Beads of Eternity: The Rosary I Wear and the Spirit It Sustains

Beads of Eternity: The Rosary I Wear and the Spirit It Sustains

As I began my day today, buttoning my shirt and preparing myself for yet another chapter in life’s unpredictable story, a gentle weight tugged at my attention — familiar, steady, unassuming. It was my rosary — the oldest thing I am wearing today.

Not old in the way an heirloom is admired or antiques are appraised. It is old in the way rivers are old — having flowed quietly across the terrain of my soul, shaping it, smoothing it, and occasionally rising in tide when I needed it most. This rosary, made of dark wooden beads and a modest crucifix, has become more than an accessory. It is my silent companion, my spiritual compass, and, in many ways, the keeper of my inner monologue with the Divine.

There is something profoundly moving about wearing something that has absorbed your tears, echoed your prayers, and rested against your heartbeat during sleepless nights and quiet sunrises. Each bead carries the memory of intentions whispered — some fulfilled, others deferred — and the soundless cries that words could never quite hold.

My rosary has aged with me. The beads, once glossy, have dulled from the faithful touch of fingers that have returned to them over and over again, in joy, in despair, in thanksgiving. The string has weakened but held, much like my body at times, or my resolve — stretched, but never snapped. And the crucifix, though simple, stands like a sentinel — witnessing the confessions I’ve made not aloud but through silence.

Rosaries have long been misunderstood by those who see only ritual and not relationship. For me, it is not merely a religious object. It is a thread that connects earth to heaven, self to spirit, chaos to calm. It is theology strung into rhythm — a living manuscript written bead by bead through the soul’s interaction with eternity.

In the religious tradition, and in many other strands of religion and even other faiths, prayer beads are not meant to decorate. They are meant to deepen. They are used not to show off piety but to train the heart into stillness and the mind into remembrance. My rosary reminds me to breathe deliberately, to forgive often, to intercede for others, and to reflect on mysteries far beyond my limited understanding.

There is deep symbolism in this object. The circular form of the rosary represents the eternal nature of God. The repetition of prayers is not vain muttering, but spiritual rhythm — like a mantra, a lullaby, or the beating of a heart — drawing us back again and again to the centre of all love. It demands neither noise nor display, only presence.

In a world obsessed with what’s new, what’s trending, and what’s showy, wearing something so deeply personal, so spiritually resonant, feels like a quiet act of rebellion — or perhaps, of surrender. I don’t wear it for others to see. I wear it so that I see — myself, my purpose, my failings, and my faith.

The rosary does not promise answers, but it helps me live the questions. It does not erase the pain of the world, but it lends me the grace to endure it. It does not grant me control, but it teaches me to trust.

And in its silent company, I have found not just routine, but relationship — with God, with the world, and most importantly, with myself.

So yes, the oldest thing I wear today is not a badge of honour or a sign of past success. It is a loop of beads — fragile, yet powerful. A string of hope and history. A soft tether to the eternal. And in its quiet weight, I feel lifted.

And you — what do you carry that carries you?

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To Lead or to Follow: The Compass Within

To Lead or to Follow: The Compass Within

Leadership is not always about standing at the front, nor is following always about trailing behind. Both roles demand strength, vision, and discernment. In the orchestra of life, some wield the baton, while others play the notes that give symphonies their soul. So, am I a leader or a follower? I would say—I am both, and neither, depending on the moment and the mission.

The Measure of a Leader

True leadership is not conferred by title or authority but by the power to inspire, to act with conviction, and to bear responsibility without flinching. My life’s journey—shaped by challenges, shaped by learning, shaped by the sheer will to stand when it would have been easier to sit—has given me opportunities to lead. As a teacher, mentor, and Principal, I have had the privilege to influence, to mould, and to show the path. I have spoken in assembly halls with gravitas and held the hand of a trembling child with quiet assurance. Leadership, I have learned, is a lonely hill sometimes, where applause is faint but the echo of one’s conscience is loud.

But I also know that no leader stands alone. Behind every wise decision lies a thousand small learnings—many drawn from quietly following the wise, the experienced, the humble. A leader must first be a good follower—of truth, of principles, of collective good.

The Grace in Following

The word “follower” often bears an undeserved stigma, especially in an age that glorifies visibility. But following is an art. It requires humility, discipline, and clarity of purpose. To follow a cause, a conscience, or a community with sincerity and integrity is as noble as leading a charge.

I have followed the teachings of ancient scriptures, the philosophy of the wise, the science of reason, and the voices of those who dared to walk paths I hadn’t yet imagined. Following has helped me grow roots before I reached for the sky.

The Balance of Being

Life is not a linear journey from follower to leader; it’s a circular dance of roles. One must know when to hold the torch and when to light someone else’s path. The greatest leaders I have known were also great listeners. They could kneel to lift, pause to ponder, and walk behind to push someone forward.

To use an idiom, “A wise man changes his mind, a fool never.” In knowing when to lead and when to follow, I find not contradiction, but complementarity.

Drawing from Philosophy

Indian scriptures teach of dharma—righteous duty—not just to act, but to act rightly, whether by taking the reins or by lending strength from behind the scenes. The Bhagavad Gita doesn’t just show Krishna leading Arjuna, but also standing as a charioteer, guiding from the shadows. What a splendid metaphor for life’s dual roles.

Greek philosophers, too, pondered the concept of the phronimos—a practically wise person who knows the right thing to do in the right manner at the right time. Sometimes, that means taking charge; sometimes, stepping back.

The Compass Within

So, am I a leader or a follower? I would say I am a compass-bearer, guided not by position but by purpose. I lead when duty calls me to speak, to act, to uplift. I follow when wisdom lies in stillness, silence, and support. The joy lies not in being one or the other, but in knowing which role the moment asks of me.

Because in the grand scheme of things, leadership is not a throne to occupy, and following is not a shadow to hide in. Both are paths of dignity, if walked with truth.

And in the end, whether you lead or follow, walk with grace—because someone, somewhere, is watching your footsteps.

Fruits of the Indian Soil: Nature’s Sweet Story in Five Flavours

Fruits of the Indian Soil: Nature’s Sweet Story in Five Flavours

India, a land resplendent with diversity, colour, and vitality, finds expression in its fruits as much as in its festivals, folklore, and flora. Among the many treasures borne of her generous soil, five fruits – Mango, Guava, Blackberry, Berries, and Oranges – stand out not merely as delicious delights but as threads in the cultural and mythological tapestry of this ancient land. Let us peel back the layers and bite into their story – a mix of nourishment, nostalgia, seasons, and symbolism.

1. Mango – The King That Wears a Crown of Summer

Origin & Cultivation
The mango, Mangifera indica, is a true son of Indian soil, with references as far back as 2000 BCE. It has spread its sweetness across continents, but its heart remains Indian. The states of Uttar Pradesh, Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Bihar are primary mango-producing regions, with varieties like Alphonso, Dasheri, Langra, and Banganapalli being household names.

Season of Plenty
Mangoes ripen with the Indian summer, peaking between April and June, when the sun bestows both heat and harvest.

Nutrition at a Glance
Rich in Vitamin A and C, antioxidants, and fibre, mangoes aid in immunity, digestion, and skin health. A mango a day, in the right portion, keeps your gut and glow on display.

Myth and Meaning
In Hindu mythology, mangoes are associated with prosperity and love. The mango blossom is sacred to Kama, the god of love. Legend holds that Lord Buddha rested in mango groves, which symbolised peace and mindfulness.

Fun and Frolic
Who can forget the pleasure of sucking on a juicy langda aam, competing in mango-eating contests, or relishing aamras with puris? It’s a festival in itself – the grand Indian mango season!

2. Guava – The Humble Healer

Origin & Cultivation
While native to Central America, guava (Psidium guajava) has become an Indian staple. It thrives in tropical and subtropical climates and is widely cultivated in Allahabad, Maharashtra, and parts of Karnataka.

Season of Plenty
Guava trees fruit twice a year, with the best harvest in winter (November to February).

Nutrition at a Glance
A powerhouse of Vitamin C – even more than oranges – guavas boost immunity, help digestion, and regulate blood sugar. With pink, white, or red flesh, they’re a rainbow of health.

Myth and Meaning
Though not strongly embedded in Indian mythology, guava is often regarded in rural folk stories as the fruit of the wise. Its leaves are used in traditional Ayurvedic remedies.

Fun and Frolic
Peeling guavas, sprinkling them with salt and chilli, or munching them with the skin on during a winter walk is pure rustic delight. It’s also a common trope in village tales and childhood memories.

3. Blackberry – The Monsoon’s Midnight Kiss

Origin & Cultivation
In India, the term ‘blackberry‘ often refers to Jamun (Syzygium cumini), not to be confused with the Western Rubus varieties. Native to the Indian subcontinent, Jamun trees flourish in Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra, and Tamil Nadu.

Season of Plenty
Come monsoon – June to August – and the streets are speckled with purple, as vendors pile high their carts with this dusky treat.

Nutrition at a Glance
Jamun is known for its low glycaemic index, making it ideal for diabetics. It’s also rich in iron and antioxidants.

Myth and Meaning
Lord Krishna’s skin colour is often likened to the rich, dark hue of Jamun – Shyam varna. According to folklore, it was the favourite fruit of sages, symbolising inner peace and spiritual calm.

Fun and Frolic
Purple tongues and giggles, climbing trees, and spitting seeds – the antics of Jamun time are etched in the childhood of many Indians. Sticky fingers, purple smiles, and monsoon memories abound.

4. Berries – Nature’s Dainty Darlings

Origin & Cultivation
India grows several local berries like Ber (Indian jujube), Phalsa, Karonda, and Raspberry. These wild gems are cultivated in Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, and hilly terrains of the North-East.

Season of Plenty
Different berries have different harvest times, though most flourish between spring and summer (February to May).

Nutrition at a Glance
Tiny yet mighty, berries are rich in Vitamin C, potassium, and fibre. They are gut-friendly, anti-inflammatory, and a good source of natural sugar.

Myth and Meaning
The Ramayana tells of Shabari, a tribal devotee of Lord Rama, who offered him wild berries after tasting them to ensure their sweetness. This simple act of love and devotion underscores the spiritual purity of these modest fruits.

Fun and Frolic
Berry-picking trips, roadside treats wrapped in leaves, and tart-sweet explosions in the mouth – berries bring rustic joy and countryside adventure.

5. Oranges – The Sunshine in Your Hand

Origin & Cultivation
While oranges (Citrus sinensis) trace their origin to Southeast Asia, India has embraced them wholly. Nagpur in Maharashtra is famously called the ‘Orange City’, producing the finest and juiciest variety.

Season of Plenty
Oranges shine in the winter months, typically from November to March.

Nutrition at a Glance
They are a quintessential Vitamin C source, hydrating and rejuvenating, aiding iron absorption, and a great post-illness pick-me-up.

Myth and Meaning
In some Jain traditions, oranges are offered to deities due to their purity. Their golden hue is symbolic of knowledge, warmth, and the sun’s bounty.

Fun and Frolic
Peeling oranges with chilled fingers on a wintry morning, juice trickling down the chin, is a cherished moment. Orange squash, marmalade, and even orange-flavoured toffees owe their joy to this fruit.

A Country in a Fruit Basket

India’s fruits are more than a medley of flavours – they are cultural landmarks, seasonal companions, and bearers of stories, songs, and smiles. Whether it’s the golden mango of summer, the peppery guava of winter, the mystical Jamun of monsoon, the sacred berry of lore, or the citrus glow of the orange – each fruit is a chapter of India’s natural epic.

So next time you bite into one, remember – you are not just tasting a fruit, but a story ripened by the sun, nourished by rain, whispered by myth, and gifted by the soil.

Let us cherish these fruity gifts, not just for their taste but for the traditions they carry, the health they nourish, and the joy they bestow – season after season.

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Sharpening the Saw: The One Change I Owe Myself

Sharpening the Saw: The One Change I Owe Myself

In the ceaseless tide of life’s obligations, we often find ourselves playing many roles—educator, thinker, friend, guide—but somewhere in this grand performance, we forget the simplest and most profound act: taking care of ourselves.

As I reflect upon the many seasons I have weathered, if there’s one improvement I must usher into my life, it is this—to build a sustainable habit of self-care through disciplined reflection and physical well-being.

Time, like a silent sculptor, carves wrinkles on the face and wisdom in the heart. But wisdom, when not replenished, can turn stale. Just as a blade loses its edge with overuse, so too does the mind and body. I have long taught others to introspect, to refine, to seek, and to soar. Yet, in this golden chapter of life, I now ask myself: Do I practise what I have preached?

The answer comes wrapped in modesty: not quite enough.

To sharpen the saw, as Stephen Covey aptly put it, is not just a metaphor for renewal—it is an urgent necessity. It requires no grand resolutions or flamboyant gestures, only a quiet commitment to pause, breathe, and revisit the foundations of self-care. This includes not just the body, but also the mind and spirit.

Gone are the days when self-improvement was tethered solely to qualifications or performance metrics. Today, it means spending time in nature, taking brisk walks that remind me of my own rhythm, meditating upon scriptures or poetry, or even journaling the echoes of the day before sleep steals them away. It means finding joy not in accomplishment, but in awareness. To rise not to rush, but to rejoice.

The idiom “charity begins at home” now translates for me into: discipline begins within. And so, this one improvement—this single, subtle shift—has the potential to rewire my life from within. It is not a revolution, but a quiet reformation.

We live in a world that celebrates hustle and undervalues harmony. But it is in harmony with oneself that clarity dawns, choices become deliberate, and life regains its melody. As a lifelong learner, I now embrace this lesson with renewed gratitude: The most important syllabus left to master is self-kindness.

I am reminded of a simple Sanskrit verse:

“Arogyam paramam bhagyam” — Health is the ultimate wealth.

May this improvement not just be a fleeting resolution but a lifelong rhythm. For in caring for myself, I prepare myself better to serve, to smile, and to stay sincere to the very end.L

The Man with the Umbrella: A Stranger Who Changed My Sky

The Man with the Umbrella: A Stranger Who Changed My Sky

Life, in all its wild unpredictability, often introduces us to characters who leave indelible imprints—not necessarily for a lifetime, but for a moment that changes everything thereafter. Not all heroes wear capes; some simply carry umbrellas.

It was a rain-washed afternoon in the bustling lanes of Kolkata, sometime in the late ’80s, when fate decided to introduce me to a gentleman I would never meet again—but who left a positive impact so profound that it shaped my perspective forever. I was younger then, freshly appointed in my career, filled with anxiety over my future, grappling with the harsh financial realities that danced mockingly around my modest aspirations. The city, with all its chaos and cacophony, offered no refuge that day—except for this stranger with an umbrella.

I had just exited the General Post Office, clutching a damp envelope containing documents I was to send to a prospective employer. The sky had opened up with a deluge as sudden as a philosophical revelation, and in those pre-mobile days, seeking shelter meant either crowding beneath a shop’s awning or embracing the rain.

As I stood, hopelessly wet, a middle-aged man, neatly dressed in a beige safari suit with spectacles that made him look like a professor from an old Raj-era institution, approached me. Without a word, he extended his large, navy-blue umbrella over me.

“I noticed you came out from the GPO. Documents mustn’t get wet,” he said with a soft, almost musical cadence to his voice.

We walked for nearly fifteen minutes together until we reached a tram stop. In that brief period, he asked me nothing personal, offered no advice, made no attempt to patronise or preach. Instead, he spoke about rain—its rhythm, its music, and how he loved walking beneath it with a purpose. It was a conversation suspended in poetry, wrapped in kindness, and unburdened by expectations.

Before parting, he handed me a small card with only a quote printed on it:

“Even the smallest act of caring has the potential to turn a life around.”

No name. No number. Just a thought.
And that thought stayed.

Years passed. I never saw him again. But I carried his gesture with me like a secret lamp, one that flickered through many of my own professional and personal storms. I began noticing those who were lost in rain—metaphorical or real—and lent them my own umbrella, sometimes in the form of time, sometimes guidance, sometimes merely a listening ear.

I often wonder if he had any idea that such a simple act would ripple through my conscience for decades. Perhaps he was an angel in disguise; or maybe, just maybe, he was a kind man doing what kind men do.

In a world increasingly transactional and hurried, we underestimate the power of brief kindness from a stranger. A smile, a seat offered on a bus, a door held open, or an umbrella shared—they aren’t grand gestures, but they speak the language of grace, one the soul instantly understands.

The man with the umbrella may never read this blog. But to him, wherever he is, I say—thank you for changing the sky above my head that day, and more importantly, the one within me.

Unchained: The Many Colours of Freedom

Unchained: The Many Colours of Freedom

Freedom. A word so often spoken, yet so rarely understood in its totality. It is not merely the absence of shackles or the liberty to roam. Freedom, to me, is a state of being—an ever-evolving dialogue between self and society, between duty and desire, between fear and faith.

From the sun-baked lands of ancient Sparta to the battle-scarred plains of Kurukshetra, the quest for freedom has shaped civilisations. Yet, while history records it in wars and treaties, the truest struggles for freedom often go unrecorded—in the quiet corners of the mind, in the silent resistance of the soul.

As a lifelong educator, I have seen how freedom expresses itself differently in a child’s tentative steps on stage, in a teacher’s brave voice against injustice, and in a leader’s quiet refusal to yield to corruption. These moments, though seemingly small, are monumental. They remind us that freedom is as much about expression as it is about restraint.

Freedom from or freedom for?
Therein lies the deeper philosophical question. Are we simply seeking freedom from oppression, fear, expectations, and failure? Or are we seeking freedom for creativity, truth, service, and self-realisation?

One cannot help but think of the Bhagavad Gita, where Krishna urges Arjuna to act—not in blind obedience, but in informed freedom. “Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana”—you have the right to act, not to the fruits thereof. This is perhaps the most profound call to inner freedom: the detachment from reward and result.

In the corridors of colonial history, freedom was once a slogan, shouted hoarse on the streets of India, Ireland, and Africa. But today, in a hyperconnected world, our battles are subtler. The chains are invisible—algorithmic manipulation, social validation, consumerist pressure, and even the tyranny of routine. We are often imprisoned by our own choices, habits, and fears. The mind, as sages from Patanjali to Plato have warned, can be both a sanctuary and a prison.

Freedom to me is also the courage to live with difference. The liberty to question, to dissent, to laugh at power and embrace vulnerability. It is not about loud rebellion alone, but about quiet authenticity. To live one’s truth without masquerade.

But freedom, like all precious things, comes with responsibility. As John Stuart Mill rightly asserted, “The worth of a state in the long run is the worth of the individuals composing it.” Our individual freedoms must never encroach upon the dignity of others. Freedom must be tempered with empathy, else it curdles into anarchy.

In my twilight years, freedom has come to mean something more intimate. It is the ability to wake up without bitterness, to think without fear, to speak without flattery, to walk without haste, and to rest without guilt. It is to savour silence as much as sound, solitude as much as society.

And so, as the sun of each new day rises, I remind myself: Freedom is not a destination—it is a journey, often uphill, sometimes lonely, but always worth the climb.

To be free is not just to live—it is to live meaningfully.

When Voices Divide: The Public Figures Who Preach Prejudice

When Voices Divide: The Public Figures Who Preach Prejudice

In a world increasingly connected by technology and torn apart by ideology, the power of public figures to shape hearts and minds is undeniable. Their words can unite or divide, heal or hurt, guide or mislead. It is this immense influence that makes it all the more alarming when such individuals—whether political leaders, media personalities, or self-proclaimed prophets of nationalism—use their platforms to sow seeds of racism, glorify violence, or trample upon the sanctity of another’s faith.

I hold a strong and unshakable disagreement with such public figures.

They may walk in suits of civility, but the language they employ often strips the veneer of social harmony. Under the garb of ‘free speech’, they peddle prejudice. Cloaked in patriotism, they demonise diversity. They draw lines in the sand where bridges should be built.

The Root of the Disagreement

My objection isn’t born out of political leaning, cultural affinity, or religious allegiance. It stems from a deeper reservoir—of lived experience, of exposure to pluralistic communities, and of a lifelong commitment to values that promote coexistence. I have seen how a single derogatory remark from a public figure can ripple through classrooms, neighbourhoods, and online platforms, leaving behind bruises no apology can erase.

History is replete with examples—when inflammatory rhetoric led to genocide, when supremacist ideologies destroyed empires, and when bigotry masqueraded as nationalism to justify colonisation, segregation, and social stratification. Those who ignore these lessons are not just rewriting history; they are condemning us to repeat it.

Faith: A Garden, Not a Battlefield

One of the greatest tragedies of our time is the weaponisation of faith. Public figures who ridicule others’ spiritual beliefs or pit one religion against another not only violate the essence of religious teachings but also insult the divine universality that runs through all of them.

True faith doesn’t need a loudspeaker. It speaks through compassion, humility, and service. To disparage another’s form of worship is akin to stepping into a garden only to pluck the flowers you like and trample the rest. It is not only disrespectful—it is sacrilege.

Violence: The Last Refuge of the Incompetent

Those who glorify violence—be it through incendiary speeches, dog whistles, or glorification of aggressive actions—forget that violence never settles a dispute; it only multiplies it. Peace, not provocation, is the measure of true leadership. As history reminds us, from the ashes of war arise not merely ruins but generations of trauma.

A Call for Collective Vigilance

It is not enough to disagree in silence. Edmund Burke aptly said, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Our disagreement must translate into discourse, into dissent expressed with dignity, and into dialogues that reaffirm our common humanity.

Let us measure public figures not by their popularity or power, but by the bridges they build, the prejudices they challenge, and the peace they promote. Let us challenge those who trade in hate as if it were currency and remind them that history is a stern accountant—it records every transaction.

Speaking Truth to Power

In the final reckoning, it is not wealth, title, or trending hashtags that determine a public figure’s legacy—it is the values they leave behind in the hearts of people. I choose to stand firmly against those who poison the wells of harmony, however eloquent their speech or grand their podium. Because in the marketplace of ideas, truth may walk slowly, but it always arrives.

And when it does, it speaks softly—but carries the strength of centuries