“Blessed are those gifted with hunger and food,

“Blessed are those gifted with hunger and food,
rest and a waiting bed,
and wealth that walks hand in hand with righteousness.”
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Dharma in the Cold

In the world’s harshest season,
a father stands still
so the future may move.

He does not rule by command
but by remaining.
He does not protect by force
but by endurance.

This is parenthood:
to place the fragile tomorrow
above one’s own hunger,
to offer warmth where no warmth exists,
to suffer invisibly
so another may begin.

This is leadership:
not the one who feeds first,
not the one who speaks loudest,
but the one who absorbs the storm
without letting the mission touch the ice.

This is dharma:
to hold what is entrusted to you
even when the body protests,
even when reward is absent,
even when recognition never arrives.

For sixty-four days the father teaches
what no scripture can fully explain:
duty is love disciplined by time.

The Upanishads do not shout this truth —
they whisper it:
That which sustains the world
stands unseen in silence.

So too, O human,
when your work feels thankless,
when your care is unnoticed,
when your hunger is real
and the night is long —

remember:
the future is often warmed
by someone who chose to stand still

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The Eternal Wait of Nandi

Nandi does not wait out of impatience.
He waits the way the mountain waits for dawn.

Eyes fixed on Shiva—not to see Him,
but to become ready for Him.

Centuries pass. Empires rise and crumble.
Still Nandi sits, unmoving,
because devotion is not an act with an end date—
it is a posture of the soul.

He faces the sanctum, not seeking entry.
For he knows:
those who rush inside often miss the Presence,
while those who wait are already within.

Nandi teaches a quiet dharma:
Strength kneels.
Power listens.
Action bows before awareness.

His stillness is not passivity.
It is disciplined alertness—
the readiness to move the instant the cosmos exhales a command.

In yogic truth, Nandi is the breath held gently between inhalation and exhalation.
In bhakti, he is faith without demand.
In life, he is patience purified of expectation.

To sit like Nandi
is to trust that Shiva will not arrive late—
only when we are finally still enough to receive Him.
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Dew Drops
A symbol of pristine mornings,
A drop of Earth’s tear that contains the Sun within.

It shows the air is still wet,
It shows it can still reflect.

Reflect on yesterday,
Yet dissolve by the day—
Yesterdays are to be dissolved in today’s.

They are the plants and trees holding their breath
At the tips of their leaves,
Awaiting the Sun to shine,
Awaiting a beautiful soul to touch,
Awaiting a third eye to behold.

Dew Drops
Quiet, innocent, and virgin—
The ones who seek you find their origin.