such an encounter might remind us that the most meaningful lives are not always lived beneath bright lights.

The ideal celebrity, therefore, is not necessarily the most famous person we can name. It is someone whose experience, ideas or values could enlarge our understanding of ourselves and the world.

What Would I Talk About?

I would prefer a conversation that moved naturally from personal experience to universal questions.

I would ask what keeps a person motivated when recognition fades, how setbacks reshape ambition, and whether there were moments when doubt proved more instructive than success. I would also be curious about the people who influenced their journey, the mistakes they would avoid if given another opportunity, and the values they refused to compromise.

Most importantly, I would ask what they had learnt about human relationships.

Behind every celebrated public figure is a private individual who experiences affection, disappointment, uncertainty and loss. Fame may open doors, but it cannot guarantee peace of mind or protect anyone from the complexities of being human.

Perhaps the most revealing question would be this: If you could speak to your younger self, what one piece of advice would you offer?

The answer might contain more wisdom than an entire shelf of motivational books.

I would also hope to discuss failure. We tend to celebrate the finished achievement while overlooking the years of preparation, rejection and uncertainty that preceded it. Hearing an accomplished person speak candidly about their mistakes could make success seem less mysterious and failure less frightening.

I would listen more than I spoke. After all, meeting an inspiring person should not become an exercise in demonstrating one’s own knowledge. The purpose should be to discover something one did not know before.

The Celebrity Within Us

There is, however, another dimension to this subject.

While we spend considerable time admiring celebrities, we sometimes forget to recognise the ordinary people whose actions make our lives richer. A teacher who awakens a student’s curiosity, a nurse who comforts a frightened patient, a parent who sacrifices personal ambitions for a child’s future, or a friend who stands beside us during a difficult period may never become famous.

Yet their influence can be profound.

Social media has made public recognition easier to obtain and harder to interpret. The number of followers, likes and views can create an illusion that visibility is the same as worth. But the true measure of a person’s contribution cannot always be counted. Sometimes it is found in a life changed, a confidence restored or a kindness remembered decades later.

Perhaps each of us should occasionally ask a different question: if our lives were measured not by how many people knew our names but by how many people were better off because we had crossed their paths, what would the result be?

It is a humbling thought.

A Meeting Worth Remembering

If I were fortunate enough to meet Dr Kalam, I would hope to leave the conversation with more than an inspiring quotation. I would want to carry away a practical insight that I could apply to my own life and share with others.

I would want to understand how to remain curious in old age, purposeful after professional retirement and hopeful even when the world appears preoccupied with material success. I would want to know how a person can continue contributing to society without needing applause or recognition.

And before we parted, I would thank him for demonstrating that intellectual brilliance and simplicity of living can coexist, and that a person’s influence need not end with the completion of a career.

I might never have the opportunity to meet him, but that does not prevent me from learning from his life and work. In a sense, this is the quiet privilege of knowing about remarkable people: their ideas can reach us even when a personal meeting is impossible.

Fame Fades, Influence Remains

So, what makes someone a celebrity? Public recognition may provide the initial answer, but it cannot be the final one. Talent attracts attention, achievement establishes credibility, and character determines whether admiration has a lasting foundation.

And whom should we meet if given the opportunity?

Choose someone whose life raises questions you genuinely want answered. Choose a person whose experiences might challenge your assumptions, whose wisdom could deepen your understanding, or whose example might encourage you to become a better version of yourself.

Do not meet a celebrity merely to stand beside a famous face. Meet one to encounter an interesting mind.

For me, Dr A. P. J. Abdul Kalam would be that person—not simply because he was the President of India or a renowned scientist, but because he embodied a compelling idea: that achievement becomes more meaningful when it serves a purpose greater than personal success.

Ultimately, the finest conversation with a celebrity may not be the one we remember for having met someone extraordinary. It may be the one that inspires us to do something extraordinary, however quietly, with our own lives.

After all, the greatest privilege is not to be seen in the company of a celebrated person, but to discover something within that makes our own lives more worthy of being lived.

The Forgiven Fake: a review

The Forgiven Fake: a review

The Forgiven Fake begins with a forged statue and a receipt. In an unapproved attic in Malabar Hill, Aaravi Varma finds a bronze Nataraja chalked FAKE / MORADABAD / 1967. Beneath it is a receipt for Rs 7500 and a line that gives the novel its moral: Let it be the one lie I tell God. The house has kept this lie for fifty-six years. The book asks what a family owes the things it hides, and the answer it offers is unusually gentle.

Its central idea is also its freshest. Most mysteries sort people by who did the wrong thing. This novel sorts them by who kept the secret. Its ladder runs from thief to fool, fool to boarder, boarder to keeper, each one lighter than the last. The plot leaves Mumbai for a Hackney storage unit, a Mayfair dealer’s empty pedestal and a Jebel Ali container that is empty but still fragrant. It ends in a Thiruvarur temple, where a goddess is sold during a drought to feed forty children waiting to be forgiven. The Chola bronze tradition, the weaving of Kanjeevaram silk and the paperwork of the Bombay municipality give the book real texture.

The motifs are what make it memorable. The half-pressed thumb of the Ardha Mudra turns up on bronzes, in diaries and on bodies. Ceiling-stick taps greet, warn and bless, and a tube-light comes on for every kilometre of the last journey. Aaravi’s own body works as a kind of archive, with a mango-leaf birthmark and an ankle stained by a burst pen. The romance with Ishan Kade, a restorer who repairs without erasing the flaw, follows the same idea as the plot. It is warm and adult, restrained rather than explicit, and it develops slowly enough to feel earned.

The book has costs. At this length the recurring refrains (Let it be light, Both forgave, What remains is thread) can start to feel like cues rather than discoveries. The structure also repeats: each chapter circles one object, one memory and one refrain. That suits a meditative reader and may tire someone who wants the mystery to move faster. The solution to who took the bronze and who returned for it matters less than the emotional resolution, so readers expecting a tight puzzle may be disappointed.

Those who like Indian family fiction in the line of Arundhati Roy or Jhumpa Lahiri, patient mysteries and heritage stories will find a lot to enjoy. The prose is lyrical and precise, the sense of place is strong, and the ending is moving.

Rating: 4 out of 5. A lyrical, forgiving mystery that is more about keeping than stealing.

What does it mean to be a good person?

The Quiet Measure of Goodness: What Does It Truly Mean to Be a Good Person?

Goodness is not measured by how loudly we speak of our virtues, but by how gently we touch the lives of others.

In a world that often celebrates success, wealth, influence and recognition, an important question deserves our attention: What does it really mean to be a good person?

Is it about following religious traditions, helping the poor, speaking politely, respecting our elders or being admired by society? Perhaps it is a little of all these things, yet none of them, in isolation, is sufficient. Goodness is far more profound than a collection of respectable habits. It is a way of looking at the world, treating people and responding to life’s innumerable challenges when nobody is watching.

A good person is not necessarily the one who appears perfect. It is the one who continues to strive towards what is right, even when doing so is inconvenient, unrewarding or misunderstood.

Goodness Begins Where Pretence Ends

We live in an age in which appearances can easily be mistaken for character. A person may speak eloquently about compassion, share inspirational quotations, participate in charitable activities and display religious devotion, yet remain indifferent to the suffering of someone standing beside them.

Conversely, another person may never speak about morality or advertise their generosity, but quietly help a neighbour, listen patiently to a troubled friend or stand beside someone whom society has abandoned.

Which of the two comes closer to goodness?

The answer lies not in the performance of virtue but in its practice.

True goodness does not require an audience. It reveals itself in ordinary moments: returning something that does not belong to us, acknowledging a mistake, keeping a promise when breaking it would be easier, or refusing to humiliate someone who has made an honest error.

Character is often formed in these small, seemingly insignificant decisions. Over time, they become the moral architecture of our lives.

Kindness Is Strength, Not Weakness

Some people mistake kindness for timidity and compassion for an inability to defend oneself. They believe that a good person must always accommodate others, avoid confrontation and forgive every wrong without question.

This is a misunderstanding.

A good person can be firm without being cruel, assertive without being arrogant and courageous without becoming aggressive. Goodness does not demand that we surrender our dignity to preserve someone else’s comfort.

Sometimes, the kindest thing we can do is tell an uncomfortable truth. Sometimes, it is necessary to refuse a request, challenge an injustice or walk away from a relationship that repeatedly diminishes us.

The distinction lies in our intention and manner. Do we seek to correct, or merely to wound? Are we defending what is right, or protecting our pride?

Kindness becomes meaningful when it is accompanied by courage. It is easy to be pleasant when everything goes our way. The real test comes when we are disappointed, provoked or treated unfairly.

Can we remain fair when anger tempts us to be vindictive? Can we disagree without stripping another person of their dignity? Can we protect our own interests without deliberately damaging someone else’s?

These are not insignificant achievements. They are evidence of an inner strength that applause cannot confer.

Empathy: Learning to See Beyond Ourselves

One of the greatest obstacles to goodness is the assumption that our own experiences provide a complete understanding of everybody else’s life.

We judge the impatient stranger without knowing what news they have received. We criticise the struggling colleague without understanding the burden they carry. We dismiss an elderly person’s fears because we have forgotten how uncertain the world can appear with advancing age.

Empathy invites us to pause before passing judgement.

It does not mean agreeing with everyone or excusing every harmful action. Rather, it means recognising that human behaviour often has a history we cannot see. Every person carries memories, disappointments, insecurities, responsibilities and private battles.

A little understanding can change the nature of an interaction. Instead of asking, Why is this person behaving so badly?, we might ask, What might I be overlooking?

That simple shift does not solve every problem, but it can prevent unnecessary cruelty.

Perhaps one of the finest expressions of goodness is the ability to recognise another person’s humanity even when we disapprove of their choices.

Honesty When It Costs Us Something

Honesty is easy when the truth benefits us. Its real significance emerges when telling the truth threatens our reputation, convenience, financial interests or personal relationships.

A good person does not manipulate facts merely to escape embarrassment. They do not take credit for another person’s work, exploit someone’s trust or make promises they have no intention of keeping.

Yet honesty requires more than avoiding lies. It also involves acknowledging our limitations, admitting when we are wrong and resisting the temptation to present ourselves as morally superior.

None of us possesses the complete truth about every situation. We can misunderstand people, misjudge circumstances and become prisoners of our own prejudices. Intellectual humility—the willingness to reconsider our beliefs—is therefore an essential companion to honesty.

A person who can say, “I was wrong, and I am sorry,” demonstrates a quality that is becoming increasingly valuable in a world where winning an argument sometimes appears more important than discovering the truth.

An apology does not diminish dignity. When sincere, it restores it.

Is a Good Person Someone Who Never Makes Mistakes?

Certainly not.

To expect perfection from ourselves or others is to misunderstand human nature. Even well-intentioned people can be selfish, impatient, insensitive or unfair. We sometimes hurt those we love, neglect responsibilities or make decisions whose consequences we fail to anticipate.

What matters is what follows.

Do we acknowledge the harm? Do we listen to the person who has been hurt? Do we make a genuine effort to repair the damage and avoid repeating the same behaviour?

There is a considerable difference between making a mistake and refusing to accept responsibility for it.

Goodness is not the absence of failure; it is the willingness to learn from failure. It requires the humility to examine ourselves without becoming consumed by guilt and the courage to change without constantly defending our past.

We must also learn to forgive ourselves. Endless self-condemnation rarely makes anyone better. Honest reflection, responsible action and sustained improvement are more useful responses to our imperfections.

A good person is not someone who has never stumbled. It is someone who understands the importance of getting up with greater wisdom.

Goodness Beyond Religion and Ritual

Religion can offer valuable moral guidance, inspire charity and encourage people to cultivate compassion, humility and service. For millions, faith provides a meaningful foundation for living responsibly.

However, religious identity and moral conduct are not automatically synonymous. Nor should goodness be judged solely by a person’s religious affiliation, rituals or public declarations of faith.

The deeper question is whether our beliefs influence the way we treat people.

Do our prayers make us more patient? Does our spiritual practice reduce our arrogance? Does our understanding of sacred teachings encourage us to serve rather than discriminate, to forgive rather than seek revenge, and to help rather than exploit?

A person may express goodness through religious devotion, while another may live by conscience, empathy and a commitment to human dignity without belonging to any religious tradition.

The labels may differ, but the moral aspiration can be remarkably similar.

Perhaps the truest test of spirituality is not how often we speak to God, but whether our conduct reflects the compassion, justice and humility that we claim to seek.

The Courage to Stand Up for What Is Right

Goodness is not always gentle in appearance. Sometimes it requires resistance.

When someone is bullied, a good person does not automatically join the crowd. When an employee is treated unfairly, goodness may demand that a colleague speak up. When a vulnerable person is exploited, silence can become a form of complicity.

Remaining neutral may seem convenient, particularly when taking a stand carries personal risks. Yet there are moments when the refusal to oppose wrongdoing allows it to flourish.

Of course, courage must be exercised with judgement. Not every disagreement is an injustice, and not every confrontation produces a useful outcome. But a person who consistently protects personal comfort at the expense of fairness eventually has to confront the moral cost of that choice.

Goodness asks us to consider not only what we do to others, but also what we permit to happen when we have the ability to help.

We may not possess the power to change the world, but we can influence the small part of it entrusted to us.

Do Goodness and Happiness Always Go Together?

It would be comforting to believe that good people are invariably rewarded with happiness, respect and success. Unfortunately, life offers no such guarantee.

Honest people may be deceived. Generous people may be exploited. Loyal individuals may be betrayed. Those who act with integrity may lose opportunities to those more willing to manipulate circumstances.

This can make goodness appear impractical, particularly in competitive environments where results often seem to matter more than methods.

Yet morality cannot be reduced to a calculation of immediate rewards.

If we are kind only because we expect gratitude, honest only because we fear punishment, or generous only because we hope for recognition, our goodness remains conditional.

This does not mean that we should invite exploitation or disregard our own well-being. We should establish boundaries, recognise manipulation and protect ourselves from repeated harm.

The point is that we need not abandon our principles merely because someone else has abandoned theirs.

There is a quiet freedom in knowing that our choices are consistent with our conscience. It may not eliminate regret, disappointment or hardship, but it allows us to live without continually negotiating our integrity.

The Goodness We Practise at Home

It is often easier to appear kind before strangers than to remain patient with the people who know us best.

At home, our public manners may disappear beneath fatigue, irritation and familiarity. We may take a partner’s support for granted, dismiss a child’s questions, ignore an elderly parent’s need for conversation or assume that our loved ones will always understand our moods.

Yet goodness must begin in the relationships closest to us.

It is found in listening without checking a telephone, sharing responsibilities without keeping a record of favours, respecting differences between generations and expressing appreciation for work that might otherwise go unnoticed.

It means remembering that affection does not give us ownership over another person’s thoughts, time or decisions.

Our loved ones do not need us to be flawless. They need us to be considerate, dependable and willing to communicate honestly. They need the freedom to disagree without fearing rejection and the reassurance that their dignity will remain intact even during difficult conversations.

A person who speaks eloquently about humanity but repeatedly wounds those within their own home has an important lesson still to learn.

Goodness is not merely what we offer the world outside. It is what the people closest to us experience every day.

A Few Questions Worth Asking Ourselves

We do not need to wait for a dramatic moral crisis to discover what kind of people we are. A few honest questions, asked regularly, can help us examine our conduct.

• Have I treated people with respect, regardless of their position, wealth or usefulness to me?
• Have I listened carefully before judging someone?
• Have I acknowledged the harm caused by my words or actions?
• Have I helped someone without expecting a favour in return?
• Have I stood up for fairness when remaining silent would have been easier?
• Have I respected the boundaries and choices of those I claim to love?
• Am I willing to change my opinion when evidence shows that I am wrong?

These questions are not an examination that we must pass with perfect marks. They are reminders that goodness requires attention and effort.

Self-reflection becomes valuable when it leads to action. Recognising our shortcomings is only the beginning; changing our behaviour is the real achievement.

The Legacy of an Ordinary Good Person

When we think about the people who have influenced our lives, we do not always remember the wealth they accumulated, the positions they occupied or the recognition they received.

Often, we remember something much simpler.

We remember the teacher who believed in us when we doubted ourselves. The neighbour who helped during a difficult hour. The colleague who defended us when we were not present. The stranger who offered assistance without asking our name. The parent who made sacrifices without turning them into a lifelong debt.

Such people may never become famous, but their goodness continues through the lives they have touched.

Their influence reminds us that a meaningful legacy need not be built from extraordinary achievements. It can grow through ordinary acts of decency repeated over many years.

A thoughtful word can restore confidence. A fair decision can protect someone’s future. An act of generosity can interrupt a cycle of hardship. A sincere apology can rescue a relationship that pride might otherwise destroy.

We rarely know the full consequences of our actions. This is precisely why we should be careful with the power we possess, however modest it may appear.

Be Better, Not Superior

Perhaps the greatest danger in trying to become a good person is the temptation to believe that we are better than everyone else.

Moral pride can quietly undermine the very qualities we seek to cultivate. We begin by trying to act with integrity and end by judging those who fall short of our expectations. We become more interested in identifying other people’s faults than in examining our own.

True goodness makes us more conscious of our responsibilities, not more convinced of our superiority.

It teaches us to be firm about principles and humble about ourselves, generous without being gullible, forgiving without surrendering our boundaries, and compassionate without abandoning justice.

We may never reach a point at which every decision is correct or every response is wise. Human life is too complicated for such certainty. But we can choose, each day, to be a little more patient, a little more honest and a little less indifferent to the suffering around us.

Ultimately, being a good person is not about earning a certificate of moral perfection. It is about the direction in which we are travelling.

When we make a mistake, we can take responsibility. When we encounter suffering, we can respond with compassion. When we possess an advantage, we can use it fairly. When we have the opportunity to help, we can choose not to look away.

And when life tests our principles, we can remember that our character is shaped not merely by what we believe, but by what we are willing to practise.

The world does not need more people who merely look virtuous. It needs more people who make honesty, kindness, fairness and compassion a part of everyday life.

Perhaps, in the end, the simplest definition of a good person is this: someone who tries to leave people, places and situations a little better than they found them.

Not every day will be successful. Not every effort will be recognised. But if we continue to choose decency over cruelty, understanding over prejudice and responsibility over indifference, our lives will have contributed something worthwhile to the world.

And that, perhaps, is goodness enough.

---

Prashant Kumar Lal
Author

The Forgiven Fake: When Deception Seeks the Grace of Forgiveness

Some truths find you, even when you try to hide.

A Book Review

What happens when a carefully constructed life begins to crumble beneath the weight of concealed truths? Can deception ever be forgiven, and does the discovery of a painful reality necessarily destroy the possibility of love? These compelling questions lie at the heart of The Forgiven Fake, a thought-provoking novel by Prashant Kumar Lal that explores the intricate relationship between truth, identity, betrayal and redemption.

With a title that immediately arouses curiosity, the novel promises a journey into the uncertain territory where appearances can be misleading, intentions can be misunderstood, and the past can exert an unsettling influence on the present. The word fake suggests pretence, concealment and the fragile structures people build to protect themselves, while forgiven introduces the possibility of compassion, reconciliation and a second chance. Together, the two words establish an intriguing emotional premise.

One of the most compelling aspects of such a narrative is its exploration of human nature. People do not always reveal their authentic selves to the world. Sometimes they conceal the truth out of fear, sometimes out of shame, and sometimes because they believe that a carefully maintained illusion will protect those they love. Yet deception, however well-intentioned, can become a burden that grows heavier with time. When the truth finally emerges, the consequences may extend far beyond the original act of concealment.

The novel’s central theme invites readers to consider whether a person’s worth should be judged solely by their mistakes or also by their willingness to acknowledge them. Forgiveness, after all, is neither an automatic absolution nor an obligation imposed upon the injured. It is a deeply personal decision that requires courage, reflection and, often, the difficult reconstruction of trust.

The title also raises an important distinction between forgiving a person and accepting the falsehood that person has created. Genuine reconciliation cannot rest indefinitely upon pretence. It requires honesty, accountability and the willingness to face uncomfortable realities. In this respect, the novel’s premise offers fertile ground for an examination of the moral complexities that shape relationships and influence human decisions.

Prashant Kumar Lal’s choice of title is particularly effective because it creates an immediate sense of mystery. Who is the fake? What has been concealed, and why? Is the deception an act of calculated manipulation, an attempt at self-preservation, or the consequence of circumstances that have spiralled beyond anyone’s control? Such questions encourage readers to look beyond appearances and remain attentive to the motives that lie beneath human behaviour.

Beyond the element of intrigue, the novel’s subject matter possesses a universal appeal. Every individual, at some point, must confront the distance between the person they appear to be and the person they truly are. Families, friendships and romantic relationships can all be affected by unspoken truths. The challenge is not merely to uncover what has happened, but to understand why it happened and whether the damage can be repaired.

The possibility of forgiveness gives the narrative its emotional dimension. It suggests that the conclusion of a painful chapter need not mean the end of a person’s journey. Mistakes may leave lasting consequences, but they can also become catalysts for self-examination and change. The most meaningful redemption is not secured through eloquent apologies alone; it is demonstrated through actions that establish the credibility of a changed life.

Ultimately, The Forgiven Fake invites reflection on a question that extends beyond the pages of fiction: Is forgiveness possible when the truth threatens to destroy everything we once believed? Its title brings together the opposing forces of deception and grace, leaving readers to contemplate the price of dishonesty and the difficult generosity required to forgive.

Prashant Kumar Lal’s novel presents a promising premise for readers who appreciate emotionally engaging fiction with an interest in human relationships, moral dilemmas and the complexities of the heart. It encourages us to look beyond superficial judgements, recognise the consequences of our choices and consider whether understanding can sometimes achieve what condemnation cannot.

Verdict: The Forgiven Fake is a title that intrigues and a premise that invites introspection. Its central themes of truth, trust, accountability and forgiveness offer readers an opportunity to reflect upon the imperfections that define us and the choices that may ultimately redeem us. It is a story whose underlying question lingers long after the final page: when the mask falls, what remains—and is that enough to begin again?

Recommended for: Readers who enjoy relationship-centred fiction, emotional dilemmas, secrets, personal transformation and stories that explore the complicated boundaries between deception and forgiveness.

Prashant Kumar Lal is the author of fiction and reflective writing that explores human relationships, life’s contradictions and the enduring search for meaning.

The Country at the Top of My Bucket List: A Journey My Heart Still Dreams Ofp

What’s a country that’s at the top of your bucket list?

The Country at the Top of My Bucket List: A Journey My Heart Still Dreams Of

Some journeys begin with a ticket in your hand; others begin with a dream that refuses to fade.

There is something magical about the thought of travelling to a country you have never visited. Long before you pack your suitcase, book your flights or check the weather, your imagination has already taken you there. You have wandered through its streets, admired its landscapes, tasted its food and perhaps even imagined yourself sitting in a quiet café, watching the world pass by. The journey begins in the mind, but the heart keeps asking when it will become a reality.

If I were to choose one country at the top of my bucket list, I would choose Japan.

Not merely because it is technologically advanced, aesthetically beautiful or famous for its cherry blossoms, but because it appears to have mastered a delicate balance between the old and the new. It is a country where ancient temples coexist with futuristic cities, where centuries-old traditions survive alongside extraordinary innovations, and where the hurried rhythm of modern life seems to find an unexpected companion in the tranquillity of nature.

For a traveller who enjoys observing people, understanding cultures and reflecting on the deeper questions of life, Japan seems to offer much more than a holiday. It promises an education in living.

Where the Past Walks Beside the Future

One of the most fascinating aspects of Japan is its ability to preserve its cultural identity while embracing change. Tokyo, with its towering buildings, sophisticated transport systems, illuminated streets and bustling shopping districts, represents the possibilities of the modern world. Yet, only a different experience away, Kyoto offers a glimpse of another age through its traditional wooden houses, serene gardens, historic temples and narrow lanes.

I would love to experience both worlds.

I imagine walking through the crowded streets of Tokyo, watching the precision with which people move through their daily routines. I would be curious about the discipline, courtesy and efficiency that have become associated with Japanese society. I would also want to understand the human stories behind this apparent order. What do people think about when they return home after a demanding day? What makes them happy? What do they fear, hope for and dream about?

These questions interest me far more than the prospect of merely collecting photographs.

In Kyoto, I would slow down. I would walk through traditional neighbourhoods, admire the architecture and spend time in a peaceful garden. I would like to sit quietly beneath a tree, observing the play of light and shadow, without feeling compelled to record every moment on a mobile phone.

Sometimes, the best way to experience a place is to stop trying to capture it.

The Poetry of Cherry Blossoms

If there is one image that makes Japan especially enchanting, it is that of cherry blossoms in spring.

The delicate pink and white flowers transform parks, streets and riverbanks into scenes of extraordinary beauty. People gather beneath the trees, families share meals, friends celebrate the season, and photographers attempt to preserve a spectacle that nature never promises to repeat in precisely the same way.

Yet, the beauty of cherry blossoms lies not only in their appearance. It also lies in their brevity.

Their flowers bloom, delight the world for a short period and then fall. They remind us that beauty need not be permanent to be meaningful. Indeed, perhaps its impermanence is what makes it precious.

This thought resonates with the way I look at life. We spend years pursuing achievements, accumulating possessions and postponing experiences until a more convenient time arrives. We often behave as though the important things can wait indefinitely.

But time does not make such promises.

The cherry blossoms would remind me that there is a season for everything, and that some experiences must be enjoyed when the opportunity presents itself. A journey to Japan, therefore, would not simply be about admiring flowers. It would be an invitation to reflect on the fleeting nature of life itself.

A Culture That Teaches Through Small Things

I am equally fascinated by the Japanese emphasis on courtesy, craftsmanship and attention to detail. From the presentation of food to the design of gardens, there seems to be a deep appreciation for the idea that even ordinary things deserve thoughtful treatment.

I would love to experience a traditional Japanese tea ceremony, where the preparation and serving of tea become an exercise in mindfulness rather than a hurried routine. I would be interested in the philosophy behind Japanese gardens, where stones, water, plants and empty spaces are arranged to create a sense of harmony.

Even the concept of leaving space for something to breathe appeals to me.

Perhaps this is a lesson that extends beyond architecture and aesthetics. Our lives, too, can become overcrowded. We fill our calendars, accumulate responsibilities and surround ourselves with noise, leaving little room for contemplation. We mistake constant activity for meaningful progress.

Japan, as I imagine experiencing it, might teach me to appreciate simplicity without confusing it with deprivation, and discipline without sacrificing tenderness.

Of course, no country is perfect, and every society has its own pressures and contradictions. I would want to discover Japan as it actually is, rather than through an idealised picture created by books, films and travel documentaries. Understanding a country requires curiosity as well as admiration.

Food, Streets and Unplanned Discoveries

A country’s character can often be discovered through its food. I would be eager to sample authentic Japanese cuisine, explore local markets and visit small restaurants where the emphasis is on freshness, balance and presentation.

I would also like to travel beyond the familiar tourist attractions. Perhaps I would discover a quiet street lined with little shops, meet a shopkeeper who speaks a few words of English, or find myself in a neighbourhood where everyday life unfolds without any awareness of the visitor observing it.

These unplanned encounters often become the most enduring memories of travel.

I have always believed that meeting people from different backgrounds broadens one’s understanding of the world. Every person carries a story, and every culture offers a different perspective on familiar human concerns: family, ambition, relationships, ageing, happiness and the search for meaning.

Even when language becomes a barrier, a smile, a gesture or a moment of kindness can establish a connection.

I would not want to return from Japan merely with photographs of Mount Fuji, Tokyo’s skyline or Kyoto’s temples. I would hope to return with stories about people, small discoveries and moments that changed the way I looked at something I had previously taken for granted.

Beyond the Tourist’s Camera

For me, the real value of travelling lies in the opportunity to step outside the familiar boundaries of one’s life. We become accustomed to our routines, our opinions and our ways of interpreting the world. Gradually, without realising it, we begin to believe that our way of living is the natural way of living.

Travel challenges that assumption.

It teaches us that people can approach the same questions differently and still find purpose, fulfilment and happiness. It reminds us that customs we consider unusual may have deep cultural significance, while practices we take for granted may appear equally strange to someone else.

Japan would offer me an opportunity to observe another society with an open mind. I would like to learn how its traditions have endured, how its younger generations are shaping its future and how its people navigate the tensions between individual aspirations and collective expectations.

As an educator who has spent a substantial part of his life observing young minds and human behaviour, I would find such experiences particularly enriching. Every journey can become a classroom, provided we remain willing to learn.

And unlike a conventional classroom, the world does not always announce the lesson before teaching it.

The Journey Matters More Than the Destination

There is, however, one important truth about bucket lists: they can become collections of postponed dreams.

We write down the places we wish to visit, the books we intend to read, the people we hope to meet and the experiences we promise ourselves we will pursue someday. We tell ourselves that there will be more time after retirement, after a financial milestone, after a family responsibility or after life becomes less complicated.

Sometimes, that convenient moment arrives. Sometimes, it does not.

A bucket list should inspire us rather than become another source of regret. Not every dream needs to be fulfilled exactly as imagined, and not every meaningful experience requires travelling thousands of miles. Yet, when a dream continues to call, it deserves at least an honest attempt.

For me, Japan represents one such dream. I would like to stand beneath the cherry blossoms, witness the contrast between its ancient temples and modern cities, experience its culinary traditions and observe the quiet details of everyday life.

But more than anything, I would like to return with a renewed appreciation of the world and its astonishing diversity.

Perhaps I would discover that some of my expectations were misplaced. Perhaps I would find that the most memorable moments were not the famous landmarks but an unexpected conversation, a peaceful morning or a simple act of hospitality. That, too, would be part of the adventure.

If Not Now, When?

As the years pass, the meaning of travel changes. In youth, we may travel to explore, achieve, celebrate or escape. Later in life, we may travel to understand, remember, reconnect and discover what still lies beyond the horizon.

The desire to explore need not diminish with age. If anything, experience can make travel more meaningful because we carry a lifetime of memories, questions and reflections with us.

We begin to notice things that might once have escaped our attention. We appreciate a quiet landscape, a stranger’s kindness or a moment of silence. We understand that the value of a journey cannot always be measured by the number of destinations visited or the money spent.

Sometimes, a single afternoon in an unfamiliar place can teach us more than a meticulously planned itinerary.

Japan sits at the top of my bucket list because it promises a meeting of contrasts: tradition and innovation, movement and stillness, discipline and beauty. I would like to experience these contrasts not as a detached observer but as a traveller prepared to listen, question and learn.

And if I ever find myself sitting beneath a cherry tree, watching its petals drift gently to the ground, I hope I will resist the temptation to reach for my camera immediately. I would rather remain still for a few moments and allow the experience to settle within me.

After all, some memories become more precious when we stop trying to photograph them.

The country at the top of my bucket list is Japan. But the destination I am really seeking is a deeper understanding of the world, of other people and, perhaps, of myself.

And that is a journey worth taking, wherever it begins.