Resilient Reflections

  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, ...

  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. ...

  "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." – Buddha Let’s be honest—truth hurts. It’s not a gentle visitor; it doesn’t knock politely. It storms in. Kicks the damn door open. Rips the curtains. Shows us what we’ve been hiding from ourselves. And yet, somewhere deep down, we know we need it. But still—we avoid it. We run. We call it names. We sugarcoat it till it’s unrecognizable. Why?      The thing is that truth messes with our comfort. And our egos? They don’t like being messed with.      Ever heard of cognitive dissonance ? It’s that itchy feeling in your gut when reality doesn’t match your beliefs or self-image. Leon Festinger put it into words years ago. When our beliefs clash with facts, our mind does a quick shuffle—denial, excuses, diversions—anything but sit with the discomfort .      And let’s not forget confirmation bias . We go hunting for what already agrees with us. We scroll, swipe, like, a...

  A few evenings ago, under a quiet Dubai sky—glowing not with stars but with the haze of distant city lights—I sat with a school friend. We watched an Air India flight pass silently overhead. A moment later, I asked him: “It's been 25 years since we came here chasing dreams. Why is it we still talk about going back? Not to settle scores with life, but to return home?” At first, he laughed, thinking I was joking. But soon, the silence returned. He knew what I meant. We didn’t just leave a country. We left behind a childhood. Mango-laden summers. Cricket on empty fields. Rain that smelled like wet earth and innocence. We left behind our roots. “I’ve built a life,” he said. “Good career. My kids are doing well. But going back? It’s chaos. No civic sense. The roads are still bad. Politics are worse. All they want is our money.” I looked at him and quietly asked: “And what have we done to change it?” He didn’t have an answer. Most of us don’t. The Dream That Lives in Every N...

  The Silence That Speaks There are moments in life when everything feels shrouded in silence. We search for guidance, but often, it feels as though the heavens have closed their doors. The gods seem distant, and in their silence, we may feel abandoned. Yet is it possible that this very silence is the greatest form of support we can receive? Could it be in the stillness that we are truly being led toward transformation, toward a deeper understanding of ourselves? When silence falls upon us, it is not a void but a sacred space—one where we are invited to shed our ego, our desires, and the attachments that bind us. In the quiet, we can hear what words alone cannot convey. In the absence of sound, the divine speaks. The Path Through Darkness: A Call to Detach In the darkest of times, it often seems that we are walking alone. The path is unclear, and yet, it is precisely in these moments of silence that we are called to trust the process.  "In the darkest times, I show you ...

       Extremism in the name of religion, caste, creed, or race—when it escalates into terrorism—can never be justified. It is, at its core, a violent resistance to change. A desperate attempt by those in power—or those who feel their power slipping—to cling to the past, to suppress the inevitable evolution of society.      History has shown us time and again: extremism, no matter how brutal, is always defeated. Whether through the will of the people, the rise of a leader, or the simple march of time, such dark ideologies are always pushed back into the shadows. But they don’t go quietly. And often, the price of that resistance is paid by the innocent.      Take, for instance, the recent heartbreaking attack in Pahalgam, Kashmir, on April 22, 2025—where nearly 30 innocent tourists lost their lives to an act of cowardice. Kashmir, often referred to as "Paradise on Earth," had been slowly healing. Tourism was growing, livelihoods were i...

  There’s a quiet truth most never speak of— That behind the beauty of what gets created, Lies the weight of what’s been endured. Every event planned, every blog written, every post crafted with care— carries with it a silent companion: the invisible burden of the creator. When you’re an entrepreneur, a dreamer, a doer, there’s no clock-out time from your emotions. The deadlines are not just professional, they’re personal. The pressure isn’t just financial—it’s existential. You may have posted a celebration, while mourning your own silence. You may have stitched joy into someone’s special day, while holding together your own unraveling seams. This is the unseen story of those who build from emptiness, who wake up with uncertainty, but still show up with intention. Those who answer emails while their mind worries about unpaid bills, who prepare proposals with hands that have known rejection. And yet, you create. You share. You give. Not because it’s easy, but because there’s somethi...