Book Review: My Pen and My Universe – Chronicles of Life, Love and Learning (Volume 6)By Prashant Kumar Lal

Book Review: My Pen and My Universe – Chronicles of Life, Love and Learning (Volume 6)

By Prashant Kumar Lal

In My Pen and My Universe: Chronicles of Life, Love and Learning (Volume 6), author Prashant Kumar Lal takes his readers on a reflective voyage through the lanes of emotion, intellect, and spiritual discovery. The book stands as a tapestry of thoughts woven with wisdom, nostalgia, and an undying quest for meaning—offering insights into life as seen through the seasoned eyes of an educator, philosopher, and poet.

About the Book

This sixth volume in Lal’s literary series continues his remarkable journey of chronicling human experiences. Each piece in the book—be it an essay, reflection, or lyrical prose—captures moments of love, longing, learning, and living with rare sensitivity. The writing is elegant yet accessible, poetic yet profound. The themes resonate with universality—self-discovery, relationships, and the constant dialogue between heart and mind. Readers will find themselves pausing to ponder, as every page reflects a facet of human truth and resilience.

The book’s structure is both inviting and introspective—crafted for those who wish not only to read but to feel. It bridges the personal and the philosophical, the mundane and the mystical, echoing the timeless belief that our smallest moments often hold the deepest meaning.

About the Author

Prashant Kumar Lal is an experienced educationist, a seasoned school principal, and a prolific writer who has dedicated decades to shaping young minds and nurturing values. His literary works, including Image of My Experiences, Speeches from the Desk of the Principal, and The Legend of Inara Wali, reflect a rare blend of discipline, compassion, and creativity. A man deeply rooted in spirituality and humanism, Lal’s writing mirrors his life—guided by purpose, empathy, and faith in the goodness of human nature.

Having traversed various cultures and philosophies, Lal brings to his readers a broad, inclusive worldview. His command over language, coupled with his emotional honesty, turns every line into a moment of connection.

Target Readers

This book will appeal to readers who seek meaning beyond the ordinary—thinkers, teachers, students, retirees, and anyone who values introspection and lifelong learning. It also resonates with those who find solace in literature that heals, inspires, and uplifts. Whether you are a lover of reflective essays, a believer in self-evolution, or someone seeking quiet wisdom in the noise of modern life, this book will find a home in your heart.

USP (Unique Selling Proposition)

The book’s uniqueness lies in its fusion of philosophy and experience. It is not just a collection of reflections—it is a mirror of the author’s soul, a handbook of humane living. Each piece is written with authenticity and warmth, connecting the reader to their own emotions and memories. The golden thread running through all volumes of My Pen and My Universe is intellectual depth wrapped in simplicity, making it both literary and relatable.

In an age of fleeting attention, Prashant Kumar Lal’s writing stands out for its timelessness. It encourages readers to slow down, reflect, and rediscover the grace of gratitude, love, and learning.

Available now in print and digital format at http://www.amazon.com

The Mountain Within: My Hardest Personal Goal

The Mountain Within: My Hardest Personal Goal

There are many goals one sets in life — to earn a living, to build a home, to raise a family, or to leave a legacy. Yet, among them all, the hardest goal I ever set for myself was to live with unwavering integrity and spiritual balance amidst the shifting sands of time and temptation.

It may sound simple, but in practice, it is the most demanding climb — a lifelong ascent up the mountain within.

A Goal Beyond Achievement

Throughout my professional life — from being a teacher to a principal, and later an educational consultant — I was surrounded by goals of visible success: higher enrolments, better results, recognition, rankings, and reputation. Yet, I soon realised that these were but outer indicators. The real test lay in keeping my conscience clear and my character untarnished.

There were times when shortcuts looked promising, when pleasing influential people seemed more convenient than standing for what was right. But every time I bent my knees to pray rather than bow to compromise, I knew I was inching closer to my true goal — the victory over self.

Socio-Economic Realities and Ethical Resolve

Coming from modest means, I have known the pinch of economic necessity. Supporting a family without the cushion of pension after retirement, managing a consultancy with honesty in an age of inflated promises, and resisting the culture of flattery — these were no small battles.

Integrity sometimes costs comfort. Clients expect unrealistic assurances, systems often reward sycophancy, and truth is viewed as an inconvenience. Yet, I have always believed that ethics is not an ornament to wear when convenient, but a pillar to uphold even when it trembles under pressure.

In a society where wealth often overshadows worth, my challenge was to prove that character is still capital — that inner strength can outlast material gain.

The Inner Spiritual Compass

I have often drawn from both the Bhagavad Gita and the Bible to sustain my resolve. “Your right is to work, not to the fruits thereof,” says Krishna — and those words became my torchlight in moments of doubt. Christ’s teaching, “What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul?” echoed the same eternal truth.

These scriptures reminded me that the path of righteousness is narrow but luminous. Spirituality, to me, has never been an escape from worldly duties; rather, it has been the strength to perform them with a pure heart.

My morning reflections and evening prayers became my compass, guiding me through days of professional storms and personal solitude. Meditation and gratitude helped me keep my mind calm when the world around me moved at a feverish pace.

Professionalism Rooted in Humanity

Professionalism, I have learnt, is not measured merely by punctuality or productivity. It is about principled conduct and purposeful empathy. As a Principal, I had to take decisions that were not always popular — refusing undue favours, disciplining staff with compassion, and ensuring that merit triumphed over manipulation.

To maintain one’s ethical ground in leadership is to walk a tightrope — balancing kindness with firmness, and diplomacy with truth. There were times when I stood alone, but solitude became my silent friend. It taught me that leadership is not about pleasing everyone; it’s about serving the truth faithfully.

The Continuing Journey

Even after retirement, my goal continues — to live meaningfully, write truthfully, and guide others with sincerity. Running my consultancy is not merely a professional engagement; it is a moral extension of my lifelong mission — to educate, to enlighten, and to empower.

In a world dazzled by instant rewards, I continue to hold patience as my principle, perseverance as my path, and prayer as my power. The goal remains unfinished — not because I have failed, but because integrity is not an achievement; it is a lifelong discipline.

When silver fades and shadows fall,
Stand upright, though the night be tall.
For truth may tremble, yet never dies,
Its echo rings in honest eyes.

The gold of peace is rarely found,
In fields where noisy deals abound.
Seek not the crowd, nor praise’s call,
Walk with your soul — that’s worth it all.

Each dawn renews the vow once made,
To tread the light, though joys may fade.
The hardest goal is not to climb,
But to remain good through passing time.

Brushstrokes of Eternity: The Artists Who Paint My Soul

Brushstrokes of Eternity: The Artists Who Paint My Soul

Art, in its boundless expanse, is the whispered language of the divine — a bridge between the mortal and the eternal. Every brushstroke, every word, every note of music, and every chisel mark on stone speaks to the timeless yearning of humanity to reach beyond itself. To me, artists are not mere creators; they are interpreters of silence, translators of the unseen, and custodians of the world’s spiritual rhythm.

Among painters, M. F. Hussain stands as a storm of colours and emotions — India’s Picasso, whose horses gallop with raw energy, unbridled passion, and an essence of untamed freedom. His bold lines and vivid imagination narrate stories of mythology, motherhood, and modern India. Leonardo da Vinci, the Renaissance sage, fascinates me with his celestial balance of science and art — his Mona Lisa smiles through centuries, mocking the transience of human life. Then there is Vincent van Gogh, who turned his pain into poetry, painting his anguish in swirling skies and sunflower fields that seem to whisper hope even in sorrow.

From the sculptors of the past, Michelangelo’s David and Rodin’s Thinker stand as monuments of human perfection and thought — their forms breathe more life than flesh could ever contain. In India, the majestic creations of Amaravati, Khajuraho, and Ellora speak of hands that carved divinity out of stone. Their silent eloquence surpasses speech; their shadows teach us devotion and discipline.

Music, too, has its saints. Tansen of the Mughal era, whose ragas could summon rain and fire, was not just a musician but a mystic. Tyagaraja, with his Carnatic compositions, touched the divine through melody. In the West, Beethoven’s symphonies thundered from his silence — a testament to triumph over despair. Mozart’s notes dance like dew in sunlight, eternal and effortless. In more recent times, the soulful strains of A. R. Rahman and the meditative voice of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi echo the ancient spirit in a modern heartbeat.

And what of literature — that sacred refuge of souls? Shakespeare’s pen unmasked the entire human condition, from love’s madness to ambition’s ruin. Rabindranath Tagore painted with words as Hussain did with colours — his poetry a symphony of philosophy and compassion. Wordsworth found eternity in a daffodil; Mirza Ghalib in a sigh. Their creations remind us that art, in whatever form, is humanity’s prayer — sometimes uttered aloud, sometimes whispered within.

In this continuum of creativity — from cave paintings to digital art — I see the eternal dialogue between the creator and the created. Art teaches us that beauty is not perfection but presence; not mere aesthetics but awareness. Each artist, known or unknown, leaves behind a fragment of eternity for us to behold, to heal, and to hope.

To close the canvas:

In strokes and strings the soul does sing,
A whisper blooms from silent spring;
The chisel carves, the poet prays,
And time stands still in their endless gaze.

The note may fade, the colour will die,
Yet art outlives the mortal sigh;
Through every age, in dusk or dawn,
The heart of man keeps painting on.

For life is but a fleeting art,
Each breath — a brush upon the heart.
And when we’re gone, our song shall stay,
In light, in form, in word — always.

In the Serene Solitude of Words

In the Serene Solitude of Words

In the tranquil corridors of my post-retirement life, I have discovered an intimate companionship with silence and thought. My favourite pastime is not an activity in the conventional sense—it is a state of being. I dwell in the quiet company of words, in the reflective embrace of books, and in the tender recollection of a life well lived. Reading, writing, and conversing with my own thoughts have become both my refuge and my revelation.

After years spent amidst the hum of classrooms, the rhythmic ring of school bells, and the earnest laughter of young learners, I now inhabit a gentler rhythm—the rhythm of contemplation. The morning sun no longer summons urgency; it merely smiles upon the stillness of my tea cup, upon the ink that waits to speak. No schedules, no summations—only the seamless passage of hours that whisper of freedom and fulfilment.

Books are no longer mere instruments of instruction—they are portals to eternity. Within their pages I meet philosophers, poets, and prophets; I listen to their timeless counsel, and often find reflections of my own journey. Reading stirs the embers of curiosity and compassion that once lit my classrooms; writing, on the other hand, rekindles my communion with the unseen—the part of me that still yearns, still dreams, still seeks.

The pen, that humble companion, has transformed into a vessel of the soul. With each stroke I revisit the corridors of memory—the eager faces of children, the sacred stillness of morning assemblies, the comforting scent of chalk mingled with purpose. These recollections are not mere nostalgia; they are testaments to a life devoted to meaning.

Writing, for me, is a sacred pilgrimage—each word a footprint on the sands of reflection. It brings order to emotion, light to uncertainty, and grace to solitude. It is in these quiet hours of introspection that I find the convergence of the temporal and the eternal—the human and the divine.

As twilight spills its golden ink across the sky, I often sit by the window, enveloped by an old yet reassuring silence. A cup of tea warms my palms, and the pen rests upon the page as though in meditation. Outside, the day folds itself gently into dusk; inside, thoughts flow like a serene stream—sometimes calm, sometimes turbulent, yet always leading me towards the vast ocean of inner peace.

Retirement, in essence, is not an exile from engagement—it is a homecoming. It is a graceful retreat into the sanctuary of self, where reflection becomes worship and solitude, a symphony.

When twilight hums its tender tune,
I walk with words beneath the sky;
The dusk becomes my soft cocoon,
Where dreams and memories never die.

The ink still breathes a hopeful hue,
Of wisdom earned and kindness sown;
In solitude I find the new,
And claim the peace I’ve always known.

Let others chase the fleeting flame,
Of glory, gold, or worldly art;
I seek the stillness none can name—
The quiet kingdom of the heart.

When Nothing Is Left but the Soul

“When Nothing Is Left but the Soul”

There are moments in life when the curtain falls without warning — when the lights go dim, and the orchestra of possessions, comfort, and pride goes silent. Losing everything one owns — be it wealth, home, mementoes, or even identity — is not just a material catastrophe; it is a soul’s confrontation with its naked truth.

If I were to lose all my possessions, the first tremor would undoubtedly shake my composure. After all, human instincts cling to familiarity — the four walls that shelter us, the books that remind us of our learning, the clothes that guard our dignity, the objects that carry memories of love and labour. Yet, beyond that first wave of despair, I believe I would gradually learn to see life with renewed eyes — unburdened, unmasked, and unpossessed.

The Unseen Wealth

Possessions often define us in society’s eyes — the car we drive, the house we build, the gadgets we flaunt, or the wardrobe we choose. But once all this is gone, we realise how fragile these definitions are. Stripped of ownership, what remains is being. I would rediscover the wealth of the intangible — the warmth of a kind gesture, the sincerity of prayer, the solace in music, and the companionship of nature.

In the stillness of loss, I would find an unexpected form of abundance. Perhaps, in that emptiness, the heart learns to breathe again.

The Human Reflex

It is human nature to grieve over loss, yet survival is also ingrained in our very bones. After the storm of tears, the spirit begins to rebuild. Like the phoenix rising from its ashes, I would begin again — with humility as my capital, hope as my foundation, and gratitude as my guide.

Society, in such times, reveals its two faces — one of indifference and another of compassion. Some may turn away, too busy to notice a fallen traveller; others may extend a hand, proving that humanity still breathes amid the ruins of greed.

Spiritual Integrity

Losing everything might, paradoxically, make me whole. When worldly identities are erased, what remains is the pure self — neither rich nor poor, neither powerful nor powerless — only aware. I would turn inward, seeking strength in prayer, peace in silence, and purpose in service. For the soul’s value does not depend on possessions; it depends on its alignment with truth.

In the words of an old saying, “The richest man is not he who has the most, but he who needs the least.”

Lessons in Survival

I would rebuild not just walls, but values — learning to live simply, eat gratefully, and smile without reason. I would write again, sing again, and walk again under the open sky, knowing that everything I truly need — breath, love, light, and faith — cannot be stolen, burned, or lost.

Perhaps, the ultimate test of life is not how much we accumulate, but how much we can rise after everything is taken away.

When gold turns to dust, and the walls collapse,
When memory’s chest wears a broken clasp,
The soul still hums its silent hymn,
Through night’s dark veil, when lights grow dim.

When all is lost, yet hope remains,
When love still flows in unseen veins,
Then man is richest, though none may see,
For truth is wealth, and faith — the key.

When hands are empty, hearts are wide,
When tears and prayers flow side by side,
Then loss becomes a gentle art —
A whisper from God to cleanse the heart.

In the end, to lose everything is not the end of life — it is the beginning of living truly.

When Conviction Softened into Compassion”

“When Conviction Softened into Compassion”

There was a time when I believed that firmness in one’s opinions defined strength — that changing one’s mind was a sign of weakness, of inconsistency. To me, standing like a rock amidst the tide of ideas symbolised integrity. But as the seasons of life unfolded, I realised that even rocks erode with time, while rivers, though ever-changing, carve valleys and nurture life.

It was through countless interactions — in classrooms, staff meetings, friendships, and family circles — that I discovered how our convictions often spring from circumstances rather than universal truths. What I once dismissed as indecisiveness, I later recognised as growth. Our thoughts are not meant to be locked in iron chests; they must breathe, evolve, and learn the melody of empathy.

The Journey from Rigidity to Realisation

In the early chapters of my life, I was an ardent believer in the phrase “once right, always right.” Perhaps it stemmed from the discipline of education, where precision and correctness were virtues. Yet, human nature is far more nuanced than the black-and-white markings of a chalkboard.

Gradually, experience whispered a different wisdom — that being open to change does not mean surrendering values but refining them. Behavioural science suggests that our reflexes — both physical and mental — are shaped by survival instincts. When confronted with contradiction, the mind instinctively defends itself, much like the hand withdraws from fire. But if we pause for a moment before reacting, understanding seeps in. That pause is where wisdom lives.

The Mirror of Human Behaviour

Human nature thrives on comfort, familiarity, and the illusion of control. We love to believe that what we know today will remain eternally true. Yet, the beauty of being human lies in our ability to outgrow our former selves. Just as the snake sheds its skin to survive, our minds must shed outdated beliefs to stay humane.

Changing one’s mind, therefore, is not a betrayal of one’s past but a celebration of one’s evolution. It’s a testament that learning never ceases — that the child within us still dares to ask why.

The New Understanding

I now see that conviction is noble, but compassion is nobler. To hold strong opinions with humility, to listen without judgement, and to accept the possibility of being wrong — these are the real marks of maturity. The heart that once reacted like a reflex now reflects before responding.

Change of mind is not weakness; it is wisdom at work — a silent revolution that polishes our soul and connects us more deeply to others.

Let the river of thought keep flowing free,
Carving its course through stone and sea.
For minds that bend, like trees in rain,
Shall rise anew and bloom again.

To change one’s view is not to fall,
But to hear life’s gentler, truer call.
In hearts where empathy softly reigns,
The strength of love forever remains.

Marriage: Mirage or Sacred Bond

Marriage: Mirage or Sacred Bond?

Marriage has always been celebrated as one of the most profound human commitments, a tapestry woven with threads of love, respect, trust, and companionship. Yet, in the present times, the fabric of this institution appears to be wearing thin. Promises made under the canopy of stars often turn fragile once daylight dawns upon the realities of life. What was once thought of as a lifelong covenant sometimes becomes no more than a short-lived contract.

The Mask Before the Vows

It is often asked: why do people conceal their true selves before marriage? The answer lies partly in human nature and partly in societal conditioning. In the courtship phase, individuals tend to project their best selves—sometimes out of fear of rejection, and sometimes out of a desire to impress. Like actors on a stage, they polish their dialogues, hide their flaws, and exaggerate their virtues. This is not always deliberate deceit, but often the consequence of wanting to be loved without conditions.

Yet when the curtain falls and daily life begins, the masks slip away. The reality of habits, tempers, values, and priorities emerges, and what seemed tolerable before suddenly becomes intolerable. In many cases, truth comes out not as a gentle whisper, but as a jarring confrontation.

The Battles After the Bells

Fights in marriage are not new, but their frequency and bitterness seem to have increased. A clash of egos, the struggle for dominance, and unmet expectations breed resentment. The modern age has only added fuel to this fire. Social media and the alumni networks of the past, once a source of nostalgia, sometimes become distractions—encouraging individuals to seek thrills and companionship outside their present bond. What was once considered loyalty is now easily traded for momentary excitement.

Children, tragically, often become silent spectators in these wars of the heart. Their voices are ignored in the quest for personal freedom or pleasure. A playground should echo with laughter, but too often it resounds with loneliness.

Love as Transaction

The sacredness of marriage, once sealed with trust, is now often entangled in transactions. Money, status, appearances, and possessions silently dictate the terms of togetherness. Respect and affection, once considered the foundation of a household, sometimes take a back seat to financial calculations. When love becomes conditional, it loses its essence.

A Short-Lived Union

It is no surprise, then, that many marriages today are short-lived. What begins with fireworks ends in ashes. The rush for independence, the unwillingness to compromise, and the erosion of patience have made it easier to sever ties than to mend them. Society, too, has shifted its gaze from “till death do us part” to “as long as it feels good.”

Yet amidst this sombre reflection, one must remember that marriages still hold the power to blossom. Where honesty replaces pretense, where respect outweighs ego, and where love is nurtured through small sacrifices, marriage continues to be the most beautiful garden of human existence.

Marriage is not a stage to perform,
But a hearth to shelter from the storm.
Not a mask of glitter, borrowed and bright,
But a lamp of truth that burns through the night.

If love is weighed, it will surely fall,
Respect and trust must anchor it all.
A bond not fragile, nor fleeting in flame,
But a journey of souls that whisper the same.