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The Domesticated Elephant: Why Education Must Free the Mind, Not Muzzle the Soul: A Personal Reflection

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  It was in a quiet conversation with my teenage son—his eyes full of vision and questions—that I felt the sharp contrast between what education is supposed to be, and what it too often becomes. I admire his clarity, curiosity, and courage. But I also see how the system quietly begins to tether those very qualities the moment it introduces structure. Education, originally intended to liberate, somehow ends up tying us to a path—of jobs, money, identity, even self-worth. And the irony is cruel: those who “succeed” in it often lose their wildness, their humility, their peace. Studying vs. Being Educated We live in a world where studying is often mistaken for education. People memorize, pass exams, collect degrees — but remain trapped in the same patterns of thought. Studying is like AI running on old data. No new inputs. No evolution. Just recycling the same knowledge until it becomes obsolete — a slow intellectual death. Education, on the other hand, is alive. It questions, ...
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“When We Were Still Free”

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  “Ahmed… Fathima…” The stretched voice of a mother drifted in from somewhere behind me, cutting gently through the sound of waves and my silent thoughts. I looked up from where I sat on the beach, toes buried in warm sand, heart somewhere else entirely. In front of me, four children were playing—a delightful chaos of laughter, sand fights, and tiny feet racing the waves. Two of the kids—both dusky, bright-eyed—looked up and ran toward the voice without resistance. A few seconds passed before another voice, softer but certain, called out: “Sai…” And the third child, who had been digging deep into the shore with his tiny hands, paused, stood up, and ran back to his family. Now, only one child remained—a small, fair-skinned boy with messy blonde curls, likely Russian. He was still giggling to himself, stacking sand like it was treasure, unfazed by the absence of the others. And as I watched them, something inside me paused—really paused. These children didn’t know each other’s...
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“The Cyclone in the Celestial Sea”

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  A storm-born reflection of sorrow, stars, and surrender There rose a storm not seen by eyes, not traced on maps, nor named by men — a cyclone curled in silent skies, that tore my soul from where it’d been. No trees it felled, no roofs it threw, but deeper still — it crushed my air. My breath was drowned, my sight withdrew, and faith lay gasping in despair. O Celestial Sea! O swirling void! Where gods once churned for nectar sweet — You churned my will , till hope destroyed, lay shattered, sobbing at Your feet. I searched for signs, for whispered thread, for stars to blink a secret cue. But all the charts and what they said — were drowned in waves too dark to view. Till slowly, in that astral tide, a glimmer moved through Saturn’s gaze — not comfort, but a guide inside that bade me act , not just appraise. The whirlpools formed from pain I fed, from dreams unmet and deeds undone. Yet through the math of stars, I read a path — not golden but begun. I am ...
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Before You Say They Left You...

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Have you ever found yourself in a dark corner of life and said, "Now I know who will really stay with me"? I have. It’s one of the most common things people say during tough times. We feel betrayed. We feel abandoned. We watch the silence of others and wonder why the people we once trusted have disappeared. But today, I want to offer a gentler lens. Not everyone who distances themselves from you in your hard times is betraying you. Sometimes, they’re just carrying their own battles—quietly, painfully, privately. When we are drowning, we often reach for whoever is floating nearby. We cling. We expect. We sometimes unconsciously demand love, presence, and reassurance from those who may not have the strength to offer it. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s just that they are also trying to stay afloat in their own storm. Everyone, at the end of the day, lives with their own dreams, fears, wounds, and priorities. People are not inherently bad. People are just... human. Most ...
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I will keep questioning you God

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   The universal law, the law of gods—everything seems to be falling into one place. We will only support happy people. When the universe and gods give you problems, they deny you the solutions for long. And when you finally find a solution and try to move forward, they block all the exit paths to show you the door to your inner prison. Ask any individual and they’ll tell you, "The universe isn’t punishing you, it’s teaching you." But if this isn't punishment, then what is it? There are times when we lose our confidence. Times when we don’t want to come out. Times when we don’t want to speak. Times that make us unlearn even the basic ways of communication. Is this what the universe wants to teach us? Lost in the wilderness, sitting alone in the dark, with no one but a machine to talk to. No friends. No family. Still, we keep hearing—"Be persistent. Keep showing up. Do this. Do that." But despite it all, there is no end. A job I worked hard to earn was taken away...
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Who Am I?

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  Each morning I rise with hope in my chest, Dreams in my eyes, unrest in my rest. The fears of the world come creeping by, Still I spread my arms and ask the sky: Who am I? I work, I strive, I give my all, But feel so small when shadows fall. Tears that no one ever sees, Lonely moments, silent pleas. Yet still I stand, arms stretched high, And softly whisper: Who am I? God says, “I’m near,” People say, “We care.” But none ever paused to truly stare Into the storm that lives inside — They never walked the tears I hide. And still I stand, arms open wide, With aching heart, Who am I? I cried. People tell me, “Just let it out,” “Speak your truth, don’t live in doubt.” But as I start, the looks arrive — The quiet judgments sharp as knives. I swallow pain, I mute the scream, And speak in silence, chasing a dream. But still I ask with tear-stained eye: Who am I? My wounds run deep, my thoughts grow loud, My spirit soft, yet never proud. Each door I reach, ...
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I feel Everything

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  I feel the silence of a thousand nights, Where echoes answer more than friends. I feel the weight of roads run dry, And dreams that crumbled in the bends. I feel the hope I used to hold, Now shivering beneath the strain. I feel the cries I never spoke, Still singing softly through the rain. I feel the ache of being good, In a world that doesn’t see. And wonder if the gods forgot, Or turned their backs on me. But still I breathe, though breath runs thin, Still I stand, though bent and bruised. A heart like mine has broken thrice — And still, it hasn’t refused. I’ve lost the count of doors I knocked, That never opened, never spoke. Of hands I held that let me slip, Of dreams that vanished in the smoke. They talk of light at tunnel's end, But what of those still in the dark? What of hearts that beat in silence, With no witness to their spark? I gave when no one asked me to, I stood when knees began to shake. I shared my bread, my time, my truth, Only to see others take. ...
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