If Money Were No Object: Callings of the Heart

If Money Were No Object: Callings of the Heart

There are moments in life when one wonders—what would I do if the chains of money, status, and expectation did not hold me? The world, as it is, is framed by economy and necessity; livelihoods are often measured by salaries, promotions, and survival. Yet, if we set aside these metrics and listen to the whisper of our inner calling, the answers can be profoundly revealing.

I imagine three pursuits, not as professions dictated by market forces, but as vocations of the soul.

1. A Teacher of Wanderers

Teaching, in its purest form, is the most sacred of callings. To ignite curiosity, nurture thought, and prepare young minds for a world not yet born—this is not employment but an act of devotion. Were money irrelevant, I would seek to teach not within the narrow confines of examination halls, but beneath the banyan trees, on mountain trails, and across rivers where life itself becomes the curriculum.

Philosophers such as Socrates taught without fees, offering dialogues instead of degrees. In today’s world, where education is often commodified, returning to such untainted pedagogy would be an act of quiet rebellion against a system that reduces learning to business. It would be to resist the commodification of curiosity and to affirm the dignity of knowledge as a human right.

2. A Poet of Everyday Life

Poetry, for me, is not mere ornamentation of words but a way of living truth. In a world swayed by political campaigns, corporate slogans, and the endless noise of consumerism, poetry offers resistance through simplicity and depth.

Were money irrelevant, I would write verses that draw from the soil of everyday life—the laughter of a child chasing a butterfly, the resilience of a labourer in the marketplace, the silent grief of a widow by the riverbank. Poetry has the power to confront injustice, to heal wounds, and to remind societies of their forgotten humanity. Pablo Neruda once declared that poetry is an “act of peace,” and perhaps, in a fractured political climate, it remains the balm that people desperately need.

3. A Caretaker of Forgotten Spaces

The modern world moves with ruthless haste, erecting skyscrapers where forests once stood, and forgetting heritage in the rush towards ‘development.’ If freed from the compulsion of income, I would dedicate myself to restoring what has been neglected—ruined temples, abandoned libraries, desolate gardens, and even fading traditions.

This role is not merely nostalgic. It carries socio-political meaning, for it challenges the narrative that progress lies only in newness. Reviving forgotten spaces and practices is to preserve collective memory, reminding us that societies without roots are societies without resilience. It is to resist the global tide of cultural homogenisation and affirm the dignity of local heritage.

A Reflection Beyond Wealth

To dream of these callings is to acknowledge a deeper truth—that vocation is not always synonymous with profession. Money, while essential, often narrows our imagination of work to survival alone. But human life, in its essence, seeks meaning. Whether as a teacher, poet, or caretaker, the real measure of labour lies not in coins but in contributions to humanity, culture, and the flourishing of future generations.

If wealth were but a fleeting breeze,
I’d sow my hours beneath the trees.
To teach, to write, to guard the past,
To give my breath to things that last.

For coins may rust, and empires fall,
But truth in verse will outlive all.
In service, song, and sacred land,
I’d shape my world with open hand.

Roots that Bloom: A Journey through Cultural Heritage

Roots that Bloom: A Journey through Cultural Heritage

Culture is not merely the ornament of a society; it is the pulse that sustains its spirit. To me, cultural heritage is not a static museum of rituals but a living river that carries wisdom, memories, and melodies from one generation to the next. It gives me both identity and humility, teaching me that I belong to a continuum where past, present, and future are intertwined like threads of a timeless tapestry.

I find pride in the plurality of my heritage. The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus once observed, “No man ever steps in the same river twice,” for culture, like rivers, evolves yet retains its essence. From the songs sung at twilight to the stories whispered around village fires, my heritage is alive in rhythms and silences, myths and morals, faith and festivities.

What fascinates me most is its inclusiveness. The Upanishadic ideal of “Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam”—the world as one family—resonates deeply with me. But alongside it, I admire the African proverb that says, “Wisdom is like a baobab tree; no one individual can embrace it.” Both remind me that no culture stands alone; every heritage gains richness in dialogue with another.

There is pride in its resilience too. Despite wars, exiles, migrations, and modern distractions, cultural roots have survived, branching into music, art, literature, philosophy, and even the simplest forms of daily courtesies. From Confucian thought in the East stressing harmony, to the Celtic mystics of the West who saw divinity in forests and stones, culture has always been humanity’s compass to navigate meaning.

What captivates me most are the intangibles—the values that whisper through rituals. Respect for elders, compassion for the poor, reverence for nature, the celebration of harvests, the shared laughter in festivals—all of these are fragments of eternity placed in ordinary time. My cultural heritage is not merely about what I inherit; it is about what I choose to nurture, reinterpret, and pass on.

As Rabindranath Tagore once wrote, “Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark.” Heritage is that bird—it carries songs of resilience even when storms rage. To be proud of one’s cultural heritage is not to claim superiority but to hold a lamp that lights both our own path and that of others.

Beneath the soil, my roots run deep,
Through time’s vast corridors they creep;
From chants of dawn to evening’s song,
They teach me where I still belong.

Heritage whispers, tender, profound,
In every silence its echoes are found;
Not chains of the past, but wings to rise,
A bridge from earth to eternal skies.

Brands that Breathe Beyond Logos

Brands that Breathe Beyond Logos

There is a strange alchemy in the way we humans attach ourselves to brands. They are not merely names on billboards or imprints on glossy shopping bags; they are stories stitched into fabric, philosophies whispered through design, and promises carried in quiet subtleties. A brand, at its purest, is not just about consumption—it is about identity, belonging, and resonance.

When I reflect upon the brands I truly associate with, I find myself not dazzled by flamboyant advertisements but drawn by authenticity. It is not the price tag that captivates me, but the values that flow beneath the surface. A fountain pen that glides like a river across paper becomes more than a tool—it becomes a companion in moments of solitude. A car that hums steadily through the countryside is not only a machine; it is a bridge between dreams and destinations.

Philosophers have long debated the nature of symbols. Plato spoke of ideals beyond appearances, and in a way, brands too can be shadows of deeper ideals. A pair of shoes may symbolise resilience, carrying the weight of countless journeys. A watch may embody the philosophy of time itself, ticking gently as a reminder of life’s fleeting beauty. These objects, adorned with logos, become almost talismanic—they carry the essence of who we are and what we aspire to be.

Yet, there lies a subtle caution. When brands overshadow our essence, when we allow them to dictate rather than reflect, we risk losing our freedom. The Bhagavad Gita warns against bondage through desire, and consumerism can easily weave its silken threads around us. True association with a brand, then, must be conscious—chosen for meaning, not dictated by marketing.

I find myself leaning towards brands that whisper rather than shout, those that embody sustainability, artistry, or endurance. They are like trusted friends who do not boast, but quietly stand by you. In their design, I see poetry; in their endurance, I sense philosophy.

And so, brands for me are not possessions but extensions—gentle echoes of my inner world, testaments to journeys taken and dreams still unfolding.

A name embossed, a logo etched,
Yet deeper still, a tale is sketched.
Not wealth nor glitter calls my hand,
But spirit woven through the brand.

For brands are more than fleeting flame,
They guard a soul, they frame a name.
And when they breathe with truth inside,
They walk with me, as silent guide.

The More Within the Less

“The More Within the Less”

There are questions that arrive like soft ripples upon a still pond, gentle yet unsettling, delicate yet demanding. What could you do more of? At first glance, it may appear like a taskmaster’s query, but when one pauses long enough, it becomes less about accumulation and more about awakening. It whispers not of possessions but of presence, not of achievements but of alignments with our truest self.

Too often, the word more is chained to a culture of endless striving. More money, more recognition, more control. Yet psychologists remind us that after a point, these pursuits leave us hollow, burdened with anxieties rather than blessings. What we truly crave is not more to own but more to live fully.

Imagine if we did more of listening, not just hearing words but absorbing the silences in between. If we did more of noticing—the play of shadows at dusk, the laughter of a child, the resilience of a tree bending in the storm. These seemingly small “mores” become quiet revolutions, transforming how the heart feels and how the mind breathes.

Philosophy, too, leans toward this truth. Kierkegaard, in his soulful reflections, spoke of deepening one’s inwardness—living more authentically rather than scattering the self in distractions. Simone Weil, the French mystic, saw attention itself as a form of prayer: to give more attention to the world is to touch the sacred. And Rumi sang of the heart’s capacity to pour more love, reminding us that generosity of spirit multiplies rather than diminishes.

Doing more of what nourishes does not demand grandeur. It is not measured in leaps but in layers. More compassion softens the rough terrains of human existence. More patience in conversation can restore bonds frayed by haste. More wonder at the night sky can calm a weary mind battered by daily anxieties. Even more solitude, when embraced, does not isolate but deepens the soul’s roots.

The psychology of fulfilment is clear: lasting joy emerges when our actions align with values, when our “mores” are chosen not out of compulsion but from clarity. A little more kindness shared each day rewires the brain towards empathy. A little more gratitude lightens the heart’s heaviness. A little more forgiveness releases the invisible chains we bind ourselves with. These are not small gestures but inner renovations.

What could you do more of? Perhaps more stillness in a world addicted to noise. More hope when despair threatens to take centre stage. More courage to say yes to life, even when uncertainties loom. And perhaps, more tenderness towards oneself—for often we forget that the gentleness we lavish on others must also be gifted inward.

The soul does not ask us to become larger, but deeper. It does not demand that we run faster, but that we pause longer. To do more of what heals, what connects, what elevates—that is the “more” which truly matters.

Do more of holding the fleeting light,
Of guarding dreams in the folds of night.
Do more of smiling when skies turn grey,
For dawn is never too far away.

Do more of loving with hands unclosed,
Of tending the fragile, the faint, the supposed.
Do more of being where hearts entwine,
And you will taste the eternal divine.

The Murmur That Changed My Path

The Murmur That Changed My Path

Advice often enters our lives not as thunder, but as a quiet murmur that refuses to fade. The most transformative counsel I ever received was simple in its form yet profound in its implications: “Learn to listen to silence.” At first, it baffled me, for silence is often seen as a void, a vacuum, even an awkward pause. But gradually, I realised that silence is not the absence of sound—it is the presence of depth. It is the space where life speaks in subtle tones.

The Psychology of Silence

Modern psychology acknowledges what ancient wisdom has long whispered—that silence heals. Clinical studies show that silence lowers cortisol levels, slows the racing mind, and helps the nervous system reset. When we allow ourselves to step back from the incessant hum of conversations, devices, and distractions, the brain re-engages with creativity and balance.

Silence, in this sense, is not passive. It is an active restoration. It is the mental equivalent of deep sleep—a state where unseen repair takes place. Carl Jung once hinted that “the soul needs time alone to uncover itself.” Indeed, in silence, the unconscious rises like a hidden tide, carrying dreams, intuitions, and insights we would otherwise drown out with noise.

Philosophical Reflections Beyond the Familiar

While great names like Socrates or Confucius often dominate discussions, other less-cited thinkers offer delicate threads of wisdom on silence:

1. Max Picard, the Swiss philosopher, emphasised that silence is not emptiness but a presence more eloquent than words.

2. Meister Eckhart, the German mystic, urged seekers to quiet their inner turbulence, for only then could truth arrive unannounced.

3. Kamo no Chōmei, in his hermit’s hut in 12th-century Japan, wrote in Hōjōki that stepping away from the clamour of society into a small, silent space opened the way to serenity and impermanence.

4. Plotinus, though seldom quoted in modern contexts, insisted that turning inward into silence was the only way to touch the “One”—the source of all existence.

These diverse voices, spanning centuries and continents, converge on one truth: silence is not absence, but presence, not weakness but strength.

The Practical Wisdom Hidden in Quietude

Silence teaches us patience in a world addicted to instant gratification. It grants us the courage to pause before reacting. In relationships, listening to silence allows us to hear not just what is spoken, but also what is withheld. Psychologists remind us that unspoken emotions often surface in body language, in the eyes, in pauses heavier than sentences.

Silence is also the soil where creativity flourishes. Writers, musicians, artists—many confess that their greatest inspirations did not arrive in noisy cafés or bustling streets but in still moments, often when they were alone with themselves. In silence, imagination gathers strength.

Even spiritually, silence has been the door through which seekers step into transcendence. From the deserts of early Christian hermits to the forests of Indian sages, silence has always been the chosen path. The Upanishads describe the ultimate reality, Brahman, as that which lies “where words turn back, together with the mind.”

Personal Resonances

I have found that silence is not merely the absence of talk but a way of listening—to the world, to others, and to myself. It has guided me in moments of decision, reminding me that rushing often leads to regret. It has soothed me in grief, when words felt inadequate. It has made joy fuller, when shared laughter was followed by a contented pause.

And most importantly, silence has taught me humility—the awareness that not everything demands my voice, my opinion, or my explanation. Sometimes, wisdom lies in restraint.

In silence dwells the tender flame,
That burns beyond all praise or blame.
It heals the scars that time has sown,
And carves a peace the heart has known.

The stillness hums, a sacred tone,
A music felt, though never shown.
For when the clamour fades away,
The soul finds words it dares not say.

So let the murmur guide the way,
Through night’s embrace and break of day.
For silence, vast and deep, conveys
The timeless truth no tongue betrays.

When Melodies Become Memories: My All-Time Favourite Albu

When Melodies Become Memories: My All-Time Favourite Album

Music is not merely entertainment; it is memory, solace, and revelation. It seeps into the crevices of our being and accompanies us silently through life’s seasons. For me, songs have never been just lyrics or tunes—they have been living companions, each carrying its own fragrance of time. If I were to choose my all-time favourite album, it would not be bound to a single singer or a single disc, but a tapestry of artists whose music etched itself into different phases of my life: Eddy Grant, Jim Reeves, Kenny Rogers, Mukesh, and Donna Summer.

The Youthful Beat: Eddy Grant

There was a time when energy overflowed like a river eager to break its banks. The world was new, restless, and unshackled. It was Eddy Grant’s rhythm that echoed then—songs that carried rebellion, freedom, and the pulse of the street. His music was like a drumbeat under the skin, urging one to move forward, to dance even amidst chaos, to defy the monotony of life. Listening to him was like watching dawn break after a stormy night—fiery, hopeful, and untamed.

The Velvet Solace: Jim Reeves

Then came the quiet nights of reflection, when the world outside grew too noisy and the heart sought tenderness. In those hours, Jim Reeves’ voice floated like a soft evening breeze. His baritone was velvet draped in sound, turning loneliness into companionship and silence into poetry. Reeves taught me that strength can reside in gentleness and that sometimes, the most profound comfort lies in a song softly sung. He was the voice that turned solitude into a sanctuary.

The Storyteller’s Road: Kenny Rogers

Adulthood often brings choices—some easy, some crushingly difficult. Life becomes a gamble, and every path is both a risk and a reward. That was the season when Kenny Rogers entered, not just as a singer but as a philosopher in disguise. His stories—of gamblers, dreamers, lovers, and wanderers—were like parables set to melody. Each song reminded me that the human journey is fragile, unpredictable, yet always worth treading. Rogers’ voice was a lantern on that winding road, offering wisdom and courage in equal measure.

The Soul’s Ache: Mukesh

But what is life without love—and what is love without longing? Mukesh became the voice of that tender ache. His songs carried the fragrance of romance and the weight of sorrow, as though each note was dipped in yearning. He taught me that to feel deeply is not a weakness but the essence of being human. When his voice rose, it felt as if the heart itself was speaking—a reminder that joy and grief are inseparable companions, two sides of the same coin.

The Radiance of Joy: Donna Summer

And then, there were moments when life demanded no philosophy, no reflection—only celebration. Donna Summer’s music was the soundtrack of such nights. She lit up the floor with her radiant energy, her disco beats becoming torches in the dark. With her, the world became a dance, every step a declaration that joy is fleeting, yet worth embracing. Her voice was a blaze, urging one to live in the moment, to celebrate life before it slips away.

A Symphony of Phases

If I were asked to pick one album as my favourite, I would have to confess—it is not a single record. My album is a mosaic of life itself, stitched together by these voices. Each artist belongs to a chapter: youth, solitude, choices, love, and celebration. Together, they form a playlist not just of music but of existence—a score that has played faithfully in the background of my journey.

When Eddy strums, the dawn takes flight,
A rebel’s song, a spark of light,
The heart beats fast, the spirit free,
The world becomes a melody.

When Reeves begins, the silence heals,
His velvet voice, the night reveals,
A hymn of love, so soft, so true,
A gentle balm in shades of blue.

With Rogers’ tales, the road unfolds,
Of gambles lost, of dreams he holds,
His voice, a guide through night and day,
A lantern shining on the way.

Mukesh then sings, the heartache flows,
The rose of love with sorrow grows,
His music, tender as a sigh,
Teaches the soul that tears don’t lie.

And Summer calls—the night is bright,
Her disco flames consumed the night,
Her voice commands the feet to soar,
To live, to laugh, forevermore.

An album is not what lies on a shelf—it is what lives within us, echoing through the corridors of memory, shaping who we are, and reminding us that music is, perhaps, the most faithful friend of all.

The Silent Saboteur: When Phones Become Playthings in Tender Hands

The Silent Saboteur: When Phones Become Playthings in Tender Hands

Parenting has always been a fine art, balanced delicately between love, guidance, and discipline. In today’s age, however, this art faces an unforeseen challenge – the silent saboteur called the mobile phone. What seems like a harmless pacifier to keep a child engaged for a few minutes often turns into a subtle yet devastating influence on their mind, body, and soul.

The Convenience Trap

A tired parent hands over the glowing screen to silence the cries of their child. It works – like a charm. Yet, convenience is the seed of compromise. What starts as a ten-minute engagement soon stretches into hours. The gadget becomes the nanny, the entertainer, and even the educator, while the parent slowly drifts away from active participation in the child’s growth.

The Developmental Dilemma

Child development experts remind us that the first years of life shape the brain’s architecture. A screen may stimulate the eyes and ears, but it cannot nurture empathy, imagination, or resilience. A child scrolling through endless videos misses out on climbing trees, listening to bedtime stories, or even the simple joy of observing ants marching in a line. Such lost experiences are irreplaceable – the foundation stones of creativity and character.

The Health Hazard

Beyond the emotional toll lies the physical one. Studies point to impaired eyesight, disturbed sleep cycles, and rising obesity due to sedentary screen addiction. The blue light from screens disrupts the delicate rhythm of melatonin, leaving children restless and cranky. Once robust games of hide-and-seek in the neighbourhood are now replaced by silent swipes of the finger.

The Emotional Echo

Children mirror what they see. A phone that flashes cartoons also flashes advertisements, materialistic ideals, and distorted realities. The tender mind, unable to distinguish between truth and exaggeration, begins to anchor itself in illusions. This often leads to impatience, aggression, and in many cases, a dependence on instant gratification – a hunger that grows insatiable.

The Parenting Paradox

Parental principles emphasise three golden pillars – presence, patience, and participation. When parents substitute their presence with screens, they unknowingly erode the foundation of trust. The child feels entertained, but not emotionally embraced. Parenting then becomes a paradox: on one hand, a guardian trying to provide the best, and on the other, offering a tool that quietly robs the child of innocence.

Towards Responsible Parenting

The solution lies not in demonising technology, but in disciplining its role. Phones can be powerful allies if used wisely – a video call to grandparents, a guided learning app, or even a lullaby at night. Yet, they should never replace the parent’s lap, the parent’s voice, or the parent’s time.

Principles of child care urge:

1. Set boundaries: Define phone-free hours and spaces.

2. Offer alternatives: Books, toys, outdoor games, music, and art.

3. Be a role model: Children copy what they see – let them see balance.

4. Engage personally: Conversations, storytelling, and shared activities strengthen bonds that screens cannot.

Philosophical Reflection

The Bhagavad Gita teaches: “Yuktaḥ āhāra-vihārasya yukta-ceṣṭasya karmasu” – moderation in all activities leads to harmony. Similarly, the Bible reminds: “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.” Both scriptures point to the same wisdom – nurture with care, not with neglect disguised as convenience.

Handing over a phone to a child may silence them for the moment, but it might also silence their curiosity, creativity, and capacity for wonder. Parenting is not about ease; it is about endurance. A child’s laughter is best born not from the flicker of a screen, but from the warmth of human presence.

Let us not trade our children’s future for our fleeting comfort!