Tag: travel

The Paradox of being Human

The Paradox of being Human

I stand beneath a neem tree — centuries old. Its trunk, rough and deeply grooved, rises like an ancient pillar. Its branches spread wide, holding a dense green canopy through which sunlight filters softly.

Beneath this very tree, in the village of Shirdi, in the late nineteenth century, a young boy once sat.
Day after day. In silence. Meditating.

No one knew where he came from.
No one knew his name.
No one knew his religion.

He lived simply. In a mosque.
He wore a plain white robe.
He went from door to door, asking for food — and sharing whatever he received.

He kept a sacred fire burning.
Distributed its ash.
And listened.

And then, gently, he would remind people:
Shraddha. Saburi.
Faith. Patience. Enough to walk through life.

Over time, he came to be known as Sai Baba.
A sage who refused labels.
A fakir who lived in a mosque, yet called it Dwarkamai.
A man who spoke of Allah and echoed Hindu wisdom in the same breath.
A teacher who built no institution, wrote no scripture, claimed no authority.

Only this:
Sabka Malik Ek.
One God. For all.

In life, he dissolved boundaries.
In death too, he resisted them — neither fully buried nor cremated, but resting in samadhi in the very mosque where he had lived.

More than a century later, he is revered… not with the awe reserved for gods, but with a quiet affection — the kind we reserve for someone who still feels like our own.

*

And then, I step outside. Back into the world. Into a phone that will not stop buzzing.

News alerts. War headlines.
The U.S. Israel. Iran.
Drones. Missiles. Counterstrikes.

The contrast between faith and surrender inside the shrine and the clamor for control outside is sharp. And I find myself asking:
How can a world that produces saints also produce wars?

Yet, both come from us. We humans are capable of great tenderness — and great destruction.
The same imagination that lights sacred fires also engineers missiles.
The same intelligence that builds temples designs weapons.

And this is perhaps the deepest paradox of being human.

*

Shirdi doesn’t resolve this contradiction—it reveals it.

Inside, you are reminded of who you are.
Outside, you are reminded of what the world makes of you.

And sometimes, it takes a saint — or a quiet moment beneath a tree — to remind us to hold on to the first, while walking through the second.

*

What’s with the Chicken Tikka Roll?!

What’s with the Chicken Tikka Roll?!

Akshay, my son, likes to take a chicken tikka roll to work. Not once in a while. Not as part of a rotating menu of varied choices. No, he eats one every single day, five days a week. Like it’s a job requirement. His colleagues don’t even ask what he’s having for lunch anymore. Instead, the running joke is, “Hey, Akshay! How was the roll?”

I know he likes chicken tikka rolls. Who doesn’t? But every single day?

In the beginning, I thought it was a phase… like the time his sister Tanvi insisted on bread-and-jam sandwiches for kindergarten. But no, this isn’t a passing fancy. Years have gone by. The world has survived Covid, multiple iPhone versions, political upheavals, and yet, Akshay is still unwrapping the same old chicken tikka roll, Monday through Friday.

Doesn’t he ever want a change? When I ask, he simply shrugs and says, “It’s easy.” 

And that, I have come to realize, is the whole point. Having the same lunch saves him from thinking about lunch. One decision less to make. No weird surprises. No disappointing experiments with “something new.” No regrets about overindulging in something fried or fabulous. Just one tiny thing he can control while Trump throws the world to the dogs, while the stock market crashes, while AI threatens to outthink us all. Maybe eating the same thing every day isn’t a failure of imagination but an act of quiet resilience. A way to carve out a small, steady island of certainty in a sea of chaos.

And I’ll admit—it makes my life easier too. In an Indian household, where food is sacred and the kitchen often feels like a full-time battleground, my son’s predictable palate is a gift. No endless deliberations about what to pack. Grocery shopping? A breeze. Meal prep? Streamlined. Just roll, wrap, and done.

Still, I have a feeling the reign of the chicken tikka roll may be coming to an end. Akshay’s new bride enjoys variety in her meals. She’s unlikely to make the same roll with the same precision, day after day, year after year.

Or maybe, just maybe, she too may come to appreciate the quiet genius of the chicken tikka roll?

Time will tell.

PS: Do you like to eat the same meal every day for days? Do share.