SAAMAKSHI MEDIUM

Luck. We talk about it like it’s a lottery ticket. Like some people are born with it, and the rest of us are left watching them win while we’re stuck in traffic, spilling chai on our white shirt. But here’s a wild idea: Maybe being lucky has nothing to do with the situation at all. Maybe it has  everything  to do with how you look at it. Because when life throws something unexpected your way, you always have two choices: You can say “Oh no.” Or you can say “Thank God.” That tiny moment is the real turning point. That’s where luck begins. Not in what happens, but in what you  believe about what happens. Let me explain. Ever missed a flight and later found out there was a delay that would’ve ruined your next connection anyway? Ever gotten rejected from a job, only to stumble into something better a few weeks later? That moment when you say,  “Wow, that actually worked out for me” that’s not random. That’s grace. That’s a hint from life that you’re being guided, even wh...

We are taught from the very beginning that life must have a purpose. That to be worthy, we must be striving toward something - building, earning, fixing, achieving, arriving. And so we move forward, setting goals, naming dreams, attaching meaning to every moment in hopes that one day, we’ll look back and feel it all added up to something solid, something noble, something complete. But life is not a formula to be solved. It is not a single thread with a final knot. It is a tapestry that keeps weaving itself through us, with no fixed pattern and no finished state. The idea that there must be one great purpose often creates more suffering than clarity. It makes us feel we are failing, even when we are simply living. It convinces us that if we don’t have a singular direction, we must be lost. But you are not lost. You are  here . You are in motion. And that is enough. Some seek purpose in achievement, in the pursuit of success, in the grand plans of building an empire. Others seek it i...

There’s something quietly breaking inside many of us. We love, we try, we give. But something still feels off. Our relationships feel heavy. Effortful. We find ourselves misunderstanding, pulling away, or just… going through the motions. Why? Because somewhere along the way, we stopped honouring our  core,  our dharma. We forgot who we are at the deepest level, and began living from roles, patterns, expectations, and wounds. And when we forget who we are, how can we truly meet another? Shiva and Shakti are not just deities. They are energies. Archetypes. Reflections of  you  and  me . The masculine and feminine forces that exist in all things. In every one of us. Shiva is consciousness. Intention. The stillness. The structure. Shakti is energy. Emotion. Creation. The movement. The flow. One without the other is incomplete. Let’s make it simple. To create a child, you need both: Shiva’s seed and Shakti’s womb. One without the other cannot create life. But this ap...

There is no better day to say thank you than today. Guru Purnima is not just a celebration of one teacher or one lesson. It is a recognition of all the wisdom that has touched us - through people, pain, silence, success, and surrender. It is a bow to the unseen classroom we live in every day. And above all, it is a gentle reminder that we’ve never truly been alone in our becoming. What is a Guru? Maybe it’s not always a person with answers. Sometimes, it’s just the moment when a question bends in front of truth, the curve of curiosity humbling itself to wisdom. A Guru is where the question ends, and the transformation begins. Sometimes it's a book. Sometimes it's a heartbreak. Sometimes it's a stranger whose presence altered your direction without even knowing it. So today, thank you. Not just to the formal teachers, but to everyone who has ever unknowingly contributed to who I’ve become. My parents, my friends, colleagues, managers, those who challenged me, and those who s...

The other day, I was sharing something small with my husband — just a simple moment, something that happened in passing with another mom. But as I spoke it out loud, I paused. I realised the story I was narrating wasn’t just about what happened. It was about how I saw it. How I felt it. It was  my  version of the moment. My perception wrapped around the facts. And suddenly, the insight came in: nothing we experience is ever entirely real in the way we think. Because what happened has already happened. It’s gone. The moment doesn’t live anymore, except in how we carry it, how we replay it, how we choose to give it shape again through words and memory. There’s no measurement to the past. It cannot be weighed or proven. And if that’s true, then there is no real past, and no defined future either. Only this. This very moment, this breath, this now. Everything that matters is always happening here. But we don’t live like that, do we? We drag the past around, tying events together l...

What offends you, what moves you, what you tolerate and what you don’t—these are not flaws or preferences. They are the fingerprints of your story. Humour to one is hostility to another. What you find disrespectful, someone else may find familiar. There is no universal scale for pain or dignity. That is the great myth. We’ve tried to grade boundaries like exams, forgetting that our boundaries were born from different childhoods, different wounds, different silences. So what we call “too sensitive,” or “too harsh,” or “too soft” are often just people living at the edge of their own survival. In a job, one person might say “yes sir” out of generational humility, his father, his grandfather, all men who bowed before they spoke. Another might challenge every order, not out of ego, but because silence once cost them their self-worth. Neither is wrong. Both are boundary stories, lived in different dialects. In families, what one calls duty, another sees as control. What feels like respect to...

I don’t know where it started, really. Maybe in the middle of a podcast, or while half-asleep reading some book on consciousness. Or maybe it was just silence, the kind that hums behind your thoughts when you're tired of chasing clarity. But there it was—this simple, almost stupid realisation: All I’m doing is collecting information. Not wisdom. Not enlightenment. Not truth with a capital T. Just... data. Facts. Patterns. Perspectives. Even the most moving quote or profound philosophy—still just information. And here's the thing. We dress it up, don’t we? Call it intelligence. Say someone has sharp memory, analytical mind, high EQ, spiritual insight. But isn’t it all just information rearranged and re-accessed in different ways to get through life? Like a pen drive, really. A pen drive filled with folders labelled “childhood,” “beliefs,” “traumas,” “desires,” “books read,” “teachers followed,” “Instagram quotes,” “late-night journal entries.” All of it stored. All of it running...

It begins quietly. Not with ceremony, not with structure, not even with certainty. It begins in a moment when your breath catches - just slightly - and you find yourself pausing, not because someone told you to, but because something inside you finally asked for stillness. Meditation is not a skill to master; it is not a badge to wear or a routine to perfect. It is the earliest sign that you are listening. It is the invitation to meet your own presence without judgment. And that moment, that first flicker of awareness is the beginning of everything. We often dress spirituality in layers : disciplines, rules, practices, rights and wrongs. But the true spiritual path is not about doing; it is about noticing. It is not built on the bones of rituals but on the softness of your own seeing. It has nothing to do with impressing society or improving your wellness score; it has everything to do with remembering how to be in awe. Awe does not need a script. It arrives in the middle of a mundane ...

Every now and then, someone will tell me, “I’m tired of thinking positive. It feels fake, like I’m lying to myself.” And I always pause before I respond, because I remember exactly what that feels like. I remember when I first started my journey with affirmations. I plastered sticky notes all over my mirror :  I am enough, I am worthy, I am loved.  I wanted to believe them so badly. But some mornings, I’d look into my own eyes and feel nothing. Or worse, resistance. That quiet voice inside would whisper,  stop bullshitting yourself.  And that voice… that was the real block. Not the lack of affirmations. But the presence of disbelief. Because if deep within you, there’s still a knot of old stories -  I’m not lovable. I’m not capable. Good things don’t happen to people like me,  then no matter how many times you repeat a beautiful sentence, it won’t land. It’s like pouring water over concrete, hoping something will grow. That’s when I learned: positive though...

Are we addicted to chaos? The sacred stillness we keep avoiding. You can motivate. You can inspire. You can hold space. But you cannot make the change. That moment must be born from within - not coerced, not explained into existence. Transformation is not a transaction. It is an awakening. And like all awakenings, it arrives in its own time, when the soul is ready to remember. We live in a world obsessed with control - of outcomes, of people, of ourselves. But control is not power. It is the illusion of safety. Real power begins the moment we surrender the need to direct everything and instead, listen. This is where healing begins - not with effort, but with acceptance. Acceptance not as resignation, but as recognition: this is what is, now. In that still point, transformation begins. We have become so used to noise. So used to rushing, explaining, fixing. We are addicted to chaos, not because we love suffering, but because it’s familiar. Stillness, on the other hand, feels dangerous. ...

What would you do if you were no longer afraid? If your bank account were full, your family cared for, your future sealed in the soft certainty of enough, what then? Would you still run? Would you wake with the same urgency? Would you check your phone within seconds, race through breakfast, and offer your peace as payment for ambition? Or would you pause? Would you remember what light feels like on your skin? Would you sit beside a window, or pick up something you left behind years ago : an old paintbrush, a poem, a dream? They say, “Do what you love.” But love is not loud. It doesn’t compete for attention. It lives in quiet corners and asks only for your presence. The problem is not that people don’t want to live meaningfully, it’s that they’re tired. Tired from running in circles that promise everything and give back so little of what matters. You hear it often: “If I had enough money, I’d do nothing.” But what they mean is:  I want to stop surviving. They long not for stillness,...

If I asked you,  “Tell me about yourself,”  what would you say? You might smile politely and begin listing the usual things: your name, your job, where you live, maybe what you like to do on weekends. And I’d nod, of course. But what if I gently asked again: No titles No roles No labels No timelines No definitions Now, tell me about yourself. It’s not such an easy question anymore, is it? We spend so much of our lives being introduced to ourselves through the eyes of the world. We are told who we are, how to be, what to become. We build ourselves around labels like stones: daughter, manager, Hindu, artist, overachiever, dreamer. We begin to think these bricks are the house. But they’re just the outer walls. The deeper truth of who you are is not in your bio or résumé or in the roles you juggle with grace each day. It's not in what you do or what you believe. It's not even in the stories you’ve told yourself to make sense of your life. So, who are you underneath? What remains w...

Let’s be honest—whenever we do something, there’s almost always an expectation attached. Even when we do something nice, somewhere in the back of our minds, we’re thinking, ‘How does this benefit me?’ Maybe it’s wanting better attention from a partner, more love, a little extra appreciation. Or at work, it could be a better position, a raise, or just wanting to be seen. Everything becomes a transaction, a silent tally of effort versus reward. But what if the whole point wasn’t about getting something back? What if the act itself was the purpose, and the outcome was already taken care of? That sounds absurd, right? Like, what’s the point of working hard if you don’t know what you’re getting? But that’s exactly the paradox. The less you obsess over the result, the more things flow in ways you never imagined. There’s an old story in the Vedas about a conversation between Krishna and Arjuna. Arjuna was stuck—afraid to take action because he didn’t want to face the consequences. He was tang...

Success is not measured in wealth, titles, or relationships. It is not something you acquire, but something you  become . The people we admire—those who move through life with a quiet, effortless grace—haven’t followed a rigid formula. They have understood something deeper. Success is not in what you get, but in what you create. And to truly succeed, only two things matter. You create every day. Not just in the grand pursuits, but in the small, unnoticed moments. In how you speak, in how you listen, in how you respond to life. Every moment is an opportunity to bring something alive—a conversation, an idea, a feeling, an effort. But creation is not repetition. Doing the same job, following the same schedule, walking the same steps every day is not creation—it is merely  a replication of yesterday . And in a controlled environment, even predictable actions do not guarantee the same results. A child wakes up on time, so they go to bed on time, and the rest of the day falls into p...

I get a toffee for my daughter, and for her, it’s the most magical surprise. Her eyes light up, she giggles, and wraps her tiny arms around me in a hug that speaks volumes. There is wonder in the way she finds her missing eraser and laughs as if it were a grand adventure. She holds a tiny vegetable bug fearlessly, letting it walk on her finger, while I take a step back.  Before leaving for school, she bends down to give the plants a goodbye kiss, and when a tiny bud appears, she celebrates as if she had whispered life into existence. I see her chatting with our beta fish, asking if he feels lonely and if he wants to play. She climbs up the window, eyes shining, peering at the pigeon eggs, excitedly narrating their journey from shell to sky. She finds a simple rock on the sidewalk and proclaims it the most unique treasure she's ever seen. Children are already in the dance of life, twirling, skipping, and embracing the beauty of the ordinary. Their hearts beat in rhythm with the univ...

We say we want the truth, but do we? When we ask someone to tell us the truth, we are only hearing their version—what they’ve seen, how they’ve felt, the way they’ve processed reality through their own mind. And yet, we argue over it, as if truth were something solid, something universal. But it’s not. It never has been. The Illusion of Reality Think about a conversation—any conversation. Two people sit across from each other, talking, listening, but are they really hearing the same thing? No two people see the world the same way. One sees chaos where the other sees opportunity. One hears criticism where another hears care. Every exchange is a reflection of the speaker’s mind, their experiences, their past. So are we ever really connecting? Or are we just syncing up with someone’s personal brand of imagination? We don’t find people we understand—we find people whose illusions match ours. Relationships, friendships, even fleeting connections happen not because we’ve discovered some gran...