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Every voice is a teacher

 Every Voice Is a Teacher

Nidhi Guglani


Just yesterday, I found myself in a conversation about the many gurus people follow around the world. It’s fascinating how deeply divided people are on this topic. While some draw inspiration, others carry a kind of fear—especially families who worry their loved ones will grow distant, donate all their wealth, and become emotionally unavailable.


I see it a little differently.

To me, it’s not about the guru—it’s about the follower.


Each of us holds the power to choose the right path or get lost in illusions. Blaming someone outside for that choice feels incomplete. Yes, we’ve heard about followers who’ve left families or donated large sums—but that speaks more about the follower’s readiness (or vulnerability) than the guru’s intent.


In fact, I often feel that every person who speaks around us—knowingly or unknowingly—becomes a teacher. A guru, in essence, isn’t always sitting on a pedestal. Lessons arrive through people, conversations, experiences. That’s why some lines, even from unexpected sources, stay with us. They strike a chord because they resonate with what we’re going through.


If we return to ancient scriptures—Ramayana, Mahabharata, the Vedas, or even the Bible and the Quran—the core message is consistent:

Live with awareness.

Know that death can come at any moment.

Understand that nothing is truly ours forever.

This is Maya, the illusion we all inhabit.


Most spiritual teachers, at their core, echo the same idea—we are not this body. We are the soul. They offer guidance toward enlightenment or at least, toward inner stillness. But then comes the honest question: Have they themselves reached that place they speak of? How do we really know?


Maybe we never fully do. But I believe that even if a guru hasn’t “reached” moksha, if their words help someone live better, think deeper, or reflect more meaningfully—that in itself is worth something.


There are those who strongly criticize gurus for owning land, for wealth, for political connections. “Why do they live so lavishly?” they ask. “Isn’t that against what they preach?”

But again, I wonder—what do they actually get out of all this?


We’ve all heard the tale: a man runs after money all his life, only to die with nothing but a few feet of earth to claim. So what’s the race for? And those who speak and preach for hours—what comfort do they have, really? The strain of public life, the constant demand for presence, the emotional labor—celebrity or spiritual, it wears people down. Perhaps even they crave solitude, anonymity, stillness.


So when we fear that a family member might be “taken away” by a guru or an ideology, I feel it’s more about our trust in the person than distrust of the teacher. How susceptible are we? How grounded are we? That’s the real question.


After all, even influencers with millions of followers aren’t begging anyone to follow them. It’s the individual who chooses to click, scroll, subscribe.

So do the followers of any teacher.


The challenge is not to point fingers—but to choose wisely. To reflect deeply. And most importantly, to know when you’re being brainwashed.


That awareness is the real lesson.

And maybe that’s what every guru is trying to teach after all.


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