Beyond Desire: The Eternal Bond of Man and Woman

Beyond Desire: The Eternal Bond of Man and Woman

The relationship between man and woman is one of the most enduring mysteries of creation. It is not merely a contract of the body but a covenant of the soul. To imagine it as driven only by sensual longing is to dim the sacred lamp that illumines companionship, sacrifice, and growth. Across traditions—Vedic, Biblical, and philosophical—this union is portrayed as divine, inevitable, and eternal.

The Vedic Vision

The Vedas emphasise that man and woman are not opposites but complements. One of the hymns of the Ṛgveda celebrates the sacred bond:

“समानी प्रपदा भवः समाना हृदयानि वः।
समानमस्तु वो मनो यथा वः सुसहासति॥” (Ṛgveda 10.191.4)

“May your steps be in harmony, may your hearts be as one,
May your minds be united, so that you may live together in joy.”

The Manusmṛti too asserts:

“यत्र नार्यस्तु पूज्यन्ते रमन्ते तत्र देवताः।
यत्रैताः तु न पूज्यन्ते सर्वास्तत्राः क्रियाः फलाः॥” (Manusmṛti 3.56)

“Where women are honoured, there the gods rejoice;
Where they are not honoured, no sacred rite yields fruit.”

Here lies a profound truth—that the dignity of a woman determines the sanctity of the household, and through it, the strength of society.

The Upanishads, in their symbolic language, declare the principle of Ardhanārīśvara—that the cosmic being is both male and female, Śiva and Śakti, two energies bound in one. Creation itself is incomplete without their union.

The Biblical Foundation

The Bible too speaks with equal reverence. In Genesis 2:24, it is written:
“Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.”

The Book of Proverbs (31:10-11) extols the virtuous woman:
“A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value.”

In the New Testament, 1 Corinthians 11:11 reminds us:
“Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man, nor is man independent of woman.”

And in Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 we read:
“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labour: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.”

These verses speak not of hierarchy, but of mutuality. Not of domination, but of companionship.

Beyond Flesh, Toward Spirit

Man and woman are meant to refine one another. Just as the chisel sharpens the stone into a sculpture, so too love, respect, and sacrifice carve two incomplete beings into one shared life.

Philosophers have long intuited this truth. Plato, in the Symposium, describes love as the search for one’s other half. Indian philosophy, through the symbol of Ardhanārīśvara, tells the same story: that the essence of life is in union, not division.

The Contemporary Lens

It is undeniable that in today’s times, relationships have sometimes been reduced to abuse, exploitation, or fleeting passion. Yet, even amid this decline, the ideal still holds. Where mutual respect exists, the bond of man and woman remains the cornerstone of civilisation—the hearth of love, the cradle of future generations, and the mirror of divine companionship.

Not lust alone, but light they share,
A sacred bond, beyond compare.
When hearts unite, the soul takes flight,
Two flames as one, dispel the night.

Honour her voice, respect his care,
In mutual love, the divine is there.
For man and woman, hand in hand,
Are heaven’s dream upon the land.

A World Without Music: The Echoes of Silence

A World Without Music: The Echoes of Silence

If ever there comes a day when music deserts me, I shudder to think what my existence would be like. Music is not just an ornament of life, it is its very breath, the invisible companion that walks beside us through valleys of sorrow and peaks of joy. Without it, life would appear like a painting drained of colour, a night sky robbed of its stars, or a prayer without its echo.

Every note, every chord, every rhythm, is a language of the soul. It whispers in solitude, roars in celebration, consoles in grief, and heals in despair. Without music, mornings would be nothing more than mere awakenings, evenings mere closures, and nights long corridors of silence. Where would the lullabies of mothers, the hymns of temples, the chants of monks, or the tender strains of a flute find their place?

Poets have long said that “music is liquid architecture, and architecture is frozen music.” It builds bridges where words fail, and yet, in its absence, those bridges collapse into the void of plain speech. Without music, love would lose its serenades, revolutions their anthems, and worship its hymns. Even nature would seem incomplete if we could not hear the rustle of leaves as a melody, the rain as a rhythm, or the bird’s chirp as a ballad of hope.

In truth, music is the invisible pulse that reminds us of our humanity. A world without it would be mechanical, where life would march to the tick of the clock, not to the beat of the drum. It would be a strange wilderness of silence where emotions would wander, homeless and unheard.

Philosophical Whispers

“Without music, life would be a mistake.” – Nietzsche

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.” – Victor Hugo

“The universe itself hums a tune; silence only deepens its mystery.”

Without a song, the heart would weep,
Dreams would wither, shadows creep.
The soul would thirst, the spirit tire,
No spark to kindle, no flame of fire.

But where music breathes, life takes flight,
Darkness softens, sorrow turns light.
For every note is a prayer unspoken,
A bond eternal, never broken.

Holidays: The Symphony of Rest and Renewal”

“Holidays: The Symphony of Rest and Renewal”

The word holiday has always carried an aura of joy, freedom, and celebration. It is more than a pause in the calendar; it is a sacred rhythm in the music of life where rest meets revelation. In the hustle of our contemporary age, where technology blinks even in our sleep and economics shapes even our leisure, holidays have become not just escapes but investments—into health, relationships, and the soul itself.

To me, a holiday is not merely a date on the planner but a philosophy of reclaiming time. It is the art of turning hours into experiences—be it in quiet reflection, familial laughter, or journeys that stretch the imagination. Some holidays are painted with the vibrancy of festivals: lanterns, lamps, or fireworks that remind us of shared traditions. Others are intimate, where one curls with a book, stirs a slow-cooked meal, or allows music to whisper forgotten memories.

Yet, the question in today’s world is not just how we celebrate, but why we celebrate. In an economy where working couples race against deadlines and students live in the glare of competition, holidays act as a balm—resetting both body and spirit. They become bridges to reconnect with family, a moment to step out of the transactional world and revisit the emotional one. A hike into the hills, a prayer whispered in the quiet of dawn, or even an indulgence in a street-side meal—all these carve joy from simplicity.

Philosophically, holidays are a reminder of our mortality and our need for balance. Aristotle spoke of eudaimonia—the flourishing life—which cannot be achieved without leisure. Similarly, in Indian philosophy, ananda (bliss) is seen not in constant activity but in contemplative pauses. Thus, holidays are not wasteful luxuries, but essential nutrients of the soul, much like water to parched soil.

Economically too, holidays are entwined with our times. Tourism fuels livelihoods, local artisans thrive during festive sales, and entire industries pulse with the rhythm of holiday spending. At the same time, minimalistic and eco-conscious holidays are gaining ground—travel that treads lightly, celebrations that are mindful, and choices that balance joy with responsibility towards nature.

In the end, my holidays are not about extravagance but about meaning. They are opportunities to recharge, reflect, and return with renewed energy to the cycle of everyday life. They are songs of gratitude for time, for togetherness, and for the timeless beauty of being alive.

And as I close, let me leave you with a few verses that capture the melody of holidays:

When days grow long and work turns deep,
A holiday calls, like a dream in sleep.
Not gold, not wealth, nor fleeting gain,
But peace of heart is the sweetest chain.

In laughter’s glow, in silence rare,
In journeys made, or whispered prayer,
The soul finds rest, the spirit sings,
Holidays gift us timeless springs.

The Silent Symphony of the Household: The Place of a Maid in Indian Homes

The Silent Symphony of the Household: The Place of a Maid in Indian Homes

In the intricate weave of Indian domestic life, the presence of a maid is more than a matter of convenience—it is a silent symphony playing in the background of countless households. Especially for working couples, who tread the thin rope between demanding careers and the equally demanding duties at home, a maid often becomes the unsung architect of balance.

A Cultural Lens

India, with its bustling cities and crowded streets, has long embraced the practice of employing domestic help. Unlike the West, where household chores are largely individual responsibilities or aided by machines, Indian society—anchored in tradition and community living—has woven the role of a maid into its very fabric. The maid becomes not just a helper but often an extension of the family rhythm, absorbing the hum of life’s daily grind.

Yet, the question persists: Should we all work for ourselves and dispense with this system altogether?

Philosophy of Labour

The Bhagavad Gita speaks of karma—action without attachment. To sweep, to cook, to clean are all noble acts, no less valuable than writing a code or drafting a policy. If one were to look at life through this lens, household chores, when done with dignity, become spiritual practices. They cultivate humility, discipline, and gratitude. A world where each individual shoulders his or her domestic load could indeed be a more equal world, stripped of hierarchies of labour.

But reality often laughs at ideals. The gallop of urban life, the crushing commutes, and the merciless deadlines leave little time for such mindful domesticity. Here steps in the maid—a bridge between aspirations and exhaustion, between modernity and tradition.

Technology and Aspiration

Technology, with its washing machines, vacuum cleaners, and robotic aids, has tried to fill the void. Yet, the warmth of human hands, the intuition of lived experience, and the flexibility of presence still make maids indispensable. In a society where aspirations rise higher than apartment towers, where couples dream of global careers and personal growth, the maid remains a quiet partner in progress.

The Do’s and Don’ts

Do’s:

1. Treat with respect—labour has dignity.

2. Set clear expectations but allow flexibility.

3. Pay fairly and on time; gratitude should not only be verbal but tangible.

4. Involve technology to reduce dependency, but maintain human empathy.

Don’ts:

1. Don’t treat the maid as invisible. Recognition is as essential as remuneration.

2. Don’t exploit vulnerability—working hours must not stretch endlessly.

3. Don’t impose indignities—every task can be asked with gentleness.

4. Don’t foster over-dependence; self-reliance keeps life’s rhythm steady.

The Balance

The real answer lies not in absolute dependence or absolute detachment, but in balance. To work for oneself when possible is an act of independence; to delegate wisely is an act of efficiency. The maid, then, is not a crutch but a companion—a facilitator of aspirations, enabling individuals to pursue careers, passions, and even leisure without being drowned by chores.

Like the river that flows unseen,
Her hands keep the household clean.
In silence she weaves the daily thread,
Where toil and tenderness are quietly spread.

Yet remember, labour is sacred, whole,
Each sweeping act refines the soul.
To serve, to share, to stand, to care,
Life’s symphony sounds best when fair.

When the OTG Betrayed My Mutton Curry Dreams

When the OTG Betrayed My Mutton Curry Dreams

Cooking, they say, is an art. But sometimes, it feels more like a cruel prank played by the culinary gods. My most unforgettable kitchen catastrophe was not a mere burnt toast or a collapsed cake—it was the day my ambitious mutton curry met its epic Waterloo in the OTG.

It all began with lofty aspirations. I had envisioned myself serving a regal dish, one that would carry the aroma of spices, the tenderness of slow-cooked mutton, and the pride of a self-proclaimed master chef. Instead, what emerged from my Oven-Toaster-Griller (OTG) could only be described as the tragic love-child of rubber and charcoal.

The preparation started well enough. I lovingly marinated the mutton overnight, as if it were a pampered guest at a five-star resort. Into the OTG it went, with my naïve confidence soaring high. I imagined the applause of diners, the appreciative nods, and perhaps even whispers of “move over, Gordon Ramsay.”

But alas, my dreams were roasted before the meat ever was.

The OTG, which I had treated like a benevolent partner in crime, turned rogue. The mutton, instead of simmering gracefully in its spiced bath, seemed to wage war against the appliance. Hours went by, and the meat neither softened nor surrendered. Instead, it grew tougher, like a gladiator refusing to bow. The curry base dried up into an unrecognisable paste, and the once-proud chunks of mutton resembled meteorites freshly plucked from a volcano.

By the time I lifted the lid of doom, the smell that greeted me was less of “mouth-watering aroma” and more of “kitchen crime scene.” The curry clung to the sides of the dish like a stubborn tenant refusing eviction. A spoon refused to go in, a fork refused to come out, and a knife bent in sheer protest.

In desperation, I tried to taste a piece. Reader, it was an act of bravery fit for epics. My jaw exercised more than a marathon runner’s legs, and after prolonged struggle, I gave up, fearing dental insurance might not cover this level of foolishness.

Friends who heard of this fiasco laughed so hard that I was unofficially crowned “the Shakespeare of kitchen tragedies.” My pride was singed, my curry incinerated, and my OTG sat smugly on the counter as though mocking my misery.

From that day, I learnt a golden rule: some dishes demand the slow caress of a stovetop or the dignity of a pressure cooker. Mutton curry, in particular, is not a gladiator to be thrown into the arena of an OTG.

Still, I console myself with a thought: every great chef has their disaster stories. Mine just happened to be written in the fiery script of burnt curry.

As the proverb goes, “Too many cooks spoil the broth”—but in my case, it took only one enthusiastic fool and one treacherous OTG.

The Untaught Symphony of Silence

The Untaught Symphony of Silence

There are lessons that come clothed in time’s delay. They arrive not in the spring of youth when the heart runs wild with words, but in the autumn of reflection, when the rustle of fallen leaves teaches more than the clamour of voices ever could. Among these belated revelations, one towers above the rest — the wisdom of silence.

Had I known earlier that silence is not emptiness but eloquence, not passivity but power, I would have spared myself the exhaustion of arguments and the vanity of needless speech. “Speech is silver, but silence is golden,” goes the old proverb — and how often did I polish silver when gold lay quietly within my reach.

Plato believed that “wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.” Confucius taught that silence is a true friend who never betrays. Rumi, the mystic poet, wrote that silence is the language of God, and all else is mere translation. And Marcus Aurelius, stoic emperor of Rome, counselled that much can be achieved by saying nothing, for truth needs no adornment.

Life itself is a testament to this truth. Dawn does not announce itself with trumpets, yet the world awakens at its touch. The river, in its quietude, nourishes more than storms ever could. The stars burn in silence, guiding caravans through the deserts, sailors through the seas. Nature’s greatest wonders whisper rather than shout.

But men, intoxicated by the urge to be heard, drown wisdom in noise. I, too, was guilty — words became my armour, my defence, my declaration. Only later did I realise that silence is the truest defence, the noblest declaration, the mightiest armour. It carries the dignity of restraint and the grace of patience.

An Arabic proverb reminds us: “The tree of silence bears the fruit of peace.” How often did I overlook that orchard, chasing instead the barren fields of argument! Had I paused, listened, and withheld, I might have found serenity sooner.

Now I understand that silence is not absence, but presence. It is the canvas upon which thoughts are painted, the pause that gives music its rhythm, the stillness where reason and compassion embrace. To master silence is to master the self.

So I walk today with a newfound reverence for quietude. I speak less, I listen more, and I allow silence to cradle my thoughts before they take the shape of words. For in that silence lies not only peace but also truth — and in truth, the possibility of freedom.

A Symphony on the Plate: My Favourite Types of Food

A Symphony on the Plate: My Favourite Types of Food

Food is not merely sustenance; it is a silent poem written with colours, textures, and flavours. To ask about my favourite types of food is to invite me into a realm where memory, culture, philosophy, and appetite entwine into a dance of delight.

I have often thought that food is akin to music: every dish is a note, every flavour a rhythm, and the whole meal a symphony that nourishes both body and soul. Just as one cannot imagine Beethoven without his symphonies or Tagore without his verses, so too life feels incomplete without the melodies of the table.

The Simplicity of Grains

There is a quiet poetry in a bowl of steaming rice or a slice of warm bread. They are not flamboyant, yet they are the foundation on which all cuisines rise. To me, they echo the philosophy of simplicity—like the stoic thinkers who believed happiness lies not in excess but in essentials. When I savour a spoonful of plain rice with a drizzle of ghee or butter melting on bread straight from the oven, I sense the same truth: contentment often lies in the humble, the unadorned.

The Fragrance of Spices

Indian food, with its symphony of spices, has always been close to my heart. A pinch of turmeric, the warmth of cinnamon, the sharpness of mustard seeds—these are not just flavours but philosophies. They remind me of the Upanishadic thought that the universe itself is woven of contrasts: heat and cold, bitter and sweet, joy and sorrow. To eat a well-prepared curry is to taste this grand unity, a reminder that opposites can harmonise beautifully.

The Tenderness of Fruits

Fruits, in their colourful attire, speak to me of innocence and purity. The first bite of a mango in summer is a burst of golden sunlight; the crunch of an apple whispers the freshness of autumn; a cluster of grapes feels like the laughter of spring. Philosophers often spoke of nature as the first teacher, and I find in fruits a lesson: they need no embellishment, for they are perfect as they are—like the unspoilt heart of a child.

The Warmth of Soups and Stews

On evenings when solitude sits heavily upon my shoulders, a bowl of hot soup feels like a companion. There is a warmth in its embrace that speaks more eloquently than words. It is a reminder of the Buddhist notion of compassion: gentle, nourishing, unassuming, and yet transformative. Soup, to me, is not just food—it is comfort in liquid form.

The Sweetness of Desserts

And then comes the poetry of desserts. A spoonful of kheer, a slice of cake, or a square of chocolate is like the epilogue of a long novel—sweet, fulfilling, and lingering. They remind me of life’s fleeting pleasures, moments we must treasure without guilt, for even the Bhagavad Gita teaches balance—not denial, but moderation.

The Philosophy of Eating

In the end, my favourite foods are not merely about taste but about meaning. They are metaphors of life itself. Grains teach me humility, spices remind me of harmony, fruits reflect innocence, soups embody compassion, and desserts whisper joy. To eat is not just to fill the stomach but to feed the spirit, to commune with creation, and to remind oneself that every morsel is a gift of time, toil, and nature’s bounty.

Food, in essence, is philosophy on a plate. It is memory, poetry, culture, and prayer—served warm.