The medal of the minute: a lesson from the Rama Setu!!

 They say we humans have a brain that can think, and that is why we are the mightiest creatures—the best creation of the Supreme Lord. However, time and again, the animal kingdom has proven its ability to think, often outsmarting the very humans who claim superiority.

​Consider the squirrel present during the making of the Rama Setu. Did it not display a profound ability to think and feel?

​Indeed, it did. In fact, being one of the tiniest of creations, it didn't seem bothered by its size or its impact. It didn't wait for permission or compare its stature to the task at hand. It simply did exactly what it could do. Driven by a genuine intention to contribute, the squirrel took a dip in the sea, rolled in the sand to cover itself, and then hurried onto the Setu to shake itself clean. Each grain of sand was its silent offering to the bridge.

​The squirrel was not discouraged by the humongous vanaras, the giants who could uproot massive stones and toss them into the abyss. While the magnitude of the giants surely accelerated the construction, the tiny squirrel possessed a purity of purpose that the "Grand Creation" required.

​This tiny act did not go unnoticed. In a world of chaos and boulders, the Lord Himself paused. The squirrel was picked up by the Divine hand and received a pat on its back—gentle strokes that left three permanent lines.

​For all its fellow species, and for all of us who feel petite in a world of giants, those lines remain. They are not just fur; they are a medal to be remembered always. A mark that proves that while the world measures the weight of the stone, the Universe measures the weight of the heart.

हक छीनने से पहले (Haq Chheen Ne Se Pehle)!!

 Today, I watched a movie called "Haq". But the screen faded into the background as the word itself got stuck in my throat. I had to pause the film because my own life was playing a much more painful script and I felt like scribbling a poem out of it.

The tears came silently—the way they always do. Not a loud cry for help, but a quiet leak from a foundation that has held too much for too long.

हक जताना पड़ता है? पर किसके आगे?

जब कोई अपना, जाने से पहले एक बार बोले न...

जब कोई अपना, बोझ की तरह किसी और को दे दे,

जब कोई अपना, 'चीट' करने से पहले एक पल सोचे न...

तो कैसा हक? जिसे हमें ज़ाहिर करना पड़े।

पर जो प्यार दिया हमने, क्या उसका कोई हक नहीं?

क्या जो सम्मान दिया हमने, उसका कोई मान नहीं?

क्या जब हम पीछे खड़े थे ढाल बनकर, उसका कोई वजूद नहीं?

फिर किसी को क्यों नहीं दिखा हमारा हक?

क्यों ज़ाहिर करनी पड़ेगी अब हमें अपनी इबादत?

वाह रे किस्मत, वाह क्या खेल खेला है तूने—

हक मारकर पूछता है: "क्यों नहीं जताया तुमने?"

कम से कम ये पैंतरे समझा तो देता... 

मेरा हक छीनने से पहले।

Translation:

They say one must claim their right... but before whom?

When our own "person" leaves without a single word,

When they hand us over like a burden to someone else,

When they don't pause for a second before they betray...

What kind of "right" is that, which needs to be explained?

Was there no right in the love I gave so freely?

Was there no honor in the respect I offered blindly?

When I stood behind them, a silent pillar, was that existence invisible?

Then why did no one see my right back then?

Why must I prove my worth to the world now?

Bravo, Destiny! What a cruel game you play—

You crush my rights, and then ask: "Why didn't you speak?"

You could have at least explained these tactics... before you stole what was mine.

How to Win at Losing: The Legend of Uniform Number 67!!

 If you ever feel like you’re failing at life, let me tell you about Ranatunge Karunananda. In 1964, this man became a national hero in Japan by being officially, objectively, and painfully the worst runner on the track.

The Setup: Tokyo, 1964

It’s the Tokyo Olympics. 70,000 people are in the stands. The event is the 10,000 meters—which is basically 25 laps of “why did I agree to this?”

Karunananda is representing Ceylon (now Sri Lanka). He’s wearing Uniform Number 67. He’s also been sick for a week and has no business being on a track, let alone an Olympic one.

The starting gun goes off. Thirty-eight elite athletes sprint away. Karunananda... does his best.

The "Wait, Why Is He Still There?" Moment

The race ends. The winners get their medals. The crowd starts packing up their snacks to beat the traffic. But then, people notice something moving on the track.

It’s Number 67.

He is an entire lap behind. He is clutching his side like he’s trying to keep his internal organs from escaping. He is in absolute agony.

The crowd’s initial reaction? Classic human jerkiness. They started booing. They jeered. "Hey buddy, the race is over! Go home! You’re embarrassing us!"

But Karunananda didn't stop. He just kept shuffling. Left foot, pain, right foot, more pain.

The Great Vibe Shift

Slowly, the stadium realized something. Nine other guys—perfectly healthy, world-class athletes—had quit because they weren't going to win. But this guy? This guy was dying in slow motion just to finish 25th out of 25.

The jeers turned into awkward silence, then a few claps, and then—BAM. 70,000 people stood up. They started screaming for him like he was prime Usain Bolt. He crossed the finish line in dead last to a standing ovation that lasted longer than the actual race.

When reporters asked him why he didn't just crawl into a hole and hide, he gave the ultimate "Dad" answer:

"I have a little daughter. One day I’ll tell her her father went to the Olympics and finished the race."

Translation: I’m not fast, but I’m not a quitter.

The 50-Year Plot Twist

Karunananda’s story became legendary in Japan. He was put into elementary school textbooks. For decades, Japanese kids were taught: "Don't be the guy who quits; be the guy in Number 67."

Fast forward to 2016. A Sri Lankan grad student named Oshadi moves to Japan. She’s struggling. The language is hard, the school is stressful, and she’s ready to pack it in and go home.

Then she finds out her grandfather was a celebrity in Japan. Specifically, he was that guy.

She watches the video of her granddad stumbling around that track while 70,000 strangers lose their minds. She remembers her family’s motto: "Finish what you started."

The Moral of the Story

Oshadi didn't quit. She stayed, learned Japanese, and became a care worker for the elderly in Japan. She’s now taking those skills back to Sri Lanka to help her own country.

So, the next time you’re "lapping" everyone else in the wrong direction:

Don't stop.

Clutch your side for dramatic effect.

Remember that finishing last with dignity is way cooler than quitting because you aren't first.

Sometimes the biggest standing ovation isn't for the guy with the gold medal—it’s for the guy who refused to get off the track.

Mitti Ka Tan, Market Ka Crash

 We all like to think our challenges are special. We wrap them in fancy names like "trauma," "career setbacks," or "mythological legacies." But if you strip away the gold-plated labels, we are all just different versions of the same suffering. We are all "cracked cups" trying to hold onto a wine that is constantly leaking.

Harivansh Rai Bachchan understood this long before we became "Corporate Number 4s" in the MNC of life.

The King in Gold: The Ultimate CEO

Bachchan famously wrote:

"Bair badhaate mandir masjid, mel karaati madhushala!"

(बैर बढ़ाते मंदिर मस्जिद, मेल कराती मधुशाला!)

"Temples and mosques breed enmity, but the tavern brings hearts together!"

Why? Because the "King in Gold" in the temple is like a CEO of a global MNC. He’s focused on the "Delivery." He’s looking at the larger picture—the stars are still spinning, the seasons are changing, the "Show" is going on.

I told Him today: "In your larger picture, my existence doesn't matter." I haven't reached a position of power. I am not a "glitch" in His plan. I’m just a small line item that can be deleted without the system crashing. The CEO ignores the "here and there" because as long as the statues are shiny, the brand looks perfect.

The Mask of the "Gentleman"

We spend our lives wearing the "Gentleman" or "Ideal Woman" mask. We act civilized. But Bachchan’s Madhushala is where the masks fall off.

"Mitti ka tan, masti ka man, kshan-bhar jeevan — mera parichay."

(मिट्टी का तन, मस्ती का मन, क्षण-भर जीवन — मेरा परिचय।)

"A body of clay, a mind of joy, a life that lasts a moment — this is my identity."

When we drop the "Gentleman" attitude, we realize we are all animals at the core. An animal doesn't build a temple to justify its ego; it just tries to survive. And survival is getting harder. After, I left my job, I’ve realized how difficult it is to earn even a little money. I tried to trade today—the Market crashed, I got a teaching role, the pay is like a joke and the work is like a mountain. I talked about mushroom farming and it seems like a daydream. 

The "Wine" in the tavern is the only thing that unites us with our animal nature—the raw truth that we are just hungry, tired clay.

The Universal Grind

Bachchan said:

"Rah pakad tu ek chala chal, paa jayega madhushala."

(राह पकड़ तू एक चला चल, पा जाएगा मधुशाला।)

"Pick one path and just keep walking; you will eventually find the tavern."

But let’s be real: some of us are walking on a treadmill that’s going nowhere. My plans are like daydreams in a boardroom where I don't have a seat. The CEO wants his delivery, and the tavern is just the "Break Room" where we finally get to stop pretending that our "hustle" is working.

Your unique challenge might be a husband’s ego, and mine might be a mushroom farm that won't grow, but in the tavern, we are all just "thirsty animals."

The Wrap-Up

If the "King in Gold" won't look at the foundation, then the foundation will stop looking at Him. I’m trading the "Mandir" of expectations for the "Madhushala" of reality.

The Show Goes On: The MNC of the universe is running smoothly, but it's running on the backs of people like me who are struggling for the crumbs.

The Animal Wins: I’m leaning into my animal core. I am tired of being "civilized" about my situation and my pain.

Daydreams as Wine: If my plans are just daydreams, then I’ll drink those daydreams. They are the only "wine" I can afford right now.

To my readers: Stop trying to impress a CEO who isn't reading your performance review. If your side-hustles are crashing and your teaching job is draining you, come to the tavern. At least here, the wine doesn't care if your plans failed.

Devdas Drama and my grumpy shoulders!!

 Back in 2011, I wrote a post about that famous Devdas dialogue where everyone tells him to leave everything—the village, the girl, the life.

"Babuji ne kaha gaun ko chhod do... sab ne kaha sab kuch chhod do."

Fast forward fifteen years, and I’m still being told to "leave it." Leave the anger, leave the past, leave the stress. My career decided to leave me first, and my body decided to "leave" its ability to lift my arms because of a staircase fall I took in 1995.

Apparently, my shoulders have a better memory than my husband when I ask him for breakfast.

The Great Staircase Sequel (No One Asked For)

You know you’re a "Petite Powerhouse" when your body decides to re-enact a twenty-year-old accident just to make a point. I woke up this morning and my arms said, "Remember 1995? We do. And we’re on strike until further notice." It’s a classic Sharmistha move—being "dragged" into a sacrifice I didn't sign up for. I didn't choose to be a martyr; I just got cornered by a staircase and a cold that won't take a hint.

The King in Gold vs. The Woman in Pajamas

I’ve had a few words with the Almighty lately. I told Him, "Listen, You’re sitting in temples wearing gold and diamonds like a King, while I’m sitting here in my pajamas with a blocked nose. Who’s really winning here?"

I realized that if God has an ego, then as a Gemini, I’m allowed to have a double dose of it. If the universe wants me to be the "foundation" , it could at least provide some better snacks and a husband who understands that "bringing breakfast" isn't a three-day project.

My New "To-Don't" List

In 2011, I was asking for a list of what to do. Today, I’m making a "To-Don't" list:

Don't expect me to be "gentle" and "serene" when I’m sick. I’m not in a mood right now.

Don't tell me to "chhod do" (leave) my anger. I like my anger. It keeps me warm while I wait for my slow breakfast.

Don't compare me to "tall models" on a ramp. I’m built for stability. I’m the one you want nearby when the ramp eventually collapses because it was built by people who don't understand foundations.

The Bottom Line

Life might be trying to "Devdas" me into a corner, but I’m not drinking the sadness. I’m drinking ginger tea and judging everyone from my bed.

The world can keep its golden statues and its "tall" requirements. I’ve got a letter from my son that’s worth more than a temple, a brother who actually appreciates my taste, and a spirit that refuses to be "dragged" anywhere without a fight.

To my readers: If the world tells you to "chhod do" (leave) everything, start by leaving the people who give you a headache. It’s much lighter that way.

Matching the Spirit: The Photo Cake That Crossed the Miles!!

 My brother is one of those rare people who always "gives more." Whether it’s flowers, cakes, or time, his generosity has always felt like a benchmark I couldn't quite reach. But this year, for his birthday, I decided to stop measuring and start "matching."

​Knowing he isn't fond of sweets, I skipped the usual sugar-heavy hampers. Instead, I sent a savory combo namkeen and dry fruit treats. But the centerpiece was a custom photo cake—and I knew exactly which memory to use.

​The photo I chose was one of our favorites: a picture of my brother and my son, both beaming with joy. They were wearing matching t-shirts he had brought back from Thailand. It’s a photo that perfectly captures the bridge between my childhood (him) and my future (my son).

​The Surprise Reveal

​When we got on the conference call yesterday after the delivery, I told him, "Open the cake and have a look."

​Unlike the minimalist reactions I sometimes encounter, my brother is a great communicator. He was genuinely taken by surprise. Seeing his own face alongside my son’s, captured in a moment of pure happiness, hit exactly the right note.

​I’ve spent a lot of time lately feeling "petite" in my life—feeling like my needs and my results are somehow smaller than everyone else's. But today, as we laughed on that con-call, I didn't feel small.

​To match the spirit of a big giver requires you to tap into your own abundance.  It’s about the observation. It’s about knowing that he loves savory over sweet. It’s about remembering the significance of those Thailand t-shirts.

​When my son showed him the letter and drawings he had made, the circle was complete.

​I hope I did better than ever before this time. Not because I spent more, but because I saw him more clearly. I realized that I don't need a "Hollywood-style" movie script to feel successful. I just need these moments where the miles vanish and the girl named Soumya feels exactly like she is "enough."

​To my readers: Sometimes the best way to get "unstuck" is to focus entirely on making someone else feel seen. When you match someone's spirit, you realize your own spirit was never small to begin with.

Happiness: My new year's tradition!!

 Since 2011, I’ve made it a tradition to wish everyone happiness on New Year’s Eve. Over the years, I’ve come to truly understand the profound weight behind the simple blessing our elders give when we touch their feet: "Khush raho."

It sounds so simple, yet it is perhaps the most powerful wish of all. To remain in a state of happiness despite the chaos swirling around us is a true grace. This year, I want to pass that same intention on to you.

My wish for you in 2025:

"May your year be defined not by the noise of the world, but by the quiet joys that fill your heart. I hope you find magic in the ordinary, strength in the challenges, and a year full of moments that make you truly glad to be alive."