Category Archives: Personal

How One Small Delay Becomes a Chain Reaction

Posted on by
Reply

Let’s talk about that one morning. The one where it started with just… a late wake-up.

No drama. No thunder. Just… 15 minutes late.

You skip your usual coffee. Miss the schoolbook. Kids shuffle around confused.
The van waits. Grandpa gets held up.
You’re racing, but the rhythm is off.
Wife’s voice goes unheard. A page is missed. Someone else now waits because of you.

It wasn’t a disaster. It was just a delay.

But that delay echoed — not loudly, but widely.
One late breath caused a ripple in ten other lungs.

We often think big problems come from big mistakes.
But sometimes they start as an extra snooze tap.

This isn’t guilt. This is awareness.

👉 Your smallest actions? They’re gears in someone else’s day.
👉 Your presence (or pause) affects timing across people you may not even see.

In a world this interconnected, even not moving… moves something.

So what’s the takeaway?

  • Try to be the gear that turns smoothly.
  • Forgive the gear that didn’t — maybe it just needed oil today.
  • Accept that small doesn’t mean insignificant.

Even Pi starts with 3.1 — not infinity.
But it goes.

So do you.

Punishment vs Understanding: A Parent’s Dilemma

Posted on by
Reply

(Honest thoughts on raising kids with heart and clarity)

Parenting doesn’t come with perfect documentation — and certainly not with a bug-free implementation.
There’s no one-line method called raise_child(empathetic, confident).

Instead, it’s a constant try…catch.

“Sometimes, I punish him.”

Yes, I do.
Not out of anger, but instinct. Maybe tiredness. Maybe frustration.
And sometimes… because I truly didn’t know what else to do in the moment.

But here’s the part that matters:

After that, I sit with him. I ask why he did it.
I explain why it wasn’t okay.
I don’t just raise my voice. I lower myself to his level.

It’s not about control. It’s about connection.

Kids don’t listen to lectures. They observe humans.

If I mess up, I try to own it.
He watches that.
If I lose my temper, I circle back and talk about it.
He watches that too.

My kid is not a “good boy” just because he follows what I say.
I want him to question. To know why.
Not because I told him, but because he understood it.

So which is right? Punishment or understanding?

Let me be honest.
Both exist. But one should lead the other.

Punishment, when needed, must come from a place of clarity.
Not as a shortcut to obedience, but as a path to realization.
Understanding always follows — and sometimes, should even replace it altogether.

Because understanding creates awareness.
And awareness is the real discipline.

But hey, we’re human.

We slip.
Sometimes we punish before we pause.
Sometimes we shout before we understand.

But if you sit down later, look into those small eyes, and say:

“Appa also makes mistakes. Let’s both try again tomorrow.”
That child learns the most valuable lesson we can teach:
Grace.

Parenting isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present.

There’s no algorithm for raising a child with heart.
But there’s always space for small updates.
Some patches take time to apply. Some fixes run deep.

But never forget —
Kids don’t grow on commands.
They grow when they feel safe, seen, and supported.

And that… takes understanding.
Even when we start with punishment.

If this resonates, pass it on. Not as advice. But as reflection.

We’re all building our versions of parenthood.
Brick by brick. Word by word.
Mistake by mistake.
With love at the core.

– LekshmanaIn

The Shoulder Legacy

Posted on by
Reply

Some mornings, I carry my son on my shoulder to his van.
He doesn’t ask why — it’s just part of our rhythm.
But in the evening, when his grandfather picks him up, he walks back home on his own.

No complaints. No “Appa carried me, you should too.”

I watched that. And something inside me paused.

Maybe — just maybe —
He already knows.

That his grandfather once carried me on those same roads.
That those shoulders once bore the weight of a boy with dreams, doubts, and school bags twice his size.
That those shoulders carried the legacy, not just the load.

So now, my son walks beside him.
Like saying: “You’ve carried enough. Now, I’ll walk.”

That moment didn’t need words.
It was a quiet relay — one generation handing over strength,
the next carrying respect,
and a child learning both.

Why share this?

Because in the rush of routines and responsibilities,
we sometimes forget —
What we carry matters.
But what we choose not to — also tells a story.

And every small act, even a walk home,
can reflect a lifetime of love,
and the invisible strength passed down without speeches.

This is my note to the future:
Respect is not just taught — it’s felt.
Legacy isn’t built — it’s lived.