The Grammar of My Complaints: When Grievances Speak the Language of Pain

“The Grammar of My Complaints: When Grievances Speak the Language of Pain”

What do I complain about the most?

This question, when asked casually, sounds harmless—almost conversational. Yet, when allowed to linger, it turns intrusive, like a mirror held too close to the face. Complaints are rarely about the surface irritations they name. They are, more often than not, encrypted messages from within—coded signals of pain, disappointment, or unmet longing.

I complain about people: their indifference, their arrogance, their lack of sensitivity. I complain about systems: their rigidity, their injustice, their deafness to human nuance. I complain about time—how it rushes past when I need it to pause, and crawls when I want it gone. Occasionally, I even complain about fate, destiny, or luck, as though they were negligent administrators mishandling my file.
But are these really complaints, or are they confessions?

Complaints as Pain in Disguise

With age and experience, one begins to realise that complaints are seldom about what happened; they are about what hurt. When I complain about being ignored, it is not noise that disturbs me but invisibility. When I complain about disrespect, it is not rudeness alone but wounded dignity. When I complain about financial insecurity, it is not money per se but the anxiety of dependence and the fear of becoming a burden.

In that sense, my complaints are not irritants; they are indicators—like warning lights on a dashboard. They tell me where the engine of my life is overheating.

The paradox is that we often articulate pain more comfortably as complaint. Pain sounds vulnerable; complaint sounds assertive. Pain asks for empathy; complaint demands attention. Perhaps that is why we complain—because it feels safer than admitting we are hurt.

Have I Learnt to Live With Them?

The honest answer is: partially.
Some complaints have softened with time. The sharp edges of earlier resentments have been rounded by understanding. What once felt like betrayal now appears as human limitation. What once felt like injustice now seems like the world being unfair in a very ordinary way. Life, after all, does not run on moral symmetry.
Yet, some complaints persist, stubborn as old scars. They no longer bleed, but they ache in cold weather. I have learnt to live with them, not without them. There is a difference.

Living with complaints does not mean nurturing bitterness. It means acknowledging pain without allowing it to become my permanent address. It means knowing when to speak and when to stay silent; when to protest and when to let go. It means understanding that not every battle is worth fighting, and not every silence is surrendered.

The Quiet Evolution of Complaints

Interestingly, complaints evolve as we evolve. In youth, complaints are loud and accusatory—someone else is always at fault. In maturity, they become quieter, more reflective, often turning inward. One begins to ask uncomfortable questions: Did I expect too much? Did I communicate too little? Did I mistake endurance for virtue?

At this stage, complaints are no longer weapons; they are teachers. They point to values we still care about. We do not complain about what does not matter. Indifference makes no noise.

A Truce With My Complaints

I have not eliminated my complaints, nor do I wish to. A life without complaint would be either dishonest or anaesthetised. What I seek instead is a truce—a mature coexistence.

I try to listen to my complaints without becoming them. I allow them to inform me, not define me. I remind myself that while pain may explain my complaints, it need not excuse cynicism or cruelty. Suffering, when unexamined, hardens into bitterness; when reflected upon, it can soften into wisdom.

In the final reckoning, my complaints are not my enemies. They are wounded messengers knocking at the door of consciousness. The choice before me is simple yet profound: whether to curse the knock—or to open the door, listen carefully, and heal what can still be healed.
And perhaps that is the quiet lesson life keeps repeating:
Complaints do not disappear when life becomes perfect; they fade when understanding deepens.

The Quiet Crown: On Solitude, Selfhood and the Illusion of Needing Others

The Quiet Crown: On Solitude, Selfhood and the Illusion of Needing Others

There is a certain majesty in being alone—alone in one’s thoughts, one’s deeds, and one’s virtue. In that stillness, life sheds its noise, pretence, and performance. The mind breathes freely, conscience speaks clearly, and the soul, long drowned in expectations, finally hears its own voice. In such moments, a provocative question arises: How important are others? The unsettling answer may well be—not at all.

We live in an age that glorifies togetherness. Social engagement is mistaken for success, visibility for validation, and constant connectivity for fulfilment. Silence is feared, solitude misunderstood, and aloneness treated as a social failure. Yet history, philosophy, and lived wisdom suggest quite the opposite: it is in solitude that the finest ideas are born, the deepest virtues are forged, and the truest selves are discovered.

To be alone in thought is to think honestly. No applause is expected, no backlash feared. Ideas are not edited to please an audience, nor diluted to suit prevailing fashions. Socrates conversed with his inner daemon, Marcus Aurelius wrote to himself, and Indian sages retreated to forests not to escape life, but to understand it. Solitude does not impoverish thought; it purifies it.

To be alone in deed is to act without spectacle. Virtue performed in isolation carries no badge of honour, no certificate of recognition. It is quiet, unmarketable, and therefore genuine. When no one is watching, morality is tested in its purest form. As the Bhagavad Gita reminds us, karma finds its worth not in reward, but in the right action. A deed done for oneself, guided by conscience alone, is often nobler than a hundred acts done for public approval.

To be alone in virtue is perhaps the highest state of freedom. Virtue that depends on applause is fragile; virtue rooted in self-respect is indestructible. When one stands by one’s values without companionship, encouragement, or consensus, character is no longer borrowed—it is owned. Such virtue does not bend with the crowd, nor dissolve under pressure. It simply is.

So where do others stand in this landscape of self-sufficiency? Their importance, though loudly proclaimed, may be greatly exaggerated. Others can inspire, assist, or accompany—but they cannot think for us, act for us, or be virtuous on our behalf. The moment we outsource our moral compass, intellectual independence, or sense of worth, we surrender our sovereignty.

This is not a call for arrogance, isolationism, or emotional withdrawal. Human relationships have their place, and compassion remains a cornerstone of civilised life. But relationships should be additions to the self, not substitutes for it. Depending on others for meaning is like leaning on a shadow—it disappears when the light shifts.

Paradoxically, those who are most comfortable being alone often make the best companions. They do not cling, compete, or conform. Their presence is a choice, not a necessity. Their silence is not emptiness, but depth. They walk with others without losing themselves.
In a world obsessed with being seen, heard, and followed, choosing solitude is an act of quiet rebellion. It is a declaration that one’s worth is intrinsic, not crowdsourced. To be alone in thought, deed, and virtue is not loneliness—it is liberation.

And once that freedom is tasted, the question is no longer “How important are others?”

It becomes, “How much of myself am I willing to lose to keep them?”

Beyond the Boundary Lines: Sports in India and the Games That Shape My Spirit

Beyond the Boundary Lines: Sports in India and the Games That Shape My Spirit

India’s relationship with sport is as ancient as its civilisation and as vibrant as its present-day diversity. From dusty village grounds echoing with the thud of a cricket ball to floodlit stadiums roaring with Olympic aspirations, sport in India is not merely recreation — it is culture, identity, discipline and aspiration rolled into one.

A Civilisational Bond with Sport

Historically, India never viewed physical activity as separate from intellectual or spiritual growth. Ancient texts speak of vyayama (exercise) as a necessary discipline for holistic living. Traditional sports such as kabaddi, kushti (wrestling), mallakhamb, archery and chaturanga (the precursor of chess) were integral to training both body and mind. Sport was a preparation for life — teaching balance, restraint, courage and resilience.

Modern India: Passion Meets Performance

Post-independence, India’s sporting landscape began to take organised shape. Cricket gradually emerged as the nation’s most visible sporting obsession, transforming from a colonial inheritance into a unifying national emotion. Hockey, once India’s pride with eight Olympic gold medals, laid the foundation for India’s sporting confidence on the global stage.

In recent decades, the spectrum has widened. Badminton, boxing, wrestling, athletics, shooting and weightlifting have produced global champions. The rise of leagues — IPL, Pro Kabaddi, ISL — has democratised sport, offering platforms to rural talent and changing sport into a viable profession rather than a risky indulgence.

Yet, challenges remain. Infrastructure gaps, unequal access, academic pressure, and inconsistent policy support often clip the wings of promising athletes. India has passion in abundance; what it needs consistently is planning, patience and perseverance.

Why Sport Matters Beyond Medals

Sport is not only about podium finishes. It instils discipline, respect for rules, teamwork, emotional control and the grace to accept both victory and defeat. In a society grappling with stress, sedentary lifestyles and digital isolation, sport offers a powerful antidote — nurturing physical health alongside mental equilibrium.

For students in particular, sport teaches lessons no textbook can fully convey: leadership without authority, effort without immediate reward, and dignity in failure.

My Favourite Sports: A Personal Reflection

My affection for sport has always leaned towards games that balance physical endurance with mental alertness.

Athletics, especially running and walking, resonates deeply with me. It is a solitary dialogue between the self and the road — honest, demanding and liberating. Every stride teaches patience, rhythm and self-awareness.
Badminton appeals for its elegance and intensity. It is a game of anticipation, reflex and strategy, where speed meets subtlety. Watching Indian shuttlers compete fearlessly on global platforms fills me with quiet pride.
Cricket, though omnipresent, earns my respect not merely for its popularity but for its capacity to teach teamwork and temperament. At its best, cricket is a test of character as much as skill — particularly in its longer formats.

Beyond these, I hold deep admiration for wrestling and boxing, sports that epitomise grit, sacrifice and silent suffering. They remind us that many of India’s finest sporting stories are written far away from glamour, often in mud arenas and modest training halls.

Sport as a Way of Life

Sport, to me, is not confined to stadiums or scoreboards. It is a philosophy — of fair play, consistent effort and lifelong learning. Whether one plays competitively or merely walks every morning, the sporting spirit lies in showing up, pushing limits and respecting the process.

India stands at a promising crossroads in its sporting journey. With youthful energy, improving awareness and growing institutional support, the future looks hopeful. But for sport to truly flourish, it must be embraced not only as spectacle but as a shared societal responsibility.
As for me, sport remains a quiet companion — shaping my discipline, refreshing my mind and reminding me that life, much like a game, rewards those who play with sincerity, patience and purpose.

Breathing on the Brink: Why AQI Matters in India and How We Can Act Now

Breathing on the Brink: Why AQI Matters in India and How We Can Act Now

copyright @prashantlal1961

Air Quality Index (AQI) has become one of the most discussed environmental and public-health issues in India — and with good reason. When you wake up to smoggy skies, children wearing masks on their way to school, or news tickers reporting “very poor” or “severe” air quality, it’s not just alarmism — it’s a reflection of scientifically measured air pollution with serious health and economic implications. But why exactly is AQI so central to the conversation in India? What are its strengths and limitations? And how do we, as citizens and policymakers, divide responsibility to improve it? Let’s unpack this topic with data, science and practical insights — in the spirit of a thoughtful blog.

What is AQI — and Why Is It So Prominent in India?

The Air Quality Index (AQI) is a composite measure that translates concentrations of multiple air pollutants — such as PM2.5, PM10, NO₂, SO₂, CO, O₃, NH₃ and Lead — into a single number on a scale (typically 0–500), with higher values indicating worse air quality and greater health risk.

In India, AQI has gained national prominence because:

1. It’s a uniform, real-time indicator that tells people how clean or polluted the air around them is.

2. It informs health advisories (e.g., whether vulnerable groups should limit outdoor exposure).
3. It’s now widely reported on apps, news and government dashboards — making air quality visible to all.
4. Most Indian cities register persistent pollution levels far above health-safe thresholds, especially in winter.

Indeed, data shows that India’s average PM2.5 levels — the most dangerous fine particulate matter — are over 10 times higher than the World Health Organization’s guideline of 5 µg/m³. Many cities in the Indo-Gangetic Plains hit AQI values above 300 (“very poor” or “severe”) for weeks on end during winter months.

The Science Behind AQI and Health

Why Particulate Matter (PM2.5) Matters Most
PM2.5 are tiny airborne particles (≤2.5 micrometres) that easily penetrate deep into lungs and bloodstream, carrying toxins and heavy metals. Chronic exposure is linked to heart disease, stroke, reduced lung function, cancer and even neurological effects.

Scientific estimates suggest India accounts for about 30 % of global air pollution deaths, despite having around 18 % of the world’s population — a stark indication of the human toll.

AQI’s Public Health Signal

An AQI of 0–50 is considered “good”, but Indian cities rarely stay in this range. Levels above 200 are classified as “unhealthy” — meaning even healthy adults may experience breathing discomfort — and above 300 is “very poor” to “severe”, increasing risks for everyone.

Research even equates chronic pollution exposure in cities like Delhi to the equivalent of smoking multiple cigarettes daily — highlighting how deeply air quality affects our lungs.

Pros and Cons of AQI as a Tool
Pros (Why AQI Is Useful)
✔ Simplifies Complex Data — Instead of chemical jargon, citizens see a clear scale indicating health risk.
✔ Real-Time Guidance — Helps individuals make immediate choices about outdoor activity, school closures, or mask use.
✔ Policy and Planning — Governments use AQI trends to trigger emergency responses (like reducing vehicle traffic) and long-term planning.
✔ Transparency & Accountability — Data forces public authorities to monitor and respond to pollution, rather than dismiss it.

Environmental Studies (EVS) Institute

Cons (Limitations and Misunderstandings)
✖ Not a Complete Health Picture — AQI reports the worst pollutant at a moment but doesn’t capture cumulative health burden or long-term chemical composition differences.
✖ Scale Variations — Different countries use slightly different scales, so international comparisons can be misleading.
✖ Monitoring Gaps — Many Indian cities lack sufficient monitoring stations for accurate representation, potentially underestimating local pollution.

Everyday Habits That Help Improve AQI

Whether or not you see AQI on a dashboard, individual behaviour matters:
1. Reduce Vehicle Emissions
– Use public transport, car-pools or non-motorised options like walking and cycling.
– Prefer electric or low-emission vehicles when possible.
2. Avoid Burning Waste
– Do not burn leaves, plastics or trash at home — open burning is a major source of the local PM.
– Support community composting and recycling.
3. Clean Cooking and Energy Use
– Choose cleaner fuels (LPG, biogas, induction) over solid biomass in kitchens.
– Properly maintain appliances to reduce emissions.
4. Greenery and Home Interventions
– Plant trees and vegetation that can trap dust and particulates.
– Indoors, ensure good ventilation and consider air purifiers if AQI is high.
5. Awareness and Preparedness
– Check AQI forecasts before planning outdoor exercise.
– Wear appropriately rated masks (e.g., N95) on high-AQI days.

Shared Responsibility:

Government vs Citizens
Government must:
– Improve Monitoring: Expand air quality monitoring networks for real coverage.
– Enforce Emission Standards: Strengthen regulations for industries and vehicles.
– Urban Planning: Prioritise efficient public transport, green buffers, and low-emission zones.
– Support Farmers: Provide alternatives to crop stubble burning, which contributes to seasonal spikes.
– Public Awareness Campaigns: Educate citizens about health risks and preventive actions.

Citizens can:

1. Adopt Clean Travel Choices: Use buses, trains and cycling lanes.
2. Minimise Household Pollutants: Switch to cleaner cooking fuels and avoid waste burning.
3. Participate in Local Efforts: Join community green initiatives and hold local representatives accountable.
4. Stay Informed and Act: Check AQI daily; avoid outdoor exertion when levels are high.

AQI is more than a number — it’s an urgent health metric that tells a story about how we live, how our cities are designed, and how we value clean air. India’s battle with high AQI is rooted in deep structural issues — from transport and industry to agriculture and energy. Yet, with scientific monitoring, strong policy, citizen engagement and behavioural change, cleaner air isn’t just aspirational — it’s achievable.

Breathing clean air should be a right, not a luxury. Science has shown us the risks — now we must act together.

**From Regulator to Ruler?The New UGC Law, Academic Autonomy and the Constitutional Crossroads of Indian Higher Education**

**From Regulator to Ruler?
The New UGC Law, Academic Autonomy and the Constitutional Crossroads of Indian Higher Education**

India’s higher education system has always stood on a delicate tripod—autonomy, accountability, and access.

The University Grants Commission (UGC), established in 1956, was meant to be a facilitator and regulator, not a ruler. However, the proposed new UGC law / draft regulations in recent years have stirred intense debate across campuses, courtrooms, and coffee rooms alike. While many hail it as a long-overdue reform, others fear it as an overreach that threatens the very soul of academic freedom.

Why this sharp divide? Let us examine the issue calmly, constitutionally, and contextually.

What Is the ‘New UGC Law’ All About?

The so-called new UGC law broadly refers to a set of draft regulations and proposed legislative changes aimed at restructuring how universities are governed, funded, and regulated in India. Key features commonly discussed include:

– Greater centralisation of power with the UGC or a proposed Higher Education Commission of India (HECI)

– Uniform norms for appointments of Vice-Chancellors and senior academic positions

– Stricter compliance mechanisms, penalties, and oversight

– Enhanced focus on ranking, accreditation, outcomes, and performance

– Reduced discretionary powers of State Governments and university bodies

In essence, the intent appears to be standardisation and efficiency. But education, as history teaches us, is not a factory assembly line.

Why Many Are Happy?

Supporters of the new law argue from a position of urgency and reform.

1. Curbing Academic Decay
Many universities suffer from poor governance, nepotism, political interference, and outdated curricula. Central norms, they believe, will raise quality.

2. Uniform Standards Across India
A student in a remote district deserves the same academic rigour as one in a metropolitan university. Uniformity, here, is seen as equity.

3. Accountability and Transparency
Mandatory disclosures, performance benchmarks, and audits could reduce corruption and inefficiency.

4. Global Competitiveness
India aspires to be a global education hub. Centralised regulation is viewed as a tool to align Indian universities with international standards.

To this group, the law promises discipline in a system long accused of disorder.

Why Many Are Unhappy?

Critics, including senior academicians, constitutional experts, and State Governments, raise serious and substantive concerns.

1. Erosion of University Autonomy
Universities are not mere administrative units; they are communities of scholarship. Excessive central control risks turning them into obedient offices rather than thinking institutions.

2. Violation of the Federal Spirit
Education is a Concurrent List subject under the Constitution. Over-centralisation undermines the role of States and local academic needs.

3. One-Size-Fits-All Fallacy

India’s diversity—linguistic, cultural, regional—demands flexibility. Uniform regulations may ignore ground realities.

4. Threat to Academic Freedom
Appointment controls, curriculum oversight, and compliance pressure can stifle dissent, innovation, and critical thinking—hallmarks of true education.

5. Bureaucratisation of Learning

When compliance outweighs creativity, teachers become clerks and students become data points.

For critics, the fear is not reform—but control masquerading as reform.

Can UGC Bring Such a Law?

This is a crucial constitutional question.
The UGC derives its powers from the UGC Act, 1956. While it can frame regulations, it cannot override constitutional provisions, State powers, or legislative intent without Parliamentary approval.

– Regulations ≠ Legislation
– Authority ≠ Absolutism

Any sweeping structural change must pass through Parliament, survive judicial scrutiny, and respect constitutional morality.

Is This a Violation of Constitutional Rights?

The answer is nuanced—not a simple yes or no.
– Article 19(1)(a) protects freedom of expression, which includes academic freedom.

– Article 21 includes the right to education with dignity and quality.

– Federalism, though not explicitly stated, is part of the basic structure doctrine.

If regulations unduly restrict autonomy, silence dissent, or bypass States, courts may view them as unconstitutional. Several similar regulations in the past have already been challenged in High Courts and the Supreme Court.

Thus, the concern is not imaginary—it is constitutionally grounded.

A Deeper Question: What Is Education Meant to Do?

Is education meant to produce compliant workers or thinking citizens?
Is a university a service provider or a sanctuary of ideas?

India’s civilisational strength has always rested on Gurukuls, Madrasas, Pathshalas, and Universities that encouraged questioning—not conformity.
As Rabindranath Tagore warned long ago:
“The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence.”

The Way Forward: Reform Without Rupture

India certainly needs reform in higher education—but reform with consultation, not compulsion.
– Strengthen universities, do not shackle them
– Regulate quality, not creativity

– Ensure accountability, without killing autonomy

– Respect the Constitution as much as rankings

A nation that fears its teachers and thinkers ultimately fears its own future.

The debate around the new UGC law is not merely legal or administrative—it is philosophical and constitutional. It asks us what kind of nation we wish to become:
– a centrally managed system or a democratically nurtured intellect.

The answer must emerge not from authority alone, but from dialogue, wisdom, and constitutional conscience.

From Parchment to Practice: Republic Day 1950–2026 — Aspirations, Achievements, and the Road Ahead

From Parchment to Practice: Republic Day 1950–2026 — Aspirations, Achievements, and the Road Ahead

Every 26th of January, India pauses—not merely to celebrate a date, but to remember a decision. In 1950, the Republic of India was born, not through conquest or decree, but through conscience, debate, and democratic resolve.

Republic Day is therefore not just a ceremonial parade down Rajpath (now Kartavya Path); it is a moral checkpoint in our national journey. As we stand in 2026, looking back at 1950, the contrast between aspirations and achievements invites both pride and introspection.

1950: The Republic of Hope and Promise

When the Constitution of India came into force on 26 January 1950, the country was young, fragile, and immensely diverse. The aspirations of that moment were lofty, perhaps audacious:
– Justice — social, economic, and political
– Liberty — of thought, expression, belief, faith, and worship
– Equality — of status and opportunity
– Fraternity — assuring the dignity of the individual and unity of the nation

The makers of the Constitution, led by Dr B. R. Ambedkar, were acutely aware that they were drafting not merely a legal document, but a social covenant. Universal adult franchise was granted in a nation with widespread illiteracy—a leap of faith in the wisdom of the common citizen. Federalism was adopted to balance unity with diversity. Fundamental Rights were enshrined to protect the individual from the excesses of the State.

In 1950, the aspiration was simple yet profound: to transform subjects into citizens.

The Long March: Achievements Over 76 Years

By 2026, India’s Republic has weathered wars, emergencies, political churn, economic upheavals, and social movements. The achievements, while uneven, are undeniable.
1. Democratic Continuity: India remains one of the world’s longest-functioning democracies. Governments have changed peacefully, power has transferred through ballots, not bullets.

2. Judicial Independence: Despite criticism and pressure, the judiciary has often acted as the sentinel of the Constitution, expanding rights through progressive interpretations.

3. Social Mobility: Affirmative action, expansion of education, and economic growth have enabled millions to rise above inherited disadvantages.

4. Economic Transformation: From a primarily agrarian economy in 1950 to a global player in technology, space research, pharmaceuticals, and services by 2026.

5. National Integration: Linguistic reorganisation of states, though contentious, strengthened rather than weakened the Union.

The Republic has not merely survived; it has adapted.

The Unfinished Agenda: Gaps Between Ideal and Reality

Yet, Republic Day is not an exercise in self-congratulation alone. Dr Ambedkar’s warning echoes even today—that political equality cannot long coexist with social and economic inequality.

1. Social Justice remains incomplete, with caste, gender, and regional disparities persisting.
2. Liberty of Expression often walks a tightrope between dissent and discomfort.
3.Equality before Law is sometimes compromised by power, privilege, or prolonged delays.
4.Fraternity, perhaps the most fragile ideal, is tested by polarisation, intolerance, and shrinking civic spaces.

The Constitution gave us the map; the journey depends on our collective will.

2026: Republic as Responsibility

Republic Day in 2026 must be seen less as a commemoration of the past and more as a renewal of commitment. The Republic does not reside only in institutions—it lives in classrooms, courtrooms, village councils, digital platforms, and dinner-table conversations.
For students, it is the freedom to question.
For citizens, it is the duty to participate responsibly.
For leaders, it is the obligation to govern with humility and constitutional morality.

A Republic endures not because it is written in ink, but because it is practised in spirit.

Beyond the Parade

From the inked signatures of 1950 to the lived realities of 2026, India’s Republic is a work in progress—imperfect, resilient, and deeply human. The tricolour still rises each January, but its true elevation lies in how faithfully we uphold the values it represents.

Republic Day, then, is not merely a memory of what we became in 1950, but a reminder of what we must continue to become.
Jai Hind.

One Small Demand for a Noisy World

One Small Demand for a Noisy World

If I were granted the rare privilege of making just one demand of the world, I would not ask for wealth, power, or applause. I would ask for something far more modest and yet profoundly scarce: a little more kindness wrapped in understanding. Not the performative kind that appears on special days or social media posts, but the quiet, everyday kindness that expects nothing in return.
We live in a world that is forever in a hurry. Speed has become a virtue, impatience a habit, and judgment a pastime. Opinions are fired like arrows before facts are gathered, and labels are pasted long before stories are heard. In such a climate, kindness is often mistaken for weakness and understanding for indecision. Yet, in reality, they are acts of courage.
My single demand would be this: pause before you judge. Behind every face is a life battling its own storms. The man who snaps in a queue, the woman who withdraws into silence, the child who struggles to keep up—each is carrying an invisible weight. We see the tip of the iceberg and assume we know the whole ocean. If the world could learn to pause, even briefly, many harsh words would remain unspoken and many wounds would be spared.
Understanding does not mean agreement. It simply means acknowledging that another person’s truth may be shaped by experiences we have never lived. As the old saying goes, “Walk a mile in my shoes before you judge me.” Sadly, most of us are too busy measuring shoes to start walking. A little empathy could turn confrontations into conversations and conflicts into compromises.
In my years of observing people—young and old, privileged and struggling—I have learnt one thing clearly: everyone is fighting a battle that does not appear on their résumé or social profile. Success often hides sorrow; silence often masks wisdom; smiles sometimes conceal survival. If kindness were our default response, the world would not necessarily become perfect, but it would certainly become more humane.
This demand is not addressed to governments or institutions alone; it is directed at each one of us. Systems change when mindsets change. Policies soften when hearts do. Even at home, in classrooms, workplaces, and neighbourhoods, a little understanding can prevent relationships from becoming collateral damage.
If I could demand one thing from the world, it would be this gentle revolution of kindness and understanding. No grand speeches, no dramatic gestures—just the daily discipline of being a little less harsh and a little more human. After all, the world does not always need louder voices; sometimes, it simply needs softer hearts.