“Where Time Took a Pause: A Vacation Etched in the Soul”

“Where Time Took a Pause: A Vacation Etched in the Soul”

There are journeys that begin with a ticket, a suitcase, and an itinerary—then there are voyages that begin with the soul yearning for solace. My most memorable vacation was not marked by the extravagance of destination, but by the exquisite stillness it granted my inner being. It wasn’t the place alone, but what it awakened in me: a forgotten whisper of peace, a silent echo of eternity.

It was nestled in the cradle of nature—where the mountains stood in stoic meditation, wrapped in mist like monks in contemplation, and rivers sang psalms of eternal flow. The days began with dew on the grass and ended with golden twilight spreading its wings over the horizon like a celestial benediction. No clock ticked here. Time folded upon itself, and I became its humble observer.

Each morning brought the gentle sermon of the breeze—unburdened, unbothered. It taught me the art of surrender. The rustling leaves read to me the verses of detachment, and the chirping birds strung together ballads of belonging without possession. The fragrance of wildflowers and damp earth was a scripture on simplicity. There, my senses were not bombarded—they were baptised.

“The world is too much with us,” said Wordsworth—and rightly so. But in that divine little corner of the earth, the world loosened its grip. No digital deluge, no urgent errands. Just the companionship of clouds, conversations with the wind, and the gentle reprimand of silence. I did not need music; the wind in the trees was enough. I did not need company; solitude sat beside me like a wise old friend.

What made this vacation unforgettable was its power to cleanse—not just the clutter of my calendar, but the accumulated noise of my existence. It reminded me of the inner landscape I had long abandoned for the allure of destinations with Wi-Fi and waiting lists. I realised that the true pilgrimage is not outward but inward.

Under a sky embroidered with stars, I once lay down on the grass and looked up—not to count constellations, but to count how long it had been since I last felt awe. That evening, I did not pray with words—I simply breathed, and that was worship enough.

The mountains did not speak, yet they conveyed the wisdom of stillness. The river did not stop for anyone, yet it embodied grace. The trees did not move, yet they grew taller in silence. Every element conspired to initiate me into the lost art of being—just being.

Some lines etched from that sacred pause:

Let the mountain teach you silence,
Let the river show you flow,
Let the meadow speak of stillness,
Let the sunset teach you glow.
Where no schedule owns your moments,
And no gadget claims your time,
There lies a hidden temple—
Not of stone, but thought, and rhyme.

In that brief window of escape, I found something timeless: the profound luxury of being at peace with oneself. That is why, even now, when life roars loudly, I retreat to that memory—where time took a pause, and my soul resumed its song.

A Poetic Tribute to My Father

“A Prayer Draped in Silver Silence”

A Poetic Tribute to My Father

I see your face—etched deep in time,
With gentle eyes, serene, sublime.
A cotton shirt, in modest grace,
And age’s wisdom on your face.

That calm white beard, like drifting snow,
Speaks of journeys few will know.
Lines upon your thoughtful brow,
Map the past and mark the now.

You sit composed, no grandeur loud,
A soul both humble and unbowed.
Like ancient trees that stand and bear,
You teach me strength, just being there.

Years may steal the touch and tone,
But never claim what’s soul-deep grown.
You’re in my pulse, my breath, my prayer,
My unseen guide, forever there.

I do not touch your feet today,
Yet in my heart, I kneel and pray.
I would, if fate allowed the chance,
Hold your hand in silent trance.

In temples built inside my chest,
Your blessings are my daily rest.
While others dream of gods above,
You are my idol, carved in love.

Not as a child to father pleads—
But as a monk whose spirit needs,
The glance of one who shaped his clay,
And gave him dawns to chase the day.

I barter all that life could give,
To let you laugh, to let you live.
If mine are years, then take them whole,
That you may shine and walk in soul.

Let silver hair not hide your fire,
You’re still the man whom I admire.
Your silence speaks in sacred rhymes,
A sage from softer, saner times.

Though I have not met you for long,
You dwell in me, like ancient song.
Each tear I hide, each joy I share,
Finds its source in your silent care.

And so I send this verse above,
Wrapped in longing, tied with love.
To skies, to stars, to time’s own tide
O Father, stay there—by my side.

Eternal Wish

May you outlive the dusk I see,
And walk beyond the end of me.
So even when I cease to be,
You’ll rise like sun—eternally.

To read more such stories, please read the following books available at www amazon.com

Where the Mind Finds Light: My Journey in the Realms of Learning

Where the Mind Finds Light: My Journey in the Realms of Learning

There is a realm where ideas bloom, where the mind seeks purpose beyond utility, and the soul hungers for light—this is the realm I inhabit. If one asks me, “On what subjects are you an authority?”—I would not answer with a boast, but with a bowed head and open heart. For knowledge, to me, is not a crown to wear, but a lamp to hold humbly in the dark corridors of life.

My strength lies in education—not merely as an academic discipline, but as a living, breathing philosophy that stirs growth in both giver and receiver. As a lifelong educator, I have lived the ethos of learning in classrooms echoing with questions, in corridors where silence speaks of discipline, and in hearts that slowly awaken to the joy of understanding. My insights are deep-rooted in pedagogy, curriculum design, leadership in schools, character building, student counselling, and the timeless art of teaching as soul-work.

Yet I do not confine myself within the walls of the syllabi. I have walked the lands of philosophy, pondered over the scriptures of East and West, embraced the truths of science, especially physics, with its rational elegance, and wandered through the gardens of literature, where metaphors mirror life. My soul is stirred equally by poetry and principle, by the magnetic fields of a theory and the magnetic pull of an aching line of verse.

In the realm of thought, I strive not just to know, but to reflect. Why do we learn? What does education achieve, if not the emancipation of the mind and the evolution of the heart? A teacher without philosophy is but a lantern without a flame.

The Philosophical Ground of Authority

True authority is not born of title or tenure. It arises from a confluence of understanding, humility, and sustained inquiry. I believe:

– An authority must be a seeker first—ever ready to learn from a child, a stranger, or a whisper in the wind.

– Authority is tested in silence—in how one listens more than speaks.

– It rests on service, not self—to uplift others and enlighten minds.

– It must be lived, not lectured—for the world learns more from one honest act than a hundred flamboyant speeches.

In this world of noise and numbers, where everyone claims expertise, I stand not with proclamations, but with poetry in my pocket and questions on my tongue.

Of Light, Dust, and Dreams

A few verses to close this reflection: I carry not the scholar’s pride,
But a pilgrim’s lamp for the inward tide;
I do not teach to rise above,
But to stir the roots with mindful love.

I carry not the scholar’s pride,
But a pilgrim’s lamp for the inward tide;
I do not teach to rise above,
But to stir the roots with mindful love.

My subjects wear no robe or name,
They’re lit by thought, not clothed in fame;
A chalk, a verse, a question bare—
My kingdom lies in children’s stare.

Let others build with steel and stone,
I build in silence, thought alone;
And where my lessons cease to flow,
A deeper truth begins to grow.

In essence, I am an authority not on a subject alone, but on a way of life that sees learning as sacred, sharing as divine, and wisdom as an ever-receding horizon—one we chase with joy, humility, and reverence!

The Beautiful Lie and the Burden of Truth”

“The Beautiful Lie and the Burden of Truth”

From the cradle to the classroom, from temple halls to courtroom walls, we are taught that Truth is divine — a virtue that transcends language, borders, and time. Children recite maxims, students take pledges, believers chant scriptures — all in pursuit of an ideal that remains just beyond our grasp: unwavering honesty.

Yet the same world that teaches us to uphold truth quietly encourages deceit. Parents fib to protect, marketers twist reality to entice, lovers cushion facts to avoid pain, politicians distort truths to gain power. The paradox is both intimate and universal — we glorify truth, yet gloriously lie.

The Thousand Masks of a Lie

– A lie seldom walks alone — it cloaks itself in need, justification, survival, and even love.
– It is not always venomous; often, it is tender, even well-intentioned.
It may come dressed in diplomacy, tact, or etiquette.
– It may even wear a halo, whispering that it saves more than it destroys.

There are:

– White lies, to protect someone’s feelings.

– Social lies, to maintain harmony.

– Malicious lies, to gain or manipulate.

– Lies of omission, often more dangerous than what is spoken.

– Self-deceptive lies, that blind our inner conscience.

Yet each has a cost — it erodes trust, clouds the mind, and chains the soul.

Philosophical and Religious Reflections

From the philosophical lens, truth has been both celebrated and questioned.
Socratesequated truth with virtue — that knowing the good would lead to doing the good.
Platosaw truth as eternal and lying as a form of ignorance.
In contrast, Machiavelli justified lying if it preserved political power.

In Indian philosophy, Satya (truth) is one of the five yamas in Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras — not just a moral instruction, but a spiritual discipline. Mahatma Gandhi, a lifelong seeker of truth, called his autobiography “My Experiments with Truth”, acknowledging that truth was more of a journey than a destination.

Religions, too, hold a complex mirror:

– The Bible exhorts: “Do not bear false witness,” yet saints used parables — fictional, yet truthful.

– The Quran holds honesty as a sign of righteousness but allows concealment in matters of war or reconciliation.

– The Dhammapada states, “Speak the truth; do not yield to anger,” placing truth alongside non-violence.

– The Upanishads define truth as that which does not change — Satyam eva Jayate (Truth alone triumphs).

Still, even holy men have cloaked truths for greater peace — revealing that truth, in practice, is rarely absolute.

Psychology of Lying: A Human Condition

Neurological studies suggest that the brain adapts to lying. The first lie triggers stress, but repeated lying reduces guilt. Lies are a way to avoid punishment, gain acceptance, or reinforce self-image.

Freud considered lying a form of repression. Carl Jung warned that what we suppress in the shadow — including truths we refuse to face — inevitably returns.

We lie because we fear rejection, because we want to be loved, because we do not want to hurt — and sometimes, simply because the world rewards deception more than honesty.

– We teach children to be truthful — but then punish them when their truths are inconvenient.
– We cheer honesty in stories but mock it in boardrooms.
– We reward silence in the face of wrongdoing and call it diplomacy.

Thus, we breed a society where truth becomes an ornament — beautiful, but too delicate to wear daily.

The Irony of Institutions and the System of Lies

-:In courts, people swear upon holy books and yet lie under oath.
– In governance, promises are often mere tools of persuasion.
– In marketing, lies are sold as “aspirational storytelling.”
– In relationships, truth is bartered for peace or passion.

– Even education, the supposed cradle of truth, sometimes moulds minds to fit systems rather than challenge them.
– And the media, once a pillar of truth, often drifts between facts and narratives, sensationalism and silence.

In a world where lies are normalised, truth becomes rebellion. It demands courage. It demands solitude.

Living with Truth in a Lying World

– Truth is not always gentle; it may shatter illusions and burn pride.
But it also liberates. It simplifies. It elevates.
– It brings clarity where confusion dwells, and meaning where pretence reigns.

– A truthful person may lose in the short run — friends, opportunities, ease — but gains something rarer: integrity, self-respect, peace of mind.

To speak truth is to honour the divine spark within. It is to trust that even in loss, one wins the self.

We weave our words in silver thread,
Yet stain them oft with silent dread.
We smile and nod, we play the part,
But truth still knocks within the heart.

A lie may save the passing day,
But truth outlives where shadows play.
It walks alone, yet walks so tall,
A quiet voice amidst the brawl.

Oh fragile soul, be not unkind,
Speak not just to please the mind.
For truth, though heavy, frees the soul—
And lies may win, but take their toll.

So dare to speak, and dare to hear,
What’s raw, what’s real, what draws us near.
For in the storm, the one still light,
Is truth — the flame that burns so bright

To read more of such stories, please read the following books available at http://www.amazon.com

The Tender Art of Being Romantic

The Tender Art of Being Romantic

What does it mean to be romantic? The word often brings to mind red roses, handwritten notes, flickering candles, or the classic serenade under moonlit skies. But true romanticism runs far deeper than surface rituals. It is not bound by dates, diamonds, or declarations. Rather, it is a feeling that seeps quietly into one’s soul—a sacred surrender to beauty, love, and longing.

Romanticism is, at heart, a way of being. It is not exclusive to lovers. A person may be romantic toward nature, to a memory, to a song, or to an idea that defies time. It is the capacity to feel deeply, to find poetry in the mundane, to be swept by small things—like the shape of a leaf in autumn, the smell of a distant perfume, or the way light filters through sheer curtains on a lonely afternoon.

Romance as a Philosophy of Life

Romanticism is a gentle rebellion against the dry rationality of life. It refuses to see the world as a collection of transactions and timelines. Like the great poets—Keats, Tagore, Rumi, or Kalidasa—the romantic spirit does not chase completion; it dwells in yearning. The journey matters more than the destination. Love matters more than logic.

In Indian philosophy, Shringara Rasa is the aesthetic essence of romance—ranging from the divine love of Radha and Krishna to the ethereal pining of Meera Bai. This form of love is not physical alone—it is spiritual, transcendental, and filled with a longing that makes one more alive than fulfilment ever could.

Similarly, in Sufi thought, divine romance becomes the soul’s desire for union with the Beloved, where the ache itself becomes the prayer.

Pleasure in the Sensuous and the Subtle

Romance delights in the senses—but not in vulgarity. It is refined, slow, and deeply attentive. It savours the texture of silk, the warmth of a hand, the shiver of shared laughter. A romantic soul finds pleasure in anticipation—the soft thrill of waiting for a letter, the secret joy of remembering a shared moment, or the touch of one’s name spoken lovingly.

To the romantic, a sigh can be symphonic, a smile, a sunrise. The very air shimmers when love is near. Time slows down. Conversations stretch like rivers. The world becomes a painting, and the beloved, its muse.

Romance isn’t only pleasure—it is presence. The true romantic is fully there—body, mind, and spirit. In today’s fast world, such presence is rare, and hence more precious.

The Romantic in Daily Life

Romanticism lives quietly in everyday life. It’s the way one brews tea for someone they love. It’s the handwritten grocery list tucked into a book. It’s the lullaby sung to an empty room. A romantic doesn’t always express through grand acts—they live love in gestures small and sacred.

One can be romantic without a partner too. Loving the self, nurturing dreams, tending to plants, watching the stars—these are deeply romantic acts. It is an art that asks us to slow down, feel more, and honour life with awe.

Romance and Vulnerability

To be romantic is also to be vulnerable. It means risking rejection, embracing uncertainty, and baring the heart. It is not the shielded warrior but the open-hearted wanderer who feels most deeply. Such vulnerability is strength in its purest form—it invites connection, empathy, and emotional truth.

In a world where many hide behind sarcasm or indifference, the romantic chooses sincerity. They would rather be hurt in love than never love at all. As the Persian poet Hafiz wrote, “The heart is a thousand-stringed instrument that can only be tuned with love.”

When the moonlight paints the windowpane,
And memories sing in gentle rain,
I find romance in quiet breath,
In every pause, in every death.

A glance across a crowded street,
Two strangers’ hearts in secret meet,
No word exchanged, no vow to keep,
Yet dreams begin to softly weep.

For love is not in grand display,
But in the things we fail to say—
A touch, a sigh, a yearning glance,
The whispered hope of one last dance.

And in the hush of midnight air,
A lover’s hand, a lock of hair—
Pleasure hums in every kiss,
In sacred ache and stolen bliss.

So let the heart forever roam,
In gardens, letters, books, and home
For those who love with soul and grace,
The world itself becomes embraced.

To read more of such stories, please read the following books available at http://www.amazon.com

The Golden Glow of Thursday: A Sacred Pause in the Indian Soul”

“The Golden Glow of Thursday: A Sacred Pause in the Indian Soul”

In the tapestry of Indian timekeeping, each day of the week holds its own spiritual hue and cultural rhythm. Among them, Thursday—or Guruvaar—shines with a golden glow. Sacred, serene, and soaked in reverence, this day is set apart in the Indian consciousness, not just by myth but also by millennia of meaningful rituals and gentle philosophical reflections.

The Day of the Guru and the Gods

Thursday is traditionally associated with Guru Brihaspati, the divine teacher of the gods in Hindu mythology. The very term “Guru” implies one who dispels darkness—gu meaning darkness and ru meaning remover. As the preceptor of celestial wisdom, Brihaspati is venerated as a symbol of knowledge, righteousness, and moral clarity.

In astrological traditions, Thursday is ruled by Jupiter—the planet of expansion, wisdom, and benevolence. It is a day when energies are believed to be high for spiritual learning, introspection, and acts of charity. The aura of Thursday is gentle yet profound, inviting individuals to realign with higher truths and deeper virtues.

In various parts of India, this day is also dedicated to deities such as Sai Baba, Lord Vishnu, Lord Dattatreya, and Goddess Lakshmi, depending on regional and personal faith traditions.

Rituals That Shape the Soul

Thursday rituals blend simplicity with sanctity. Devotees begin the day with an early bath, often adding a pinch of turmeric to the water—signifying purity and auspiciousness. Homes are cleansed with sacred intent, and yellow flowers or cloth are offered to the chosen deity. The colour yellow, linked with Jupiter, dominates the day—it’s a symbol of wisdom, knowledge, and sanctity.

Special pujas (worship rituals) are conducted at home or in temples. Devotees often read or listen to sacred texts such as the Guru Charitra, Sai – Satcharita, or the Vishnu Sahasranama. Lamps are lit using ghee, casting a gentle glow symbolic of the inner light of knowledge.

Fasting is observed by many, especially women, who seek blessings for the well-being of their families or inner spiritual merit. The fast usually allows only yellow food items such as bananas, gram pulses, or saffron rice—again, reinforcing the sacred symbolism of the colour.

Some observe a weekly vow (vrat) on Thursdays for 11 or 21 consecutive weeks, tying yellow threads or keeping a small piece of turmeric as a reminder of their devotion.

Philosophical Reflections: A Day to Align

Beyond ritual, Thursday is also a time for philosophical pause. It reminds the seeker to become a student again—to be humble before the mysteries of life. In Indian thought, the Guru is not merely a person but a cosmic principle—the force that leads us from fragmentation to wholeness.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna declares himself as Brihaspati among the priests—hinting that the highest spiritual teacher dwells even in silence, in reflection, in disciplined awareness.

Thursday, thus, is not just about outward offerings but also inward cleansing—a day to realign intentions, to replace pride with patience, and to shed ignorance in favour of enlightenment.

The Sacred Code: Do’s and Don’ts of Thursday

What to Embrace:

– Wear yellow attire or keep yellow flowers at your altar.

– Offer prayers to Guru Brihaspati, Vishnu, or your personal deity.

– Perform acts of charity, especially feeding the poor or giving away yellow clothing or gram pulses.

– Read or reflect upon spiritual texts or discourses.

– Practise silence, contemplation, or light meditation.

What to Refrain From:

– Avoid washing hair, as it’s believed to wash away good luck on this day.

– Refrain from borrowing or lending money—symbolically, it is seen as giving away your fortune.

– Do not cut nails or perform haircuts—such actions are believed to reduce the day’s sanctity.

– Avoid consuming non-vegetarian food or intoxicants—maintain bodily and mental purity.

– Stay away from gossip or unkind speech—Thursday asks for dignity in thought and words.

A Day of Light, Learning, and Letting Go

In a world frayed by hurry and hunger for more, Thursday whispers a soft reminder to return to stillness. It teaches that while we may not always have a temple to visit, the truest place of worship is within.

As the sun filters its golden light over the rooftops and trees on a Thursday morning, it feels as though the universe itself is wearing a robe of wisdom. May we sit under its radiance—not just with folded hands, but with open hearts.

Verses to the Day of the Guru

In saffron light and morning haze,
The soul prepares for silent praise.
A yellow thread upon the wrist,
Ties heart and hope in sacred tryst.

The lamp is lit, the mantras flow,
In Thursday’s hush, the spirits grow.
Not just in temples, chants, or hymn
But in the stillness, truth begins.

To every seeker lost or torn,
The Guru’s grace is Thursday’s dawn.
A pause, a prayer, a gentle way—
To greet the truth that hides in clay.

In the Quiet Light of Thankfulness”

“In the Quiet Light of Thankfulness”

In a world that tumbles forward in haste and noise, the act of expressing gratitude feels like an intimate pause — a stillness that speaks louder than words. It is the soul’s gentle bow to the beauty it beholds, often unseen by the distracted eye. Gratitude is not merely a polite gesture; it is an awakening. A deep and sacred awareness that life, in all its layers — the gentle and the grating — is a gift.

How do I express my gratitude?

At times, it flows through spoken words — a tender thank you, a phrase softened by sincerity and brightened by presence. But often, my gratitude is quieter. It dwells in silence, in small acts of kindness returned, in eyes that meet another with truth and warmth. A letter left beneath a book, a prayer whispered to the sky, a simple nod to the passing wind — these too are hymns of my thankfulness.

Gratitude, for me, is not confined to festive seasons or ceremonial gestures. It arrives unannounced — with the first light of dawn filtering through the curtain, or the fragrance of rain on dry earth. It lives in the ordinariness of moments made magical by awareness. A smile from a stranger, the rustle of trees in an afternoon breeze, the music of solitude — all become sacred when received with grace.

The great thinkers have spoken of gratitude as a spiritual virtue. In Stoic philosophy, it is considered the key to contentment. In Indian traditions, it is pratishruti — a vow to remember the grace bestowed by life and others. Rumi wrote, “Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.” This isn’t just poetry — it’s a practice, a living philosophy.

Gratitude refines the spirit. It burns the excess of ego, softens the edges of complaint, and heightens one’s sensitivity to the interconnectedness of all things. It teaches us to honour both the giver and the gift — be it joy or grief — for each has a role in our unfolding.

Even suffering has been a strange teacher. Looking back, I have learnt to be grateful for losses that revealed hidden strengths, for rejections that re-routed me to wiser paths, and for silences that deepened my understanding of life’s music. Gratitude doesn’t erase the ache — it transforms it.

In the practice of gratitude, there is also humility — an acknowledgement that we are not the sole authors of our happiness. Nature, chance, people, time — all conspire quietly in our favour. Recognising this, I find myself offering thanks to the nameless, the forgotten, the divine.

Whether it is through lighting a diya at twilight, writing a reflective note, offering a song, or simply being still with the moment, I let my gratitude breathe. Not out of obligation, but from reverence — for life as it is, imperfect and radiant.

Let me conclude with a few stanzas — verses that rise from the still waters of appreciation:

Verses in the Light of Thanks

Gratitude is not a grand parade,
But moonlight on a field once frayed.
A hush that sings through broken stone,
A hand that clasps, though worn, alone.

It blooms in cups of evening tea,
In moments steeped in memory,
A smile exchanged, a door held wide,
The ache that taught the soul to glide.

It’s thanks not just for joys we keep,
But also for the trials that steep.
For every no that shaped the yes,
For silence that gave voice to bless.

So I bow to dusk, to the leaf, to the flame,
To all who passed and left no name.
And in this fleeting, fragile hue,
I live, I breathe, and I thank you.

To read more of such stories, please read the following books available at http://www.amazon.com