Kissa Kursi Ka
Life has a quiet way of moving on swiftly, even along the unsettling moments.
When someone leaves this world, the pause is brief. Rituals are performed, memories are shared, and soon, routines begin to reclaim their space. The absence remains, but the world does not stand still. It continues, as it always has.
Perhaps it was always meant to be this way.
In the larger scheme of existence, the eternal cycle of creation, preservation, and dissolution that is Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh exists for all to observe .One creates, one sustains, one dissolves or should l say destroys.No single presence halts this systemic rhythm. Everything that arrives is meant, eventually, to leave.
Thus the human life appears fleeting ,almost negligible as compared to the vast scheme.
And yet, within this brief span, we attach ourselves deeply to roles, positions, and places. We begin to believe that these define us.
Kissa Kursi Ka.
In some homes, it appears in the quiet anticipation of inheritance where the transfer of responsibility becomes entangled with ownership.
In professional spaces, it reflects in how roles are assumed not just in position, but in the values that are carried forward, or quietly replaced.
At times, it shows up in the simplest ways. A particular chair at the dining table, unofficially “reserved,” quietly defended, subtly claimed over the years. No one says it aloud, yet everyone knows. The chair remains the same but the sense of ownership around it tells its own story.
The chair is never vacant for long.
It is claimed, occupied, and eventually passed on.
And yet, there are moments when a chair does not exist until someone creates it because the person is self-made, and it’s his hard work that creates it.Not inherited, not awaited but built through vision and initiative. In such spaces, there is no predecessor to replace only a path being carved, and eventually, a successor who will carry it forward Or maybe not.
But somewhere in this cycle, a subtle shift takes place. The focus moves from the individual to the position. The person becomes momentary; the role becomes permanent.
The chair, after all, remains unaffected. It does not remember who sat on it, nor does it anticipate who will come next.
But the human mind does. The ego keeps a quiet account—of possession, of succession, of importance.
And in that shift, we begin to measure ourselves through designations, authority, and control. Happiness, too, starts to lean on these fragile markers as if they hold permanence in an ever changing world.
Perhaps the question, then, is not whether the chair will be taken. It always will be.
The real question is—how do we choose to sit on it?
Do we chase it, define ourselves by it, and hold on to it as an extension of our identity?
Or do we recognise it for what it isa temporary space of responsibility, entrusted to us for a while?
Because while the chair will outlast every individual who occupies it, the manner in which it is held—the dignity, the integrity, the awareness remains uniquely personal.
And that is where meaning quietly resides.
Kursi kabhi khaali nahi rehti… par har insan us par baith kar ek jaisa nahi hota.
Perhaps the story was never just about the chair.
It was always about the person who chose how to sit on it.
Beautifully articulated.
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