If you can read this, thank a teacher.

Ah, but who is not a teacher?

The title is a quote I read some years ago, and while there are many a thoughtful tribute written for teachers, many beautiful, heart-warming tales, shared, from history and the present, the profoundness of it struck me, and it has stayed with me since.

Every teachers’ day, my thoughts go out, to the countless people who’ve been a part of my life, and unknowingly or unknowingly, have left me with a lesson. Who do I thank on this day? My parents, for being so strong, for me, with me? The people who taught me to see real from fake? The teachers in my school, who painstaking brought each one of us up? My friends, and acquaintances, my critics who brought the best (and worst) out in me? The TV series, strangers, the strays? While there were many teachers we loathed for their methods and their strictness, they have, inarguably been the best ones, in retrospect.

There were many educators who tried to fit us in a mould, but the ones whose faces I see are those who put in their everything, their best, to help us become good people. I recall from school Raksha teacher from KG class, one of the earliest ones to believe in me, to the unpopular ones in junior and undergraduate college. Not to forget the ones who taught me a fourth language, including my rickshaw-uncle and friends. There have been many, many influences, and it is near impossible to recollect all of them here. To them, I’ve but 2 words to say – THANK YOU.

Also deserving of a special mention are the visionary people who rubbed off a little of their wanderlust onto me! 🙂 But for them, I’d never have discovered newer worlds, the dreams would be a little less adventurous.

But I’m especially grateful, to those who taught me how to learn, how to receive. I’m glad they still make people like them.

I’m in complete awe of a different set of teachers I’ve the fortune to work with this year – special educators. Ah, their patience. Their patience, compassion, empathy, and skill, are worth revering them for, and from what I observe on field, each day is a new challenge – which they happily accept and work around.

Teachers are not only people. The ability to edify, lies in all things animate and inanimate, one of the best Gurus is Nature itself.

Sthaavaram Jangamam Vyaaptam
Yatkinchit Sacharaa Charam
TatPadam Darshitam Yena
Tasmai Sri Gurave Namaha. 

(That Guru who can enlighten us about the all pervading consciousness present in all the three world or states (of Jaagrath, Swapna and Sushupti … activity, dream and deep sleep state), I salute such a Guru.)


A day by the sea


The beach. The rocks. The fine sand and gravel beneath the feet. The feel of sand slipping away from under the soles, that of sand getting washed away with water. The sound of the waves. The gurgling of the sea…the sun beating down on the bodies, mellow, sometimes a bit harsh.

The ‘feel’ of listening to the nature, the wind and the water playing a merry game between themselves, unbeknownst to the people splashing about at the water’s edge, unbeknownst to the kids flying colourful kites, swaying their little, lithe bodies as the kite dances to the winds’ music…unbeknownst, to us who break into a smile watching the waves’ display, watching the kids’ play, sifting through our fingers, fine grains of sand, smooth, yet coarse, simple, but holding the secrets of time… I wonder what the rocks by the sea shore would say, if they are gifted the power of expression, the kind which is understood by humans. They lie, silent witness to the happenings of the world around them. They know the birds that circle them, they know the scents that the winds bring to them. They know the stories of the oceans as they all meet, they hear, quietly, the secrets of the people adoring the sea face, their desires, ambitions, shortcomings, failures, and perhaps smile to themselves, as they know that the people, as their worries, will be lost in eternity, and one day, cease to be.

The damp but firm rocks, barriers against the unforgiving sea, collude the ocean itself. Beckoning, yet mysterious, protective yet capable of unleashing terror, holding in its belly the years long gone by; hundreds of years that have been, and the hundreds that will be.

Looking at the vast expanse of water, and the sky above, the clouds, moving towards the meeting point, the horizon, thoughts cease, and the mind falls into a pattern of enjoying what was before nothing existed. Perhaps the horizon isn’t a limitation, perhaps it is only what we can see, versus what actually is. The sea, the sky, the fine grains of sand – inspirations, always.