Mr Prashant is a seasoned educator and author with years of experience in school administration and classroom teaching. Having served as a Principal, he brings a wealth of knowledge on effective teaching practices and classroom management. He is also the author of several books, including "Image of my Experiences - a book of poetry," "Speeches from the Desk of the Principal," and "The Legend of Inara Wali." Now retired and residing in Bangalore, he
continues blogging etc
There are lives that drift gently, almost imperceptibly, into the arms of indulgence. What begins as a harmless escape—a sip to unwind, a dinner to delight—soon becomes a quiet dependence that blurs the line between choice and compulsion. The heart begins to crave the temporary glow of pleasure, forgetting the steady warmth of responsibility.
It is strange how a person can lose himself without leaving home. The laughter that once rang true becomes a mask; the promises made to loved ones dissolve like breath on glass. A portion of his earnings, once meant for comfort and care, is spent chasing shadows in glittering places where smiles are sold and solace is rented. The world still calls him free, but freedom, perhaps, has already left by another door.
When one borrows too easily—from friends, from banks, or even from fate—each debt carries a quiet cost. The figures on paper may be paid someday, but the unseen interest accumulates in sleepless nights, unspoken guilt, and fading trust. There comes a time when even the kindest creditor—the soul itself—demands its due.
Friends who walk the same dim lanes of indulgence seem loyal at dusk but vanish at dawn. Their companionship thrives on sameness, not sincerity. Family, meanwhile, waits in another world—of silence, concern, and small prayers whispered into pillows. A wife’s eyes begin to lose their laughter; children learn early what disappointment feels like; parents sit by the window, watching not for his return, but for a trace of the man he used to be.
The law of life, unlike the law of courts, offers no appeals. A pattern of negligence often leads not to punishment but to slow erosion—of respect, reputation, and reason. The man who neglects his work may one day find that work no longer seeks him. Letters from creditors, legal notices, and warnings from employers are not merely papers; they are mirrors showing the reflection one no longer wishes to see.
Yet, all is not lost. Redemption seldom arrives in triumph—it comes quietly, like dawn after a restless night. A gentle word from a loved one, a painful moment of self-awareness, or a memory of what once was, may still awaken the sleeping conscience. Those around him can help—not by loud admonition, but by calm firmness, by reminding him of the dignity he has misplaced, not destroyed.
Philosophy whispers that a man’s greatest enemy often lives within—the one who justifies every excess and silences every warning. The battle is never truly with the bottle, or the bill, or the borrowed coin—it is with the yearning that seeks comfort instead of courage.
He sought delight in borrowed hours, Unmindful of the fading flowers; The wine was sweet, the laughter loud, Yet silence followed every crowd.
His home still waits, his child still dreams, His wife still prays in muted schemes; If once he turns from night to day, The lost may find a clearer way.
The law may bind, the world may blame, But only he can end the shame; For even ruins, kissed by rain, Can bloom with life again.
“A Million for Meaning: Where Compassion Finds Its Currency”
If fortune were to smile upon me with a million dollars—not for myself, but to give away—I would consider it not merely a windfall of wealth, but a test of conscience. For in the vast theatre of life, where desires wrestle with duties, giving becomes a sacred art—a divine act that transcends arithmetic and enters the realm of the heart.
Money, in itself, is mute—it neither sings nor sighs. But in the hands of empathy, it speaks in languages unspoken by kings and commoners alike. If I were granted this million, I would scatter it like seeds of kindness, letting it fall where hope is thirsty and dreams have dried in the dust of despair.
A good portion would go to the education of children—not the privileged few who already sit beneath the chandeliers of opportunity, but the forgotten ones, whose only classroom is a street corner and whose only teacher is hunger. For knowledge, when lit, can turn a shivering child into a shining torchbearer of tomorrow. The million might fade, but their learning would linger like a flame that no storm can quench.
Next, I would extend a hand to the aged and abandoned, those silent souls who once nurtured others, but now count their days in sighs and solitude. A home filled with care, laughter, and shared stories could give them what gold cannot—dignity in twilight. For love, when returned, is wealth multiplied.
A part would go to the artists, farmers, and healers—those unseen craftsmen of civilisation. The artists who paint hope with trembling brushes, the farmers who feed the world yet often go hungry, and the healers who walk the thin line between despair and recovery. To support their work would be to nourish the roots of humanity itself.
And I would reserve a small portion—humble yet heartfelt—for those who care for Mother Earth. Planting trees, cleaning rivers, nurturing life where greed has left scars. For money is best spent when it creates balance between man and nature, when it restores rather than merely repairs.
Philosophically, this million would not be mine—it would be a medium of mercy, a means through which divine intent finds human expression. As the Bhagavad Gita teaches, “Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana”—we are entitled to act, not to the fruits thereof. And as Saint Francis of Assisi once prayed, “It is in giving that we receive.” Perhaps, in distributing that million, I would be the richest man alive—rich not in possessions, but in purpose.
We live in a world obsessed with accumulation. Yet, life’s truest treasure lies not in the having, but in the handing over—in the quiet joy that rises from seeing another’s eyes light up with renewed hope.
And when the last note of that million is spent, I would sit beneath the evening sky, smile at the sunset, and whisper to myself—
“The purse is empty, but the heart is full; The vault is vacant, yet the soul is whole.”
If I had a million, I’d buy no car, No mansion gleaming from afar; I’d mend some hearts, repair some dreams, And float my joy on golden streams.
A bit for books, a bit for bread, A tune for souls by sorrow led; A song for trees, a smile for seas, A wish that flies on whispering breeze.
So when the notes are spent and gone, I’ll hum life’s tune from dusk till dawn— For giving’s game, when played with grace, Leaves Heaven’s smile upon one’s face.
If failure were exiled from human existence — if every endeavour I touched turned into success — I would attempt to transform the way humanity learns, lives, and loves. I would strive to recreate the very ethos of education — not as a system of evaluation but as an ecosystem of enlightenment.
The Vision Beyond Fear
Fear of failure is perhaps the most persistent enemy of progress. It paralyses the potential of millions who might have been creators, dreamers, and visionaries. If that shadow were removed, life would become an open canvas of divine possibilities. In such a world, I would dedicate myself to building Institutions of Inner Learning — places not confined by walls, timetables, or rigid syllabi, but open fields of inquiry where the mind is nurtured and the soul is awakened.
Children would learn the rhythm of the universe before learning the rigidity of equations. They would study the poetry of rivers before dissecting the rules of grammar. Education would move beyond rote and routine to become a pilgrimage — from ignorance to insight, from self-doubt to self-realisation.
Bridging Science, Philosophy, and Spirituality
If I were guaranteed not to fail, I would weave science and spirituality into a seamless fabric of truth. The rational and the transcendental would no longer be rivals; they would coexist like day and dawn — distinct yet inseparable.
– Physics would not stop at matter; it would explore the mystery of consciousness.
– Biology would teach not only anatomy but also the ethics of existence.
– Literature would cease to be just a study of words and become a study of worlds.
– History would no longer recount wars and empires but the evolution of human wisdom.
I would introduce a universal curriculum that blends intellectual rigour with emotional intelligence, where critical thinking dances hand in hand with creative empathy. Every learner would not be a mere product of schooling but a co-creator of civilisation.
Integrity as the Core of Existence
If failure were not possible, honesty would be effortless. Yet in a truly enlightened world, integrity would not be an act of moral compulsion — it would be a way of being. I would nurture environments where truth is not feared but celebrated, where success is measured not by wealth or position but by the peace one radiates.
In such a realm, leadership would mean service, and success would mean significance. Teachers would be torchbearers, not taskmasters; students, seekers, not subjects. Each act of learning would be an offering to the higher self.
A World Without the Fetters of Comparison
If failure ceased to exist, comparison too would lose its sting. People would not compete but complete each other. The architect would respect the poet; the scientist would listen to the mystic. Nations would not race for supremacy but cooperate for sustainability. The world’s progress would be measured not by GDP, but by GNH — Gross National Happiness.
The Metaphysical Dimension
Philosophically, the absence of failure would redefine existence itself. Failure is the teacher that success often forgets. Without it, the soul may lose its humility, the mind its curiosity, and the heart its compassion. Yet, for one divine moment, imagining such perfection allows us to stretch our consciousness to the realm of the infinite.
It reminds us that success without fear is not arrogance but alignment — alignment with truth, purpose, and the cosmic order. When every action resonates with sincerity and selflessness, failure naturally dissolves.
If failure fled and faith took flight, The world would glow in boundless light. No soul would shrink, no dream would die, Each heart would hum a lullaby.
If loss were gone and gain made kind, No greed would darken humankind; The crown of truth would grace each head, And love would be our daily bread.
If fear withdrew and courage led, No soul would mourn, no tear be shed; The path to peace would lie within, Beyond all doubt, beyond all sin.
If failure vanished, yet wisdom stayed, Our hands would heal the world we made; For strength lies not in flawless art, But in the purity of heart.
Epilogue
If I were guaranteed not to fail, I would attempt to awaken a generation — one that learns not for livelihood alone, but for life itself. I would dare to dream of a civilisation built not on ambition but on awareness.
Yet, deep within, I know — it is because we fail, fall, and rise again that we evolve. Failure refines purpose, tempers ego, and strengthens the human spirit. The guarantee not to fail may be a fantasy, but the courage to try despite failure — that is divine.
If failure were exiled from human existence — if every endeavour I touched turned into success — I would attempt to transform the way humanity learns, lives, and loves. I would strive to recreate the very ethos of education — not as a system of evaluation but as an ecosystem of enlightenment.
The Vision Beyond Fear
Fear of failure is perhaps the most persistent enemy of progress. It paralyses the potential of millions who might have been creators, dreamers, and visionaries. If that shadow were removed, life would become an open canvas of divine possibilities. In such a world, I would dedicate myself to building Institutions of Inner Learning — places not confined by walls, timetables, or rigid syllabi, but open fields of inquiry where the mind is nurtured and the soul is awakened.
Children would learn the rhythm of the universe before learning the rigidity of equations. They would study the poetry of rivers before dissecting the rules of grammar. Education would move beyond rote and routine to become a pilgrimage — from ignorance to insight, from self-doubt to self-realisation.
Bridging Science, Philosophy, and Spirituality
If I were guaranteed not to fail, I would weave science and spirituality into a seamless fabric of truth. The rational and the transcendental would no longer be rivals; they would coexist like day and dawn — distinct yet inseparable.
– Physics would not stop at matter; it would explore the mystery of consciousness.
– Biology would teach not only anatomy but also the ethics of existence.
– Literature would cease to be just a study of words and become a study of worlds.
– History would no longer recount wars and empires but the evolution of human wisdom.
I would introduce a universal curriculum that blends intellectual rigour with emotional intelligence, where critical thinking dances hand in hand with creative empathy. Every learner would not be a mere product of schooling but a co-creator of civilisation.
Integrity as the Core of Existence
If failure were not possible, honesty would be effortless. Yet in a truly enlightened world, integrity would not be an act of moral compulsion — it would be a way of being. I would nurture environments where truth is not feared but celebrated, where success is measured not by wealth or position but by the peace one radiates.
In such a realm, leadership would mean service, and success would mean significance. Teachers would be torchbearers, not taskmasters; students, seekers, not subjects. Each act of learning would be an offering to the higher self.
A World Without the Fetters of Comparison
If failure ceased to exist, comparison too would lose its sting. People would not compete but complete each other. The architect would respect the poet; the scientist would listen to the mystic. Nations would not race for supremacy but cooperate for sustainability. The world’s progress would be measured not by GDP, but by GNH — Gross National Happiness.
The Metaphysical Dimension
Philosophically, the absence of failure would redefine existence itself. Failure is the teacher that success often forgets. Without it, the soul may lose its humility, the mind its curiosity, and the heart its compassion. Yet, for one divine moment, imagining such perfection allows us to stretch our consciousness to the realm of the infinite.
It reminds us that success without fear is not arrogance but alignment — alignment with truth, purpose, and the cosmic order. When every action resonates with sincerity and selflessness, failure naturally dissolves.
If failure fled and faith took flight, The world would glow in boundless light. No soul would shrink, no dream would die, Each heart would hum a lullaby.
If loss were gone and gain made kind, No greed would darken humankind; The crown of truth would grace each head, And love would be our daily bread.
If fear withdrew and courage led, No soul would mourn, no tear be shed; The path to peace would lie within, Beyond all doubt, beyond all sin.
If failure vanished, yet wisdom stayed, Our hands would heal the world we made; For strength lies not in flawless art, But in the purity of heart.
Epilogue
If I were guaranteed not to fail, I would attempt to awaken a generation — one that learns not for livelihood alone, but for life itself. I would dare to dream of a civilisation built not on ambition but on awareness.
Yet, deep within, I know — it is because we fail, fall, and rise again that we evolve. Failure refines purpose, tempers ego, and strengthens the human spirit. The guarantee not to fail may be a fantasy, but the courage to try despite failure — that is divine.
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.
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
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 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.
