Creatures of My Quiet Affection

Creatures of My Quiet Affection
A reflection on the animals that have shaped my wonder, wisdom, and wandering heart

Animals have always been extraordinary teachers—silent philosophers wrapped in fur, feather, or scale. Though I do not claim a particular favourite, I find myself quietly enchanted by many of them, each offering a unique lesson, a tender memory, or a whisper of philosophy that lingers long after the moment has passed.

The Elephant: The Gentle Giant of Memory

Whenever I watch an elephant, whether in the wilderness or in a documentary, I am reminded of calm strength. The elephant walks with the weight of centuries yet steps with astonishing softness—as though mindful of the very earth that sustains it. Its familial loyalty and emotional intelligence mirror the deepest human values we aspire to uphold. In their slow, majestic gait, I find the wisdom to move through life with intention rather than haste.

The Dog: The Friend Who Loves Without Conditions

Dogs have long been companions of human hearts. Their loyalty is never bargaining, their affection never measured. A dog’s gentle presence can brighten the darkest evenings and bring joy to the quietest corners of a home. Even without owning one, I have felt moved by their unspoken message: love fearlessly, live faithfully, and trust more than you doubt.

The Butterfly: The Poet of Transformation

Few creatures embody the beauty of change as gracefully as the butterfly. Its delicate wings remind me that transformation, however painful, can blossom into something breathtaking. Watching a butterfly flit across a garden is like seeing a line of poetry take flight—fragile, fleeting, but deeply meaningful. The butterfly whispers a universal truth: nothing stays the same, yet everything can become beautiful.

The Horse: The Symbol of Freedom and Grace

A horse running across an open field is a vision of pure freedom. Their strength does not suppress; it elevates. Their grace does not demand attention; it earns admiration. They remind me that freedom is not the absence of boundaries but the presence of purpose. In their galloping strides, I sense a rhythm that resonates with the human spirit—steady, strong, and endlessly hopeful.

The Sparrow: The Keeper of Everyday Joy

Often overlooked, the humble sparrow sings with an enthusiasm that outshines the grandest birds of the sky. Its presence each morning teaches resilience, gratitude, and the charm of simple joys. A sparrow reminds me that life’s quiet moments—those uncelebrated bits of daily existence—can still echo with warmth if we choose to notice them.

Life has taught me that one need not have a “favourite” to appreciate beauty. Affection is not always about choosing one over another; it is about recognising the little spark of divinity in every living being. Animals, in their innocence and instinct, reveal truths that even philosophy sometimes fails to articulate.

In feathered flight and padded tread,
In quiet nooks where sparrows tread,
Each creature holds a tale untold,
Of tender hearts and instincts bold.

No favourites kept, yet love I find,
In every form of life entwined.
For nature speaks in many tongues,
Through ancient beasts and newborn youngs.

Where the Waves Meet the Peaks: A Heart Caught Between Two Horizons

Where the Waves Meet the Peaks: A Heart Caught Between Two Horizons

There are questions in life that have easy answers—tea or coffee, morning or night, trousers or shorts. And then there are the profound ones, the ones that tug at the deepest recesses of our being. Beach or mountains? For many, it is a choice. For me, it is a celebration—because I prefer both, and each speaks to a different chamber of my heart.

The beach is a poem whispered by the wind. Its rhythm mimics the pulse of the earth—waves embracing the shore with eternal devotion, retreating only to return with renewed passion. There is something irresistibly romantic about the sea: its vastness, its mysteries, and the way it invites you to walk barefoot into its arms. Every footprint on the sand feels like a fleeting thought, washed gently by the tide, reminding us that nature has its own way of editing our stories.

Yet the mountains—ah, the mountains!—they rise like ancient philosophers, carved by time and crowned by silence. Standing amidst them is like entering a cathedral with no walls, no rituals, and no restrictions—only the sacred dialogue between you and the universe. Their whispers come in the form of rustling pines, and their breath arrives as crisp, cool winds that brush your cheeks with affection. The mountains teach stillness; they remind you that at the top of any climb lies not triumph, but humility.

Between the golden shimmer of the coast and the emerald majesty of the highlands lies the essence of adventure. The beach invites you to play—to run along the shore, taste salt on your lips, ride the waves, and laugh with abandon. The mountains beckon you to explore—to trek into unknown trails, chase sunrises that appear like shy brides, and feel the thrill of chasing the sky itself. One is a festival; the other, a pilgrimage. One charms you with warmth; the other challenges you with height. And in this vibrant contrast, life finds its balance.

Romanticism thrives in both terrains. On the beach, lovers carve their initials into wet sand, sealing promises that last longer in memory than on the shore. In the mountains, hearts beat louder in the silence, where two hands held tightly can warm an entire world. Whether it is the moonlight shimmering on the waves or the first sunlight kissing a snow-capped ridge, nature keeps offering love letters to the human soul.

Philosophically, the beach reminds us of constancy—waves that return, no matter how many times life pulls us away from what we adore. The mountains remind us of perseverance—some heights take longer to reach, but the journey remains worth every breath, every stumble, every step. Together, they teach us to be fluid yet firm, soft yet strong, humble yet hopeful.

So, do I choose the beach or the mountains? The truth is, my heart is a traveller. It dances with the waves and meditates with the peaks. It enjoys the laughter of the shore and the solitude of the pine-scented trails. I belong to both worlds, not because I cannot choose, but because I do not want to diminish the abundance that life so generously offers.

And thus, I embrace both horizons—where adventure meets romance, where nature meets philosophy, and where my own spirit feels most alive.

On the shore where the sea and sky collide,
My heart becomes the wanderer’s tide.
Salt on my lips, wind in my hair—
Life feels lighter, free from care.

But up on the peaks where the eagles soar,
My soul awakens to something more.
Silence speaks in ancient rhyme,
Guiding my steps beyond space and time.

So give me the waves, give me the heights,
The playful days, the starry nights—
For I am the traveller blessed with both,
Bound by wonder, freed by oath.

Across Empires and Eternities: Conversations I Wish I Could Have

Across Empires and Eternities: Conversations I Wish I Could Have

If destiny ever granted me a ticket through time—a golden pass to meet minds who shaped civilisation—I would choose three giants whose thoughts, triumphs, and temperaments still ripple across history: Julius Caesar, Leonardo da Vinci, and Leo Tolstoy. Each of them belongs to a different world, yet their influence journeys far beyond their own eras. To sit with them would be to sip from the fountains of power, genius, and moral truth.

Julius Caesar: The Architect of Ambition

If history ever produced a man who walked with fate at his side, it was Julius Caesar. To meet him would be to encounter the very embodiment of ambition—steady, strategic, and unstoppable.

I would ask him:
“What gave you the nerve to cross the Rubicon?”
Was it confidence? Calculation? Or the quiet whisper of destiny?

His life reads like a theatre of impossibilities—captured by pirates as a young man, he demanded they double his ransom; declared war when scorned; returned to Rome as a hero, a reformer, and ultimately a martyr to his own greatness.

His story still teaches us that courage often comes disguised as risk, and that progress demands a willingness to step into the unknown. In an age where hesitation often beats conviction, I would ask Caesar how he silenced doubt and marched forward with such magnificent audacity.

Leonardo da Vinci: The Man Who Dreamed in Blueprints

Da Vinci is not merely a historical figure—he is a galaxy unto himself. To meet him would be to watch thunder think.

The man who could paint the faintest smile in human history also imagined flying machines centuries before humanity touched the skies. His notebooks were worlds, scribbled with inventions, observations, and questions—always questions.

I would love to ask him:
“How did your mind travel so effortlessly between art and science?”

He would perhaps smile, tilt his head, and sketch something mid-conversation—a bird’s wing, a mechanical limb, the curvature of light.

Leonardo teaches us that imagination is not luxury—it is a responsibility. The world moves forward only when someone dares to dream for it. His curiosity was not a trait but a flame, one that burned through the boundaries of disciplines, languages, and eras.

Leo Tolstoy: The Conscience of Humanity

Where Caesar mastered empires and da Vinci mastered ideas, Tolstoy mastered the human soul.

To meet Tolstoy would be to sit with a philosopher dressed as a novelist. His words peel back the layers of life—war, peace, love, guilt, kindness, suffering, redemption. He understood humanity not through crowns or canvases but through hearts.

I would ask him:
“What does it truly mean to live a moral life?”

Tolstoy’s later years, spent in simplicity and reflection, reveal a man in search of spiritual clarity. In a world of speed, distraction, and noise, I would want to hear him speak about compassion, conscience, and how one finds peace while living amidst the storms of existence.

Three Eras, Three Minds, One Timeless Lesson

What unites these giants?
They each remind me that greatness is not a destination but a pursuit.

– Caesar teaches boldness.

– Da Vinci teaches curiosity.

– Tolstoy teaches conscience.

Their lives whisper that the world is shaped by those who refuse to stop asking, Why not?

If I could meet them, I would not only listen to their stories—I would carry back their spirit. A spirit that tells us to rise beyond the ordinary, to question our limits, and to live a life richer in courage, imagination, and meaning.

Across the corridors of time I’d walk,
To hear three legends think and talk.
A ruler, a dreamer, a sage so wise—
Each holding truth that never dies.

From Caesar’s roar to Leo’s pen,
And Da Vinci’s worlds beyond our ken—
I’d gather lessons, bold and bright,
To guide my days and guard my night.

The Month That Teaches Me to Breathe

The Month That Teaches Me to Breathe

There are twelve months in a year, each with its own temperament and tale. Some arrive like a marching band, loud and bright. Some slip in like a shy visitor, barely making a sound. Some test our endurance—others mend our spirits. Yet, among these twelve comrades of time, October has always been the month that feels like home to me.

October is not merely a page in the calendar; it is a state of mind.

Why October? The Charm of a Transitional Soul

October stands gently between extremes—neither clinging to the heat of summer nor surrendering fully to the cold of winter. It is the golden hour of the year, the month that bridges vivacity and calm.

In India, October is a season of soft breezes and gentle sunshine. The monsoon bows out respectfully, leaving the earth washed, fragrant, and ready for a new chapter. The skies turn a deeper blue, the mornings feel contemplative, and the evenings float like soft music drifting through an open window.

It is a month where change feels comforting, not frightening.

A Cultural Canvas of Festivals

October glows with cultural vibrancy. It brings with it a tapestry of celebrations—
Durga Puja, Dussehra, Lakshmi Puja, and in some years, the anticipatory hum of Diwali. Cities light up, villages echo with stories of victory over evil, and homes brim with the fragrances of sweets, incense, and tradition.

It is the month that reminds us that faith, festivity, and family can turn ordinary days into luminous memories.

Nature in Her Poetic Mood

If months had moods, October would be poetic. The leaves, even if subtly in India, begin their quiet journey towards change. The sunlight is no longer aggressive; instead, it drapes the land with a mellow warmth. Migratory birds test the winds again. Flowers begin to bloom with a renewed tenderness.

Walking outside in October feels like reading a favourite poem—one you already know by heart, yet rediscover each time.

The Introspective Month

October encourages reflection. It wraps the world in a soft glow that invites introspection without melancholy. It gives the soul time to stretch and breathe, time to plan and to pause.

For writers, thinkers, teachers, retired professionals, and wanderers of the mind, it is the month that makes thoughts feel lighter and ideas feel more alive.

October is when diaries open, books feel more inviting, and long walks seem to hold whispered revelations. It is the month of renewed motivation—the quiet guardian of creativity.

Philosophically Speaking

Philosophers have always found solace in transitional phases. October is a metaphor for life itself:
ever-changing, gently unfolding, and subtly preparing us for what lies ahead.

It teaches us the beauty of impermanence.
It teaches us that endings can be graceful.
It teaches us that preparation and reflection walk hand in hand.

A Month of Memory and Gratitude

October also brings with it gentle reminders—of the year that has already passed, of the blessings received, of the struggles faced, and of the grace that carried us through. It makes gratitude feel natural, not forced.

It is the month that touches both memory and hope.

A Tribute to October

In the hush between summer’s sigh
And winter’s waiting call,
October walks with lantern-light,
A calmness over all.

It paints the world in amber hues,
It softens every day,
And whispers to the wandering heart:
“There’s beauty in the halfway.”

Oh October, gentle friend,
Your breeze restores my soul,
You teach me how to breathe again,
And still, to dream in full.

Where My City Breathes: A Walk Through My Favourite Place

Where My City Breathes: A Walk Through My Favourite Place

Every city has a heartbeat — a quiet, rhythmic pulse that only those who pause long enough can hear. In Bangalore, the city I now call home, that heartbeat echoes in many corners: in its ancient temples, its scientific institutions, its gardens, and its unassuming lanes of food and culture. Yet among all these, one place remains my favourite refuge — Lalbagh Botanical Garden, a sanctuary where history, nature, science, and serenity meet under an ever-changing sky.

A Garden Older Than Memory

Lalbagh is not merely a garden; it is a chronicle of time. Conceived by Hyder Ali in the 18th century and nurtured by Tipu Sultan, it carries the fragrance of historical transitions. Here, one can almost hear the whisper of the Mysore rulers as the breeze moves through the centuries-old trees. The Glass House, inspired by London’s Crystal Palace, stands as a shining reminder of Bangalore’s colonial past and its embrace of global ideas. It is a place where the present bows respectfully to the past.

Where Science Meets Soil

My fondness for Lalbagh deepens each time I stand before its legendary Lalbagh Rock, a formation older than the Himalayas — around 3,000 million years old. For someone with a background in Physics, touching that stone feels like touching the Earth’s first heartbeat. It reminds me that while cities rise and fall, nature endures silently.
Botanists and scientists continue to shape Lalbagh into an open-air laboratory, a place where one can learn without opening a book. Every species of tree carries a scientific tale, from the rain trees that create their own microclimate to the majestic African tulips that burst into flame-like flowers.

Culture in Every Corner

Lalbagh is not an island; it is a melting pot. Walk a little and you hear Kannada, Tamil, Bengali, Odia, Hindi, English and even French from passing tourists. Morning walkers chant Sanskrit shlokas, children giggle on the pathways, and photographers crouch near dew-dropped leaves capturing the theatre of nature.
And during the famous flower shows, the place becomes a festival of colours, a cultural mosaic celebrating creativity, craftsmanship, and community spirit.

Beyond Lalbagh: The City’s Many Jewels

Although Lalbagh remains my favourite, Bangalore offers a tapestry of many remarkable places:

Cubbon Park, where British-era statues, the State Central Library, and children’s laughter weave a story of recreation and heritage.

Bangalore Palace, a Tudor-style marvel echoing royal history.

ISRO and the Visvesvaraya Industrial and Technological Museum, where India’s scientific dreams take shape.

Nandi Hills, where sunrises teach lessons in humility and hope.

Vidhana Soudha, a symbol of democratic architecture and political legacy.

Each of these adds a note to the city’s symphony — historical, cultural, scientific, or spiritual — yet it is Lalbagh where my soul feels most at home.

Why Lalbagh is My Sanctuary

Because it allows me to think without interruption. Because no one demands an explanation from the wind or from a man walking slowly under a 200-year-old tree. Because time moves gently here — neither too fast to overwhelm nor too slow to bore.
Lalbagh allows me to return to myself, to observe the world with quieter eyes, and to remind myself that life, like the garden, grows in seasons.

Where morning dew on petals lie,
I find my thoughts begin to fly,
For in this garden’s silent grace,
My heart discovers its resting place.

Among the rocks older than light,
I learn the strength of ancient might,
And trees that sway with wisdom’s art,
Teach patience to my wandering heart.

O city of gardens, dreams, and rain,
You heal my spirit’s hidden pain,
And every path in Lalbagh’s shade,
Is poetry that nature made.

A First Glimpse of the Soul: The Impression I Wish to Leave

A First Glimpse of the Soul: The Impression I Wish to Leave

There is something magical about a first impression. It is like the opening note of a timeless melody, or the first brushstroke on a blank canvas—subtle, yet powerful enough to shape an entire perception. Over the years, as life has chiselled my personality through experiences, hardships, blessings, and wanderings across cultures, I have often pondered: What do I truly want people to feel when they meet me for the very first time?

In an age where people value speed over substance and instant judgement over quiet understanding, I wish my first impression to be a gentle countercurrent—something still, soothing, meaningful.

A Presence Rooted in Calm

If someone meets me briefly, I hope they sense serenity rather than agitation, warmth rather than distance. Life has taught me that calmness is not the absence of storms; it is the presence of an anchor.
I want people to feel that they are standing before someone who listens not merely with ears but with the heart—a person who has walked through fire and yet chooses to carry water for others.

A Mind Polished by Thought

An impression, to me, is not about appearing flawless; it is about being thoughtful.
Raised between the Himalayan grace of Nepal and the cultural depth of Odisha, enriched by Jesuit discipline and Punjabi affection, my mind has become a mosaic of philosophies, faiths, seasons, and stories.
So, when people meet me, I hope they detect—in the first few sentences—a mind that has reflected deeply, questioned bravely, and accepted humbly.

Kindness Without Drama

In my first impression, I hope kindness stands taller than credentials.
I have met ambassadors, leaders, artists and thinkers—and yet the most unforgettable among them were never the most powerful; they were the most humane.
If someone recalls me later, I wish they remember a steady, gentle presence—someone who offered respect before receiving it, someone who made them feel valued in the simplest of ways.

Strength Behind Softness

Softness is often mistaken for weakness, but my softness has come from surviving storms that were meant to silence me.
My first impression should quietly whisper this paradox:
A gentle man can also be a strong man.
I want people to see a spirit that has endured loneliness, loss, and reinvention—and still chooses hope over hatred and effort over excuses.

A Philosophy Worn, Not Preached

Let my first impression be a lived philosophy.
A belief that life is not a race but a pilgrimage, not a competition but a conversation.
If someone walks away after meeting me, I hope they carry a pinch of peace, a drop of thought, or a spark of inspiration—anything that brings light to their own journey.

May my first hello be gentle,
A breeze that cools the day;
A voice that carries kindness,
In a soft, unhurried way.

May my presence be like morning,
Calm, expectant, still;
A hint of quiet strength beneath
A tempered human will.

May people sense a river,
Deep, yet flowing slow;
A soul that walks with wisdom
Wherever life may go.

And if they ever remember me,
Let it be for this impression—
Not grandeur, nor perfection,
But a heart in true expression

“The Treasure I Never Found”

“The Treasure I Never Found”

There are stories of people stumbling upon treasures — a long-lost coin glinting in the sand, an old letter tucked behind a cupboard, or a childhood trinket rediscovered in the attic. The world seems to delight in rewarding those who chance upon forgotten wonders. But as for me — I must confess — I have never found a thing worth keeping. Not even a lost button that could claim some sentimental worth!

Perhaps, fate has decided that my share of treasures must come not from things, but from thoughts. While others have tales of lucky finds, I have had only fleeting moments that slip like sand through my fingers — a smile from a stranger, a sunset too beautiful to photograph, a tune that hummed itself into silence. Each time I tried to hold on, life whispered, “Not everything found can be kept.”

As a child, I dug under mango trees in the hope of finding ancient coins — none appeared. As an adult, I rummaged through drawers expecting to find forgotten notes — not a penny. Even my attempts to unearth “treasures of wisdom” often ended in misplaced spectacles or vanished pens! It seems the universe delights in keeping me guessing, while others walk away with their pockets full of surprises.

But over time, I realised something profound: the coolest thing I never found is perhaps contentment in not finding. There’s a certain liberation in emptiness — a quiet joy in knowing that life owes me no souvenirs. The beauty of the journey lies not in what we clutch, but in what we observe, feel, and remember.

So, while others boast of coins, curios, and crystals, I celebrate my unclaimed discoveries — laughter shared with family, moments of solitude that bred creativity, and memories that outshine material finds. Maybe the coolest thing I ever found is that I needn’t find anything at all.

And as for ending on a lighter note — here’s my poetic confession:

I sought for gold beneath the ground,
But worms were all that I had found.
I searched the attic, dust and gloom —
Sneezed my way right out the room!

I checked my coat for coins of yore,
Just lint and crumbs — and nothing more!
Yet through it all, I’ve come to see,
The best finds… often find you — free!

So if life’s pockets turn out bare,
Don’t sulk or curse what isn’t there;
For laughter’s light and friendship’s sound —
Are treasures best when never found!