Whispers of Dawn: My Favourite Time of Day

Whispers of Dawn: My Favourite Time of Day

There is a time of day when silence is not emptiness but a living presence, when the world stretches out of its slumber and creation seems to whisper secrets to the soul. For me, that sacred hour is dawn — the gentle unfolding of a new day. It is not merely a shift in the clock’s hands; it is the delicate dance between night and day, shadow and light, despair and hope.

When the first rays of the sun pierce the veil of darkness, the world wears a robe of innocence. The trees stand still, almost in prayer; the birds begin their hymns in unison; and the wind, cool and untainted, brushes against one’s skin with a touch that feels divine. In that moment, the universe seems to pause, as if God Himself lingers to bless the earth with another chance, another beginning.

The Spiritual Breath of Morning

Dawn has always been revered in spiritual traditions. The Upanishads speak of Brahma Muhurta, the “time of the Creator,” which falls just before sunrise, believed to be the most auspicious moment for meditation and prayer. In those quiet hours, the mind is said to be pure, free from distractions, and closest to the divine. Likewise, Christian mystics often likened the break of day to resurrection — the stone rolled away, the tomb empty, and hope alive again.

To stand before a rising sun is to experience both humility and grandeur. The universe reveals its magnitude, yet whispers that we too are part of its vast design. It is as though the Creator dips a brush into the palette of eternity and paints a new canvas for us each day.

The Philosophical Light of Dawn

Philosophers have long drawn from the imagery of morning to explain life itself. Heraclitus saw in the sunrise a metaphor for the eternal flux, the truth that “you cannot step into the same river twice.” Similarly, in Indian philosophy, the dawn mirrors maya — the fleeting, ever-changing nature of reality. Every morning is a reminder that permanence is an illusion, and that beauty lies in this very transience.

And yet, dawn does not sadden me. It fills me with courage. It teaches me that endings — whether of nights, sorrows, or seasons — are never final; they are only preludes to new beginnings.

The Poetic Charm of the Hour

Poets have always found their muse in this liminal hour. William Wordsworth saw morning as “a silent blessing,” while Rabindranath Tagore described it as “the daybreak of joy.” The dawn is a poem written in colours too subtle for ink: the lilac streak across the sky, the trembling dew on a blade of grass, the fading star that gives way to the sun.

For me, dawn is a personal companion. It is the time I sip my first cup of tea, not merely for taste, but as a ritual of stillness. It is the hour when my thoughts are uncluttered, when the body is rested, and when the mind is tender enough to dream again.

A Time for Renewal

What makes dawn my favourite is not just its beauty but its philosophy. It tells me that every day is a fresh scroll, a chance to rewrite the verses of my existence. Yesterday’s failures and follies dissolve in the quiet mist, and today offers a clean page. It is the time when my mind is uncluttered, my heart is soft, and my spirit is ready to embrace both the grandeur and the grief of the hours ahead.

To wake with dawn is to witness hope incarnate. As the horizon blushes with hues of orange, pink, and gold, one is reminded that even the sky begins each day by painting itself anew. The sacred silence of dawn is not an absence of noise but a music too profound for ears, a harmony felt only by the heart.

At dawn, the soul takes flight,
Bathed in whispers of gentle light.
Yesterday’s burdens fade from view,
For every sunrise writes life anew.

The sky bows low, the earth stands tall,
And heaven’s mercy enfolds us all.
In dawn I find my sweetest prayer
A gift of time, beyond compare.

A Symphony in a Bowl: My Favourite Recipe

A Symphony in a Bowl: My Favourite Recipe

There are recipes we inherit, recipes we stumble upon, and recipes that grow upon us like faithful friends of the soul. Amongst the many delightful dishes that my taste buds have encountered, there is one recipe that never fails to awaken both my appetite and my heart — a humble bowl of khichdi.

At first glance, it may appear as nothing more than rice and lentils cooked together. Yet, much like life itself, simplicity often hides a profound philosophy. Khichdi is not merely food — it is harmony. It is the blending of two humble ingredients that would otherwise stand alone, yet when united in warmth, they produce a melody of comfort, nourishment, and peace.

When the grains of rice soften in the company of lentils, spices whisper gently into the pot, and clarified butter (ghee) slides in like a golden blessing, the dish transforms into a symphony — soothing, soulful, and timeless. To me, it symbolises what the Upanishads often reminded seekers: truth lies not in grandeur, but in stillness, in balance, in the merging of opposites.

Philosophically, khichdi carries the essence of equanimity. It neither shouts with the fiery exuberance of exotic cuisines nor hides in blandness. Instead, it teaches us the middle path — the Buddha’s wisdom of moderation. It warms the body on rainy afternoons, comforts the soul on days of illness, and anchors the mind in moments of fatigue. In a way, this dish is the culinary version of a hymn — gentle, healing, and universal.

Cooking it is as meditative as partaking in it. Washing the rice and lentils feels like rinsing one’s worries away. As they simmer together, the rising steam curls like incense in prayer, filling the kitchen with a fragrance of homeliness. Each stir of the ladle reminds me that patience, like fire beneath the pot, transforms the raw into the refined.

This favourite recipe of mine is more than nourishment; it is a philosophy plated. It reassures me that in a world full of complexities, the simplest things often sustain us the most. It humbly whispers that life, too, can be made wholesome when diverse elements — work and rest, joy and sorrow, solitude and companionship — are blended with care and love.

And so, in the quiet company of this dish, I often discover the eternal truth: happiness lies not in feasts of extravagance, but in the soulful embrace of simplicity.

In steaming bowls my solace lies,
Where lentils meet the rice so wise.
A humble hymn, a sacred song,
Of balance kept when days feel long.

A spoonful warm, the spirit sings,
Life’s deepest joy in simplest things.

When Joy Came Knocking at My Door

When Joy Came Knocking at My Door

Excitement often visits us unannounced, like a sudden shower on a parched summer’s day. The last time my heart leapt with such delight was not for a grand achievement or a monumental occasion, but for something far more tender, almost ordinary to the world, yet extraordinary to me. It reminded me that happiness often hides in the corners of simple experiences, waiting to be discovered with an open heart.

The occasion was as humble as a countryside outing—what began as an errand turned into a cascade of surprises. Plans were made to buy fishes, but fate—always mischievous in her ways—placed quails in our basket instead. What followed was a day embroidered with laughter, dancing to forgotten melodies, and a car-o-bar under the fading skies. In those moments, the world shed its heavy robes of worry, and life became a festival of small wonders.

Philosophers have long insisted that joy lies not in possessing, but in experiencing. Aristotle believed that happiness is the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue, and perhaps virtue lies in recognising the sacred in the simple. For me, that day was not just about quails, music, or even food—it was about gratitude, about being present, about feeling alive in a fleeting hour.

Excitement is often mistaken as a burst of noise, but in truth, it is a silent hymn. It is the soul whispering, “This moment matters.” To me, the laughter of my dear ones, the twinkle of delight in a child’s eyes, and the rhythm of old songs carried more depth than the applause of any achievement. It was a reminder that life’s true treasures come not in gold or glory, but in the togetherness of hearts and the simplicity of shared joy.

And so, the last thing that excited me was not a possession but an experience, not an object but a memory. It is stored within me like a flame—gentle, glowing, and eternal.

In the folds of time, I found my song,
A fleeting hour where I belonged.
Not crowns of fame, nor treasures rare,
But laughter and love that filled the air.

Excitement bloomed, so pure, so free,
A whisper of grace, eternity’s plea.
Life’s sweetest gift is not afar—
It shines where simple wonders are.

Book Review: Physics Test Series for Class XII by Prashant Kumar Lal

Book Review: Physics Test Series for Class XII by Prashant Kumar Lal 

Physics Test Series for Class XII by Prashant Kumar Lal is a meticulously crafted academic companion for students aspiring to master the subject at a higher secondary level. The book stands out as more than a test series—it is a structured roadmap for students preparing for board examinations (CBSE, ICSE, ISC), as well as competitive examinations like JEE (Main & Advanced), NEET, and international syllabi such as A-Levels.

About the Book

The book covers the entire Class XII Physics curriculum in a comprehensive test-series format, designed to gradually strengthen conceptual clarity, problem-solving abilities, and examination temperament. Each test is carefully curated, integrating previous years’ questions, advanced-level problems, and application-based questions that encourage analytical thinking. Detailed solutions provide not just answers but also a deeper understanding of the subject matter, helping students bridge the gap between theory and practice.

About the Author

Prashant Kumar Lal, with an illustrious career of over 38 years in the field of education, including 20 years as a Principal and academic mentor, brings both rigour and compassion to his writings. Having trained thousands of students, teachers, and parents, his experience reflects in the way complex concepts are simplified without diluting their depth. He has also authored several works including Image of My Experiences (a book of poetry), Speeches from the Desk of the Principal, and The Legend of Inara Wali, which show his versatility as both an educator and writer.

Target Readers

The book is primarily intended for:

1. Class XII students preparing for CBSE, ISC, ICSE board exams.

2. Engineering and medical aspirants aiming for JEE (Main/Advanced) and NEET.

3. A-Level Physics learners seeking structured practice and exam-focused preparation.

4. Teachers and coaching institutes looking for a reliable question bank with solutions.

USP (Unique Selling Proposition)

1. Comprehensive Coverage: Blends board-level and competitive-level problems.

2. Authenticity: Incorporates questions from past board and competitive exams.

3. Structured Learning: Tests are designed to enhance speed, accuracy, and confidence.

4. Exam Temperament Building: Simulates the real exam environment, preparing students mentally and strategically.

5. Experienced Touch: Authored by a seasoned educator who understands the evolving needs of learners.

Physics Test Series for Class XII is not just a book, but a reliable study partner. It instils confidence in students by offering them a platform to test, evaluate, and improve systematically. With its blend of conceptual depth, practical problem sets, and lucid solutions, the book is an indispensable resource for every serious Physics learner at the +2 level.

The City of Tomorrow: A Symphony of Light and Life

The City of Tomorrow: A Symphony of Light and Life

When one imagines the city of the future, it is not merely of glass towers scraping the heavens, nor of neon lights shimmering in eternal nights. Rather, it is the dream of a civilisation that has finally learnt to live in harmony with nature, technology, and the human spirit. The city of tomorrow is not just built—it is grown, nurtured, and breathed into existence like a poem unfolding across time.

The blueprint of such a city begins with sensitivity. The streets are not arteries of chaos, but pathways of communion. They do not roar with engines but hum with the quiet footsteps of walkers, the gentle wheels of bicycles, and the soft whirr of vehicles born of clean energy. Air is no longer a burdened sigh of smoke, but a melody of freshness, carrying the fragrance of blossoms from green avenues that line the heart of the metropolis.

Architecture, in this city, is not a triumph of steel over stone, but a dialogue between sky and soil. Buildings lean towards the sun not to dominate, but to draw light into the lives of their dwellers. Walls breathe, roofs harvest rain, and windows welcome not only vistas but wisdom. Every structure becomes an extension of the earth—an acknowledgement that humanity is but a tenant of this fragile planet.

Technology, too, is not a master but a companion. The city of tomorrow will be woven with invisible threads of intelligence—systems that adapt, learn, and protect. Energy will flow not from smoke-stacked powerhouses but from the kiss of the sun, the whisper of the wind, and the pulse of the tides. Water will be cherished as sacred, its flow respected, its cycles maintained. Waste will be reborn, not discarded, and food will grow in vertical gardens that brush against the clouds.

Philosophically, such a city will not be judged by its wealth or monuments, but by the wellbeing of its people. It will measure success not in skyscrapers, but in smiles; not in GDP, but in the quiet contentment of its citizens. It will be a place where solitude is not loneliness but meditation, where crowds do not suffocate but inspire, and where every child can gaze at the night sky unbroken by the tyranny of smoke.

Above all, the city of tomorrow will not erase the past but embrace it. History will not be demolished for progress but will live as wisdom carved in every square, every park, every cathedral of memory. The future will not be a severance but a symphony—an orchestration of past, present, and possibility.

And when one stands at its centre, the city will not feel like a machine, but like a soul—alive, luminous, and tender.

In streets where silence learns to sing,
And bells of harmony softly ring,
The city rises, gentle, true,
A sky of hope in every hue.

Its towers breathe, its gardens pray,
Its waters dance, its lights obey,
No chains of smoke, no cries of greed,
But tender hearts and gentle deed.

So let us dream, and let us sow,
A city where all rivers flow,
Where future walks with present past,
And love, not stone, shall ever last.

The Whisper Behind My Name

The Whisper Behind My Name A name is never a mere arrangement of letters; it is the echo of histories, the fragrance of cultures, and the pulse of human imagination. To ask, “Where did your name come from?” is not just a question of origin but a journey into identity, heritage, and the subtle mysteries of existence. Every name is like a seed—sown in the soil of time, nurtured by language, and watered by meaning. Some names are carved from the stones of tradition, handed down through generations like a torch of memory. Others are born from a spark of inspiration, a poet’s dream, or even the whispers of divinity. In both cases, the name carries a resonance beyond the person; it is at once personal and universal, unique yet shared with countless others across the fabric of humanity. Philosophically, a name is a paradox. It identifies us, yet it is not us. We are larger than our names, and yet, without them, we become shadows in the crowd. Like a title to a book, a name draws others to open our story. Behind those syllables lies the narrative of joys and sorrows, the triumphs and failures, the silent moments of reflection, and the loud echoes of laughter. The origin of a name often traces to myth, nature, or celestial patterns. Some are tied to rivers, mountains, or flowers; others to gods, heroes, or celestial stars. In ancient scriptures, names were seen as incantations—powerful vibrations capable of shaping destiny. To be named was not simply to be called, but to be invoked. As Shakespeare so timelessly asked, “What’s in a name?”—and yet, he knew the irony that a name carries both everything and nothing at all. When I reflect on my own name, I sense it as a gentle companion. It speaks in tones of continuity, as though a thread woven from unseen hands connects me to the past and nudges me into the future. It holds my laughter, it has witnessed my tears, and it has echoed back to me in different voices—stern, affectionate, respectful, or tender. It has travelled on certificates and documents, yet it has also rested like a prayer on the lips of those who have called me in love or concern. Ultimately, the question “Where did your name come from?” becomes inseparable from “Who am I?” For, in every name lies a journey of becoming. Perhaps the true answer is not only about ancestry or linguistics, but about the life one breathes into that name. Just as a river finds its own course despite its source, so too does a person give new meaning to the name they carry. So, my name came from time and tradition, from the wells of imagination and the whispers of destiny. But most of all, it came to find me—so that I could fill it with the colours of my being, and let it dance across the stage of existence, like a note in the endless music of life.

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The Sunlight Within: Embracing the Positive Emotions that Shape My Days

“The Sunlight Within: Embracing the Positive Emotions that Shape My Days”

There are moments when the heart, like a sunlit meadow, feels drenched in a warmth that words struggle to hold. These are the moments when positive emotions blossom — not merely as fleeting states of mind, but as enduring companions in life’s long pilgrimage.

The tapestry of my inner world is woven with countless threads, yet certain shades appear more often — bright, persistent, and quietly transformative. They are the gentle architects of my outlook, the hidden hand that turns even an ordinary day into a chapter of quiet joy.

Gratitude: The Candle that Never Burns Out

If life is a banquet, gratitude is the salt that gives it flavour. I often find myself marvelling at the ordinary — the cadence of morning birdsong, the honest blue of a late afternoon sky, the kind word from a stranger. Gratitude is not a transaction; it is a way of seeing, a sacred lens that renders the simplest thing a marvel. As the Stoic philosopher Epictetus advised, “He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things he has not, but rejoices for those he has.”

Contentment: The Quiet River Beneath the Rush

There is a peculiar strength in stillness. In a world spinning faster than our breath can follow, contentment is my quiet harbour. It does not demand the absence of ambition, but rather the presence of peace — knowing that one’s worth is not weighed by constant acquisition. Like a monk listening to the wind through the pines, I find contentment in the spaces between striving, where the soul can breathe.

Compassion: The Bridge to Every Heart

Compassion is perhaps the most transformative of all emotions I nurture. It reminds me that the sorrows of others are not distant echoes but notes in the same human symphony to which I belong. It bends the ego, softens judgement, and makes the heart a gentler place to dwell. As the Buddha once taught, “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened.”

Hope: The Eternal Spring

Hope is the perennial bloom in the garden of the mind. It does not deny the frost or the drought; it simply believes the seasons will turn. Even in the dimmest corridors of uncertainty, hope is the flicker that lights the way forward. Philosophers may call it irrational; poets call it divine. I call it the heartbeat of tomorrow.

Joy: The Sudden Flight of the Soul

There are days when joy arrives unannounced — in a melody heard across a courtyard, in the laughter of children playing beyond the fence, in the aroma of fresh rain on parched earth. Joy has no appointment, no conditions; it simply soars into the spirit and lifts it higher than reason alone can carry.

In truth, these emotions do not live in isolation. They are interwoven like petals of a single flower, each enhancing the beauty of the other. They teach me that life’s worth is not measured by years or achievements, but by the richness of moments we allow to touch us deeply.

And so, I carry them with me — gratitude, contentment, compassion, hope, and joy — not as treasures locked away, but as sunlight within, always ready to spill into the world.