Solitude is a laboratory for discovering consciousness

 “Alexander David Neel”. She was a French-Belgian explorer, writer, Buddhist scholar, and the first Western woman known to have entered the forbidden city of Lhasa, Tibet, in the early 20th century.

 Alexandra David-Néel?

Born: 1868 in Saint-Mandé, France

Died: 1969 at age 100

Background: Opera singer, anarchist activist, Buddhist practitioner, linguist, and prolific travel writer

Spoke Tibetan fluently and studied Buddhist philosophy deeply.

She is best remembered for her extraordinary travels across Asia, especially her journey to Tibet.

Her Tibet Expedition

In the early 20th century, Tibet—especially its capital, Lhasa—was closed to foreigners. Entering without permission was dangerous and illegal for non-Tibetans.

The Journey (1911–1924)

David-Néel spent years wandering across Sikkim, India, Nepal, Bhutan, China, and Tibet, studying Buddhist practices.

She lived for a time in a Himalayan cave at 4,000 meters, practicing meditation and learning Tibetan customs.

She traveled with her adopted son and companion, the young Sikkimese lama Aphur Yongden.

Disguised Entry into Lhasa (1924)

She entered Lhasa in January 1924 disguised as a Tibetan pilgrim, smudging her skin with soot and wearing yak-wool clothing.

They walked about 2,000 km through winter snows.

They successfully reached the Potala Palace, staying several weeks before slipping back out toward India.

This made her one of the first Westerners — and the first Western woman — to reach Lhasa.

Alexandra David-Néel wrote more than 30 books, including:

“My Journey to Lhasa” (1927)

“Magic and Mystery in Tibet”

Her works popularized Tibetan Buddhism and culture in the West and greatly influenced spiritual seekers, explorers, and scholars.

My Journey to Lhasa is Alexandra David-Néel’s most famous travel narrative, published in 1927. It recounts her extraordinary, perilous journey—largely on foot—into the forbidden city of Lhasa, Tibet, in 1924, after years of wandering across the Himalayas.

My Journey to Lhasa 

1. Background of the Journey

Tibet was closed to foreigners at the time; entering Lhasa without official permission was illegal and dangerous.

Alexandra David-Néel had already spent more than a decade in Asia studying Buddhist philosophy, learning Tibetan, and mastering local customs.

Her intention:

 To reach Lhasa not as an intruder, but as a pilgrim deeply immersed in Tibetan culture.

 2. The Trek to Lhasa

The book describes:

Harsh Conditions

Freezing winter temperatures

Remote mountain passes

Scarcity of food

Encounters with wolves, snowstorms, and unfriendly patrols

Disguise

David-Néel traveled disguised as:

A Tibetan beggar woman / pilgrim

She darkened her skin with soot and yak butter

She wore rough Tibetan clothing

She spoke fluent Tibetan, helping her pass unnoticed

This was essential because foreigners were routinely expelled or imprisoned.

Companion: Yongden

She was accompanied by:

Lama Aphur Yongden, her adopted son and closest traveling companion

Skilled in local customs and spiritual practices

Protected and guided her throughout the journey

Their relationship is central to the story.

 3. Arrival in Lhasa (1924)

After months of travel covering roughly 2,000 kilometers, often sleeping in caves or makeshift shelters, they reached:

The Jokhang Temple (Tibet’s spiritual heart)

The Potala Palace, seat of the Dalai Lamas

They stayed in Lhasa for several weeks without being discovered as foreigners.

Her account of:

City life

Monastic rituals

Markets

Pilgrims

is vivid and respectful, showing her deep admiration for Tibetan culture.

4. Themes in the Book

Spiritual Discipline

She describes meditation techniques, ascetic practices, and encounters with hermits and yogis.

Cultural Observation

Rich details on Tibetan daily life, religious practice, and philosophy.

Adventure and Survival

Crossing icy passes, hiding from guards, and enduring starvation are told with calm humor and remarkable resilience.

 5. Why the Book Matters

One of the earliest and most detailed Western accounts of Tibet before modernization.

Demonstrates her respect and sympathy for Tibetan culture.

Showcases a pioneering woman defying gender and political barriers.

Blends anthropology, travel writing, and spiritual exploration.

Key Ideas & Paraphrased Quotes from My Journey to Lhasa

1. On determination

She writes that the idea of reaching Lhasa had become an inner calling—something she felt compelled to attempt no matter the cost.

2. On travel hardship

She describes moments when exhaustion and hunger nearly overwhelmed her, yet she and Yongden pushed forward because “turning back was impossible.”

3. On disguise

She remarks that, once she fully adopted the appearance and manner of a Tibetan pilgrim, she felt herself “becoming part of the landscape, no longer a foreigner.”

4. On Tibetan hospitality

She reflects that poor villagers who had almost nothing still shared food and warmth generously, teaching her humility.

5. On reaching Lhasa,,

She conveys a quiet, profound feeling when she first saw the Potala rising above the city—an emotion deeper than triumph, more like entering a long-imagined dream.

6. On the spiritual atmosphere

She describes how certain rituals, chants, and monastic practices filled her with a sense of ancient wisdom and inner stillness.

Major Characters & Figures She Met

1. Lama Aphur Yongden (her adopted son & companion)

Role: Her closest traveling partner throughout the Himalayan journey and into Lhasa.

Importance: Interpreter, protector, expert in Tibetan customs, and a spiritual companion.

Presence in the book: Central figure in almost every chapter.

2. Hermits and Yogis (unnamed individuals)

Alexandra meets several ascetics living in caves or isolated huts.

They share meditation techniques, spiritual insights, and mystical stories.

Some demonstrate yogic heat practices (tummo), which impressed her deeply.

3. Tibetan Pilgrims

While crossing mountains, she spends time with groups of poor pilgrims.

They unknowingly “validate” her disguise by treating her as one of them.

She learns folk beliefs, songs, and pilgrimage rituals from them.

4. Village Hosts & Families

Many Tibetan villagers give her and Yongden food, shelter, and guidance.

Their kindness is a major theme of the book.

She often comments on their generosity despite poverty.

5. Border Guards & Patrols

She and Yongden repeatedly encounter suspicious officials or patrols.

These interactions are tense because discovery could lead to imprisonment or expulsion.

Quick thinking and perfect disguise allow them to pass unnoticed.

6. Lhasa Residents

Once inside Lhasa, she interacts with:

Shopkeepers

Monks at the Jokhang Temple

Pilgrims at the Barkhor

Ordinary people who never suspect she is foreign

These encounters give the book its vivid portrayal of daily life.

7. High Lamas & Religious Teachers (from earlier travels)

Though not met in Lhasa, she describes spiritual teachers from Sikkim, Tibet, and Nepal whose teachings prepared her for the journey.

Why Hermits and Yogis Matter in David-Néel’s Journey

For Alexandra, these encounters were not exotic curiosities—they were central to her spiritual training. She spent years seeking out yogis, meditators, ascetics, and wandering sages who lived in extreme solitude. These figures shaped both her worldview and the philosophical depth of My Journey to Lhasa.

 1. Hermits in Caves: Masters of Isolation

Throughout Tibet and Sikkim, she visited hermits who lived in caves, sometimes for decades.

Characteristics of these hermits

They practiced radical solitude

Survived on minimal food

Often slept on bare rock or yak skins

Used meditation to overcome physical discomfort

What she learned

She wrote (paraphrased) that isolation stripped away illusions, revealing the mind’s raw workings. One hermit emphasized that a cave is not an escape but a mirror.

Why it impressed her

David-Néel believed these hermits represented a living link to ancient Buddhist discipline—humans who devoted their entire lives to inner exploration.

 2. Yogis Practicing Tummo (Yogic Heat)

Some of her most striking encounters involved tummo, a practice where yogis generate heat through meditation.

What she witnessed

Yogis sitting half-naked in snow, melting it around them

Practitioners drying wet sheets on their shoulders in freezing wind

Breathing patterns that created measurable warmth

Her reaction

She approached these events from both a spiritual and scientific angle—fascinated by how mental training could affect the body so dramatically.

3. Wandering Ascetics and “Sky-Goers”

She met ascetic yogis who wandered freely through mountains, sometimes described as “sky-walkers” in Tibetan lore.

Traits

Avoided villages

Traveled with almost nothing: a staff, bowl, and blanket

Spoke cryptically or poetically

Claimed to live beyond conventional fear and desir

Their teachings to her

They stressed non-attachment—not as philosophy but as a lived reality.

One teaching she paraphrases: “He who owns nothing carries everything.”

4. Magicians, Mystics, and Practitioners of Rituals

While she was always skeptical of superstition, she encountered yogis who:

Performed healing rites

Used chanting to induce altered states

Claimed clairvoyance or precognition

Practiced “lung-gom,” a legendary long-distance trance walking technique

The “lung-gom” runner

One famous encounter involved a mysterious runner who seemed to move with supernatural speed and rhythmic trance. She observed the technique closely, noting:

A consistent breath pattern

A slight forward lean

A trance-like gaze

She interpreted it not as magic but as the result of extreme mental discipline.

5. The Hermit-Teachers Who Shaped Her Training

Before entering Tibet, Alexandra spent long periods learning from hermits in Sikkim and Tibet.

Teachings she received

Advanced meditation techniques

Visualization practices

Empty-mind discipline

The nature of illusion

Rituals and philosophical debates

Why they trusted her

She spoke Tibetan fluently, lived simply, and approached their teachings with humility rather than romanticism.

6. The Practical Role of Hermits and Yogis in Her Lhasa Expedition

Many hermits and yogis helped her not only spiritually, but materially:

They taught her how to:

Survive extreme cold

Move undetected

Blend in as a pilgrim

Read terrain and avoid patrols

Perform Tibetan rituals convincingly

Some even blessed her journey or gave her objects (amulets, rosaries) to help her maintain her disguise.

7. How These Encounters Influenced Her Philosophy

David-Néel came to believe:

The limits of the body are largely mental

Solitude is a laboratory for discovering consciousness

Tibetan yogic practices preserve ancient psychological techniques

Freedom requires mastery over one’s own mind

These lessons permeate My Journey to Lhasa, shaping her calmness, courage, and unconventional approach to danger.

There is actually some real convergence — and some tension — between what Alexandra David-Néel described from her encounters with Tibetan hermits and yogis, and what modern scientific research on Tummo (and related Tibetan yogic practices) supports.  a comparison, showing where her accounts align with current findings — and where skepticism or reinterpretation may apply.

What Her Descriptions That Modern Research Supports

• Inner-heat / Cold-resistance via Meditation & Breathwork

David-Néel recounts yogis generating heat in freezing Himalayan conditions — for instance, sitting scantily clad in snow or cold caves and still staying warm. 

Modern studies confirm that Tummo meditation can indeed raise body temperature. A landmark study published in 1982 found that experienced practitioners could increase skin temperature (fingers and toes) by up to ~8 °C during a meditative session. 

More recent research (for example a 2013 study) documented elevated core body temperature — not just peripheral warmth — among monastic Tummo meditators. 

The physiological mechanism appears to involve both somatic components (controlled breathing / “vase-breathing”) and neurocognitive components (meditative visualization, focused mental imagery) — echoing how David-Néel described the combination of breath, visualization, and mental discipline. 

Conclusion: On the claim that Tibetan yogis can generate internal heat and resist cold through meditation/breathwork — there is credible scientific evidence. What once seemed miraculous to when David-Néel wrote is now partially validated under controlled conditions.

What Remains Speculative or Unproven — Where Tradition and Science Diverge

• Visions of “Mystical Powers,” Levitation, Super-human Abilities

David-Néel describes more extraordinary phenomena: she reports meeting ascetics and “yogis” who — in her words — seemed to move like “balls bouncing,” run extremely fast, or even float/trance-walk over difficult terrain (as in the tradition called Lung-gom-pa). 

Modern research, however, does not support claims of levitation, supernatural speed, or paranormal ‘magical’ powers. Scholarly and scientific sources treat such accounts as anecdotal, unverified, or folkloric. 

Some skepticism arises even within Tibetan-Buddhist studies: the very existence of large numbers of “flying lamas” or lung-gom-pa runners is debated. 

Conclusion: While internal-heat and breath-control effects are physically measurable and scientifically reproducible to extent, dramatic claims — levitation, supernatural speed, magic — remain unproven and are generally regarded with skepticism.

What Modern Physiology and Neuroscience Adds — Insights That David-Néel Couldn’t Provide

Because David-Néel was a traveler and observer, her accounts lacked the ability to measure physiological changes. Modern science adds:

Objective temperature measurement: showing core temperature increase, not just subjective warmth. 

Neural correlates: EEG studies reveal changes in brainwave patterns (alpha, beta, gamma) during Tummo practice; increases in alpha power correlated with more significant temperature rises. 

Mechanistic hypotheses: Researchers propose that the heat comes from enhanced metabolic activity: oxygen consumption, mitochondrial activity, and thermogenesis via brown fat activation — all triggered by breathing and breath-retention patterns. 

Health / psychophysiological implications: Some suggest potential benefits: improved cold-resilience, possibly improved immune response, stress regulation, enhanced cognitive performance. 

In short: modern research treats Tummo not as “magic,” but as an advanced physiological feat — a blend of breath-control, mental focus, and body regulation.

What This Comparison Means for Understanding Tibetan Yogis — and David-Néel’s Legacy

David-Néel’s writings remain valuable ethnographic and experiential records, giving early Western readers a rare window into Himalayan ascetic life. What seemed mystical to many then has, in part, become scientifically plausible.

But not all of her claims are confirmed. The mystical/spiritual interpretations — levitation, trance-speed, magical “powers” — largely remain in the realm of anecdote and folklore.

Modern science reframes practices like Tummo as very sophisticated mind–body techniques. The “heat generation” is not supernatural, but a result of controlled breathing, metabolic regulation, and mental focus.

For students of mysticism or meditation — this may present an appealing bridge between tradition and modern physiology: these aren’t just spiritual legends, but human potentials potentially accessible through disciplined practice.

Legend.

 Legend, thy name will be remembered for the ones who believed Veda are the breath of ParaBrahm: 

He 19 year old is Devavrat Mahesh Rekhe, he chanted 25 lakhs of Pada of Shukla Yajurveda in its most complex formulae known as ‘Dandak Kram’, continuously for 50 days and without seeing the book. History has been created in Kashi, at the vallabharama saligram Sangveda vidyaalay, Kashi. 

This has happened second time in the history of many hundred years. This is what Tapasya is looks like, his father-grandfather all initiated and excelled in the tradition. Such men are born of pious mothers. 

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Vedas and dharm shastras are the eternal

truth.

In Dandak-Krama, each pair is followed by a distinct pause or “daṇḍa” (a break).

This makes the recitation slower, more emphatic, and highly precise.

It is used when a reciter wants:

extra clarity in phonetics,

stronger training for memory,

to reinforce sandhi-rules,

ritual correctness before higher forms like Jatā or Ghana.

Krama-pāṭha becomes Dandak-krama by adding the pause (॥) after each krama pair.

1. MĀDHYANDINA ŚĀKHĀ – DANDAK-KRAMA EXAMPLE

Mantra used: Śukla Yajurveda – Mādhyandina Saṃhitā 1.1

“īśe tvā…” (the first mantra)

Saṃhitā-pāṭha

īśe tvā dhenūpate iva…

Pada-pāṭha

īśe । tvā । dhenūpate । iva । …

Krama-pāṭha

īśe-tvā

tvā-dhenūpate

dhenūpate-iva

Dandak-Krama

(Each pair ends with a daṇḍa pause)

īśe-tvā ॥

tvā-dhenūpate ॥

dhenūpate-iva ॥

The straight “break” after each krama pair is what makes it daṇḍa-krama.

2. KĀṆVA ŚĀKHĀ – DANDAK-KRAMA EXAMPLE

Mantra used: Śukla Yajurveda – Kāṇva Saṃhitā 1.1

“sanno devīr abhiṣṭaye…”

Saṃhitā-pāṭha

sanno devīr abhiṣṭaye…

Pada-pāṭha

saḥ । naḥ । devīḥ । abhiṣṭaye । …

Krama-pāṭha

saḥ-naḥ

naḥ-devīḥ

devīḥ-abhiṣṭaye

Dandak-Krama (Kāṇva)

saḥ-naḥ ॥

naḥ-devīḥ ॥

devīḥ-abhiṣṭaye ॥

The structure is identical to ordinary Krama, but the pause after each pair differentiates Dandak-krama.

3. A MORE COMPLETE EXAMPLE (Mādhyandina Śākhā)

Mantra: Vāj. Saṃhitā 22.1 – “agniṃ īḷe purohitam”

(This is very commonly taught.)

Saṃhitā

agniṃ īḷe purohitam

Pada

agniṃ । īḷe । purohitam ।

Krama

agniṃ-īḷe

īḷe-purohitam

Dandak-Krama

agniṃ-īḷe ॥

īḷe-purohitam ॥

4. A MORE COMPLETE EXAMPLE (Kāṇva Śākhā)

Mantra: Kāṇva Saṃhitā 2.1 – “agnirmūrdhā divaḥ”

Saṃhitā

agnir mūrdhā divaḥ

Pada

agniḥ । mūrdhā । divaḥ ।

Krama

agniḥ-mūrdhā

mūrdhā-divaḥ

Dandak-Krama

agniḥ-mūrdhā ॥

mūrdhā-divaḥ ॥

Key Features of Dandak-Krama (Summarized)

Same word pairs as Krama-pāṭha

A clear pause after each pair

Used traditionally in:

Śukla Yajurveda Mādhyandina

Śukla Yajurveda Kāṇva

Helps reinforce:

Sandhi rules

Pronunciation precision

Memory strengthening

Preparation for Jatā and Ghanapāṭha

Lung gom.

 Lung Gom: The Discipline of Breath, Mind, and Motion

Lung gom—sometimes spelled lung-gom-pa—refers to a Tibetan meditative discipline that blends controlled breathing, visualization, and rhythmic movement to cultivate extraordinary endurance and focused awareness. Often sensationalized in travel literature as a technique that allows practitioners to run for days without fatigue, lung gom is better understood as a rigorous mind–body training that aims to dissolve the boundary between intention and action.

At its core, lung gom is rooted in the Tibetan concept of lung (pronounced “loong”), meaning subtle “wind” or vital energy. In Tibetan Buddhism, particularly within the Vajrayana tradition, lung is one of the three primary aspects of the subtle body, alongside tsa (energy channels) and tiglé (inner essences). In everyday life, lung is dispersed and unstable, mirroring the ordinary mind’s restlessness. Through meditation, breath regulation, and disciplined mental focus, a practitioner learns to harness lung and direct it with precision.

Training often begins with seated practices that stabilize attention and familiarize the student with the movement of inner energy. Over time, practitioners may progress to dynamic meditation, where breath and visualization are synchronized with coordinated steps. Rather than conventional running, lung gom “running” is a rhythmic, trance-like gait performed with unwavering concentration on a single visual point. The practitioner cultivates a mental field so steady that physical exertion feels secondary to the continuity of awareness. Early Western observers, unaccustomed to this union of meditation and motion, described lung gom monks running with astonishing stamina, appearing to glide across landscapes with minimal effort.

Yet the true aim of lung gom is not superhuman speed or endurance. Instead, it is the development of a mind that is unperturbed by physical strain or external distraction. By training the body to move without ego-driven interference, practitioners explore the Buddhist insight that mind and body are interdependent processes rather than fixed identities. Lung gom becomes a laboratory for understanding impermanence, effortlessness, and the nature of perception.

In contemporary contexts, lung gom resonates with modern interests in flow states, meditative athletics, and somatic awareness. While the esoteric techniques remain part of advanced monastic training, the broader lesson is accessible: when breath, mind, and movement harmonize, ordinary actions can become vehicles for deep clarity. Lung gom reminds us that endurance is not merely a physical capacity but a reflection of mental stillness—an invitation to move through the world with steadiness, presence, and an unbroken line of attention.

Read full details in kainkaryam.

Inheritance.

 Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to His Son stand as one of the most distinctive educational documents of the eighteenth century—a father’s sustained attempt to guide his son toward refinement, competence, and success in the world. Written across more than three decades, these letters present a coherent philosophy of upbringing grounded in elegance, discipline, and social intelligence. Chesterfield does not simply instruct his son on what to learn, but more importantly on how to be: how to behave, how to speak, how to carry himself, and how to interact with others in a way that wins respect and fosters opportunity. The letters together form a complete view of what Chesterfield considered the attributes of an accomplished gentleman.

At the heart of Chesterfield’s guidance is the belief that education must prepare a young man not only for intellectual mastery but also for effective participation in society. Knowledge, while essential, has its greatest value when it enables a person to converse with ease, adapt to circumstances, and understand human nature. For Chesterfield, learning was not meant to produce a scholar cloistered in books but a cultivated individual capable of moving confidently in the world. Thus, he encourages the mastery of languages, history, literature, and geography, yet always emphasizes their role as foundations for graceful conversation and informed judgment.

Manners, in Chesterfield’s view, are indispensable. He treats politeness not as superficial ornament but as a practical tool of social harmony. Good manners show consideration for others, smooth interactions, and create a favorable impression. He urges his son to speak with courtesy, to listen attentively, and to avoid giving offense, even unintentionally. These small, habitual gestures of refinement—pleasant tone, respectful address, thoughtful words—form, for Chesterfield, the true polish that distinguishes a gentleman. The ability to please, he insists, is a crucial ingredient in personal and professional success.

Another central theme in the letters is the importance of self-control. Chesterfield repeatedly advises his son to govern his emotions, to rein in impulses, and to cultivate calm judgment. He emphasizes patience, steadiness, and the ability to maintain composure even when provoked. This mastery of oneself is, in his eyes, the foundation of good conduct, enabling a young man to act deliberately rather than reactively. Chesterfield connects self-discipline to time management, study habits, dress, posture, and even conversation. A person who has mastered himself, he suggests, can master circumstances.

Closely linked to self-control is Chesterfield’s attention to personal presentation. He believed that appearance communicates character, and that people judge us, often rightly or wrongly, based on what they immediately see. Because of this, he urges his son to dress neatly, move gracefully, and cultivate an air of ease and elegance. These outward behaviors, he argues, are not trivial; they shape first impressions and smooth the path to acceptance in society. Chesterfield sees poise as a practiced art—one that grows through observation, imitation, and conscious refinement.

The letters also serve as a guide to conversation, one of Chesterfield’s most cherished social skills. Good conversation requires a balance of wit, knowledge, modesty, and attentive listening. Chesterfield instructs his son to speak clearly and concisely, to avoid interrupting, and to show genuine interest in the thoughts of others. He discourages boasting, argument for its own sake, and pedantry. Instead, he encourages a conversational manner that is light, engaging, and adaptable to the company present. For Chesterfield, the ability to converse well is both a pleasure and an instrument of influence.

Underlying all of Chesterfield’s advice is his hope that his son will learn to understand and work effectively with people. He believes that success in life depends greatly on one’s ability to interpret motives, recognize opportunities, and respond appropriately to different personalities. This sensitivity to human nature—what we might now call social insight or emotional intelligence—forms a core element of Chesterfield’s educational philosophy. It enables diplomacy, friendship, cooperation, and leadership. Throughout the letters, he returns to the idea that one must know how to engage others with tact, discretion, and genuine respect.

The overarching purpose of this guidance is to prepare his son for a life of accomplishment and honorable standing. Chesterfield wishes him not only to be knowledgeable but admired; not only to be good but graceful; not only to advance personally but to contribute positively to the circles in which he moves. His letters form a comprehensive manual for shaping character—one that blends intellectual cultivation, moral guidance, social polish, and practical wisdom. They express a father’s aspiration to give his son every advantage that refinement, discipline, and thoughtful conduct can provide.

In the end, Lord Chesterfield’s Letters to His Son present a vision of upbringing rooted in harmony between inner character and outward behavior. They portray the ideal gentleman as one who learns widely, behaves graciously, speaks thoughtfully, and carries himself with confidence and dignity. Through their steady encouragement and careful instruction, the letters aim to lead a young man toward the highest version of himself—capable, considerate, and fully prepared for the demands of the world.

Eg his words on politeness. Know that as learning, honour and virtue are absolutely necessary to gain you the esteem and admiration of mankind, politeness and good breeding are equally necessary to make you welcome and agreeable in conversation and common life. 

On time. Remember whatever knowledge you do not solidly lay the foundation of, before you are eighteen, you never will be master of while you breathe. The value  of moments, when cast up is immense, if well employed, if thrown away their loss is irrecoverable. 

On modesty. The more you know, the modester you should be.

Authentic.

 When someone discovers who they truly are — their values, purpose, strengths, and limitations — they no longer feel lost, confused, or torn by others’ expectations. Misery often comes from living a life that does not match one’s authentic self.

1. The Artist Who Chose Security Over Passion

A talented painter works for years as an accountant because society tells him it’s a “safer” choice. He feels empty and depressed. One day, he decides to pursue art seriously — even part-time — and for the first time he feels alive.

By reconnecting with his true identity as an artist, his misery fades.

2. The Student Trying to Please Everyone

A student tries to meet everyone’s expectations: high grades for parents, sports for peers, and hobbies for college applications. She becomes stressed and unhappy.

When she finally admits to herself that she genuinely loves literature and wants a quieter, simpler life, she starts to live authentically.

Her inner peace comes from aligning with her true nature.

3. The Professional Who Realizes Success Isn’t Equal to Happiness

A corporate worker earns a high salary but feels constantly anxious and unfulfilled. After deep reflection, he realizes he values freedom and meaningful work more than prestige. He shifts to a career in social impact.

Understanding his true priorities lifts the burden of living someone else’s dream.

Authenticity becomes the source of strength.

Human beings often carry an invisible burden: the pressure to conform to expectations, fulfill roles imposed by society, and meet standards that may have nothing to do with their real nature. This burden manifests as stress, confusion, and a quiet misery that many people accept as part of life. Yet, the moment a person discovers their true self — who they really are beneath external expectations — that burden begins to dissolve. True self-knowledge becomes a source of freedom, clarity, and inner peace.

Misery frequently arises when there is a conflict between the life we live and the life we are meant to live. People force themselves into careers, relationships, or lifestyles that contradict their inner values because they fear judgment or failure. For example, an individual may choose a prestigious job to satisfy family expectations only to find themselves emotionally drained and unfulfilled. Their suffering stems not from the job itself but from betraying their authentic interests and passions. Once they admit their true calling and realign their life with it, they no longer carry the heaviness of pretense. The discovery of the true self becomes an antidote to despair.

Another source of misery is the lack of self-acceptance. Many people spend years hiding parts of themselves — their personality, preferences, weaknesses, or identity — because they believe these aspects are unacceptable. This internal war creates shame and anxiety. However, when a person finally embraces themselves fully, flaws and all, a transformation occurs. Acceptance brings peace, and peace dissolves misery. The true self does not demand perfection; it only demands honesty. Living in this honesty provides a deep sense of belonging within one’s own skin.

Furthermore, finding one’s true self brings purpose, and purpose gives life meaning. A meaningful life is rarely a miserable one. When people understand what they value, what they stand for, and what gives them joy, they navigate challenges with greater resilience. Even difficult experiences feel more bearable because they are aligned with a deeper personal truth. Misery often thrives in confusion and aimlessness, but clarity of self-knowledge pushes it away.

In essence, discovering one’s true self is not merely a psychological exercise; it is a liberation. It frees individuals from the expectations of others, from internal conflict, and from the weight of pretending. The person who is authentically themselves does not need to chase happiness — it naturally arises from living truthfully. When the mask falls and the real self emerges, misery has nothing left to cling to.

Courage breathes.

 “Do you know why fear fails?” she once said softly, “Because courage learns to breathe even in the dark.”

This line captured the heart of everyone who knew Dr. B. Sandhya, but it wasn’t spoken on a stage or in front of cameras. She had said it to a frightened girl during one of her visits to a shelter home. That moment revealed who she truly was — a police officer whose strength was measured not only by the cases she cracked, but by the lives she lifted.

Sandhya’s journey did not begin with loud promises or dramatic declarations. It began quietly, like rain that soaks the earth before anyone notices. As a young girl in Kerala, she had a deep curiosity about people — why they break, why they rise, and what justice truly means. While others her age were busy planning simple careers, she often found herself imagining a world where every woman, every child, could step out without fear. She didn’t want a safe world only for herself. She wanted it for everyone.

That desire eventually shaped her into one of Kerala’s most respected IPS officers. But her rise wasn’t easy. When she cleared the civil services, she stepped into a field that had long been dominated by men. Many assumed she would be gentle, quiet, maybe too soft for policing. What they didn’t know was that gentleness can sometimes be the sharpest form of strength. She didn’t raise her voice; she raised her actions.

During her early years, she would often walk into crime scenes that left others disturbed. But she observed, she listened, she pieced together details with a calmness that surprised even senior officers. Her mind worked like a mirror — it reflected everything clearly, without noise.

One of the turning points in her career came when she began working closely on cases related to women and children. She met girls who had been silenced, boys who had been abandoned, and families who had lost hope. Many officers saw these cases as routine files. But for Sandhya, each file carried a heartbeat. She believed that every rescue, every charge sheet, was a step toward healing a broken world.

Her commitment led her to play a major role in building Kerala’s community policing initiative — the Janamaithri Police. It wasn’t just a project; it was a bridge of trust between people and the uniform they feared. She made police stations feel human again. People stepped in not with trembling hands, but with faith.

Over the years, she handled some of Kerala’s most sensitive investigations. There were nights when she returned home long after the world had fallen asleep, her shoulders heavy with the stories she carried. Yet she never complained. She believed that when you choose a path like hers, you don’t count the hours; you count the lives changed.

Once, during a particularly painful case involving a young girl, Sandhya found herself sitting alone in her car after the investigation. The child had hugged her tightly before leaving with the social workers. That hug stayed with her. It wasn’t gratitude; it was trust. And trust, she believed, was the highest award an officer could ever receive.

Her colleagues often said she had the rare ability to balance strictness with empathy. She could walk into a room full of hardened criminals and command silence, yet sit with a crying mother and speak as gently as a sister. This duality made her unforgettable.

With time, her contribution extended beyond policing. She wrote, she spoke, she educated, and she inspired. She helped shape policies that protected children. She trained officers to look beyond paperwork and see the human being inside every case. She pushed for change not from anger, but from compassion — a force far more powerful.

Even after reaching senior positions in Kerala Police, she never lost the humility she began with. She still visited schools and shelters, still listened to stories of ordinary people, still believed that justice begins with understanding.

There was a moment toward the end of her career that captured everything she stood for. During a public event, an elderly woman walked up to her. With trembling hands, she held Sandhya’s palm and whispered, “You saved my daughter. I never got a chance to thank you.”

Sandhya paused, overwhelmed. She didn’t remember the case — she had helped so many. But the woman’s words sank into her heart like a quiet, unexpected storm.

When she stepped back into her car that day, she looked out of the window at the crowds. People saw her as a powerful IPS officer, a reformer, a protector. But in that moment, she realized something deeply personal: her journey had never been about bravery alone. It had been about kindness. About listening. About giving someone enough strength to take one more step.

She closed her eyes for a second, letting the noise fade. A single tear escaped — not out of sadness, but out of the weight of all the stories she had carried and all the lives she had touched.

And perhaps, that is where her story truly ends — not with applause, not with medals, but with one simple truth:

Even the strongest officers sometimes cry. Not because they are weak, but because they care enough to feel every wound they heal.

-Dr. B. Sandhya

Direct Rainbow.

 “Schools are not museums for the privileged,” Sister Cyril once said, her voice firm yet filled with compassion. “A school must open its doors wide enough for the poorest child to walk in without fear.”

Those words did not come from a leader making a grand speech. They came from a quiet Irish nun who landed in Kolkata in 1956, carrying nothing more than a suitcase and a burning belief that every child, no matter how small or forgotten, deserved a chance.

Her name was Sister Cyril Mooney.

When she first walked through the bustling, chaotic streets of Kolkata, she saw little children sleeping on pavements, running barefoot between traffic, selling flowers for coins they would never keep. Something inside her shifted. She hadn’t come to India to simply teach inside a classroom. She had come to change what education meant.

Years later, when she became the principal of Loreto Day School, Sealdah, she didn’t celebrate the position. Instead, she walked through the empty corridors at dawn, looking at polished floors, clean benches, neat uniforms. And she thought of those children she had seen outside. Children who had never held a pencil, who ate only if the day was kind, who didn’t even know what the inside of a school looked like.

She decided to bring them in.

The first day she invited street children to sit in the school playground, a few teachers gasped. Parents raised eyebrows. Some even complained. But the little ones came hesitantly, clutching torn cloth bags, unsure if they belonged. Sister Cyril simply smiled and said, “You are safe here. This is your place too.”

That was the beginning of the Rainbow Project.

Every afternoon, after regular school hours, the gates opened again. Girls from slums, railway platforms, and pavements walked in. They learned to read, write, dream, and stand on their own feet. Many had never been called by their real names before. Now, teachers called them with respect. Slowly, some of these children were integrated into regular classes. They studied alongside children from wealthier homes, sharing textbooks, tiffins, and laughter.

Under her leadership, the school became a living example of equality, not a slogan painted on a wall.

But Sister Cyril didn’t stop there. She traveled through villages, looking for young women who had never been to college but had the fire to teach. She trained them as “barefoot teachers” so they could carry education to the remotest corners. These women taught under trees, in makeshift huts, and sometimes even on the steps of temples and mosques. It wasn’t perfect, but it was powerful.

People often asked her how she managed such work with limited resources. She would smile mischievously and say, “If you wait for perfect conditions, children will grow old waiting.”

Many nights, she walked through the sleeping quarters of the Rainbow girls. Some children clung to dolls stitched from old clothes; some hid their schoolbooks under their pillow like treasure. She tucked the blankets around them, brushing away memories of hunger and homelessness they had once known too well.

She wasn’t just teaching them lessons. She was giving them their childhood back.

As the years passed, her impact grew. Awards arrived. Praise arrived. Journalists wrote about her, leaders met her, and educationists studied her methods. But she remained the same woman who preferred sitting among children rather than at any award ceremony. Whenever people tried to glorify her, she pointed toward her students and said, “If you want to honor me, look at them. They are my greatest achievement.”

Even after stepping down as principal, she continued working, planning, mentoring, moving across Kolkata’s underprivileged corners with a courage that surprised everyone. Age slowed her body, but never her spirit.

In June 2023, when news broke that Sister Cyril had passed away, Kolkata felt strangely quiet. Outside Loreto Sealdah, hundreds gathered — former students, teachers, street vendors, old Rainbow girls who now worked in offices or taught in schools. Many brought flowers. Some brought stories. Some brought tears.

A woman who once lived on a railway platform placed a small, worn-out school notebook near Sister Cyril’s photograph. On the first page was a sentence written in shaky handwriting from decades ago:

“Sister says I can become anything.”

As people read those words, the truth sank in.

Sister Cyril had not built schools.

She had built lives.

And somewhere in Kolkata that night, a young girl looked at the sky and whispered a silent thank you to the woman who proved that even one human heart, if brave enough, can change the future of thousands. 

-Sister M. Cyril Mooney