"Unfolding Emotions"

  As far as I remember, I was never considered a “good student.” At least not by the standard definition we grow up with. A good student, we are told, is someone who scores well in exams, obeys teachers and parents, and performs consistently across all subjects. By that definition, I didn’t fit in. I was bad at mathematics. Science confused me more often than it made sense. What truly attracted me were subjects like history, geography, and general knowledge. I loved them, not because they carried marks, but because they carried stories, ideas, and meaning. I didn’t study them to score well; I studied them because I genuinely enjoyed learning. Reading about civilizations, maps, wars, and the world beyond my classroom gave me joy. Marks were never the motivation. Then something unexpected happened. In Class 4, almost accidentally, I ranked second in my class. There were around 70 students, and I stood at number two. I still remember that moment vividly. It felt amazing, almost ...

  One ordinary day, during a tea break or a casual office conversation, you hear a rumor about one of your colleagues. It is not loud, not official just a sentence spoken in a low voice, followed by a pause. In that moment, your mind becomes active. You have choices. You can go directly to that person and ask what the truth is. You can go to another colleague to get confirmation. Or you can decide to do nothing and let the matter pass. But what we choose is rarely random. It depends on the image we already carry of that person. If the rumor fits our existing belief, we accept it easily. If it does not, we question it or sometimes ignore it. As humans, most of us take a familiar path. We talk about it with others. Not always to find the truth, but to share the moment, to feel included, and to keep the conversation alive. These discussions often happen under the label of “concern” or “just talking,” but slowly they turn into something else. To make the conversation interesting,...

This Diwali, while cleaning my home with my mother, I came across things I had not touched in years. Old notebooks, some 10–15 years old. Books I once read with curiosity and excitement. Pages filled with handwriting that looked familiar, yet distant. Even the clothes I used to wear years ago felt like they belonged to someone else. As I went through them slowly, something subtle but noticeable happened. I realized I have changed. A lot. My handwriting today is different from what it was a decade ago. Not dramatically, but enough to notice. The watches I wear now are mechanical and analog; earlier, I preferred digital ones. The clothes I choose today are not what I would have picked 10 years ago. Even the way I read, think, and observe the world has shifted quietly over time. And yet, we often say, “I haven’t changed.” That statement feels comforting. It suggests stability, consistency, loyalty to who we once were. But if we are honest, it is rarely true. Change does not always arrive ...

  Have you ever noticed how rare it is to find people who can truly tolerate the success of their friends or colleagues especially when both are competing for the same dream? We often say we have seen such people. But if we look honestly, their number is very small. Most of us struggle when someone from the same rank, the same background, or the same effort level succeeds while we do not. When two people desire the same opportunity and only one gets it, something quietly breaks. The friendship becomes awkward. Collaboration turns cold. Coordination fades. And slowly, admiration is replaced by doubt. We begin to question things. How did they get it? Did they really deserve it? Was the process fair? These questions may look logical on the surface, but deep inside, they often come from pain, jealousy, and an unhealed sense of loss. It is natural to feel sad when we don’t get what we wanted. Loss hurts. Comparison hurts even more. But what truly defines our character is n...

  Have you ever noticed this? You are calm all day. Work is fine. Friends are fine. Life feels manageable. Then you talk to your parents and suddenly you feel irritated, tense, or angry, even if the conversation is normal. This confuses many people. We start thinking: Why am I behaving like this? Why do I lose patience only with them? For a long time, many of us believe this means we are too sensitive or emotionally weak. But the truth is, this reaction has very little to do with who we are today. When we talk to our parents, we don’t always respond as the adults we have become. We often respond as the child we once were. Our parents were the first authority figures in our lives. They taught us rules, corrected us, guided us, and sometimes unknowingly hurt us. Even in loving homes, there were moments when we felt judged, misunderstood, or not fully accepted. Those moments may seem small now, but they were big for the child we were then. The mind may forget these expe...

  We often look at people around us and wonder why some move ahead while others stay where they are. In a classroom, two students may start at the same level. In an office, two people may hold the same position and even have similar skills. Yet, after a few years, one clearly stands out. Most of the time, the difference is not talent, intelligence, or even luck. The difference is repetition. Repetition is doing the same thing again and again, but with awareness and improvement. When someone keeps repeating a task daily, they begin to understand its small details. They notice what works, what doesn’t, and what can be done better next time. Slowly, improvement becomes natural. This is how ordinary effort turns into extraordinary skill. Think about a student who solves mathematics problems every day. At first, they struggle, make mistakes, and feel slow. Another student studies only before exams. In the long run, the one who practices daily becomes confident and fast. Concepts sta...