Learning to Begin

Learning to Begin

This reflection arises from a quiet inner urgency—the difficulty of beginning, and the responsibility felt once thought begins to move. Life here is seen as entrusted rather than accidental, demanding attention rather than momentum. Writing becomes a way to pause, to test intention, and to examine the self before action follows. The questions raised are not meant to resolve neatly, but to remain present & guiding. What is sought is not greatness, but fidelity to thought, conduct, and daily effort. Change is imagined as inward first, gradual, and imperfect. This is not a declaration of certainty, but a moment of conscious becoming. Further, this is not an instruction but a participation.

Choosing a topic for morning writing is the hardest step to proceed.
One idea shapes the mind; the future quietly begins revolving around it.

Starting is the only difficulty, like every venture we undertake.
One must change the mental phase before any movement begins.
It resembles Newton’s first law; we prefer to remain where we are already.
From rest to motion needs energy; many hiccups appear on the way.

With time, smoothing slowly arrives, and our adjustment is to new rhythms.
Friction weakens gradually, and unfamiliar paths feel a bit more acceptable.
What once felt forced begins to appear natural and workable.
Thus, habit forms quietly, shaping direction without loud announcement.

My purpose here is to understand what leads me toward writing.
What remains hidden that makes one sit with pen and diary?
Why does this routine persist, as if destiny expects something further?
What this journey is meant to be, while one still feels quite ordinary?

Some intense inner makeup quietly urges me to begin again.
Whatever little time remains must be carefully utilised.
Life is not cheap enough to be casually squandered away.
What passes through us shapes us, refining the way ahead.

As a person, one feels responsible for the sphere given.
Everyone carries their own task; no one bears another’s guarantee.
Each must take care of oneself within life’s structure.
Where one goes determines the justice done to this life.

I must be faithful to life and learn to tread it carefully.
Being a civil engineer, I am expected to remain civilised.
One should not fritter away dignity nor belittle fellow beings.
Language, gesture, and conduct must remain gentle & respectful.

I was born knowing nothing of past or future journeys.
Awareness came slowly; memories before early childhood remain faint.
Fifty-two years have already passed through this life.
What remains ahead exists, yet its measure stays uncertain.

What should one consider—only the span between birth & death?
Or also what lingers later as memory, name, or deed?
Consciousness departs with death; that truth remains unchanged.
Yet goodwill survives briefly, earned during one’s living years.

Life’s juggernauts feel strange & puzzling, demand careful understanding.
They rise to maximum limits; as humans, we must attempt.
Some meditation must pass through us, refining sense slowly.
Fallibilities examined become tools for gradual self-correction.

I wish to realise life’s essence; its churning seems unavoidable.
What within us feels weak, yet longs quietly to strengthen?
Fears arise, asking not denial but gentle confrontation.
Perhaps courage grows through patience, not conquest alone.

I try to remain humanitarian, keeping people’s welfare in mind.
One hopes the world may become slightly more equal.
Being a safe presence itself becomes a contribution.
Calm, serenity & motivation shape the atmosphere we leave.

I wish to be noble & intelligent, sharing good thoughts humbly.
Not to equal great minds, but to humbly learn from them.
Bana, Shakespeare, Kalidasa, Buddha, Jesus, & Mahavir guide silently.
So do Kabir, Nanak, Ambedkar, Mandela, and Martin Luther King.

I want to clear inner fetters and the cluttered mind.
Leaving vain debates, one seeks better company & direction.
Guided by noble thoughts that shaped humanity earlier,
I wish to raise near ones into good human beings.

I want to dive deep into the ocean hidden within.
One should not hesitate to take unfamiliar or unusual paths.
The heights desired may remain distant and demanding.
Yet the journey itself must enrich us, steadily step by step.

 

Pawan Kumar,

Brahmpur (Odisha), 26^th January, 2026 (Republic Day), Monday, Time 10.46 P.M.

14th September 2018, Friday, 9.02 A.M., Mahendergarh

 

Between Shorelines and Clouds (Notes from a Journey, June 2018)

Between Shorelines and Clouds

(Notes from a Journey, June 2018)

This travelogue is a record of a brief journey that unfolded across diverse landscapes, cities, and skies, while also opening up inner spaces for reflection. It does not aim to guide or instruct, but to observe—how nature, history, infrastructure, science, and human presence quietly converse with a receptive mind.

On June 9^th and 10^th, I visited Daman and Mumbai with my EE Nilabh ji; some of my experiences have already been written about earlier. Here, I want to recall 10th June, the day of returning to Delhi.

On the night of 9^th June, Nilabh and I stayed at Hotel Jajira, Moti Daman. Breakfast was taken at the hotel around 10:40 AM; meanwhile, Steelcase’s Santosh Kumar had also arrived. Earlier in the morning, we took a beach walk. The sea appeared to move steadily toward the shore. By night, it retreats with the tide; by morning, it seems to expand again.

It was an ecstatic morning at the ocean, with heavy clouds covering the sky. In Mumbai, the monsoon had already begun, and Daman is not far from it. The sun kept peeping through the clouds, playing a continuous game of hide-and-seek. I felt quite in heaven; my sense of vastness expanded—something that often happens in the presence of colossi like the sea.

In the roar of the sea, I tried to sing from my heart whatever came to mind:

देखते रहो, समुद्र को तुम, इतना विशाल देखते रहो
समुद्र किनारे बीच पर कल शाम दूर तक पत्थरों को देखते रहो I
कुछ देर तो आत्मसात होऊँ, पर समुद्र की दहाड़ में मेरी आवाज़ गुम हो जाती
मेरे राम, मुझको भी बना दो कुछ तो महान
कर दो मेरे मन को विभोर, मैं तो बहुत अदना सा हूँ तेरी विशालता के समक्ष I

(Keep watching the ocean, witness its vastness endlessly.
Along the shore, watch the stones scattered far and wide.
For a while, I try to merge, but my voice is lost in the ocean’s roar.
O Lord, make me something great too;
Fill my heart with awe, for I am so small before your immensity.)

Lofty thoughts emerged naturally. I dipped my feet in the seawater, picked up snails & shells, admiring their beauty. The stone beach was rugged & difficult to tread; in pockets, clear water collected. I picked some water and drenched my head & body, trying to feel that vastness more fully.

I experienced this vastness within me, too. My parents’ ashes had once met this ocean through the Ganga. My forefathers, too, had merged with this immensity. I felt myself a tiny part of cosmic vastness. I breathed air that had travelled far distances, my hair waving in happiness. I went a little deeper, but the sea retracted & then rushed again toward the shore.

Nilabh came closer. We spoke about the sea, water, snails, rocks, and human littleness. I recorded the live movement of snails in clear water—creatures complete in themselves. Their upper shells were rugged, almost like pieces of stone. Dead shell deposits lay scattered on the rocks, though I could not gauge their ages.

Two young women in their late twenties stood nearby, with a little girl of five or six. The child hesitated near the water, while the elders appreciated the beauty more freely. I guessed one was her mother and the other a maternal aunt. I spoke gently with the little girl, trying to add some warmth to the atmosphere.

I took photographs of the clouds over the sea, some selfies too. Today, when I look at them, I can return to those moments. Mobile cameras are handy tools; they allow us to preserve fleeting experiences. I had taken some snail shells to the hotel, but found one still alive & moving. I returned it to the sea—it felt right. Saving one life is good, though ultimately, all have to perish.

After writing a little in my diary, we had breakfast. I wore a red-blue-white chequered shirt, and we left Hotel Jajira for the next journey and proceeded to Daman Fort. Coconut trees lined the road. The city is developing, populated mainly by Gujaratis and some original inhabitants. Earlier, under Portuguese rule, Daman became part of India in 1961.

Crossing the Daman Ganga bridge, we reached the fort with its thick defensive walls.  The Portuguese had built the fort to defend against Mughal incursions. Nowadays, it houses the office of the Commissioner, Daman Administration, under India’s Union Territory governance.

We then reached the ferry point. Along with Santosh and driver Robin, we took a 15-minute boat ride in a kerosene-powered boat—an ecstatic experience. Baskets hanging in the water were explained as fish traps. The Daman Ganga River separates Moti Daman from Nani Daman; the city lies about 23 km from NH-8.

The merging of river & sea always amazes me. Backwaters intrude far inland before slowly mixing. Sea water is saline, river water fresh—Amitav Ghosh has beautifully described this phenomenon observed in Sundarbans at the confluence of Hooghly & Brahmaputra rivers with the Bay of Bengal in his famous novel ‘The Hungry Tide’.

From there, we travelled roughly 200 km to Mumbai by taxi. Greenery spread across the landscape. The mango season was at its peak. Daman & Silvassa are famous for delicious Alphonso mangoes.  We stopped at roadside stalls on the way, with orchards visible behind, bearing fruit of great value, and tasted & bought some mangoes.

In the way, we stopped at Lonavala Chikki, near Anam Restaurant, where we had eaten the previous day. Around 4:00 PM, we halted at Delhi Darbar Inn, Manor—grand in appearance, elegant in ambience, though the food was average.

Approaching Mumbai, high-rise buildings dominated the skyline. Each visit reveals further development. Roads are narrow due to land constraints; metro lines pass overhead. Numerous overbridges ease congestion. Dharavi’s slum cluster appeared dense with humanity. From afar, the towers looked like stacked matchboxes. Coastal humidity accelerates corrosion; the painting & anti-corrosive coating industry thrives here. Steel reinforcement requires protection, yet maintenance costs remain high.

Entering Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, the approach itself felt scenic—palm trees, hedges, and a well-maintained median lining the road. Hoardings & nearby hotels like Marriott marked the area clearly. Our driver Robin, a Nepali married to a local Christian woman, had been working with Steelcase’s Bhuttas for years.

The airport interior appeared grand & thoughtfully designed. Large columns widened gracefully toward the ceiling, carrying intricate artwork. The sense of investment & care was visible everywhere—floors, railings, lighting, and spatial planning.

We descended via escalators to a lower level, where greenery lined the sides. Small potted plants placed in structured stands resembled a green wall. Similar attempts at integrating greenery can be seen in Delhi as well, especially near the Yamuna bridge at Sarai Kale Khan.

On the lower floor, different ceiling patterns appeared—petal-like forms with lights embedded between them. A gallery of antique wooden, stone, and metal doors stood on display, along with artifacts & artworks. Standing there, I felt minuscule before the human genius that had imagined & built such spaces, filled with quiet amusement & gratitude.

We waited to board Air India 660, Airbus A320, seat 16B, Gate 42B, Terminal T2. The flight, originally at 6:00 PM, departed at 7:00 PM. As we lifted, I saw vast slum clusters below—perhaps Dharavi—each life deserving dignity.

Above the clouds, the sun shone pale yellow. To the west, it glowed; to the east, darkness gathered. Colours shifted—pale, dark, yellow, white. From this height, the concept of time felt relative. Moving westward delays sunset; moving east hastens it—relative motion at play, as described by Stephen Hawking in The Grand Design. The sun appears to move, though it is Earth that rotates.

We flew at about 9–10 km above Earth. Below, clouds resembled a sea; above, sunlight streamed through the window. Gradually, the sun disappeared from view. At around 8:30 PM, only a yellow streak remained on the horizon. Lightning flickered within clouds—caused by electrical charge separation—illuminating the sky.

Dinner was served, though I ate little. We landed in Delhi around 9:00 PM. Nilabh dropped me at Dwarka. I shared the experience with family, feeling contentment. 

Journeys are great teachers; we must be good students to learn from them. Journeys are great teachers; we need patience to learn what they offer.

 

Pawan Kumar,

Brahmpur (Odisha), 21st January, 2026, Tuesday, Time 9.29 A.M.

(From my Diary, dated 22 & 24 July 2018, Sunday & Tuesday) 

On Becoming a Writer

 On Becoming a Writer

This diary entry captures a writer at the threshold—questioning discipline, originality, purpose, and endurance. It does not offer conclusions, only an honest account of early resolve. The piece stands as a record of process, where ambition meets awareness and patience begins.

 

What is this writing business? People write 10 hours daily without holidays.
From where do they bring material, as writing is not an easy game?

If it is copy and paste, then compiling words feels easy.
But that is not yours; you roam elsewhere, losing convictions.
Some produced tremendous works within small human lifespans.
How did they do it, how reach the top coterie?

Intent alone is insufficient to lift pen and diary daily.
Unless inner forces push gently, nothing original comes out.
Professional writers are not driven only by excitement.
Writing becomes a livelihood; otherwise, what else sustains them?

Casual writing happens intermittently, without any serious purpose.
No big theme exists; whatever comes gets written.
Works remain small; spurts never build lasting networks.
Yet writing appeared early in antiquity, quietly surviving centuries.

See newspapers, magazines, and journalists of every kind.
They are trained, disciplined, words treated with sanctity.
Data compiled, interpreted, and offered to a wider readership.
Over time, such effort becomes personal intellectual assets.

Some authors publish yearly, chasing bestsellers & recognition.
Some sell millions, and piracy is followed by free eaters.
Ideas spread, readers get attracted, and influence grows.
But whether they’re thinkers or sellers remains another question.

What is the priority, becoming visible or becoming thoughtful?
Unless you present yourself, how will people know you?
Do you want publication or development into a thinker?
Life returns what you seek; firm your mind early.

Hard work cannot be skipped while expecting benefits.
Life remains input-output; churn more, more cream appears.
Milk has limits, but the mind holds endless possibilities.
The human mind grows beyond consumption & visible ends.

Yet even an empty mind requires nourishment and patience.
Life satiates only after conscious internal processing.
Quality depends on how seconds and minutes are lived.
Drudgery fades when time is spent honestly with oneself.

Some inner urge persuades reaching ecstasy through writing.
How to trim body and soul amid distractions?
Keep Colossus in mind, and store ideas quietly.
Results demand discipline, not miraculous supercomputer skills.

How much is my world, home, office, or digital friends?
Colleagues, relatives, family, and circles overlap daily.
Does my life benefit others meaningfully or superficially?
Do I show form outside, lacking inner honesty?

How deeply do I observe the world around me?
Is my thinking original or a borrowed copy-paste?
Who takes my thoughts seriously, and how far do they travel?
Will even one idea travel like Buddha’s teachings?

If you want to write, why not commit professionally?
Create office-like discipline, write and edit as work.
Plan themes, publish slowly, print books patiently.
Approach mentors, ask how writers truly grow.

Motivate readers gently, let them discover your work.
Hard work matters more than goodness or empathy.
Be serious in life’s games and not impulsive.
Design goals, work daily, accept uneven outcomes.

Be an achiever, not just a thinker waiting endlessly.
Days pass, nights pass, conditions often remain unchanged.
World values visible transformation, not internal intention.
Performance earns respect; everything fades quietly.

Daily writing builds platforms; don’t settle easily.
Toil reshapes self; comfort weakens discipline.
Untuned minds produce noise, not a meaningful signal.
Aim larger; consciousness guides all creative business.

Yet some days writing teaches patience, not brilliance.
Some days nothing appears, but effort still counts.
Becoming takes longer than ambition comfortably allows.
Practice remains faithful when praise disappears.

Use spare time cautiously for higher purposes.
Present writing is a seed, develop it patiently.
Spread the word, you write something thoughtful, unusual.
Interaction grows; mind and personality expand.

Is it selfishness, a challenge, or a higher purpose calling?
Great people die, too, yet traces remain.
Names fade, but thoughts survive discussion.
Legacy lives quietly through written memory.

Originality appears when the self speaks effortlessly.
Not wearing others’ shoes, writing flows naturally.
Consistency builds the beginnings of authentic work.
Documentation may turn fragments into remembered writings.

Why think one or two hours suffice for writing?
Absorption defines success in every demanding field.
Incessant effort without fatigue creates mastery.
Practice breeds proficiency; effort remains unavoidable.

The world notices unusual contributors who give generously.
The goal is not selling oneself, but enriching others.
How to elevate minds, create shared trance?
Writer & reader rise together through substance.

Who is my audience, and how do I grow them?
Send writing to retired minds, thoughtful judges.
Let them critique freely, guide improvement.
Life fulfils itself through shared contribution.

Let the world know one PK is sincerely trying.
Not idle, but consciously engaged each moment.
Success follows seriousness, not loud ambition.
Writing becomes life, not a weekend hobby.

When you are a writer, you see writing everywhere.
Loss and profit appear daily; don’t fear setbacks.
Check priorities daily, adjust direction honestly.
Life becomes unusual when inner truth guides actions.

Make steps to reach readers thoughtfully.
Fulfilment follows self-enrichment naturally.
Publish patiently, approach the right people steadily.
Build spaces where readers gather meaningfully.

Notify readers regularly, but care for them daily.
Readers are assets; relationships sustain writing journeys.

 

This feels like a beginning, not any arrival point.
The road ahead is long & demanding daily presence.
I may falter, repeat, and question myself often.
This will take time, effort & patience—and I am willing.

Still, I choose the discipline of continuing.

 

Pawan Kumar,

Brahmpur (Odisha), 17^th January, 2026, Saturday, Time 11.11 A.M.

(From My Diary, dated 25 March, 2016, Friday, 8:25 A.M.)

In the Midst of Work and the World

 In the Midst of Work and the World

This reflection arises from lived experiences within work & society over time. It is not an indictment of individuals, but an examination of shared human tendencies. The intent is introspection rather than accusation—strengthening ourselves so society may rise with us.

Human beings often feel perturbed when things deviate from their desired direction.
All seniors or juniors must align many factors; else deviations turn unfavourable.

 

Responsibilities demand timely action, clarity, and decisions from all concerned.
Yet we may remain complacent, unsure how to shoulder real workloads.
Limited knowledge or experience often prevents handling entrusted responsibilities.
Self-interest delays decisions, though such gains rarely materialise meaningfully.

 

We in responsible positions are paid to act, yet fall short often.
Targets stay unclear when timelines are never sincerely pursued.
Excuses shift delays onto others, helping us avoid ownership completely.
Even with guidance and support, movement stalls, yet benefits are expected.

 

The world grows difficult with unattended concerns, prolonging shared suffering.
Tasks finishable quickly linger for months, severely harming collective progress.
Why does meaningful work begin only after excessive pressure is applied?
A sensible approach reads situations rightly; life remains vast yet manageable.

 

Work occupies much of life; our devotion must remain wholehearted & sincere.
Giving one’s best benefits both the world and the individual equally.
Correcting actions to expected levels makes anyone heroic in the eyes of others.
Diligence and alignment matter; idling remains deeply inimical to growth.

 

Silence before atrocities allows suffering to spread among innocents.
Fear & apathy strengthen vandalism; courage & responsibility must prevail.
We must show moral courage, not wait until our own homes burn.
Collective duty includes neighbourhood peace & active community support.

 

Across nations, myth-orientation increases, blurring stories with absolute truths.
Educated minds know these are gospels, yet conditioning alters belief.
Ancient narratives, created long ago, still hold masses in delirium.
Literature of war, deception, and divisive politics overtakes noble thinking.

 

Self-proclaimed elites once ensured benefits flowed mainly to their groups.
Self-empathy feels natural, yet upliftment must compassionately reach all.
When we counsel only ourselves, darkness extends across generations.
Wisdom is not exclusive; equity emerges when all are valued.

 

Differentiating literature is often justified as pious, ancient, & beneficial.
Yet we may ignore its tenets, using it to appear superior.
Right conditioning, penance, education, & training elevate life meaningfully.
Everyone deserves equal rights to learn, refine, and rise.

 

Community upliftment requires both personal effort & administrative support.
Dialogue on improving public living must remain sincere and sustained.
Political competition often aligns sections for power, not real progress.
Still, respected individuals can guide society with steadiness & honesty.

 

We must serve communities with fewer resources through thoughtful planning.
Representation in legislatures voices long-ignored and genuine concerns.
Governments must align to cure deep-rooted ills affecting the weaker sections.
Corrective measures expand dignity and opportunity for marginalised lives.

 

Writing must strengthen people with confidence, resilience, & rooted clarity.
Awareness of broader benefits helps modify habits across spheres.
Cure remains internal and external; both realms need attention.
Strengthening ourselves leads toward social & economic respectability.

 

Humanity deserves benign, equitable, & just frameworks for coexistence.
Divisive gospels must not dictate relations or cloud intelligence.
When intelligence flourishes equally, mutual respect becomes natural.
Inspiration from leaders across sections stabilises societies effectively.

 

Responsibility sometimes demands attachment to larger, grander roles.
Courage is needed to bear such tasks with maturity.
Equitable spaces emerge when mutual strengths are honestly recognised.
Educated, employed, & caring youth can uplift society alongside themselves.

 

Anger, pain, frustration, and failure visit us all occasionally.
We act under pressures and dilemmas; empathy must remain mutual.
Efficient solutions arise when we proactively rise and contribute.
The path is demanding, yet workable with clarity and sincerity.

 

Creation feels tedious, repetitive, energy-intensive, testing patience deeply.
Outward insincerity may conceal inner fears or uncertainties.
Leadership requires easing difficulties and showing clear directions.
Trust grows when pathways stay visible, and expectations are understood.

 

Life demands boldness; stereotypes must break for humanity’s upliftment.
Society must be sensitized to universal advantage, especially the weaker sections.
Upliftment remains a universal duty, though empathy focuses where needed.
Progress depends on expanding intelligence, awareness, & opportunity for all.

 

Small shifts in intent can begin transformations larger than we imagine.
Consistent effort, however modest, slowly reshapes habits and horizons.
When we choose awareness over indifference, progress becomes possible.
Hope endures wherever shared responsibility is carried with sincerity.

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Pawan Kumar,
Brahmpur (Odisha), 3rd January, 2026, Saturday, 12.36 AM (Midnight)

From my Brahmpur (Odisha) Diary, 27 January 2025, Monday, 7.45 A.M.

The Hands That Hold the Earth

The Hands That Hold the Earth

This reflective essay explores the unseen labour that sustains the world, the moral responsibilities we carry, and the urgent need to build a more compassionate, equitable, and democratic humanity. It honours the workers who construct our civilisation, critiques systems that breed injustice, and calls for a future founded on dignity, non-violence, shared prosperity, and enlightened leadership. It is a reminder that each of us—through awareness, courage, and collective empathy—can help restore balance to the world we live in.

Yes, we must exert more in all the given spaces around us; we cannot remain seated like the mythical serpent coiled upon the Nagamani— that luminous pearl of folklore said to glow green or blue and attract creatures. Whether real or fictional, it teaches that merely sitting on one’s riches or abilities is meaningless. Many of us, too, sit upon our capacities, our duties, and our spheres of influence, forgetting that we hold responsibilities toward something larger than ourselves.

We stand in charge of significant zones—works in hand, works yet to begin, and works waiting for timely completion. Complacency is a luxury we cannot afford. Each moment pushes us to do what is best for ourselves, for the nation, and for humanity. Our greater obligation is to help shape a generation liberal enough to accommodate, tolerate, and positively dialogue with neighbours, friends, and people from all religions, communities, and nations.

Our goal must be to shape a humanity where fears, suspicions, emotions, and concerns can be expressed freely and assuaged sincerely. Leaders must learn to listen to all voices, even when decisions must be taken for the broader good. Democracies flourish when participation expands, when public feedback enriches policy, and when people speak against injustices anywhere in the world. Only then can the poor receive education, health, employment, and the tools of dignity.

Humanity must remain concerned for one another, free from prejudices & limiting notions. We respect the struggles of those who rise despite shackles, but we reject the cruelty & mockery of anyone. The ills around us are not separate from us—we carry them, live within them, and unknowingly keep them alive. If injustice continues, it is partly because we have not strengthened ourselves, not understood systems, and not produced leaders capable of real negotiation & dialogue.

The world easily slips into the old rule of “might is right,” but that cannot be our guiding principle. We must develop moral & intellectual strength to resist injustice, yet do so through non-violence & reason. Our labour—our sweat, bodies, minds, and energies—has built this civilisation. We are the ones who plant, harvest, build, repair, protect, and produce. We raise skyscrapers, bore tunnels, extract minerals, transport food across deserts, guard borders in freezing mountains, and work under the scorching sun while others rest.

We remain satiated with less, but we are not weak. The prosperity of others rests on our labour; their comforts arise from our toil. Perhaps we are not as cunning as schemers, but is honest work a sin? Is cleaning streets wrong? Is producing food a vice? Is harvesting fields disgraceful? If work sustains humanity, workers deserve dignity. The world must learn gratitude toward its workers.

Every person has the right to elevate themselves—to educate, own property, choose residence, work, profess faith, and live with dignity. These are fundamental rights tied to the essential needs of food, shelter, health, water, and the freedom of independent thought. Political, economic & social scientists, guided by law & good leadership, have tried to uplift the masses, especially in democratic societies where information flows freely. Information, like any tool, can be misused, but it inevitably pushes societies toward greater awareness.

Rigid systems cannot survive; repression invites downfall. People will agitate if they feel alienated. A nation must offer esteem to all sections, remove social barriers early, develop a scientific temperament, and provide education so people can improve themselves & cooperate more meaningfully.

We seek a real world built on compassion, non-violence, and no cruelty toward any living being—perhaps even a world with fewer humans but greater kindness; a world without wars, selfishness, or discrimination. Idealistic, yes, but possible, and we must all work toward it. Each of us must contribute our part, drawing others into the journey & enriching humanity with whatever light we carry.

Thanks.

 

Pawan Kumar,

29th December, 2025, Monday, 5.06 A.M.

My Berhampur (Odisha) Diary, dated 28th April, 2025, Monday, 9.14 AM.

About the Author

Pawan Kumar is a senior public works executive whose diary reflections emerge from decades of engagement with people, projects, systems, and social realities. His writings weave personal experience with a deep concern for humanity, democracy, dignity of labour, and ethical leadership. Through daily observations, he brings forth a voice that is at once introspective & universal—seeking not fame, but clarity, responsibility, and uplift for individuals & communities alike.

THE OCEAN WITHIN ME

THE OCEAN WITHIN ME

 

Written on the twelfth death anniversary of the author’s mother, this reflective piece explores how a single human life is woven into the vast fabric of nature, cultures, histories, oceans, migrations, and cosmic cycles. Through the metaphor of the ocean and the scientific truth of interconnectedness, the author meditates on belonging, memory, humility, and the subtle presence of his mother’s compassion. This essay blends reflective diary prose, philosophical inquiry, and lived experience, offering readers a serene contemplation on how each person is both infinitesimally small and infinitely connected within the universe.

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(Dedicated to my mother — the Compassionate, whose quiet love first taught me interconnectedness)

Let me once again breathe in the natural ecstasies of this calm morning,

Sitting in half-vajrasana, leaning right, trying to be one with the Cosmos.

Let some serious discourse rise within, extracting the sweetest concept inside;
I am like an ocean, holding countless organisms, jewels & minerals in immense depths.
My surface stays level though waves constantly pass, yet beneath lie vast tracts,
Many depths erupt upward, creating unique flora, fauna, and silent mysteries.

I am unique, carrying multitudes of embodiments constantly nourished through me;
Yet they shape me too, offering essence back to sustain the broader world.
I am a life-sustaining force with blue vegetation breathing life-force oxygen,
My waves mix gases and moisture with air in ceaseless natural exchange.

Yes, my waters are salty, bitter, holding minerals shaping rocks and bodies;
Being low, I draw all rivers, carrying their memories into my womb.
Rivers play with my shores in endless rhythms, nurturing mangroves and life,
And vapours rise from me, travelling as clouds to nourish distant lands.

I am ocean-like, composed of elements forming this body, mind, and breath;
All are properties of the Cosmos, emanating subtle vibrations into existence.
Each thought or spoken string reverberates outward, touching the vast universe.
So many people meet me daily, and a part of them lives in me too.

Ocean-air touched my skin, my clothes, and fans further shaped its currents;
In India, Vayu is a devata, a living force moving through all creatures.
This air moves to far lands, absorbed by leaves to create food as carbohydrates,
Or mixing with waters, inhaled by animals or vegetation, rotating forever.

I am part of a continuous cycle, sensing the law of conservation of mass,
Cosmic constituents fixed, only tiny portions residing in me momentarily.
They leave, and others arrive; energy shifts between physical & mental forms,
My cut hair returns to soil, nourishing flora or turning to dust and rock.

I read exotic books; ideas confuse me, pushing me toward new adjustments;
Many personalities I meet indirectly enrich me despite my limitations.
Some concepts I grasp, others remain distant, though they influence humanity,
Great theories of old and new continue to mould the world’s vast mindscape.

I carry a vast inner illiteracy, seeking platforms to unload myself,
But lack skills, time, energy, and the means to fully free this burden.
I feel foolish before giants who thought deeply thousands of years ago,
I know only fragments, never interacting enough, sometimes fearing depth.

I am an average mind, understanding very little, though trying sincerely.
But I remain undeterred, aware I am minuscule with limited time.
Others, too, resemble me in many ways, including humble animals or birds;
If I grow large-hearted, others’ knowledge also becomes part of my own.

Even the poorest says, “This is my village,” though lacking his own house;
Still, he holds strong ties to soil, trees, ponds, paths, people, and fields.
He sees the moon from familiar angles, remembers homes and old lanes,
He carries circles of friends, elders, children, animals, vegetation—his world.

When one goes abroad, he carries his full nation upon his shoulders,
Fondly remembering childhood, people, land, climate, & familiar sounds.
He cannot bear insults to his culture, language, or motherland’s essence;
He sees his country as heaven, despite the hardships endured there.

In Chennai, I meet Tamilians, Keralites, Telugus, Kannadigas, and Andhraites;
North Indians too — from Delhi, Himachal, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Odisha.
They speak languages I barely understand, yet converse in broken Hindi or English;
But inside, empathy flows naturally, and we grasp each other’s contexts.

I intake food grown by local soils, water, farmers, labourers, and cooks;
The water I drink is ancient percolation stored underground for millions of years.
Birdsongs I hear are descendants of those who lived here since antiquity,
People around me belong to lineages shaped by centuries of migrations.

I see original Dravidian stock, darker, brown, reflecting ancient movements;
Languages and customs reveal mixtures formed by countless interactions.
People live together as an art—sharing sufferings, joys, rituals, festivals,
Standing with one another as communities rooted in time’s long memory.

Foreigners — Portuguese, French, English — once ruled & walked these shores,
Their ships crossing these waters, tasting local fish and foods with wonder.
They interacted with people here, built churches, schools & hospitals, leaving imprints,
Great kingdoms — Cholas, Pandyas, Pallavas — shaped these lands with grandeur.

Here on the seashore, all waters connect from the Arctic to the Antarctic realms,
Giant Ocean creatures travel immense distances, singing sonorous ancient songs.
Waters mingle, temperatures balance, and climates shift above the surface layer,
Evaporated molecules journey far, changing lives in distant terrains.

I eat from soils mixed with minerals and remains of infinite flora and fauna;
Great names of history rest in these soils, their atoms recycled into life.
The Voyager spacecraft travels millions of miles, carrying pieces of Earth’s story.
Through knowledge or shared matter, I too am part of that cosmic journey.

Many waves emanate from me—sounds, thoughts, vibrations shaping existence,
My phone transmits signals through fibre cables, crossing continents.
I am shaped by infinite knowledge—precepts, loves, hates, theories, histories,
A constant movement between me and the external world continues without pause.

Whether I accept or not, all others are pieces fitting inside me somewhere;
A butterfly’s flutter, wars in Somalia or Ukraine, disturb me deeply.
A single statement by Biden, Modi, or Imran Khan wavers my mind,
All inventions, literature, philosophies—ancient or new—are extensions of me.

(And in all this interconnectedness, I still feel my mother’s quiet compassion—
A soft, guiding presence flowing through the vastness, touching everything I see.)

---

Pawan Kumar,

Brahmpur (Odisha), 24th December, 2025, Wednesday, 1.45 A.M. (Midnight)

(From my Chennai Diary dated 12 May 2023, Friday, on my Mother’s 12th Death Anniversary)

⭐ About the Author

The author is a civil engineer by profession and a reflective diarist by inclination, observing human life, nature, and inner landscapes with quiet sincerity. His writings emerge from lived experience—public service, travel across India, encounters with diverse cultures, and a lifelong search for philosophical clarity. Blending scientific understanding with spiritual sensitivity, he writes to explore interconnectedness, human potential, and the subtle truths of ordinary life. His work remains grounded, contemplative, and guided by the enduring memory of his mother’s compassion.

Unseen Hands

Unseen Hands

This reflective piece traces everyday objects and routines back to the countless, unseen hands that sustain human life. Through quiet observation and ethical attention, it invites readers to recognise interdependence, dignity of labour, and shared responsibility—without accusation, ideology, or spectacle.

 

We must rise above our little selves; life needs retraining at this stage.
We can remain fit for many activities, provided we pay attention to growth needs.

It is essential to equip ourselves with core strengths that elevate us above mediocrity.
Age moves fast, ushering in another phase, yet we must retain relevance consciously.
We must learn new technologies; younger generations may excel in computer systems.
But experience & gathered wisdom also grow slowly; no technology can negate them.

Knowledge lies scattered everywhere, yet aggregation alone gives it logical coherence.
We remain limited in competence, unable to identify all the riches already with us
Precious goods lie within, unnoticed, depriving us of benefits they could yield.
Like costly tools misused in specialist markets, losing worth despite high value.

Nothing is truly original; growth is gradual, drawing fragments from surroundings.
Even invention has roots somewhere, though we often fail to trace origins.
From above, roots blur; deeper inquiry reveals long histories beneath surfaces.
Great minds worked ab initio, joining knowledge points to shape new creations.

We remain ignorant of the histories behind many natural & man-made products.
Curiosity towards surroundings deepens understanding, step by step, over time.
This pen resting on the diary page carries a lineage older than memory.
Technology refines tools gradually; innovation blooms through skilled human hands.

The diary page, too, has history—from lumber, processing, research, and markets.
Passing through countless hands, it finally reaches us in this form.
The wooden table here tells stories of forests, factories, and carpenters’ labour.
Logs turned boards, boards became furniture, silently arriving for daily use.

A pillow rests beneath the left hand, light, fluffy, filled with soft cotton.
Synthetic fibres now mix with cotton, offering comfort and gentle support.
Pillows have existed long time; cotton weaves live through clothes, quilts, canvases.
Clothing remains among humanity’s most essential and enduring needs.

The idea is simple: countless articles surround us, used without much reflection.
We rarely know the rigours and infinite hands enabling these conveniences.
Gold & silver ornaments glitter, yet miners’ efforts remain unseen & unpaid.
Comfort conceals sacrifice; labour dissolves quietly into finished beauty.

We live in cosy homes, forgetting those who patiently built them.
Domestic workers remain underpaid, sometimes ill-treated, & rarely acknowledged.
Road builders labour unnoticed; gardeners beautify spaces without praise.
Gratitude fades when comfort becomes habitual and taken for granted.

Drivers transport us safely, rarely valued beyond reaching destinations.
Engineers design & constructs bridges, yet seldom enter common conversations.
Managers, supervisors, & suppliers resolve conflicts silently behind the scenes.
Civilisation survives on coordination more than celebrated individual brilliance.

Many bestow their fullness for our well-being, remaining outside remembrance.
We rarely know who carved tunnels or laid railways, and eased our lives.
Labourers build schools while their children remain deprived of education.
Self-centred living dulls the obligation towards unseen contributors.

Such awareness completes us; we exist as parts of a larger whole.
Knowing all systems is impossible, yet conscious effort itself carries meaning.
From our side, sincere work keeps the grand machinery running smoothly.
Each cog matters; movement responds to every small, honest contribution.

Knowledge is infinite; none can attain fullness, yet a curiosity sustains relevance.
Willingness equips survival anywhere by understanding and adapting to systems.
Belief in self nurtures resilience, drawing hidden strengths outward.
New streams of knowledge and technologies emerge daily before us.

Our competition lies not with others, but with ignorance of our own selves.
Ignorance diminishes slowly, bit by bit, through steady effort alone.
Each passing moment becomes history; the next holds quiet possibilities.
Adaptability, work, and grace may yet keep a place for us.

 

 Pawan Kumar,

Brahmpur (Odisha), 21st December, 2025, Sunday, 00:55 AM (Midnight)

My Brahmpur (Odisha) diary, 1st March 2025, Saturday, 10.09 AM