All That Glitters Is Not Gold — But Gold Connects Us to the Stars

 

photo courtesy

We often say “All that glitters is not gold” to remind ourselves that beauty and value aren’t always what they seem.
But have you ever paused to consider what real gold actually is? Beyond its soft gleam lies a story that stretches far beyond Earth — a story written in the heart of the cosmos.

Gold is more than a precious metal prized for its beauty or worth. Beneath its glow lies a legacy — a message from the universe itself.
We learn from physics that gold wasn’t born on Earth — not in volcanoes, nor in our planet’s molten core, but in the cataclysmic deaths and collisions of stars. In those brief, violent moments, immense energy forged gold and flung it across space.
Over time, as Earth took shape, those drifting atoms became part of it — tiny remnants of distant stars that burned long before our sun was born.

Every piece of gold we uncover today carries a celestial trace — a link to origins far beyond our knowledge and imagination.
Gold does not rust. It does not tarnish. It cannot be made by human hands or destroyed by human means — and so the total quantity of gold on Earth remains constant.

Once you know this, even the phrase “gold standard” feels different — as does the old saying that not everything that glitters can have the quality of gold.
Amid ambition and pursuit, it helps to remember that worth is not about sparkle, but about substance — and the grace to endure and last.

So the next time a glint of gold catches your eye, pause for a moment to realise —
you are, quite literally, holding in your hand a fragment of a star that shone long before our sun and Earth were born.

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Live Well, Spend Well

 

There comes a time in life when young people of every generation stand at a crossroads, trying to decide how to course their lives. It’s natural to want to live well, to spend freely, to enjoy the rewards of hard work. After all, their world is full of possibilities — better incomes, greater mobility, and more experiences than ever before.

But amid this abundance, one truth remains timeless: the wisdom of restraint never goes out of style. The ability to pause, reflect, and choose wisely can make all the difference.

The real question isn’t whether the young generation should spend, but when and how much. Experiences, travel, good food, and friendships are all part of living fully — there’s nothing wrong with wanting these things.
The key is to align spending with what you’ve already earned, not what you hope to earn tomorrow. Spend after knowing the value of money — not before you’ve earned it.

It’s tempting to think: why shouldn’t I take advantage of credit and live a fuller life today, when I’m confident I can repay it tomorrow?
At least then, I’d have enjoyed life both now and later.

But for those who’ve built real wealth within one lifetime, financial maturity didn’t arrive overnight. It came through experience — through both success and failure. It came from mentors who guided, books that shaped their thinking, and a few hard knocks that left their mark.

Nobody gets it right all the time. But with time, we learn that spending less often brings more peace — and that true luxury lies in freedom, not possessions.

So, to the young and ambitious: spend, but spend with awareness. Enjoy, but save with purpose. The future is uncertain — but discipline today is the quiet confidence that tomorrow will take care of itself.

This reflection was born out of watching how easily the line between living well and overspending blurs in modern life.
Thank you for taking a moment from your busy day to read my thoughts. Your time here means a lot.

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🎾 Come On, Get Off My Back!

Leave me alone as I get along with the day!

Lately, I’m getting intimidated by the demanding and commanding nature of almost everything I use.

I agree, I asked for a wake-up call in the morning — but once I open my eyes and pat the screen, that task should be done. There’s no need to keep buzzing like a nagging child. That’s one time I feel like throwing the phone away, but even in half-sleep, the price tag flashes before my eyes.

Score: Love-All.

Next up, breakfast. I put my food in the microwave, and it insists I take it out immediately when it’s done. If I’m late, it starts protesting, beeping — just like the better half!

Love–15.

I get into the car. The moment I turn the key, it starts beeping for the seat belt. I politely say, “Thank you very much,” but it keeps raising its voice until I give in.

Love–30.

Like most men, I too suffer from the “I’ll find my way” syndrome — if there’s one by that name — and would rather circle the city than ask a stranger for directions. Yet, I have no qualms taking orders from Siri, Google, or Cortana. Trouble starts when I miss a turn and we both lose our cool, yelling at each other. Eventually, I surrender, follow her lead, and make it to the office — only to be scolded by the elevator lady: “Please press the button for your desired floor.”

Love–40.

At work, I log into my email. The server insists I change my password. I choose something simple, but no — it wants special characters, numerals, and uppercase letters. I twist my simple mind into a complex password I’ll soon forget. Then it demands my mobile number for “extra safety,” sends me a code, and makes me prove I’m not a robot.

Game Over.

Finally, I open my inbox.
As I start writing, my word processor joins the match. It constantly finds fault — grammar, spelling, even my choice of words. Now it wants me to write shorter and shorter sentences.

Being an introvert, I hardly speak in public; now my word processor seems determined to make me write less too.

I ignore it for the time being and override it.

The score stands: 15–Love.
Set 2: Game paused due to serious workload. 🎾 

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In Defence of Ten

 

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Ever since I heard the story of crabs in a bucket — that no crab can escape because the others pull it back — I’ve been intrigued by how much we humans resemble them. Why do we do the same? Why pull others down when they try to climb up?

For years, I couldn’t find a satisfying answer. Not until today. Now I know that both crabs and humans are tied by the same number — the less of magic and more of tragic number — Ten. Crabs have ten claws, and humans have ten fingers, both occasionally used for bringing others down.

If you’re sympathetic to today’s school kids and agree they have justifiable reasons to hold a grudge against Ten, think about the early Romans! Their punishment for mutiny or cowardice was called decimation — where one in every ten soldiers was executed. Talk about giving a number a bad reputation.

Yet, paradoxically, Ten also represents perfection — the first double-digit number, a flawless score. The complete set of fingers that help us build, create, and type out complaints about the unfairness of life.

Maybe that’s the real irony — Ten gives us everything we need to lift each other up… and everything we use to pull each other down.

And fittingly, here we are in the tenth month of the year, with this little musing on Ten written in response to a prompt by Poets and Storytellers United.

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Territories

 

Today, while driving to work, I saw a small bird chasing another along the road verge.
It was a brief, almost comic scene — wings fluttering, sharp calls echoing, one bird fiercely defending a patch of grass no larger than a few square meters.

It’s a familiar sight. We’ve all seen such encounters in gardens, on terraces, balconies, and those little spaces we like to call ours — or at least believe to be under our care. Birds staking claim to air and branches, drawing invisible borders only they recognize.

If one pauses to watch closely, these tiny territorial battles raise a curious question.
While I technically own the garden — having paid for the land, tended the plants, and built the fence that marks its edge — the birds are merely visitors.
And yet, within that same space, they draw their own lines, chase away rivals, and claim rights to crumbs and insects — by virtue of arriving first, or simply by strength and persistence.

It makes me wonder — isn’t it all an illusion for the birds?

And somewhere out there, across that tattered line, if there truly is a Creator watching this grand spectacle we call the universe, I can’t help but wonder what passes through that mind.
When they see us mark territories with deeds, boundaries, and borders; fight, grab, and even destroy in the name of land, faith, or power — claiming what we believe is ours more fiercely than any other species.

Because much like the birds, our ownership exists only within the stories we tell ourselves — stories that shift with time, circumstance, and power.

Perhaps, in the end, we too are merely unaware guests in a garden that was never really ours to begin with.

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11 Things That Make Me Happy

 

Every now and then, it’s good to slow down and ask ourselves a simple question — what truly makes me happy? Not the big milestones or the grand achievements, but the small, quiet moments that make ordinary days beautiful.
Here are eleven such moments that never fail to lift my spirits.

1. The Aroma of Freshly Brewed Tea

There’s something deeply comforting about the smell of tea brewing — a sense of calm even before the first sip. It’s not just a beverage; it’s a ritual that grounds the day.

2. The Sound of Rainfall When I’m Indoors

Few things can match the rhythm of raindrops on windows. That sound — soft, steady, timeless — makes the world outside seem to pause for a while.

3. Finding Money in Unexpected Places

That sudden discovery of a forgotten note in a jacket pocket feels like the universe’s small way of saying, “Here, take a little joy.”

4. Laughing So Hard It Hurts

Laughter that takes over completely — where you can’t breathe, can’t speak, and end up wiping away tears — that’s pure happiness.

5. Reunions with School and College Friends

There’s a warmth in picking up right where you left off. The inside jokes, shared memories, and easy laughter make time irrelevant.

6. Chocolate Melting in the Mouth

The slow, rich sweetness of chocolate melting — a small indulgence that delights the senses and feels like childhood all over again.

7. Watching the Rainbows After a Storm

They appear without warning, like reminders that beauty often follows chaos. I never stop feeling wonder when I see one.

8. Singing in the Shower

It’s the one stage where I can perform fearlessly. The acoustics are great, the audience forgiving, and the mood always light.

9. The Smell of New Books

The faint woody scent of a freshly printed book — it’s more than paper and ink; it’s the promise of new ideas and uncharted worlds.

10. Driving for Ice Cream with My Daughter After Dinner

It’s one of those unplanned traditions — small, sweet adventures where conversations flow and time slows down.

11. Doing Something for Others

Helping someone — even in the smallest way — creates a quiet joy that lingers far longer than anything bought or achieved.

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Happiness doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes, it hides in rain sounds, familiar faces, or the first sip of morning tea. The more we notice these little things, the richer life feels.

I’d love to know what makes you happy. Share your list, or even one small thing that brings you joy. You never know — your moment might remind someone else of their own forgotten smile. 🌿

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Life is not fair

 

“Life is not fair.”
It was a thought she felt crossed her mind more often than anyone else in the world.

That familiar sting had followed her since childhood — it always came back when things went against her wishes. Yet, in the face of every hardship, her mother, a single parent, had remained the epitome of positivity. She had this quiet, stubborn grace that turned every setback into a lesson.

That was twenty-four years ago. Back then, she was just a little girl of ten — too young to truly grasp what fairness meant.

“I am born out of wedlock and have never seen my father,” she would complain.
As a teenager, she found little comfort in her mother’s soft assurance that she was a love child — born of deep affection between two people who could not be together. It was too much philosophy for a young mind to hold — the idea that two people could love deeply, and yet be bound by constraints that love alone could not conquer.

Her mother used to say, “Sometimes love teaches us to let go — not because it is weak, but because it is wise.”

This morning, that same phrase came back to her — along with that old familiar thought: Life’s not fair.
She could feel it even before she opened her eyes — he was gone.

Soon, this house, this room, the furniture, even the garden they had built together, would lose their meaning. The hibiscus, the rose, the marigold — all would fade into dullness, drained of color but memory.

They both knew this relationship lived on borrowed time, a season stolen from reality. They had chosen to take what they could — a handful of beautiful, impossible moments — instead of a lifetime of compromise.

And now that it was over, she felt something strange.
Not just loss — but recognition.

Maybe it was destiny.
Maybe she was simply re-living a chapter from her mother’s life.
Or perhaps, somewhere deep in her being, it had always been coded into her genes.

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