The thought balcony

  The Rings That Completed a Story At a recent wedding, something quietly extraordinary unfolded. The celebration itself was vibrant, rooted in a community’s unique customs and aesthetics. For an outsider, the colours, rituals, and expressions of joy might have felt unfamiliar. It is easy, in such moments, to observe differences first — clothing, language, style — and unconsciously measure them against one’s own comfort zone. But beneath the visible layers of culture and celebration, a deeper story emerged. Before the bride stepped into her own marriage, she fulfilled a promise she had made as a child. Years ago, she had learned that her parents never had a proper ring ceremony when they were married. There had been no exchange of rings, no symbolic moment to seal their union. As a young girl, she noticed that absence and quietly decided to change it one day. She began saving small amounts of money — coins set aside from allowances, modest sums preserved over time. What...

  When Shiva Comes Back. My relationship with Shiva has never been linear. As a child and through my early years, I was deeply drawn to Shiva….chanting His name felt natural and effortless, almost like breathing. Before l got married ,my devotion to Shiva was steady and intimate. After marriage ,life gently shifted. I began visiting the Gurudwara more often. The rhythm of shabad kirtan entered my days. For some time I immersed myself in that devotion. Later, I found myself chanting bhajans. Gradually my heart moved toward Lord Hanuman. Now strength ,surrender and protection became meaningful to me. And yet Shiva kept returning. Not dramatically, and not insistently, but quietly, like an old presence that never truly leaves. This Maha Shivratri felt like meeting Him again after a long pause. I was not inside a temple. I was not among a physical crowd. I was at home watching the live celebration from the Isha Foundation, and softly chanting Om Namah Shivaya during Rishi...

  When the Heart Becomes Audible There are evenings when I can hear my own heartbeat. Not metaphorically, but physically. Thoughts gather speed, responsibilities grow heavier, and the mind begins solving problems that have not yet arrived. In such moments, logic does not help me. Sound does. Chanting, for me, is not ritual. It is return. It is the quiet act of stepping back into the spectator seat of my own turbulence. As a child, I began chanting the Gayatri Mantra. I did not understand its depth then. I only knew that it was something my parents taught me, especially before sleeping at night. It became part of my rhythm, like brushing my teeth or folding my hands in gratitude. The sound settled into memory long before meaning did. Even today, I feel that much depends on what our parents give us in those quiet formative years. What they repeat before we sleep often stays with us for life. The Gayatri Mantra has lived in my mind ever since, and in ways I did not recognise the...