The True Meaning of Luxury

 

Clint Eastwood once remarked:
“Don’t look for luxury in watches or bracelets. Don’t look for luxury in villas or sailboats. Luxury is laughter and friends. Luxury is rain on your face. Luxury is hugs and kisses. Luxury is being loved by people. Luxury is being respected. Luxury is what money can’t buy.”

His words cut through the glitter of modern consumerism, reminding us that the richest treasures in life are rarely found in shop windows. Real luxury is intangible — moments, relationships, and feelings that can’t be purchased, yet enrich us immeasurably.

But there’s another layer to what we call “luxury.”

Take mechanical watches, for example. Their craftsmanship is exquisite, their presence timeless. Yet, keeping them alive is a ritual — winding, setting, maintaining, and wearing them regularly. If you own more than one, the routine multiplies. Their beauty depends on your attention. Yes, you can buy an automatic winding case, but that almost defeats the purpose — the connection between your hand and the heartbeat of the watch.

And your love — or perhaps obsession — with these intricate toys keeps you from buying a smartwatch “for convenience.” There’s also that quiet guilt, the feeling of betraying something you cherish.

The same is true for fountain pens. Their grace lies not just in design, but in devotion. You must write with them often, refill the ink, clean the nib. Leave them untouched too long, and they dry up — elegance here is inseparable from effort.
And just like your watch, your affection for these pens keeps you from trading them for an iPad and Apple Pencil. It’s love, mixed with loyalty — and maybe a touch of guilt again.

Maybe that’s the hidden truth: material luxury always demands something from us. Time. Care. Presence. The irony is that while these objects promise refinement, they often consume the very peace and leisure they symbolize.

And so, Eastwood’s words echo even deeper — if caring for possessions begins to cost us the moments that define life itself, then what’s left of luxury?

Because in the end, real luxury isn’t winding a watch or filling a pen.
It’s the freedom to pause, to smile, and to laugh in the rain with the people you love.
That is the true meaning of luxury in modern life — not what we own, but how deeply we live.

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The Still Mind: How to Begin Meditating (Part 2)

 

When I published the previous post on why we need meditation, I didn’t imagine life would underline it so poignantly so soon. Just a few days later, we lost a dear friend — someone who epitomised life, laughter, and warmth.

Now, meditation feels even more urgent — not as a philosophy, but as a lifeline. It has calmed my mind for years, but now it feels like a calling — to share, to remind others that peace of mind is no longer a luxury; it’s survival.

Contrary to what many believe, meditation is not religion, and it is not complicated. Despite its Indian origin, I learned it from a Turkish colleague — sitting quietly in my parked car. She shared what she had learned from an Indian guru: the simple art of following the breath.

That’s how meditation truly spreads — one calm soul passing the flame of awareness to another.

In the early days, meditation can feel confusing. What am I doing? or even Am I doing anything at all?
Well, that’s the precise point — not to do anything. Let the mind settle. It will wander, resist, and tempt you to give up — that’s normal.

There are a few simple tools that make it easier to begin:

Image lock — Focus on one image, real or imagined, and gently bring your attention back each time it drifts.
Time lock — Choose a small, regular time each day to sit — even five minutes — and stick to it.
Space lock — Use the same corner or chair so the mind begins to associate it with quiet. You’d be amazed how much is happening within you once the noise of the mind subsides.

Observe your breath — Sit quietly, even on your couch, and simply follow your breath. Inhale and exhale. Watch the air move in and out, feel your body absorb and release.
Let thoughts drift — Allow your thoughts to sail away like passing clouds. You don’t have to control them. Just watch, pause, and let them go.

In time, meditation becomes part of life itself — in traffic, at work, even in moments of worry.

Meditation doesn’t remove life’s chaos — it changes how we meet it. The storms stay, but we learn to stand still within them.

(If you haven’t read Part 1 —  The Still Mind: Why We Need Meditation More Than Ever— you may find it a good place to start.)

🕉️ Meditation for beginners isn’t about perfection — it’s about presence. Start small, stay consistent, and you’ll soon discover how mindfulness transforms not just your calm, but your clarity, focus, and joy in everyday life.

The Still Mind: Why We Need Meditation More Than Ever

 

Photo by Felipe Borges: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-meditating-on-rock-2597205/

My heart cries every other day when I read about young people collapsing in the gym, in the office, or taking their own lives — unable to cope with the pressure. That is when we see the need to wonder:

How do some people remain calm and composed?
How do they keep their focus when everything around them feels chaotic?
How do they manage to stay present while so many others sink into the past or drift toward the future?

We spend our waking hours juggling thoughts, deadlines, and notifications. Our minds run faster than our bodies ever could. Even in moments of rest, our thoughts rarely stop spinning — replaying the past or rehearsing the future. It’s no wonder so many of us feel restless, distracted, and unable to truly live in the moment.

There are many reasons for this modern unease, and some are more severe than others.
First, information overload — we consume more in a day than our ancestors did in a lifetime.
Second, constant comparison — social media convinces us that everyone else is happier, higher-achieving, more successful.
And third, seeking external validation — in a world obsessed with self-promotion, we look to others to tell us how great we are.

It’s not that we take this lightly — we try to cope. We go for walks, listen to music, scroll mindlessly, or read motivational quotes. These soothe us for a while, but they only distract the mind; they rarely reach the root cause.

What we truly crave is silence — not the absence of sound, but the quieting of the mind.

This is where meditation enters — neither an exotic ritual nor a passing trend, but an ancient practice of inner balance and mindfulness. For thousands of years, seekers and sages have turned inward to find clarity beyond words, stillness beyond thought, and peace beyond pleasure.

At its core, meditation is the practice of training the mind to become aware — of thoughts, emotions, and sensations — without being controlled by them. It’s not about escaping life, but engaging with it more consciously. It’s about recognising that thoughts and worries are like clouds drifting across the sky — observe them, and let them pass, without being swept away.

Over time, the practice helps us regain focus, reduce stress, build emotional resilience, and reconnect with our inner peace.

We may not be able to slow down the world around us, but we can learn to slow down within it. And that stillness — that sacred pause — is where real transformation begins.

In an age that glorifies speed and distraction, meditation reminds us to return to what is timeless — our breath, our awareness, our calm. In the next part, we’ll explore simple yet profound ways to begin this practice and experience the stillness within.

Croisé dans le métro

 

I can’t quite remember where I first came across it — perhaps while aimlessly browsing one quiet evening — but it struck me as something unconventionally romantic. It was a website, now sadly inactive, called Croisé dans le métro — “crossed in the metro.” The idea was simple, yet deeply human. Strangers who met eyes, smiled briefly, exchanged glances, or shared a few silent moments on the Paris Metro could later leave a message online — a note of recognition, curiosity, or affection, perhaps even an invitation to connect — for the person they couldn’t gather the courage to speak to.

It took me back to my own youth, to my days in Delhi, commuting as a student and later to work. Back then, the city didn’t have a metro, but the public transport — the chartered buses — carried a world within them: students, clerks, dreamers, and strangers from every corner of India. Some faces became familiar over time — the girl who always sat near the window, the lady who read a novel, the man lost in his magazine, the group of friends laughing too loud. Occasionally, glances lingered longer than usual, and a small story began — not in words, but in imagination.

These people were real, flesh-and-blood fellow travellers, but their connections remained suspended somewhere between reality and reverie — imagined, fragile, and transient. Perhaps it was shyness, upbringing, or the quiet reserve of the city itself that kept those stories unspoken. They existed only in the mind, as possibilities that never took shape.

Paris, the city of romance, had found a way to preserve such moments — to give them wings, a second life through words on a billboard. Delhi, and perhaps most other cities, let them dissolve quietly into memory.

In today’s world of smartphones, endless chats, and swipes, I wonder how much has really changed for those shy, introverted souls. Do they ever look up from their screens to notice who’s around them? Do the eyes still meet, until they no longer remain strangers?

Maybe the tools have changed, but not the heart. There will always be that spark — a stranger’s smile, a passing glance, a story that might have been. Whether on a Paris Metro or a Delhi bus, something in us still pauses, still imagines.

Somewhere, in some form, Croisé dans le métro continues — not as a website, but as a quiet, persistent longing that technology can’t quite erase.

Croisé dans le métro

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Rescued by Lions: The Ethiopian Girl in Despair

 

Photo credit Lurii Lvashchenko @ pexels

In June 2005, in the highlands of southwestern Ethiopia, a twelve-year-old girl was walking home from school when her world changed.

A group of men seized her—intent on forcing her into marriage, a practice that still lingered in parts of the countryside. They took her deep into the forest and held her there, her cries lost among the trees.

Somewhere nearby, three lions heard those cries.

Perhaps they mistook the sound for that of a cub in distress. Perhaps it stirred something instinctive—protective—in their wild hearts. Whatever the reason, the lions appeared, roaring through the clearing. The men fled, terrified.

Then, something even more astonishing happened.

The lions did not harm the girl. They stood around her, silent and watchful, keeping guard for hours until police and villagers arrived. Only then did they slip back into the wilderness, their vigil complete.

Was it pure chance that the lions came? Or was it the Universe answering in its mysterious way — in the name of destiny?

The locals might have believed that the spirits of her ancestors had sent the beasts to protect her. Perhaps, through the lens of faith, the girl and the lions shared a connection from a life before this one.
Who can truly tell where mercy comes from, or through whom it chooses to arrive — when it is, after all, divine intervention?

Ethiopian girl reportedly guarded by lions

Kidnapped girl 'rescued' by lions

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Refilling Pen, Recharging Life

A friend once said he was stepping out to buy a pair of ink cartridges for his fountain pen.

His wife looked at him, amused, and said, “Why don’t you just order a dozen online and keep them in your drawer? It’ll be cheaper, quicker, and hassle-free.”

He smiled, pretended not to hear her, and went out anyway.

Because it wasn’t really about the cartridges. It was about the quiet joy of stepping out — seeing people, exchanging smiles, hearing the city hum. On his little errand, he met a few friendly faces, waved at a passing school van, admired a couple of cute babies, and even asked a stranger what the name of the lovely brown Shih Tzu she had.

By the time he came home, he had his pen refills — and a handful of tiny, human moments that made his day richer than any online order ever could.

There’s a quiet moral there: we’re not just here to tick boxes and get things done. We’re here to wander a little — to move, to notice, to connect.

Sure, technology makes life easier. You can have a dozen cartridges delivered to your doorstep without leaving your couch. But in that convenience, we often lose the beauty of wandering, of bumping into life by accident — and close the opportunity to go out again once the ink gets exhausted.

We are, after all, social animals — meant to move, to feel, to be part of the world around us.

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A Simple Gesture, A Lasting Impression

 

Photo Credit: #ReadReflectRejoice

I went to the bank yesterday, and the staff was very helpful in guiding me on what to do and how to do it. He made the necessary copies of my ID and passport, took my signature, and directed me to wait for my turn to meet the officer who would complete the process. So, I waited there with the ticket from the calling system in my hand.

However, there was a small problem — both the display screen and the announcements were in Arabic, a language I don’t understand.

I looked around for any sign of another display that would post the token numbers in English, but there was none. As I stood there unsure of what to do next, a young man noticed my confusion. Without me even asking, he kindly offered to help and asked me to wait near him so he could alert me when it was my turn. True to his word, he did just that. I met the officer, and my task was completed smoothly — all’s well that ends well, as they say.

Walking out of the bank, I couldn’t help but feel grateful. In a world that often feels divided and harsh, it’s these small, spontaneous gestures that restore our faith in humanity. That young man didn’t have to help me — but he did. And in doing so, he reminded me that goodness still exists quietly all around us.

Kindness doesn’t demand a reward, nor does it seek recognition. It simply flows — from one person to another — creating invisible threads that hold our world together.

So, the next time you see someone in need, take a moment to help. You never know — your small act of kindness might be the reminder someone needs that humanity still shines bright. 

Let’s keep this beautiful chain of goodwill alive, one thoughtful gesture at a time.

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