The AI and Washing My Clothes

 

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Recently, our washing machine broke down — a minor domestic setback, but one that demanded immediate attention. So, I went to a large electronics store — the kind that sells everything from toasters to 90-inch TVs. It says something about our economy, but that’s not the point here.

The salesman appeared promptly — well-trained, eager — and began my guided tour through what I can only describe as the washing machine district. After a few minutes of polite nodding, I narrowed my choices down to two models — both of suitable capacity, both from brands I trusted.

One, however, was about 20% more expensive.

“That one has AI,” the salesman said, tapping the sticker as if revealing a divine truth.

Not being entirely naïve about AI, I was both suspicious and curious about this supposedly groundbreaking feature I’d somehow missed.

“What exactly does the AI do?” I asked.

He brightened. “Sir, it checks the weight of your clothes…” — I nodded — “then it analyzes how dirty they are, and decides how much detergent is needed.”

I paused. “Wait a minute. It checks how dirty the clothes are?”

He nodded earnestly. “Yes, sir. It has sensors.”

I couldn’t help picturing a boardroom of tiny robots inside the drum, holding a meeting:
“Gentlemen, we have a stubborn curry stain on the sleeve — increase detergent by 7%.”

AI and sensors have become the modern salesperson’s magic words — covering any gap between imagination and reality.

I asked to see the brochure. Unsurprisingly, there was no mention of this revolutionary dirt-detection technology. The salesman quickly added, “Not everything is written in the brochure, sir,” and suggested I check the online specifications.

I didn’t.

Instead, I chose the simpler model — the one without AI, without self-awareness, and without ambitions to optimize my laundry experience.

On the way home, I thought about how easily the word AI now slips into every sales pitch — as if intelligence, artificial or otherwise, can be sprinkled on anything to make it desirable.
Maybe the real test isn’t whether machines can think — but whether we still can, before we swipe our cards.

Thank you for taking a moment to read my reflection today. If this piece brought a smile or a thought worth keeping, I hope you’ll return for more.
Until next time — think gently, live simply, and keep your mind switched on. ✨

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#readreflectrejoice

“My Song” by Rabindranath Tagore — A Poetic Offering of Simplicity and Devotion

No, no, no — this isn’t another post about Tagore’s greatness or his influence on Bengali or South Asian life. There are books, lectures, and institutions for that.

This is something smaller, more personal.

It’s about a song my daughter learned when she was in middle school — My Song by Rabindranath Tagore.

Now, there’s nothing unusual about that in itself. Most Bengali girls her age learn a Rabindra Sangeet or two. But this one stood out for a simple reason — its language. It wasn’t Bengali. It was English. 

Listen to the song here:

And yet, it carried the same fragrance of tenderness and quiet devotion that all of Tagore’s songs seem to hold.

Today, I stumbled upon a recording of her practising that song — her young voice, a little unsure but full of feeling. It brought everything rushing back.

In My Song, Tagore doesn’t speak to the world; he speaks to the soul. He writes of art as something pure — free of ornament, pride, or decoration. He imagines his song as a bride who sheds her jewels, choosing simplicity over grandeur. That image stays with you — because it feels like a reflection of life itself.

The poem carries a quiet prayer too. Tagore asks for his life to be made simple, so that divine music can pass through him. Perhaps that’s true for all of us — if only we can make ourselves still and simple enough to let it flow.

For many, My Song isn’t just about poetry or music. It’s about surrender. It’s a reminder that beauty doesn’t need to be loud — and that what comes from the heart never fades.

The most widely sung version of Rabindranath Tagore’s poem “My Song” around the world is the English translation that begins: “This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like the fond arms of love.” This version has been adapted into choral music and performed internationally, both in classical and contemporary forms. Prominent modern renditions include Alan Bullard’s choral arrangement “My Song (This Song of Mine),” sung by choirs in festivals and concerts globally. Tagore’s own English translation and poetic text remain the basis for most musical adaptations, making it the version most recognized beyond India.

Thank you for stopping by and spending a few moments here. I hope this song finds its way into your day — softly, like a quiet prayer.
Do visit again — there’s always another story waiting to be told.

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Here is the most loved version of this poem —

“This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like the fond arms of love.
The song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of blessing.
When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in your ear,
When you are in a crowd it will fence you about with aloofness.
My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
It will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
It will be like the faithful star overhead
when darkness is deep in your soul.
My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things.
And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.”

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Read Reflect Rejoice

The Woman by the Window

 

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Sometimes we wake up with a strange unease — a hollow feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen.
Some say the body senses trouble before the mind does.
Daniel’s left eye had been twitching since morning.
He wasn’t a superstitious man, but when life is in turmoil, even reason looks for omens.

On another day, he would’ve shrugged it off — determined to make a bad morning better as the day went on.
But not today.

All night, Daniel had simmered from a bitter argument with his ex-wife — the kind that replays long after the words end.
“There’s so much in common between evil and Eve,” he muttered when she’d shown up that morning — with her new partner.

His thoughts were sharp, restless. To escape them, he drove without direction, trying to reassure himself that “the world isn’t ending — there must still be kind, rational people out there.”

After an hour of aimless driving, he spotted a small café glowing with warm morning light. For a moment, he thought a cup of coffee might calm the storm inside him.

Inside, the air smelled of fresh bread and quiet — two things Daniel felt he no longer understood.
He told himself, “This will be a happy day. No matter what.”

He sat near the counter, ordered coffee, and noticed the room — a mix of college students on laptops, friends chatting softly before work.
All men, he realized.
Maybe that’s why it felt so peaceful.

And then, he saw her.
A woman sat by the window, reading a book, utterly at peace.
There was something infuriating about her calmness — as if life itself had placed her there to mock him, to remind him of all the grace he’d lost.

Before he could stop himself, he said aloud, his voice cutting through the café:
“Today,” he declared loudly, “is the first day of the rest of my life! Coffee and muffins for everyone — except that woman!”

The waiter blinked, unsure if he’d heard right.
But Daniel’s face left no room for questions.

Moments later, the café hummed with quiet delight. Trays of muffins appeared on tables — for everyone except her.

The woman looked up from her book. Their eyes met. And then, to his surprise — she smiled.
“Thank you,” she said gently.

Daniel felt irritation rise. He was expecting her to react the way his wife would have.
“Fine! Add pastries for everyone — except her!”

Again, the woman smiled. Again, she said, “Thank you.”

Confusion replaced anger. Maybe all women aren’t the same, he thought to himself.
He got up and approached the window, half-demanding, half-pleading,
“What’s wrong with you, lady? I keep excluding you, and you keep thanking me!”

The waiter, who had stepped closer anticipating trouble, leaned in and said softly, with a knowing smile,
“She’s not upset, sir. She owns this café.”

Daniel froze.
For a second, the air itself seemed to laugh. Then, a chuckle escaped him — the first in weeks.

“I do own the café,” she said softly. “But that’s beside the point. I’ve learned not to lose my inner peace just because someone else has lost theirs. My peace is my own.”

Sometimes life holds up a mirror in the strangest ways.
We strike out at others to soothe our own pain — and life gently shows us how foolish that is.

He looked at her once more and, for the first time, saw that she looked nothing like his ex-wife.
She was simply a woman by the window — and he, perhaps, was finally ready to heal.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my story. I hope it left you with a moment of reflection — do visit again for more such tales of life and perspective.

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🌿 Read Reflect Rejoice

Between No and Yes

 

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Our children have a particular advantage when it comes to turning a parent’s “no” into a “yes.”
They play with emotions — pleading eyes, gentle persistence, and the disarming charm of a smile.
It’s persuasion in its purest, most instinctive form.

But that equation doesn’t quite work in the real world.

The other day, while sitting at a street-side café, I watched young vendors weave through the crowd, their voices soft but assured. They moved with purpose — gestures measured, never too forceful, never too timid.

They seemed to understand, almost intuitively, that between a “no” and a “yes” lies a space — a space where persuasion lives. And they knew just how to move within it: how warmth could turn hesitation into agreement, and how pressing too hard could turn that same hesitation into refusal.

It made me think about how persuasion works far beyond sales. Whether in boardrooms, relationships, or everyday conversations, influence isn’t about pressure — it’s about presence. It’s about sensing the invisible boundary between interest and irritation, between trust and resistance.

Persuasion, at its best, is an art of balance — knowing when to speak, when to listen, and when to let silence do the work.

A “no” is rarely final. More often, it’s a pause — a sign that the listener has reservations, needs more clarity, or simply seeks to protect their sense of control. Persuasion lives in this space between certainty and hesitation. It isn’t manipulation — it’s understanding, the patient art of aligning perspectives rather than overpowering them.

Recognizing when persuasion will work — and when it won’t — is a quiet mark of wisdom. A hesitant “maybe,” a thoughtful silence, or a request for more information are signs that dialogue is alive. But when the “no” is firm, repeated, or emotionally charged, persistence can only close the door further. In such moments, respect becomes the highest form of persuasion.

Ultimately, persuasion is less about changing minds than about creating connections. Between “no” and “yes” lies not a battlefield but a bridge.

And perhaps that’s what both the young vendor on the street and the child at home already understand:
that persuasion’s secret lies not in the push, but in the pause —
in knowing when to stop, smile, and simply wait.

Thank you for taking the time to read.
If this reflection resonated with you, I invite you to return for more whenever you can create an opportunity..
Until then, stay curious — and may every “no” in your life lead you a little closer to understanding.

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💬 Read Reflect Rejoice

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

 

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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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Read Reflect Rejoice

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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