When I was financially tight, I didn't know a way out of it. I was very careful in spending.
Then I saw a path which would take to comfort. Just the mere sensing of a freedom relaxed me a bit. The way hope created expansion within, is amazing.
Remembered Rabindranath Tagore's poem related to this thought.
There is a beautiful Tamil movie called KD (A) Karuppudurai, which tells the story of an old man who embarks on a journey with a young boy. At one point, the boy asks if the old man has any unfulfilled desires. The old man reveals that he wishes to meet his childhood crush. Together, they track her down, only to find that she is now an elderly woman with grandchildren. Fortunately, she remembers him, and they share a heartfelt conversation, bringing a sense of closure to a long-lost connection.
Similarly, many of us carry unfinished emotional business—conversations we wish we had, feelings left unexpressed, or unresolved moments from our past. These thoughts don’t always weigh on us daily, but they resurface unexpectedly, stirring emotions and reminding us of something left incomplete.
However, dwelling on these lingering memories can drain our energy. They often carry an undertone of regret or missed opportunity, making us feel as if we failed to close a chapter properly. There are two ways to handle this:
Address things in the moment. When an important interaction happens, don’t hold back. Express your thoughts, share your emotions, and ensure that the other person knows your perspective. Unspoken words often turn into lifelong burdens.
Let go of what cannot be changed. If a past event keeps replaying in your mind, remind yourself that life moves forward. You can’t step into the same river twice. People change, their priorities shift, and revisiting old conversations may not bring the closure you expect. Instead of chasing the past, focus on making your present interactions more meaningful, ensuring that future regrets never take root.
Closure isn’t about rewriting history—it’s about accepting it and moving forward with peace.
A couple of months ago, I walked into a salon for a haircut. The barber was deeply engrossed in his phone, barely acknowledging my presence. Meanwhile, the TV blared a loud song-and-dance sequence, but no one seemed to care. It felt as if he was watching the same song on his phone, completely detached from the screen in front of him.
Today, I visited the same salon again. This time, the TV was off, but the barber was still glued to his phone. It struck me—television is slowly losing its grip, its once-dominant presence fading before the irresistible pull of mobile screens. The shift is subtle but undeniable. The mobile phone has become the undisputed king of attention.
