gratitude

Sempur Gratus

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I look out of the window, having taken a pause today.

The road winds on, quietly and without pause. Life isn’t a straight highway; it’s a tangle of detours, pit stops, and serendipitous turns. At each bend, someone appears.

Some walk with you for a few meters, sharing a word or a smile before drifting away. Others stay for a few kilometers, steady companions on a shared path. And a rare few walk into the horizon with you, step by step, for a lifetime.

Sometimes, they chatter incessantly, filling the journey with laughter and stories. At other times, they walk in solemn silence, their presence speaking louder than words. And their silence, a quiet reassurance that they are with you.

The rhythm of life often finds itself somewhere in between—a blend of conversation, reflection, connection and the unspoken comfort of simply being.

The journey offers all kinds of moments: the rough seas that test your strength and the islands of calm that invite you to pause. The smile of a stranger, the nod of acknowledgment from a fellow runner, and the extended arm of an unknown helper—each adding a quiet beauty to the winding road.

Through it all, Sempur Gratus—Latin for “ever grateful”—is a gentle reminder. Grateful for the people who stayed, those who passed through, and the moments that made it all meaningful. For the chatter, the silence, and the steady companionship of life’s rhythm.

Life isn’t about grand gestures or monumental events. It’s about these small, imperfect moments that string together to create something extraordinary.

Sempur Gratus. Ever grateful. For the road, the companions, and the story that continues to unfold, one moment at a time.

Teachers Make The World

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I have been fortunate with winning the teacher lottery. Every year, there is a jackpot of some sort. Perhaps it is a consequence of winning an early jackpot and then enjoying the spoils year after year. With copious fresh additions! Maybe, my teachers in early life have taught me tricks to hit jackpot every year.

A quick accosting of my memory bank surfaces multiple instances where what they taught me back then stays with me and guides me. And has added on to the memory of the day.

“Be the best you can be. And remember, there is ‘better’ beyond your ‘best’. Always.” A hand written note after a play said.

“Stay kind”, another teacher had said. “Help people”. In December 1992. When he spotted me really upset on a sepulchral day.

“Stay curious. You are dead without it”. Another said.

“If I catch you slacking, I am coming after you. No matter where you are”. Said the Biology teacher after I won a quiz competition.

Time after time, they saw in me what I didn’t see. They looked at a scruffy imperfect chap but always looked beyond the imperfections. They pointed me to an eternal spring of hope and promise. That keeps me going.

And one wise lady who pulled me at the end of the year, gave me a hug and said, “Stay thankful”. I want to tell her and all my other teachers from the past and present, that I try. Every year.

Teachers

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Teachers make a difference. Chief amongst all the blessings I have have had is having good teachers in life. Kind giants, if you will, who lend their broad shoulders for me to clamber on.

Many have been teaching me formally. That is their task. They get me to understand concepts and ideas. But where they stand much taller, is that they have made me a seeker long after they have moved on to other students.

There are others who didn’t / don’t have a formal role of being a teacher. Yet, by their way of being, humble and curious, they stay profound. They shape me.

Teachers take other forms. Friends. Team mates. Help. Mentors. Teachers. Coaches. Partners. Clients. Colleagues. Managers. Professors. Family. Kids. Etc.

As I toggle my memory today, I realise that the teachers who have been getting me interested in whatever I learn have been the ones that are primarily interested in me. They have prodded and nudged. Sometimes pushed and shoved.

Always helping me stretch far beyond where a point that I would have stopped without them doing so! Most others times, my teachers have made it interesting for me to take one more step. Without judging me on the outcomes I had to show for it.

My father, sat me down one day, decades ago and spoke of Gibran. I remember a setting Sun and strong filter coffee as we discussed these lines

No man can reveal to you aught but that
which already lies half asleep in the dawn-
ing of your knowledge.    

The teacher who walks in the shadow of
the temple, among his followers, gives not
of his wisdom but rather of his faith and
his lovingness.    

If he is indeed wise he does not bid you
enter the house of his wisdom, but rather
leads you to the threshold of your own
mind.   

The astronomer may speak to you of his
understanding of space, but he cannot give
you his understanding.
.
.
For the vision of one man lends not its
wings to another man.

And as we sat with those last lines, I remember him talking about the need to be ready to receive. But to stay present to the responsibility of building my own wings.

That is exactly what every teacher who has been part of my life has nudged me to do. In their own ways.

On a rained out day like today, I sit and ponder how many lifetimes it would take to repay the generosity of my teachers.