Facing the Paper Tiger

The one truth we are all most afraid of is the one we refuse to face at any cost. It might be the abuse we suffered in childhood, or some later event we're ashamed of — something whose very recollection brings up unpleasantness. It is precisely these things that require our special attention.

Take phobias, for example. They lurk beneath the surface of our subconscious, ready to spring out at every turn and strangle us with tethers that are, as I said, imaginary. They don't exist. They aren't real.

The discomfort only arises the moment we attempt to face them. The instant we try to confront them, they seem formidable, even intimidating — and this is what discourages us and makes us want to turn back. This is the insidious side of avoidance: not facing the things we will, one way or another, eventually have to face.

This is the great secret of existence that has been hidden from us with so much fanfare and mystique — when all it really is, is a paper tiger. We give it its size and its power ourselves, through nothing but our own imagination.

Can you grasp the sheer scale of power we hand over to fears that are unreal, fears we only compound by refusing to look at them? If you truly understood this, you would have broken free of your limiting fears and beliefs long ago — and walked out into the open, ready to be consumed instead by the fire of your own ambitions.

Looking back... (Whats app fwd)

 I drive for Ola. I mostly work night shifts. Last week, around 11 PM, I picked up an elderly gentleman. White kurta and dhoti, tired eyes—but a strange firmness in his voice.

As soon as he sat in the car, he said:

“Tonight, you’ll have to take me to five places. I’ll pay you ₹5000. Cash. But don’t ask the reason until the end.”

He handed me a piece of paper with five addresses written on it.

First stop—

An old house in South Kolkata.

I stopped the car. He didn’t get down. Just lowered the window and kept looking at the house… for ten minutes.

Tears kept flowing from his eyes, silently.

“Let’s go… next.”

Second stop—

A primary school. The gate was locked. The playground inside was dark.

He got down, slowly walked to a swing, sat on it, and gently started swinging.

After twenty minutes, he came back and said—

“I taught here. For 43 years. The best time of my life.”

Third stop—

A small old coffee house.

He went inside, ordered a cup of tea, and sat alone at a corner table. He didn’t even touch the tea. Just looked around.

After fifteen minutes, he returned with a faint smile—

“This is where I first met Amita… my wife. In 1969.”

Fourth stop—

Nimtala cremation ground.

He got down, stood near a memorial, and softly said something I couldn’t hear.

After half an hour, he came back. His eyes were red.

“It’s been three years since she passed away.”

Fifth stop—

A large government hospital.

He asked me to park. Then looked at me and said—

“Now I’ll tell you the reason. I have stage four cancer. The doctor said… a few weeks… maybe just days. Tonight, I wanted to see my entire life one last time.”

I put my head on the steering wheel and started crying.

He said—

“That house—where I raised my children.

That school—where I found my purpose.

That coffee house—where I found love.

That cremation ground—where I said my final goodbye.

And this hospital—where I will now be admitted. There will be no return home.”

He placed ₹5000 in my hand.

“Thank you. You took me through my life once again. My last stranger… who treated me with kindness.”

I said—

“I can’t take this.”

He replied—

“Take it. I have no one left to give it to. My children have grown so distant, they don’t even talk anymore. Friends are all gone, one by one. You gave me three hours—three hours of humanity. That is worth more than money.”

He picked up his small suitcase and went inside.

The next day, I went to the hospital. I asked—

“Mr. Aniruddha Mukherjee. Cabin 412.”

I went in with flowers. He smiled when he saw me—

“You came?”

“I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

We talked for two hours—about Amita Devi, his students, his estranged children.

I started visiting him every day. I would bring tea, read the newspaper to him, or just sit quietly.

One day, he said—

“I thought I would die alone. But you are here. In my final moments, a stranger became my family. You have my blessings.”

I held his hand—

“You are not alone.”

On Tuesday, at 3:17 AM, he passed away.

I was sitting there, holding his hand.

His last words were—

“Tell everyone… look at strangers. Truly look at them. We are all going somewhere—some fast, some slow. Show kindness along the way. You did. You made my last days worth living.”

The monitor turned into a straight line.

At his cremation, there were only six people:

Me,

three nurses,

a lawyer,

and one former student.

43 years of teaching.

52 years of marriage.

81 years of life.

Six people.

I said—

“Mr. Aniruddha taught me—

Every stranger is someone’s entire world.

Every passenger is a story.

Every human being is living, dying, waiting… for someone to truly see them.”

He gave me ₹5000 to drive on the road of life.

But what he taught me… is worth far more than money.

“Humanity is not an extra thing. It is everything.”

Even today, those ₹5000 remain in my glove box. I have never spent them.

Because every passenger might be on their last journey.

Every stranger might be saying their final goodbye.

So now, I drive differently.

I ask. I listen. I truly see people.

Because one elderly teacher once asked for a gentle night—

and a stranger chose to stay.

*Silent moments, unspoken truths.*🤔

The Rs.400,000 "Invisible" Defect: How Horary Astrology Saved Me From a Bad Investment

Being in Delhi, I am concerned that my Petrol car will last only another four years as the Government has stipulated a 15-year maximum life for Petrol vehicles. I have given up the idea of Petrol or Diesel or CNG now as it involves the hassle of pollution certification, the norms of which are known only to the conductors of the test and the results of which are sometimes mysterious! Don't want to belabor that point.

So I was on the lookout for a used electric car. The Tata Tigor was a viable option. I found one online for under 300,000 INR.
However, electric vehicles are known for battery issues. Battery replacement costs almost as much as the car. I needed to find out the condition of the car ASAP.

Luckily, the technique of Horary Astrology was at hand. I cast a chart for the time of the question, and the car looked good with its significator being a dignified Jupiter in Cancer. However, it was in the eighth house. Bad sign. Oh, there's Saturn in the fourth house. A major malefic in an angular house is trouble.

I had experienced the truth of these conditions many times. I gave up the idea of looking at that particular car.

Horary Astrology isn't about "luck"—it's a diagnostic tool. It provides a layer of Due Diligence that spreadsheets and physical inspections sometimes miss.
It helps you see the "8th House" problems before they hit your bank account.

Are you facing a high-stakes decision where the "hidden variables" are keeping you up at night? Let’s look at the map.

hashtag#HoraryAstrology hashtag#DecisionMaking hashtag#RiskManagement hashtag#DelhiRealEstate hashtag#InvestmentStrategy hashtag#VedicAstrology

The Strange Honesty of Raw Emotion

Sometimes my mind fills with blind anger.

At one time it may be against my family members, old colleagues, or the regular people I meet in my daily life. The targets change, but the anger itself appears suddenly, like a storm passing across the sky.

I often wonder: is this a defect? Is something wrong with me?

Yet when I observe other people, I see something curious. Many people do not reveal what is truly in their minds. They smile warmly, speak kindly, and behave with perfect politeness. But behind the scenes they may be laying quiet traps — speaking ill of someone to another person, damaging reputations while maintaining a pleasant face.

I do not do this.

If I like something, I say so. If I dislike something, I say that too. I do not hide my feelings behind a mask of friendliness while secretly working against someone.

Perhaps this is a defect.

Radical honesty is not always rewarded in society. Saying what is in your mind is often the easiest way to create enemies.

Diplomacy is usually safer. Silence is even safer.

But there is also something exhausting about constantly wearing masks.

Anger, at least, is honest. It reveals something real that is happening inside the mind. The question is not whether anger exists — it clearly does. The real question is whether that raw energy can be transformed into something useful instead of something destructive.

These days I try something different when anger arises.

I write.

Not carefully. Not elegantly. I simply write whatever thoughts are passing through the mind — quickly, freely, without structure. The words come out like a stream of consciousness, one thought tumbling over another.

And something interesting happens.

After writing for some time, the storm in the mind begins to quiet down. The anger loosens its grip. The mind settles.

What remains is a surprising feeling of calm — peace not only with myself, but also with the person who had been the target of my anger only a short while before.

Perhaps anger is simply untamed energy.

If it is suppressed, it becomes poison. If it is acted out blindly, it destroys relationships. But if it can be observed and written out, perhaps it can dissolve into understanding.

Maybe the real task is not to eliminate anger.

Maybe the task is to learn how to transform it into clarity — and, sometimes, into peace.or shape it so it attracts readers on a blog (small stylistic tweaks can make a big difference).

Evading the Light

In a state of non-doership, I find myself clinging to the post of past memories, hoping to make them real again. Yet in my heart of hearts, I know they will never bloom the way they once did.

The people in those memories have changed and grown older. Some have even passed away. I too have changed. I too have aged. Nothing will ever be the same again.

The river keeps flowing. The water never rests. As the saying goes, you cannot step into the same river twice. By the second step, the river has already changed.

This is the tragicomedy of life.

Out of a great nothingness we arose. We were once no one—nobodies without name or form. Then we began seeking other nobodies, believing we were somebodies. Yet in truth, everyone is a nobody.

This idea of “somebodyness” is the root of all misery. Become a nobody, and all misery ceases.

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അഹന്തയെ അലിയിച്ചുകളഞ്ഞ ആ നോട്ടം

ഒടുവിൽ, അത് എഴുതാനുള്ള സമയം അതിക്രമിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. പ്രപഞ്ചം നിശ്ചയിച്ച ഏതെങ്കിലും മാന്ത്രിക മുഹൂർത്തമായതുകൊണ്ടല്ല ഇത്; മറിച്ച്, അമ്മയെ കണ്ടുമുട്ടിയതിനുശേഷമുള്ള എന്റെ അനുഭവങ്ങൾ കുറിച്ചുവെക്കാൻ ഇപ്പോൾ ഞാൻ ഉള്ളിൽനിന്ന് പ്രേരിപ്പിക്കപ്പെടുന്നു എന്ന് മാത്രം.

മുറകാമിയുടെ നോർവീജിയൻ വുഡ് വായിക്കുന്നതിനിടയിലാണ് ഈ ഓർമ്മ എന്നിൽ വീണ്ടും ഉണർന്നത്. പുസ്തകത്തിലെ നായകൻ നാഓക്കോയുടെ കണ്ണുകളിലേക്ക് നോക്കുന്നതും, യാതൊരു കാരണവുമില്ലാതെ അവൾ അവനെ നോക്കുമ്പോൾ അവനിലുണ്ടാകുന്ന നിസ്സഹായാവസ്ഥയും വിവരിക്കുന്ന ഭാഗം വായിച്ചപ്പോൾ, വർഷങ്ങൾക്ക് മുമ്പ് പൂനെയിൽ വെച്ചുണ്ടായ ആ സന്ദർഭം എന്റെ ഉള്ളിൽ തെളിഞ്ഞു വന്നു. 1991-നും 1995-നും ഇടയിലായിരുന്നു അത്. കൃത്യമായി പറഞ്ഞാൽ 1995-ൽ.

മുറകാമിയുടെ പുസ്തകത്തിൽ അത് പ്രണയിതാക്കൾ തമ്മിലുള്ള നോട്ടമാണ്. എന്നാൽ എന്റെ അനുഭവം അതൊന്നുമായിരുന്നില്ല. അത് തികച്ചും വ്യത്യസ്തമായിരുന്നു.

പൂനെയിലെ ആ ഉച്ചനേരം

അന്ന് പൂനെയിലെ അമ്മയുടെ മഠത്തിൽ സന്നദ്ധസേവനം ചെയ്യുകയായിരുന്നു ഞാൻ. അവിടുത്തെ ക്ഷേത്രത്തിലെ പൂജാരിയായിരുന്നു ഞാൻ. ഒരു ഉച്ചതിരിഞ്ഞ നേരത്താണ് ആ ദമ്പതികൾ ക്ഷേത്രത്തിലെത്തുന്നത്. നാൽപ്പതുകളിലോ അമ്പതുകളിലോ പ്രായം തോന്നിക്കുന്ന ഭർത്താവും ഭാര്യയും. ആ സ്ത്രീയുടെ മുഖത്ത് ഇപ്പോഴും യൗവനത്തിന്റെ തിളക്കം ബാക്കിയുണ്ടായിരുന്നു.

അമ്മയുടെ ഭക്തരെന്ന നിലയിൽ ഞങ്ങൾക്കിടയിൽ ഒരു ആത്മീയ ബന്ധമുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. അമ്മയെക്കുറിച്ചും ആശ്രമത്തെക്കുറിച്ചും സംസാരിക്കുക എന്നത് ഭക്തർക്കിടയിൽ പതിവുള്ള കാര്യമാണ്. എന്റെ ചുമതലകൾക്കിടയിൽ ഞാൻ അവരെ അഭിവാദ്യം ചെയ്ത് കടന്നുപോയി. കുറച്ചു കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ ആ ഭർത്താവ് എന്നോട് സംസാരിക്കണമെന്ന് ആവശ്യപ്പെട്ടു.

അദ്ദേഹം വളരെ പ്രസന്നനും ചിരിച്ചുകൊണ്ട് സംസാരിക്കുന്ന ആളുമായിരുന്നു. എന്നാൽ സംസാരത്തിനിടയിൽ ആ സ്ത്രീയെ ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചപ്പോൾ എനിക്ക് എന്തോ ഒരു പ്രത്യേകത തോന്നി. അവർ അവിടെ ഇരിക്കുകയാണെങ്കിലും, സ്വന്തം ലോകത്ത് ഉൾവലിഞ്ഞതുപോലെയായിരുന്നു. തുടർന്ന് നടന്നത് വിവരിക്കുക എന്നത് എനിക്ക് ഇപ്പോഴും പ്രയാസമുള്ള കാര്യമാണ്.

ആ കണ്ണുകളിലെ ചുഴി

"എന്റെ ഭാര്യയെ ഒന്ന് പരിചയപ്പെടണം," ഭർത്താവ് പറഞ്ഞു.

ഞാൻ അവരെ നോക്കി. വളരെ നിഗൂഢമായ, അല്ലെങ്കിൽ ധ്യാനനിഷ്ഠമായ ഒരു അവസ്ഥയിലായിരുന്നു അവർ ഇരുന്നിരുന്നത്. അദ്ദേഹം എന്നെ പരിചയപ്പെടുത്തിയപ്പോൾ അവർ തലയുയർത്തി നോക്കി. കറുത്ത വലിയ കണ്ണുകളായിരുന്നു അവർക്ക്. ഇരുണ്ട നിറമുള്ള ഒരു സ്ത്രീ. പക്ഷേ അതൊന്നുമല്ല എന്നെ തറപ്പിച്ചു നിർത്തിയത്.

അവരുടെ കണ്ണുകൾ ഒരിടത്ത് ഉറച്ചുനിൽക്കുന്നവയായിരുന്നില്ല. അത് കറങ്ങിക്കൊണ്ടിരിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ചുഴി പോലെ എനിക്ക് തോന്നി. ആ വലിയ കണ്ണുകൾ എന്റെ കണ്ണുകളിലൂടെ നിരന്തരം തുളച്ചുകയറുന്നതുപോലെ തോന്നി. ആ നിമിഷം എന്റെ മുഴുവൻ അസ്തിത്വവും സ്കാൻ ചെയ്യപ്പെടുന്നതായും, എന്റെ വീർത്തുവീർത്ത അഹന്ത (ego) അതിന്റെ പൂർണ്ണരൂപത്തിൽ പുറത്തുവന്നതായും എനിക്ക് തോന്നി.

അവർ മുഖം ചുളിച്ചു. "ഓ, അപ്പോൾ നീ ഇത്ര വലിയവനാണോ?" എന്ന് അവർ ചോദിക്കുന്നതായി എനിക്ക് തോന്നി. വാക്കുകൾ കൊണ്ടല്ല, അവരുടെ ഭാവം നൽകിയ ധ്വനി അതായിരുന്നു. ആ ക്ഷേത്രം നടത്തുന്നതും, സ്വന്തം ജീവിതം നയിക്കുന്നതും താനാണെന്ന എന്റെ അഹന്തയെ അവർ തുറന്നുകാട്ടി. ഞാൻ വളരെ നിസ്സാരനാണെന്ന് എനിക്ക് തോന്നി.

തകർന്നടിഞ്ഞ നിമിഷം

ഞാൻ അങ്ങേയറ്റം നിസ്സഹായനായിപ്പോയി. എന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തിന്റെ മധ്യത്തിൽ ഒരു ശൂന്യത രൂപപ്പെട്ടതുപോലെ തോന്നി. എന്റെ ആത്മവിശ്വാസവും സംസാരിക്കാനുള്ള കഴിവും പാടെ ഇല്ലാതായി. എന്തു ചെയ്യണമെന്നറിയാതെ ഞാൻ അവിടെ തറഞ്ഞിരുന്നുപോയി. അത് വളരെ അസ്വസ്ഥതയുണ്ടാക്കുന്ന ഒരു അനുഭവമായിരുന്നു.

ഏതാനും നിമിഷങ്ങൾക്ക് ശേഷം അവർ നോട്ടം മാറ്റി. അപ്പോഴാണ് എനിക്ക് ശ്വാസം നേരെ വീണത്. ഭർത്താവ് അപ്പോഴും പുഞ്ചിരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു എന്ന് ഞാൻ കരുതുന്നു. അവിടെനിന്ന് ഞാൻ പുറത്തേക്ക് വന്നത് എന്റെ സകല ഗർവ്വവും തകർന്നടിഞ്ഞ നിലയിലായിരുന്നു.

പിന്നീട് ഒരിക്കലും ഞാൻ അവരെ കണ്ടിട്ടില്ല. മുപ്പത്തിയാറ് വർഷങ്ങൾ കടന്നുപോയിരിക്കുന്നു. ഏതാനും മിനിറ്റുകൾ മാത്രം നീണ്ടുനിന്ന ആ കൂടിക്കാഴ്ച ഇന്നും എന്റെ ഉള്ളിൽ മായാതെ നിൽക്കുന്നു.

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The Discipline Loop: Why You Need to Work On Both Your Mind And Body

We often view our thoughts and our physical habits as two separate countries. We think we can let our bodies run wild—eating what we want, sleeping when we feel like it, and consuming endless streams of digital noise—while expecting our minds to remain calm, focused, and "good."

But I’ve come to realize a singular truth: involuntary thoughts are the cause of all human misery, and those thoughts run wild when we let our bodies run wild.

The Tragedy of the Frozen Moment

Most people exist in a state of "frozen" awareness. They are caught in a humdrum stream of events designed to perpetuate a dull, repetitive memory in their minds. They gape and stare at whatever passes by, caught in a cycle of reinvention that eventually leads to boredom and jadedness. This is the comedy and the tragedy of the modern condition.

To break out of this, we have to look at the "Chicken or the Egg" of self-regulation.

The Regulation Loop

When the body is regulated, the mind is regulated—and vice versa. You cannot say, "I will fix my mind first, then my habits," or "I’ll get fit, then I’ll worry about my anxiety."

It is a feedback loop:

• The Body: When we have no "reins" on our physical impulses, our thoughts become feral.
• The Mind: When the mind is chaotic, it seeks instant physical comfort to drown out the noise.

Both must be mastered together. Regulation isn’t a destination; it’s the act of holding the reins on both the horse (the body) and the rider (the mind) simultaneously.

The "Movie Myth" of the Aggressive Hero

In our moments of frustration, we might feel a "pressure cooker" of emotions building up. We might want to speak or act with the arrogant, "macho" style we see in movies—the antisocial gangster who does whatever he wants.

But that is a cinematic fiction. In reality, even the toughest environments require a code of conduct. True strength isn't found in being "inimical" or aggressive; it is found in being amiable and humane.

Being a "sociable person" isn't about being fake. It’s about recognizing that:

1. Arrogance is for entertainment.
2. Consideration is for real life.
3. Discipline is for survival.

Closing the Valve

If you feel the pressure building, write it out. Question your inimical thoughts. Let them "thin out" by subjecting them to the light of reason. The old-school tradition of “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” isn't just a moral cliché—it’s a blueprint for mental peace.

By regulating the vessel, we protect the passenger.

The Bare Soul: From the Pen to the Divine

There is a desperate kind of "ambush" that happens when a writer reaches the end of their stock. When the arrows are depleted and there is nothing left to say, one is left holding onto the hope that some heavenly liquid will replenish the soul and save it from perennial penury. In those moments, I am scared and dumbfounded by what might emerge from the unknown, hidden caverns of the mind.

The Vulnerability of the Stream

In stream-of-consciousness writing, there is no preparation. You are baring yourself, nearly naked, for the world—or at least the AI—to see. It is a terrifying exposure of the unseen recesses and the skeletons hidden deep in the closets of the psyche. Yet, it is strangely therapeutic.

This feeling is identical to the one I experience during Amma’s Darshan. In that space, no false self, no ego, and no polite pretenses can stand. They are blown away like dust in a gale. I feel like an open book, held wide, where every secret is visible to the Eye that sees all.

The Encounter with Divinity

It is the strangest feeling one can have: a terrifying vulnerability that can only be survived through total humility. You must acknowledge that you are nothing, and that the Being before you is unlike anything you have ever conceived.

As if to confirm this, She will lean in and send a glance your way at the exact moment needed to resonate with your internal thoughts. In that instant, you know you are approaching Divinity herself.

The Pranic Wind

I felt this same power once before the shrine of an Avadhuta in Poonthura, Trivandrum. It is as if a powerful gust of energetic or pranic wind hits your chest—the spiritual heart. But in Amma’s Darshan, you aren’t just hit by it; you are completely engulfed.

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A Note on "pranic wind": Couldnt find another word to describe

Verification

Success crowds the room.

You are no longer alone.

Old praise leans on the body,
teaches the hands to pause
before they tell the truth.

Every impulse
is weighed,
hammered into a calf of gold,
warm in the noon heat.

Then—

a sleeping animal.
A baby, folded into breath.

Or a toddler
climbing your lap,
touching your face
without a reason.

The noise breaks.

The rush loosens.
You freeze.

Not afraid—
recognized.

Something quiet
threads you back
to the one
who never learned the trick.

This is it.
Not the chase.
Not the shine.

The simple truth
we buried
under toys.

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