A Culinary Wishlist: Recipes from the Heart’s Hearth

A Culinary Wishlist: Recipes from the Heart’s Hearth

There’s something magical about food—its aroma, its texture, its rhythm of preparation. It doesn’t merely nourish the body, but stirs memories, ignites imagination, and reflects the soul’s longing. If I were to choose the foods I’d love to make, I wouldn’t just choose them for their taste, but for the stories they whisper, the warmth they promise, and the sacred stillness they bring to a restless spirit.

I long to knead dough for rustic, wood-fired sourdough bread, allowing it to rise with time—like wisdom accumulated through life’s quiet reflections. As flour clings to my fingers, I would think of ancient hands doing the same, turning grain into sustenance with patience and prayer. Bread, in all its humble glory, is the great equaliser—whether on a peasant’s plate or a king’s platter, it speaks of life’s essentials and its beautiful simplicity.

I dream of crafting a slow-simmered minestrone, filled with seasonal vegetables, beans, and a swirl of pesto. A soup like a sonnet—every ingredient a line, every stir a stanza. This dish isn’t hurried; it teaches presence. Each simmering bubble whispers the wisdom of waiting. Philosophers may call it the Tao of the ladle, where balance and natural flow define the flavour.

Then comes lemon drizzle cake, delicate and delightful, sweetened not just with sugar, but with joy and sunshine. Zesting the lemon feels like extracting poetry from everyday life—tangy, bright, and piercingly real. A cake for rainy days, for shared silences, for solitary tea-times when the soul needs gentle holding.

I would love to make vegetable biryani—a mosaic of spices, herbs, and perfectly layered rice. A dish born of patience and poetry. Each clove and cardamom would be a character in an epic, each grain of rice a storyteller. A dish that does not shout but sings, echoing the Vedic belief that food, when prepared with reverence, becomes sacred—Anna Brahma.

A craving, too, for the hearty Shepherd’s Pie, as soulful as a fireside story on a winter evening. The creamy mash atop the savoury lentil or mince base is like the harmony of comfort and courage, the light and dark of human emotions nestled beneath golden crusts. It reminds me of the Stoic wisdom that strength and softness are not rivals, but reflections of the same truth.

I’d also delight in making stuffed aubergines, roasted with tahini and sprinkled with pomegranate seeds—an ode to Mediterranean mystique. A plate of contrasts and unity: smoky and tangy, soft and crisp, humble and exotic. Preparing it would be a meditative act—celebrating the dance of opposites, as taught by Heraclitus: “The way up and the way down are one and the same.”

A bowl of ramen, too, rests gently on my wishlist—hand-pulled noodles, earthy miso broth, soft-boiled egg floating like a moon on a sea of umami. A Japanese haiku in edible form. Making ramen from scratch is not just cooking; it’s a ceremony. One honours the ingredients, the process, the waiting. A call to mindfulness, to feel the moment as it simmers.

Lastly, I envision preparing chocolate truffles—soft, velvety, and filled with hidden bursts of flavour. Food, after all, should also be whimsical. Let there be a hint of chilli, a dusting of rose, or a whisper of sea salt—like life itself, complex yet sweet, unpredictable yet comforting.

In a world racing past, making food slowly and with soul feels like rebellion. It’s the art of pausing, of listening to the crackle of oil, the hum of spices, the sigh of bread rising, and the quiet smile that comes when a dish is done—not perfect, but full of heart.

And as I imagine this culinary journey, a few verses arise:

Let me not hunger for haste or fame,
But for hands dusted in flour and flame.
For pots that whisper secrets old,
And spoons that stir both heat and soul.

Let my kitchen be a temple still,
Where taste and truth the vessels fill.
And if no guest should come to dine,
May I feast with joy on grace divine.

Food I long to make? Not merely recipes from a book, but rituals from the heart. For in stirring and serving, I am stirred and served.

— Bon appétit to the soul within.

Of Paws and Whiskers: A Philosophical Chase Between Dogs and Cats”

“Of Paws and Whiskers: A Philosophical Chase Between Dogs and Cats”

In the vast meadow of human emotions, where companionship is craved as much as water in a desert, two noble beasts have vied for the throne of the human heart—the loyal dog and the aloof cat. While both have curled up in our homes and curled tighter around our souls, the question lingers like incense in a prayer room: Dogs or cats—who truly reigns supreme?

Let us wander, not with bias, but with wonder.

A Dog’s Heart: Unfiltered Love in Motion

The dog—canine comrade, keeper of loyalty, bearer of boundless joy.
To be loved by a dog is to feel seen without scrutiny, to be followed even when lost, and to be trusted even when you doubt yourself.
Dogs are like walking hymns—each bark a beat of belonging, each wag a whisper of unwavering faith.

The philosopher Diogenes, who lived in a barrel and sought truth naked of pretence, admired dogs for their honesty. And rightly so! For what you see is what you get—tail-wagging transparency and eyes that reflect the entire cosmos of care.

With dogs, life becomes an open meadow, their joy contagious like wildflowers after rain. They chase after butterflies and shadows alike—reminding us that the journey, not the goal, holds the essence of living.

A Cat’s Silence: The Symphony of Sovereignty

Then, the cat enters—not with fanfare, but with grace that silences the room.
To understand a cat is to understand silence—eloquent, enigmatic, and ever so sacred. They are not owned; they choose to stay. Their affection is not commanded but earned, their loyalty not loud but lasting.

Cats are the poets of the animal world—each purr a lyric, each stare a verse unspoken. Like the sages  they retreat often into solitude, but never into indifference. The ancient books might well have been written by a meditative cat sitting on a banyan root, observing the dance of life without ever joining the frenzy.

Their paws walk the edge of mystery, and in their languor lies a subtle invitation to slow down and just be.

Where Philosophy Meets Fur

Dogs teach us about devotion without demand, and cats about love without loss of self.
Where one pulls you towards the world with exuberance, the other draws you inward with elegance.
In dogs, we find a friend for the road; in cats, a companion for the soul.

Is it then truly a choice—or is it an understanding of our own temperament?
Do we yearn for the stormy loyalty of a dog or the quiet understanding of a cat?
Or perhaps, we need both—the heart of a dog and the soul of a cat—to complete our own fragmented philosophies.

In wagging tails and quiet purrs,
Lie all the truths the cosmos stirs.
One leaps with joy, one sleeps with grace,
Each leaves behind a fur-lined trace.

The dog will guard your nightly door,
The cat will dream on your mind’s floor.
Between their steps, life finds its beat,
In muddy paws or silent feet.

So ask not who is best to keep,
But who walks with you when you weep.
For both have songs that soothe and stay,
In very different, perfect ways.

Whether your heart beats faster at the sight of a bounding Labrador, or slows into calm watching a tabby groom herself by the windowsill, the truth remains: they both teach us how to live—and love—in their own timeless, tail-told ways.

When Time Forgets to Tick: Moments That Melt the Clock

“When Time Forgets to Tick: Moments That Melt the Clock”

There are hours in a day when minutes flutter like restless butterflies, flitting from one flower to the next without ever settling. Then there are moments so enchanting, so profound, that time itself seems to fold its wings and fall asleep. These are the activities that make us lose track of time—not because they steal it, but because they make us forget it was ever something to count.

For me, time becomes elastic in the presence of deep creation, unfiltered emotion, and pure presence. When I write, it is not merely ink staining paper or pixels lighting a screen—it is a surrender, a sacred duet between memory and imagination. The clock’s hands may move, but my soul remains suspended, dancing between the lines of past and possibility.

Reading, especially poetry or philosophy, is another such portal. I may open a book in the hush of early morning and find myself surfacing only when the world has grown noisy with noon. Between the first and last word, I traverse lifetimes. The scent of yellowing pages and the rhythm of silent thought create a cradle for the mind. Whether it is Rumi’s love-drenched verses or the elegant sorrow of Tagore, I drift where the intellect yields to the sublime.

Walking alone, especially in the twilight hours, often blurs time’s rigid borders. There’s a romance in the rustling of trees, a philosophy whispered by the wind, and a thousand stories hidden in each step. In these solitary strolls, I meet a quiet version of myself, untouched by obligations, serenaded by the dusk.

Then there’s music—a timeless muse. When melodies from a distant raga or the ache in Mukesh’s voice enter my veins, the world fades. Songs are not just heard—they are felt, they are lived. They spiral into the soul like smoke curling upward from a sandalwood flame. In that smoke, time disappears.

Conversations that nourish the spirit, too, have this effect. Not idle chatter, but real, soul-stirring dialogues that undress pretence and delve into the mysteries of existence—these are rare and radiant. Over cups of tea or beneath an open sky, such exchanges create their own universe. The ticking clock dares not interrupt.

Philosophers like Heidegger wrote of “being-in-time,” yet I believe a true being exists beyond time. When one is deeply absorbed—be it in art, nature, devotion, or love—then time does not pass; it pauses to admire the moment too.

Philosophy of the Tickless Moments

When do we truly lose track of time?
It isn’t during the humdrum or the hustle. No, time dissolves when we dissolve into something larger than ourselves—a melody, a memory, a mission, or a mistake gone magnificently wrong.

Even philosophers couldn’t escape this magic. Nietzsche lost time gazing at mountains, Socrates got so immersed in thought he forgot to eat, and Diogenes… well, he lived in a barrel and didn’t believe in clocks.

Romance, too, is the greatest thief of time. Not just the candle-lit, rose-petaled kind—but the romance of ideas, the flirtation with daydreams, the unspoken affair between a curious mind and a creative soul.

A brushstroke lost in twilight’s hue,
A sigh that blooms with morning dew,
A page that turns with silent grace,
A dream that leaves no time or place.

A song that drips from broken strings,
A thought that lifts on unseen wings,
A step, a note, a lover’s rhyme—
All leave no trail of ticking time.

Some moments do not ask for your hours—they ask for your heart. And when the heart listens, time forgets to tick!

The Half-Pant Diaries: Chronicles of an Unforgettable Childhood

Book Review

Title: The Half-Pant Diaries: Chronicles of an Unforgettable Childhood
Author: Prashant Kumar Lal
Format: Paperback, Hardbound and Kindle (Available worldwide on Amazon)
Genre: Memoir / Autobiographical Fiction / Philosophical Reflection
Pages: 369
ISBN:109334280972,13978-9334280975.     

 Item Weight: 1.39pounds.                      

Reading age‎s : 6 – 18 years plus Dimensions : 6 x 1.12 x 9 inches Customer Reviews:

5.0 out of 5.                           

Publication date : April 27, 2025

The Half-Pant Diaries is a moving, poetic and evocatively crafted memoir that does more than just trace the footsteps of a boy in his formative years—it explores the metaphysics of memory, the poetics of pain, and the silent revolutions that childhood stirs within the human spirit.

At its heart, the book is a narrative of childhood rendered not in primary colours, but in a nuanced sepia—drenched in memory, reflection, and a deep undercurrent of philosophy. The “half-pant” becomes a subtle yet powerful metaphor throughout the book: symbolising innocence, vulnerability, modest beginnings, and the liberation of being unencumbered by the complexities of adult life.

Each chapter unfolds like a journal entry left open to the skies—sometimes sunlit with mischief and wonder, sometimes clouded with sorrow and the quiet solitude of a boy trying to make sense of a vast, bewildering world. Yet the tone never indulges in melodrama. The writing is gentle, restrained, and lyrical—often reminiscent of Tagore’s introspective musings or R.K. Narayan’s earthy realism.

The strength of the book lies in its seamless interlacing of anecdote with insight. Every simple incident—a run through a rain-washed alley, a scolding at school, an encounter with a stranger—becomes a reflection point for life’s greater truths. The philosophical undertones are not didactic, but flow like an underground stream—refreshing, thought-provoking, and always present.

In terms of language, the prose is elegant and evocative, laced with poetic imagery and sensory richness. Sentences pause and breathe, allowing the reader to reflect. Similes echo nature, metaphors are carefully chosen, and there is a graceful economy in description that leaves much to the imagination, yet nothing unsaid.

While the book is a memoir, it rises above the personal to touch upon the universal. Readers across continents and cultures will find resonances here—of their own childhoods, their own forgotten dreams, and the tender lessons they learned in silence.

Philosophical & Literary Merits

The book is more than a nostalgic recollection—it is a mirror to the reader’s own soul. In an age where speed, success, and superficiality dominate, The Half-Pant Diaries dares to slow down. It dares to listen—to the rustling of trees, the murmur of lost time, and the footsteps of a child no one else remembers, but who shaped the adult we are today.

It also implicitly challenges the reader to question modern upbringing, education, relationships, and our perception of success. There is a soft critique hidden in its pages—of how we have traded depth for display, and wisdom for information.

In sum, The Half-Pant Diaries is a literary lullaby to the forgotten child within each of us. It is a humble yet deeply profound piece of work, where every page offers a glimpse not only into a boy’s world but into the eternal truths that childhood often contains. A book to be read slowly, revisited often, and remembered long after it is placed back on the shelf.

Notable Lines:

“The half-pants may have shrunk with age, but not the soul they clothed.”
“Even the silence of a child contains the wisdom of storms and sunshine.”

Rating: ★★★★★ (5/5)

Recommended for: Lovers of literary memoirs, educators, philosophers at heart, those seeking nostalgic healing, and all readers who believe in the subtle power of childhood memory.

What Gnaws Within: The Gentle Agonies We Bear

What Gnaws Within: The Gentle Agonies We Bear

There is a peculiar stillness that follows the noise of the day, and in that hush, certain thoughts return — uninvited, unrelenting, and unresolved. Though the world marches ahead with confident strides and digital distractions, there remain quiet agonies that stir the soul. What bothers me is rarely thunderous. Rather, it is the feather-touch of sorrow, the whisper of injustice, and the sigh of forgotten values that unsettle me the most.

The Ache of Superficiality

We are living in a world swimming in shallow waters. The sparkle of surfaces has overtaken the strength of depth. In our hurried hellos and pre-packaged smiles, true connection drowns. Authentic conversations are now rare birds, seen fleetingly and admired distantly. That we have so many tools to communicate, and yet feel so unheard, bothers me. The heart seeks resonance, not reaction.

Philosophically, the Upanishads remind us — “Tat Tvam Asi” — Thou art that — an echo of oneness, of deeper understanding between beings. But that divine kinship often seems forgotten in our time, as we trade human warmth for algorithmic approval.

The Slow Erosion of Wonder

What deeply troubles me is the gradual death of awe. Children once marvelled at fireflies, elders pondered stars. But today, curiosity has been traded for content, and silence for scrolling. We are forgetting how to wonder — how to pause, how to gaze up at a night sky and ask, “Why?” In losing wonder, we lose worship — not of any dogma — but of life itself.

When Descartes said “Cogito, ergo sum” (I think, therefore I am), he invoked the sacred act of questioning. Yet today, questions are feared. They are inconvenient. We prize certainty over curiosity, outcome over journey, and utility over poetry.

The Injustice That Feels Normal

It weighs heavy on my spirit that so many suffer silently. Inequality has become a backdrop rather than a scandal. A child begging outside a glittering mall; a labourer toiling without dignity; a teacher paid in pittances while entertainers soar in wealth — these contrasts jar my sense of justice. The moral compass of society seems to have been calibrated to convenience, not conscience.

Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “The lust for comfort murders the passions of the soul.” And indeed, it bothers me that comfort has bred a subtle form of cruelty — indifference.

The Noise That Never Sleeps

The modern world never rests. There is always something buzzing — phones, headlines, updates, alerts. We are constantly being informed, but seldom transformed. The stillness required for contemplation is now a luxury. What bothers me is not noise itself, but what it drowns — the delicate voice of the soul. The Psalms speak of God as “the still small voice” — and if one cannot find stillness, one risks never hearing the divine.

The Disregard for the Elderly and the Forgotten

I am deeply troubled by how society treats its elders. Wisdom has been replaced by trendiness. Experience has been shoved aside for novelty. There is a quiet grief in those eyes that once shone with guidance — now often dismissed, unheard, or labelled obsolete. We speak of inclusion but rarely extend it to those who no longer hold economic or social currency.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna speaks of detachment, not of discarding. But we have turned away from those who nurtured us — and in doing so, have detached from our roots.

A Gentle Lament in Verse

What bothers me is not the storm,
But silence after the truth is torn,
When hearts retreat and souls resign,
To live by the clock and not by the spine.

What gnaws within is not the loud,
But joyless faces in a crowd,
A child unfed, a dream dismissed,
A truth betrayed, a moment missed.

O let the winds of wisdom blow,
Where seeds of depth and kindness grow,
And may we, in our hurried way,
Still find the grace to kneel and pray.

For though the world may never pause,
Let us not forget the cause —
To feel, to love, to lift, to see,
The sacred in both you and me.

In truth, what bothers me is not only the brokenness of the world — but the way we begin to accept it as normal. Yet, perhaps in naming it, feeling it, and speaking it aloud, we resist its hold. For sometimes, the quiet courage to be bothered is the first act of healing.

— Written in contemplation, with the dust of philosophy and the dew of the heart!

Ten Pillars of Certainty in an Uncertain World”

“Ten Pillars of Certainty in an Uncertain World”

In a world that sways like reeds in the wind, where even the stars seem to wander across the skies of our doubts, one is often left wondering—what can we truly count on? Is there anything that remains unmoved amidst the tremors of time and tides of change? Though much is transient, and so much more remains ambiguous, there do exist a few timeless truths—solid ground beneath our metaphysical feet.

Here, I share ten such certainties, not carved merely in stone, but inscribed upon the soul by experience, contemplation, and the patient chisel of life.

1. Change Is Inevitable

Like the moon’s phases or the cycle of seasons, change dances uninvited into every chapter of our lives. We resist it, we welcome it, we dread it—but it comes nonetheless. Heraclitus, the pre-Socratic philosopher, said, “No man ever steps in the same river twice.” That river flows still, and we continue wading through.

2. Death Is the Final Door

All that is born must one day fade into the mist. Death, though veiled in mystery, is no illusion. It grants value to each moment and lends urgency to our songs and silences alike. Like autumn leaves that fall not in despair, but in graceful surrender, we too must return to the earth’s embrace.

3. Love Heals, Even When It Hurts

Not always returned, not always understood—yet love, in its truest form, remains a balm. Whether in the rustle of old letters or in the eyes of a stranger we help without reason, love continues to be the invisible thread binding existence with purpose.

4. Kindness Echoes Beyond the Moment

A gentle word, a smile to a weary soul, a hand stretched across silence—kindness often seems small, but it reverberates. It can mend what logic cannot. It is the ripple that creates unforeseen waves across the ocean of human experience.

5. The Present Is All We Truly Possess

The past is a tapestry of memory, the future a foggy corridor. But now—this single breath, this fleeting second—is what we can inhabit, touch, and transform. To live fully is not to chase time but to sit beside it and sip its nectar.

6. Nature Is a Mirror of the Divine

Mountains, oceans, the humble ant, and the vast sky—they whisper of an order beyond comprehension. In their rhythm and grace, we find metaphors for our own journeys. One need not be religious to feel sacredness in the way sunlight filters through morning mist.

7. Silence Speaks Where Words Fail

Not all truths are spoken. Sometimes, it is in the hush between words, in the tear unshed, or the pause before a reply, where the soul unveils itself. Silence, when sincere, is the language of the wise and the wounded alike.

8. Learning Is a Lifelong Flame

To learn is not confined to schools or books; it is the heartbeat of the curious spirit. The more one knows, the more vast one’s ignorance appears. Socrates was wise not because he knew all, but because he knew how little he knew.

9. Art Transcends Time and Pain

A poem, a song, a painting—these are not mere creations, but salvations. Art records the inexpressible and gives form to our formless emotions. It is how we immortalise our fleeting selves.

10. Hope Springs Eternal

Even in the darkest tunnel, some corner of the human heart dares to imagine light. This indomitable hope—naive, stubborn, sacred—is what moves us forward, step by trembling – step.

In doubt’s dominion, I’ve walked alone,
Yet found ten stones that feel like home.
Where silence speaks and rivers roam,
Some truths are stars in twilight’s dome.

Though storms may rage and shadows bend,
These certainties my soul defend—
Like roots beneath the forest’s floor,
They hold me firm for evermore.

In a world that unravels itself each day, these certainties offer me not answers, but anchors. Let them be reminders not just to think, but to feel the truth as it pulses quietly beneath the noise of living.

Would you care to name yours?

My Pen and My Universe: Chronicles of Life, Love and Learning – Volume 5

Book Review

Title: My Pen and My Universe: Chronicles of Life, Love and Learning – Volume 5
Author: Prashant Kumar Lal
Genre: Non-fiction | Memoir | Reflective Essays

Introduction

In a world overwhelmed by speed and surface, My Pen and My Universe – Volume 5 invites readers to slow down, breathe deeply, and listen to the inner murmurs of life. This fifth volume in the series penned by Prashant Kumar Lal is a gentle yet profound collection of blog-inspired reflections that traverse the terrains of experience, emotion, and enlightenment.

Summary

Drawing from his decades-long journey as an educator, thinker, and soulful observer, the author compiles a series of contemplative pieces that explore themes such as love, solitude, nature, memory, ageing, spirituality, education, and self-discovery. Each entry stands alone yet threads into a wider narrative—a memoir without timeline, a diary without dates—where the universe within becomes as vast and engaging as the universe outside.

The volume is not linear in progression but panoramic in perspective. From nostalgic recollections of school corridors and melodies from harmoniums, to philosophical musings on God, grace, grief, and growth, the book quietly engages the reader in an ongoing dialogue of the heart and mind.

Critical Analysis

What sets this volume apart is its capacity to blend simplicity with depth. The author’s tone is warm and inviting, as though sitting across from a trusted friend. He uses poetic phrases, idiomatic expressions, and philosophical allusions seamlessly, drawing from a rich life lived across cultures and decades. One feels the quiet presence of Indian spirituality, the cadence of English literary tradition, and the sensibility of a seasoned educator throughout.

Unlike many memoirs that rely heavily on plot or chronology, this book flows through moments and insights. There’s no loud drama or flamboyant self-celebration—instead, a profound humility runs through each piece, turning ordinary experiences into sacred stories.

Themes and Tone

The recurring themes of gratitude, introspection, lifelong learning, and the divine presence make the book spiritually resonant. Education is not portrayed merely as a profession but as a sacred calling. Love is not just romance but compassion, forgiveness, and sacrifice. Life is not seen as a problem to be solved but a mystery to be embraced.

The tone is reflective, tender, and at times wistfully poetic. There’s humour in the right measure, philosophy in every layer, and a deep reverence for the written word.

Strengths

Authenticity: The voice is real, rooted, and relatable.

Language: Lyrical yet accessible, filled with idioms and literary charm.

Diversity of Content: From daily observations to spiritual awakenings, from educational philosophy to emotional vulnerability.

Cultural Richness: The book bridges classical and contemporary, Indian and Western, sacred and secular with grace.

My Pen and My Universe – Volume 5 is a book not meant to be read in haste but to be savoured slowly—perhaps over morning tea, an evening pause, or a silent night. It is ideal for readers who seek depth, reflection, and meaning in a distracted world. Whether you are a student of life, a lover of literature, or simply someone navigating the labyrinth of emotions, this book will speak to you softly—and stay with you long after the last page is turned.

Highly recommended for thoughtful readers who believe that the pen, indeed, holds a universe within.

Rating: 4.8/5