Quiet generosity in a moment of grief

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the tenth and last one. The prompt: What’s a small act of kindness you’ll never forget?) 

It was 29 November 2016. My father passed away around 4 am.

Since he passed away at home, we called an ambulance and took him to a nearby hospital, where it was confirmed with an ECG.

A large number of his former students based in Bengaluru, several friends and neighbours from our apartment complex, and a few relatives in the city came home to pay their respects.

The cremation was around 1 pm.

Even though those were pre-UPI days, I’d already begun avoiding cash as far as possible. I preferred using debit or credit cards, so I rarely kept much cash at home.

(UPI — Unified Payments Interface — is a real-time digital payment system that enables instant, inter-bank fund transfers through a single mobile app. Hugely popular now, it’s overtaken Visa and Mastercard in transaction volumes.)

Exactly three weeks before that day, Prime Minister Narendra Modi had announced the demonetisation of all ₹500 and ₹1,000 banknotes. New ₹500 and ₹2,000 notes were issued in exchange, but the transition was anything but smooth.

I needed cash — for the ambulance, for those helping with funeral arrangements, and for payments at the crematorium.

Normally, I’d have just walked to one of the five nearby ATMs. But thanks to demonetisation, none had the new notes. Even those that did had long queues, and cash ran out quickly.

One of my friends in the apartment complex heard about my situation and quietly handed me some cash. A few others — people I barely knew — did the same. I made sure to note down in my diary who gave how much, lest I forget.

It was a remarkable gesture. In the midst of grief and logistical chaos, these neighbours — some practically strangers — stepped in without hesitation. Their kindness and generosity moved me deeply.

About a week later, my wife and I visited each of those friends to return the cash they had so kindly lent us. Their spontaneous act only reinforced our faith in humanity. 

The teacher I never expected

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the ninth one. The prompt: Who has been the most unexpected teacher in your life?)

Consider these everyday moments: a train or flight delayed without explanation; a grocery store that’s run out of everything you came for; a cab driver, clearly having a rough day, snapping at you with unexpected rudeness.

We don’t sign up for these situations. They arrive uninvited, unannounced. And our first instinct is often to protest, raise our voice, or snap back.

But over time, we realise — reacting doesn’t ease the discomfort. The situation remains unchanged.

Looking back, I see that adversity has been my most unexpected teacher.

I remember my father’s words: “If we can adjust to small problems, it becomes easier to deal with the bigger ones.”

In other words, if I can manage a 15-minute delay with grace, I’m better prepared for a half-hour wait. And if I can handle that, then even an hour-long disruption becomes bearable.

Adversity has nudged me to think differently, to act differently.

It has taught me to look inward — to cultivate patience, resilience, and the ability to pause before reacting.

It has shown me that waiting for the world to bend to my convenience is futile. Instead, I must adapt, or find creative ways to work around what is.

It has reminded me that not everything is within my control. Some problems I can solve; others, I must learn to live with.

And perhaps most importantly, adversity has taught me not to fear taking a step back — because sometimes, that retreat opens the path to two steps forward, in a direction I hadn’t considered before.

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A goodbye that still moves me

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the eighth one. The prompt: What’s the hardest goodbye you’ve ever said, and what did it teach you?)

I was in the seventh grade at Sainik School, Kazhakootam, Kerala, when I crossed paths with our Headmaster, Major Prakash Singh. 

After I greeted him, he looked me up and down and said in his deep, commanding voice, “Boys of your age shouldn’t be walking lazily like this. You should be running. Don’t you go for a run every day?”

I wanted to reply, “Only if we have to during morning PT (physical training),” but I hesitated.

Before I could say anything, he added, “Run every day, morning and evening, okay? Only then will you become healthy and smart.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, unsure why he said that. Perhaps it was because I was lean and didn’t exactly look ‘smart’ in the conventional sense.

But his words stuck. From the very next day, I began running — every morning when PT didn’t include it, and every evening when there were no games. Gradually, it became a habit. Even on Sundays, holidays, and vacations, I would run for 30 to 45 minutes.

FROM SPRINT TO STRIDE

I eventually made it to the school athletics team. Initially, my stride suited the 100 and 200 metres. But in the 11th grade, our PT instructor, R.G. Pillai Sir, observed that my gait was better suited for long-distance events. So I shifted to the 1000, 2000, and 5000 metres, and cross-country races too.

Those were golden days. I loved running. The sense of accomplishment after a run was unmatched. What I cherished most were the beads of sweat dripping from the tip of my nose and earlobes!

Running taught me patience, endurance, and resilience. It also taught me humility: that I wouldn’t always win, and that there were others better than me. And that was okay.

LIFE'S CHANGING PACE

As I entered the working world, priorities shifted. Running became less about competition and more about staying fit. But the habit stayed with me; until three years ago, when I developed swelling and pain in my left knee. I couldn’t bend it or climb stairs. The diagnosis: wear and tear, Grade 1. (Grade 4, I was told, could be excruciating.)

I underwent physiotherapy and Ayurvedic treatment. The pain and swelling subsided. I was back to normal.

After I retired in April this year, I had more time and I slowly resumed running; though not with the same intensity or duration as before. But a couple of months ago, the pain returned. The swelling was back. I stopped running and returned to the Ayurvedic physician.

There’s been significant improvement since. I can bend my knee again, though climbing stairs still puts some stress on it.

A GOODBYE I DIDN'T WANT TO SAY

And then came the verdict: avoid running.

That was a shock. If I had been told, “Stop running until the knee heals,” it would’ve been easier to accept. But this felt final. Even if my knee recovers, running again might risk further damage.

It’s a goodbye I didn’t want to say. But I’m slowly reconciling with this new, inevitable reality: even if the mind is willing, the body may not be. Once, I pushed limits and raised the bar. Now, I respect boundaries, and if needed, I lower the bar, with grace.

WHAT RUNNING LEAVES BEHIND

This transition has taught me that time brings change, whether we’re ready or not. I’ve learnt to listen to my body, to accept its signals, and to explore alternatives like brisk walking.

Yet, the energy that running gave me hasn’t left. It’s no longer in my legs, it’s in my mind. And that’s what keeps me going. 

I may not be running anymore, but my ability to find strength, joy, and movement in life is something age can't take away.

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The skill that shaped my identity

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the seventh one. The prompt: Write about a skill you’ve learned outside of school that shaped your identity.)

When we talk about skills, they broadly fall into two categories: hard skills and soft skills.

Hard skills relate to our area of specialization: the work we do for a living, or the expertise we build over a career. Soft skills, on the other hand, are tied to our behaviour and personality: sincerity, commitment, diligence, discipline, conscientiousness, patience, empathy, team spirit, and so on.

Many of my hard skills were picked up during my school years: my love for language, clarity in expression, and brevity in communication, for instance.

EQUANIMITY

The one skill I learned outside of school that truly shaped my identity is a soft skill: equanimity.

According to the Collins Dictionary, “Equanimity is a calm state of mind and attitude to life, so that you never lose your temper or become upset.”

This wasn’t something I encountered in school or college. It wasn’t part of any syllabus. In fact, the spirit of school life is often about raising the bar, pushing limits, being proactive, taking initiative, striving to excel, and doing our best to get ahead.

I first heard about equanimity from my father, who was a teacher. He had cultivated this skill over time. He never reacted abruptly, to good news or bad. His emotions were measured, his responses restrained. He often spoke about the importance of developing this quality.

Equanimity is about being cool-headed rather than reacting impulsively. It’s about being slightly detached, not just from material things, but also from one’s own thoughts and feelings. It’s the ability to observe them as temporary mental events, which in turn helps reduce stress.

It’s not an easy skill to develop, especially given the realities of the world we live in; a world driven by a plethora of often misplaced priorities. The challenge lies in steering clear of external expectations and aligning our own priorities with what truly matters. Still, it’s a goal I’ve always worked towards.

HOW IT HELPED ME

In my over three-and-a-half decades in the media, equanimity has helped me enormously. Journalism is inherently stressful; it demands speed, precision, and emotional resilience. In the newsroom, where deadlines clash with breaking news and egos flare under pressure, equanimity is often the only recourse.

When people around me got worked up, equanimity helped me pause before reacting, listen before judging, and lead without dominating. It allowed me to give space to others; and in doing so, to distance myself from their anxiety. Not easy, but necessary.

One aspect of equanimity is detachment. And that’s precisely what journalism requires; where clarity must take precedence over bias. Equanimity helped me separate urgency from panic, and truth from noise.

While managing my team, I always tried to de-escalate tension and make decisions I believed were fair. Often, I delayed judgment, and sometimes even action, especially in emotionally charged situations.

ITS BIGGEST REWARD

All this may sound noble, even virtuous. But take it from me: it’s not easy to practise. As I mentioned earlier, the expectations placed on us by the world around us often run counter to what equanimity demands.

So much so that one might even feel it’s a disadvantage. But I’m glad I’ve chosen to value emotional well-being above all else.

The greatest reward of equanimity is a sense of inner peace; and the ability to recover quickly from upsets.

It’s worth it.

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A day that has stayed with me

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the sixth one. The prompt: If you could relive one ordinary day just to feel it again, which would it be?)

It was 35 years ago. I was just about two years into my career, working as a sub-editor at Free Press in Indore, Madhya Pradesh.

One of the big stories making headlines at the time was the agitation led by the Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA), or Save Narmada Movement. Launched in 1985 under the leadership of Medha Patkar, it opposed the construction of large dams on the Narmada River, primarily due to the displacement of thousands of rural families, especially farmers.

Baba Amte. (Britannica)

Baba Amte, well-known for his humanitarian work among leprosy patients at Anandwan in Maharashtra’s Chandrapur district, had lent his moral support to the NBA.

Despite suffering from a spinal ailment that confined him to a cot or wheelchair, Baba Amte decided that year, in 1990, to move to Chhoti Kasrawad village on the banks of the Narmada River in Khargone district, Madhya Pradesh. He just wanted to be among the people whose land would be submerged.

The camps, huts, houses, and ashrams all along the riverbanks would later become not just hubs for activists to discuss, plan, and share ideas, but also centres for education, community organisation, and coordination of the movement’s activities.

A SNAP DECISION

When I heard about Baba Amte’s plan to relocate, I felt it was a compelling story for our newspaper, given it is published from Madhya Pradesh. I asked my editor, Mr Shravan Garg, if I could travel to the village and cover it. He readily agreed.

The next day was my weekly off, and I made an abrupt decision to head there immediately. Why I chose to go on my weekly off day was because getting leave, even for official work, at short notice was (and still is) quite a challenge.

EARLY MORNING DEPARTURE

The village was about three hours away by bus. I was thrilled. There’s nothing quite like being at the scene of action. It was also my first outstation reporting assignment.

Since the round trip would take about six hours, and I expected to spend three or four hours there, I boarded an early bus from Indore station around 8 am, hoping to return by evening, or worst case, by night.

When I reached Barwani, the nearest town, I heard about a road-blockade in solidarity with Medha Patkar who was on a hunger strike in Bombay (now Mumbai). 

Getting to Baba Amte's hut from Barwani meant traversing seven kilometres of rough, untarred track. I reached the place riding pillion on a farmer’s bicycle. He offered to drop me since he was headed in that direction. All through the ride, he spoke passionately about the project and how it would adversely affect farmers.

HURDLES GALORE

My objective was to meet Baba Amte and speak with him. Since this was a completely unplanned, a spur-of-the-moment trip, his assistants were surprised when I showed up and requested an interview slot.

And the fact that I was a young, rookie reporter didn’t help at all. Though I had been very closely following the anti-dam agitation, I had never covered any event related to the protests. Nor did I know anyone closely in the organisation. My hopes began to ebb, as I got responses like "Baba Amte is busy", "he is resting", "you will have to wait", etc. 

Though I could still write a story based on conversations with people and describe the ambience of the village that would soon become the movement’s epicentre, I wondered what was the point of returning to Indore without speaking to Baba Amte. The story after all was about him moving into the village.

BREAKTHROUGH, FINALLY

By the time Baba Amte was back at the hut after spending some time with the protesters who had organised the traffic blockade, it was around 5 pm. It was getting late, and I began wondering what my cut-off time should be. 

Then, suddenly, an aide of Baba Amte approached me and asked, “Are you from Free Press?” I said, yes. He looked and sounded genuinely helpful. He said he’d try to facilitate the interview, but I’d have to wait: not before 6 pm.

I said that was fine. But he warned me that after 6, it would be difficult to get to the nearest town, from where I’d need to catch a bus back to Indore. Then, to my pleasant surprise, he kindly offered me accommodation at the camp for the night. I couldn’t believe it.

Around 7 pm or so, I finally got to meet Baba Amte. The interview went off well. He spoke at length why the project was being opposed. He said he wasn't opposed to development but big dams that displace thousands of people are not the only solution to people's livelihood problems. He said that there are several alternatives like smaller dams, better water management, etc. 

A MEMORABLE SOJOURN

I spent the night there. That day remains etched in my memory. A day surely I'd love to relive.

A remote village on the banks of the Narmada. A cool, starry night. Peace and quiet all around. The kind of ambience one only dreams of.

I woke up the next morning feeling unlike ever before — so happy, with a deep sense of accomplishment. It’s not often that everything falls into place. And all in a single day!

I took the first bus from the nearby town and reached home just before noon. Later that day, at the office, I met the editor and shared my experience.

I filed the story. It was carried on the front page. My joy knew no bounds.

WHY IT WAS MORE SPECIAL

The entire experience at that camp in Chhoti Kasrawad village was memorable not just because I could interview a legendary humanitarian like Baba Amte or because of the great ambience of the place.

It was also my 25th birthday.

A birthday like never before; and never after.

Finding calm amidst daily chaos

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the fifth one. The prompt: Look out of the window. What's the first thing that fascinates you and why?)

In this world, where the unpleasant and the stressful seemingly dominate, the daily grind can be gruelling. Life in an apartment complex, especially in a city, can be overwhelming, with the predictable sounds of routine echoing all around. But there are plenty of gentle wonders simply hidden in plain sight.

A WINDOW TO EVERYDAY WONDER

I realise this almost always when I look out of the window of my apartment. What catches my sight immediately are the trees that line the courtyard in front of the building. They are there standing tall and still; the perfect brakes, as it were, to a life racing all around us at break-neck speed.

The line of greenery seems a fitting contrast to the grey of the concrete. Green is more than a colour; it’s a sign of life. There’s often a gentle, cool breeze nowadays, and each time I look out, I can see the branches and leaves come alive as they sway in the energising wind. Are they dancing to the hum of the wind, I wonder!

THE RAINY REVIVAL

The rainy season now has only made them more vibrant and striking. As the clouds open up, the trees allow themselves to be draped in water. Pause to observe closely, and you’ll see droplets sliding delicately over the leaves, lingering momentarily at the tips before falling to the ground below. That’s a sight to behold, reminding us to slow down. That’s where the beauty of life lies.

Each shower gives them a new glow. The dust that had settled from the nearby road has been washed away. It seems the leaves have received a fresh lease of life.

SOOTHING PANACEA

We are talking of something as simple as a few trees. Just look out of the window and there is an everyday fascination that is endlessly captivating. It’s a perfect panacea, whether the brain is racing or the mind is feeling low. For me, it is a sight that is both soothing and invigorating, right outside the window.

A TIMELESS LESSON

As I see these trees, what comes to my mind is: "Nature does not hurry, but everything is accomplished", a saying often attributed to the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu. 

It only means that we can achieve whatever we want by being patient and going with the natural flow. Just as rains come, rivers flow, flowers bloom, trees grow, and seasons change even though nature never hurries.

It’s a philosophy I believe in, and practise as well.

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From memoir to mystery: My latest four reads

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the fourth one. The prompt: The last four books you read.)

If there’s one thing I treasure, it’s discovering new worlds and perspectives through books. My reading habit had taken a serious hit while I was working. Now that I have more time for myself, I have got back into the habit.

Here are the four books I read last, listed in the reverse chronological order, meaning the most recent first.

1. MEN WITHOUT WOMEN

Haruki Murakami is one of the most popular Japanese authors; perhaps more celebrated outside Japan than within. The last book I read by him was the anthology Birthday Stories, several years ago.

Last month, while on a short visit to Kerala, I entered Aluva metro station to take a train to Kadvanthra. There, I was surprised to find a book exhibition-cum-sale. I spent about 45 minutes browsing the books on display, eventually picking up two. 

One was Murakami's Men Without Women. The other was The Accidental Prime Minister: The Making and Unmaking of Manmohan Singh by Sanjaya Baru, which I have yet to start reading.

Men Without Women is a collection of seven short stories, all revolving around the complex emotional lives of men separated from women.

Each story features a different protagonist grappling with loneliness, longing, and the mysterious presence, or absence, of women in his life. The tales explore a range of situations: lost love, betrayal, quiet marriages, and more.

One of the stories is “Drive My Car”, where an actor forms a bond with his female chauffeur as he struggles with memories of his late wife’s infidelity.

Murakami’s characteristic style of quiet melancholy and introspection runs through all the stories.

2. THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN

There were two reasons I bought this book. First, it simply appeared on Amazon while I was browsing the book section; second, and more importantly, both the title and the blurb caught my attention.

This novel by Paula Hawkins is a psychological thriller set in London, centred on the lives of three women: Rachel, Megan, and Anna.

Rachel Watson takes the same commuter train every day, passing by her old neighbourhood. She becomes fixated on watching a seemingly perfect couple, Megan and Scott, who live near her ex-husband Tom and his new wife Anna.

When Megan goes missing, Rachel finds herself drawn into the investigation, spurred by hazy memories and her urge to help. As Rachel probes deeper, her unreliable recollections and desire to be useful push her into dangerous territory.

The novel’s suspenseful plot kept me guessing about what happened to Megan.

3. HOW PRIME MINISTERS DECIDE

Neerja Chowdhury is a reputed journalist who has spent decades in New Delhi as a political reporter. When I was with The Indian Express in their Ahmedabad edition, during the politically tumultuous early 1990s, I had the good fortune to edit many of her stories.

She is one of the few top journalists in India who has witnessed at close quarters the changing political landscape in the nation’s capital. She has met all the prime ministers except Jawaharlal Nehru, Lal Bahadur Shastri, and Gulzarilal Nanda.

That’s one reason I picked up this book, which examines the decision-making styles of six Indian prime ministers: Indira Gandhi, Rajiv Gandhi, V. P. Singh, Narasimha Rao, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, and Manmohan Singh. 

She sheds light on the intense pressures prime ministers face from several quarters: not just public expectations, but also from diverse groups, communities, and even their closest advisers.

What makes this book particularly interesting is the detail she provides regarding some of the controversial political decisions our prime ministers have made.

Anyone interested in Indian politics will surely enjoy reading this book.

4. RECKONING

A couple of years ago, while my son was preparing for his journey home from Sydney, he asked me what I would like him to bring for me. I told him to get me a book about Australia that I might not easily find in India.

He got me two. One was Reckoning: The Forgotten Children and Their Quest for Justice by David Hill. The other was Born Into This by Adam Thomson.

I will take the first one.

Reckoning tells the powerful true story of how David Hill and other former “Forgotten Children” from the Fairbridge Farm School in New South Wales sought justice for the abuse they suffered as children.

Hill recounts the shocking institutional abuse endured by vulnerable British and Australian children, who were sent to Fairbridge under imperial schemes, and then mistreated; sometimes as young as five years old.

Their battle led to a record $24 million compensation awarded by the New South Wales Supreme Court. Hill describes many personal stories, and with the appropriate historical context, sketches so well not only the resilience of the survivors but also their struggle to hold those responsible accountable.

WHAT ABOUT YOU?

Each of these books, on diverse themes, left its own mark, sparking thought and, sometimes, even stirring up memories. Have you read any of them? If not, which one of these you would like to read?

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My pocket notebook and pen

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the third one. The prompt: Pick one object in your room, write about its story and why it matters to you.)

One of the small things I never forget when I step out is my pocket notebook (or scribble pad) and a pen. It’s a leftover habit from the pre-mobile phone days.

The notepad is so handy when you need to jot something down quickly: a name, a phone number, an address, or a shopping list. I often note down expenses, small calculations, or even a random thought that pops into my head. Of course, calculators existed even back then, but no one carried one around always.

People without a notepad usually scramble for loose paper: a receipt, a torn newspaper corner, an envelope, or even a bus ticket. I’ve never liked that. It always felt good to have something with myself to write on.

And then, the pen. You never know when you might need one. I’ve seen many people, especially in post offices, asking strangers for pens. I’ve lent mine several times and lost a few that way. 

So now, when I give someone my pen, I keep the cap with me: a small trick that reminds both of us. This is only if it's a pen with a cap, or I end up keeping my fingers crossed. 

My notepads have become small diaries over time. I usually note the date whenever I write. I still have a few old ones at home; pages crumpled, some almost coming apart. I never felt like throwing them away. Once in a while, I flip through them, and it feels like traveling back in time. It’s amazing how a few words or numbers can hold so many memories.

These days, Google Keep is my digital equivalent. Anything longer or detailed goes there. But quick lists, or random jottings, or short reminders still find their way into the tiny notepad.

I know the modern trend is not to jot down anything, but to click a photo with the mobile phone camera.

All said and done, writing by hand gives me a quiet sense of having done something. It’s one small way of staying away from screens. Maybe that’s what makes this old habit worth keeping; a gentle pause in a digital world.​

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Colonial Cousins: The trendsetter of 1990s

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the second one. Prompt: Your favourite musical band of the 90s)

When I think about the music of the 1990s, so many bands, singers, and songs come to my mind: both Indian and international. Among the international ones, I remember Backstreet Boys, Linkin Park, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana, and U2. Closer to home, groups like Indian Ocean, Euphoria, and Parikrama.

Hariharan and Leslee

But the band that truly captivated me was Colonial Cousins. I first heard about them from a friend who was always tuned into the latest trends. His enthusiasm was infectious, and before long, I found myself buying their audio cassette, eager to know what the excitement was all about.

REVOLUTIONARY FUSION

Their debut album, released in October 1996, became a sensation. What set Colonial Cousins apart was their bold fusion. They mixed multiple languages (English, Hindi, and even South Indian) with elements of Hindustani and Carnatic classical music, all wrapped in Western pop, rock, and electronic styles.

With Hariharan’s soulful vocals and Leslee Lewis’s masterful genre-mixing, each track often began with traditional ragas and transitioned into pop choruses. Songs such as “Sa Ni Dha Pa” and “Krishna” come to mind.

While Bollywood did occasionally do something innovative, Colonial Cousins was among the first to explore the synergy outside the realm of Hindi cinema. Their songs also perfectly blended with the spirit of a newly liberalised India in the 1990s, when the country was opening up to foreign companies, goods, movies, music, and much more.

THEIR NAME AND ORIGINS

The story of their name is as unique as their music. Hariharan once recalled that during a visit to London, a friend remarked how Londoners and the Indians there could be called “Colonial Cousins,” a reference to the shared colonial history. Hariharan suggested the name to Leslee Lewis, who immediately agreed.

The two met while working on prime-time advertising jingles. Leslee composed the tunes, and Hariharan lent his vocals. During one of their sessions, as they waited for a script, they began an impromptu jam. The magic was good, as indicated by the applause of everyone there. At that moment, they realised they were destined to work together as a band.

Their international impact also became apparent. Hariharan remembers the time at Heathrow airport when a gentleman approached and praised their music.

After two more albums following their debut, the duo took a prolonged break, each pursuing solo careers. They later reunited as digital and TV shows took off giving ample time and space to independent and fusion music again.

TIMELESSNESS VS TODAY'S FUSION

Today's fusion tracks are often tech-heavy, and I feel it's a lot of noise. In contrast, Colonial Cousins has a lot of originality and authenticity. Their songs are truly timeless, not just because of their innovative approach, but also because they dared to tred a new path.

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Judging character by daily habits can be misleading

(This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025, wherein 10 posts are published in 15 days. This is the first one.)

When I first saw the prompt for this blog post — habits that reflect your personality without you in the picture — I was reminded of what my teachers and elders used to drill into us as children: “Your everyday habits say a lot about who you are. So, make sure you inculcate the habits that show your best side!”

Source: Gemini

You can spot these signs almost everywhere:

• A desk that’s neat as a pin (versus one with papers and books scattered all over).
  
  
• Clothes neatly folded and arranged in the wardrobe (as opposed to some of them lying on a chair, and the rest on one side of the bed).
  
  
• Shoes shining so much you can see your reflection in them (contrasted with shoes bearing muddy stains, lying scattered at the door).

Most of us were told to aim for the first set of habits — the “correct” ones. Those in brackets were to be avoided.

I think that's a bit old-fashioned. Life today is far less about what’s deemed “desirable” and more about what works for each of us, is it not?

A FEW EXAMPLES

Take, for example, the so-called “messy desk”.

Certainly, it might look chaotic and scream “disorganised!” But try asking the owner where a particular book is, and they’ll produce it quicker than you’d expect!

Clutter could well be a sign of creativity, don’t you think? It might show that the person doesn’t like fences, someone who wishes to go that extra length and explore new ideas.

Another example: a person who never cooks their own meals. It’s easy to assume they lack cooking skills. Yet what if they are actually a good cook, but simply do not have the time, and choose convenience over displaying their culinary abilities?

Yet another example: those happy selfies on social media. They give the impression someone is living their best life, always on cloud nine. But the truth could be far removed from that. All those smiles may be just for the camera; a way to escape the day-to-day blues.

THE OBVIOUS ISN'T ALWAYS THE TRUTH

Yes, our daily habits do tell the obvious story. But remember, this is a world where conventions are constantly being challenged; the obvious isn’t always the truth.

So, it’s good to remember that things are not always what they seem on the surface. Sometimes, what feels like a simple clue about someone can turn out to be entirely misleading!

Don't get me wrong; I’m not saying one should be disorganised or choose clutter over order.

Simply, don’t judge too fast!

(The 2nd post will be published on the 27th, Monday.) 

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