Today is the auspicious occasion of Maha Navami of Durga Puja. On days like this, the mind often naturally turns inward, buzzing with quiet epiphanies, lingering questions, and quiet observations of the world around us.
Two years ago, around this exact time, I wrote a line that stayed with me: It seems so easy to find the key to someone else’s lock, while I still don't know where mine is.
My mind has been working on that puzzle in the background ever since. Today, a clear, logical answer finally surfaced.
1. Why Can’t We See Our Own Solutions?
Why is it so effortless to offer clarity to others, yet near impossible to find it for ourselves? Why does the person who solves everyone else’s problems still need a hand when their own life gets tangled?
The answer is simple: You cannot see the storm clearly when you are standing in the middle of it.
When you are inside the cage, the lock is out of sight. When you are feeling the sharp, heavy weight in your chest because nothing seems to work, emotion clouds perception. Wise thinkers often advise stepping into a second-person or third-person perspective—viewing your life as an objective outsider. While logically sound, achieving that distance requires immense emotional strength and mental discipline.
I thought of a dear friend of mine. Years ago, after the heartbreaking loss of her husband, she felt compelled to leave her job. They had both worked at the same place, and the sheer weight of being there without him was unbearable. She couldn't see a way forward in that environment.
Last month, after eight long years, she returned to that exact same workplace.
Was it that time healed her? Or did larger, subsequent challenges make that original stress feel manageable? Perhaps a mix of both. Returning gave her a renewed sense of clarity and purpose. And just today, her daughter received an admission offer for a veterinary program at a central university. A visible sense of relief swept over her, knowing that in five years, her major maternal responsibilities will be fulfilled.
Back then, in the peak of her tragedy, staying in that job seemed impossible to her—even though, from the outside, others felt it might provide long-term stability. It reminds us that clarity often arrives on its own timeline, only after the storm settles.
2. The Illusion of Closure
This brings up another question that often weighs on us: Why do we crave "closure" when someone hurts us or when life tears something away?
I recently recalled an insight shared by Acharya Prashant. He referenced the tragic disappearance of Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 in 2014. Extensive search operations were conducted, yet to this day, the wreckage has never been found. The grieving relatives were left asking one persistent question: "Just tell us what happened. We need closure."
His observation was profound: Even if you find a reason, the wound itself does not automatically disappear. Finding out why or how something happened does not erase the pain.
The most constructive path forward isn't obsessing over missing answers from the past, but protecting your present. The past hurt will echo, but letting present moments slip away in pursuit of an elusive "why" only incurs greater loss. For my friend, having meaningful, demanding work to anchor her days has been a quiet blessing. Staying meaningfully engaged is often the truest form of healing we can offer ourselves.
3. The Mirrors We Are Building for Tomorrow
From the inner workings of human grief, my thoughts shifted outward—to the technological landscape we are building for our children.
We often talk about Artificial Intelligence as an independent, intelligent force. But does it truly have a brain? Not in the way we think. At its core, AI behaves much like a high-tech parrot,it simply imitates and repeats what it absorbs from us.
If you prompt an AI image generator today to create a picture of a "scientist," what does it output? More often than not, it generates an image of an older, middle-aged Caucasian man with grey hair and a bald head. Not an Indian, not an African, not a woman. Where does this come from? Directly from our own collective biases.
What concerns me even more is watching how the younger generation interacts with this technology. I’ve heard kids talking roughly to AI assistants, throwing around threats and harsh words like: "Tera khopdi tod dunga," "Mundi uda dunga," or dropping casual abuse.
If machines are merely parrots echoing our behavior, what are we teaching them—and more importantly, what habits are we teaching our children when they treat responsive technology with hostility?
As AI becomes deeply embedded in daily life, our responsibility as parents and educators shifts. How do we responsibly teach kids to be mindful of these technologies, to stay safe, and to ensure we don't pass on something dangerous or toxic to the future?
