SAAMAKSHI MEDIUM

There comes a moment, often subtle, often inconvenient, when you’re staring at an organisational chart, a power matrix, a hierarchy carved in lines and titles, and something shifts. You realise: Everyone wants respect. But not the kind that once came with titles or seating order or income brackets. Not the kind that stood on a podium and looked down. Not anymore. The hunger now is for something more elusive: A respect that feels like reverence. A presence that isn’t bought but felt. Not fear cloaked as obedience, But something softer, something kinder. And so, the question arises: Do we want respect, or do we crave control? Are we commanding reverence, or are we demanding submission? Too often, what we label as leadership is a theatre of dominance, Where voices are lowered to assert, not to listen. Where tone becomes a weapon. Where we build walls instead of bridges Because we’ve confused power with being feared. But what if we flipped the script? What if power lived in how gently we c...

There are moments in life when something clicks, not because someone taught it to you, but because you finally slowed down enough to see it. That happened to me recently. I was trying to “improve” myself. Again. Reading more, planning better, learning something new. Somewhere in the middle of that constant effort, a simple thought floated in:  What you are is what I am. At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. It sounded vague, maybe even too spiritual for my very practical to-do list. But I sat with it, and what I began to feel was this: we’re not all that different. Behind all the noise, we’re made of the same stuff. And more importantly, everything I admire in others—creativity, confidence, clarity - isn’t foreign. It already lives in me too. Maybe dormant. Maybe quiet. But not absent. That was the real shift. I didn’t need to become creative. I just had to stop assuming I wasn’t. So I stopped chasing the next big thing to master and asked myself a simpler question:  Wha...

There is a wisdom that doesn’t shout. It doesn’t arrive in a flash or demand attention. It waits, patiently, underneath the noise. We don’t hear it when we’re rushing, pushing, proving. We hear it when we soften, when we pause long enough to feel. For most of my life, I thought clarity came from control. If I could just organize the details, make the right moves, stay ahead of the unknown, I’d feel safe. But no matter how much I planned, the ache remained. That subtle tension in the chest. That constant anticipation of what might go wrong. I was holding my breath without even realizing it. Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to me. Not the kind that sleep fixes, but the kind that lives in the soul when it’s been too long since it felt held. In that place of weariness, I didn’t find answers. I found something better. I found quiet. It’s strange how uncomfortable stillness can feel at first. When we stop doing, our mind scrambles to fill the silence. But if you stay with it, if you resi...

We are taught early to seek fairness, as if the world runs on equal measure. Do good, and good will return. Offer kindness, and it will be returned in kind. We chase this invisible symmetry like a rhythm we’re meant to dance in, and when the beat slips, when something feels off, we call it unfair. We blame the world, or power, or systems. But sometimes the imbalance isn’t out there. It’s in what we hold back. We think fairness lives in rules, in being right, in keeping peace. But much of what we call peace is just unspoken tension. Quiet avoidance. We soften our words to be palatable. We laugh when something stings. We lower our voice when it should rise. Not because we don’t see the wrong, but because we fear what happens if we name it. We hold ourselves back. Not for their sake, but because deep down, we don’t yet trust that our truth will be met with love. When we do not trust ourselves, we look at others through that same lens. Every silence feels loaded. Every misstep, betrayal. W...

We’ve all been there. You sit down, close your eyes, and try to meditate. But the mind doesn’t listen. The list of things to do is louder than the silence you’re seeking. And slowly, guilt creeps in. You’ve heard the saints, the books, the teachers: “Meditate every morning, sit in stillness, find your center.” You want to. Truly, you do. But life isn’t always a quiet room with crossed legs. So what then? Does that mean you’ve failed at being spiritual? Let’s pause here. Isn’t the whole point of meditation to help us live better now? Not in some distant, enlightened future. Not in a Himalayan cave. But here, amid the deadlines, the mess, the unwashed dishes, the 8:15 train. Why do we imagine that inner peace must arrive through perfect routines? Why do we treat it like a destination rather than something that walks beside us every moment, waiting for us to notice? There’s an old story. Maybe you’ve heard it before. A priest, a learned Brahmin, spent his entire life in devotion. Not a si...

The Best Doesn’t Exist Everyone does their best. But “best” is a strange word, isn’t it? It sounds final. Superior. Like something that can be measured, ranked, or proven. But in truth,  the best doesn’t exist . It’s a shape we carve in our minds, based on what we want, what we value, what feels right to us. And yet we forget that. We look at others, partners, parents, friends, colleagues, and we think,  they could have done better . But maybe they were doing their best. Maybe it just didn’t match  your  idea of what "best" should look like. That’s the thing about comparison. It only lives in the mind. It creates separation where there is none. Distinction where there was only difference. We say,  this is better than that ,  this life is more successful ,  this love is deeper ,  this path is wiser . But the moment we start comparing, we step out of presence and into illusion. Because no two moments are the same. No two people have the same story. ...

We chase. We aim. We arrive. And before the echo of achievement has even settled, we are off again, eyes fixed on a new summit, feet already moving. It’s a rhythm so familiar, we forget to ask if the song is even ours. We’ve been told it’s not about the destination but the journey. But do we believe it? Or do we still measure our worth by milestones—job titles, spiritual growth, love returned, goals ticked off like boxes? The truth is, life was never about what we reached. It was always about how we walked. Who we became in the pursuit. What we softened into. What we dared to shed. Success, real success, doesn’t sit in a number or a finish line. It breathes in the spaces where you kept going despite not knowing. It lives in the early mornings you chose effort over excuses, the nights you sat quietly with your truth, and the tiny, invisible victories no one clapped for but you. It’s never been about the output. It has always, always been the input. Because life doesn’t judge you by what...