hope

Trust, Scars, and Stormy Places

I have seen flowers come in stormy places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces,
And the gold cup win by the worst horse at the races
So I trust, too.
John Masefield.

Life is messy, unpredictable, and occasionally brilliant. Stormy places can grow flowers. Horses you’d bet against can take home the gold. The world isn’t always what it seems, and that’s precisely why it’s worth sticking around.

How you see it, though, depends a lot on where you stand. The lenses you wear—shaped by your past, your scars, and your hopes—colour everything. Storms might look like chaos to one person and necessary rain to another. The trick isn’t to pretend you’re lens-free but to recognise the tint. To pause and ask, “Is this how things are, or just how I see them?”

And then, there’s trust. Not the kind you offer blindly, but the kind you live with—a quiet understanding that life, for all its storms, has a way of working things out. Trust is sitting with uncertainty, even when it’s uncomfortable. It’s knowing that flowers can grow through cracks and that a “no-hope” horse might just surprise you.

Hope isn’t naïve. It’s stubborn. It keeps you showing up, even when the odds don’t look great. It reminds you that the scars you carry aren’t just wounds—they’re proof you’ve lived through storms before.

That’s my note to myself. For today.

Stay alive to the oddities.

Be present to what’s in front of you, even if it doesn’t fit your map.

Trust that the story is unfolding as it should.

And keep an eye out for flowers. They show up in the strangest places.

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

– By Emily Dickinson

Hope is like a quiet companion, always there when you need it most. It doesn’t shout or demand attention, but it has a way of showing up in the darkest moments, whispering that things can get better.

Dead inside. Numb. Frozen. Beaten. And yet, alive—because of a tiny trickle of hope. It’s not loud or grand, but it’s enough. Enough to keep going, to take one more step, even when the road ahead seems not just endless, but stripped of purpose and meaning.

If we are blessed enough, we can access hope. If it feels out of reach as it can sometimes, hopefully, there will be a hope to find hope.

Hope isn’t loud or flashy, but it’s stubborn and steady. It lingers through monsoon downpours, scorching heat, and bone-chilling cold, offering a quiet push to hold on. To whatever.

That’s hope—it changes the game.

Hope

The life of an entrepreneur has shortfalls aplenty. The one shortfall an entrepreneur can’t afford to have in life is that of hope!

When hope is lost, there is nothing left to lose. Life sustains on hope.

In his book The Principle of Hope, Ernst Bloch writes

“It is a question of learning hope. Its work does not renounce, it is in love with success rather than failure. Hope, superior to fear, is neither passive like the latter, nor locked into nothingness. The emotion of hope goes out of itself, makes people broad instead of confining them, cannot know nearly enough of what it is that makes them inwardly aimed, of what may be allied to them outwardly. The work of this emotion requires people who throw themselves actively into what is becoming, to which they themselves belong.”

Ernst Bloch

The emotion of hope causes expansion. It goes beyond the immediate and sees something that is not very evident.

Do you need hope at the beginning or at the end of a journey? Well, hope is not a pre-requisite. Often times, looking at the past with a sense of gratitude, can provide great hope towards the future.

That’s a great start point for any journey. And all it takes for hope, as Rosemary Trommer’s poem holds is to be able to put one foot in front of the other.

Hope

And therefore when depleted of hope, the best thing to do is purposeful action. Thats even when clarity of the destination eludes. One step after the other. And if there is someone else to take that step along with, nothing like it!

That help refill the hope tank quite a bit.

I speak from personal experience! 🙂

At The End Of It All

We had an interesting conversation the other day about how it will be when “all this” is over. “All this” was a long list to it. Quarantine and Covid came first. But the bunch quickly moved into other potent and damning things like lives, livelihoods and work. So, ” what do you see at the end of it all ?”emerged as some kind of a hazy north star towards which the conversation meandered.

Like a boat that bobbed up and down guided by the waves, the more articulate threw the conversation around. The better informed provided data. Disagreement was the standard suite of the argumentative ones as was silence with the quiet ones.

Yet, it was a poem which sent the data to the deepest recesses of a lump in the throat that arrived without announcement. Stay silent and still, it seemed to urge.

Derek Walcott‘s “Love After Love” was brought alive by a silent someone in the group even as the conversation about jobs and careers was going full steam. Going downhill to never land that is!

He unmuted himself and the room fell silent as it was not his wont to unmute. A perky restrained smile made a quiet appearance in the corner of his lips. . “I lost my job last week”, he began. “The world looks different now, so much so, I wish it had happened to me earlier” he said.

And then, went on to read the poem.

The time will come 
when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other's welcome, 

and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self. 
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life.

“At the end of it all”, he said, “everything is new. And everything is a possibility. Because everything you knew as ‘The’ way, is now ‘A’ way. One of those ways.”

“So, at the end of it all, you can begin again. I have. For that reason, there must be more ends.” And that was that. That conversation. That settled the information abundance and the thought poverty. It dwarfed arguments and provided closure to hopes and fears. At least for that night.

There was nothing much left to speak. It was at the end of it all.

Small Bags. Big Wishes

Small bags, bright with turmeric, jingling with bangles, dance in the morning breeze. Tied to a tree, they catch the first rays of the sun—fluttering, whispering, waiting.

Each knot holds a wish. Each thread, a quiet prayer. A mother’s hope, a daughter’s dream, a whispered plea for health, love, or a future yet unseen.

In rural Tamil Nadu, faith isn’t just spoken—it is tied, woven, and left to sway with the wind. And as the sun rises, the colours shimmer, as if the universe itself is listening.

 (at Thiruchendur, India)

Idli Vada

The simplest foods change the mood inside the mind. Bring alive memories. And sometimes make you long to come back for good. The food pipe is the best route on the map of life! ..

Oh. What I not do for Idli vada?

(at Bangalore, India)

Handcrafted

When effort surpasses reality, the picture isn’t one of suffering—it’s one of progress.

Look closely, and life isn’t just about enduring; it’s about adapting, creating, pushing forward. The human spirit isn’t wired for defeat—it is built to survive and overcome.

Seen this way, suffering takes a backseat to resilience, and struggle reveals itself as transformation.

In markets, “handcrafted” is a premium label, reserved for the unique and the carefully made. But for millions, handcrafting life is not a choice—it’s everyday survival.

Effort, persistence, and the refusal to give in—that’s the real handmade story.

Onward to a Joyful New Year

Here’s to a Happy New Year! May 2018 bring us endless opportunities to reinvent ourselves, grow, and move forward—together.

Let’s aim higher, not just for ourselves, but for the planet. Let’s leave it in better shape than we found it. Along the way, let’s smile more, laugh often, and embrace the simple joys of life.

And yes, let’s wag our tails a bit more—whether literally or metaphorically! Here’s to a year where we truly live, love, and make a difference. Onward!

Chaos, Order, and the Mind’s Eye

Chaos and order aren’t about what we see—they’re about how we see. A neatly stacked pile eventually topples. A tangled mess, given time, reveals its own quiet logic.

The most structured plan can unravel in seconds. The most chaotic moment can, strangely, feel just right. Maybe order is just a matter of patience, and chaos, a test of perspective.

Look closer. Beyond the clutter, beyond the randomness—there’s always a pattern waiting to be noticed.

At Tatanagar Station, a Man Who Spoke Through Stone

He sat there, unmoved by the rush of trains at Jamshedpur’s Tatanagar station. His craft lay at his feet, silent like him. His rustic look kept him company long after the train had left.

Our eyes met. His stare was vacant, words few.

But his hands had already spoken. In the carved stone pieces laid before him—each smoothed, shaped, and made to tell a tale. Stories etched in silence, held in the weight of his craft.

Some speak with words. Others let their hands do the talking.