2026 Week 46 Update

Today’s quote is from the Indian philosopher, speaker and writer whose teachings explored the nature of the mind, human relationships, fear, freedom and self-awareness, Jiddu Keishnamurthi, whose teachings continue to inspire readers interested in self-inquiry, mindfulness and understanding the workings of the human mind.

When we encounter a problem, our natural instinct is to look for a solution. We want answers, preferably immediately, because uncertainty makes us uncomfortable. Whether we are dealing with a difficult relationship, a professional setback or a personal dilemma, we often become so focused on finding a way out that we forget to examine what is actually happening. Krishnamurti’s quote challenges this tendency. He suggests that our eagerness to find answers can sometimes prevent us from understanding the problem itself.

When we approach a situation with a particular outcome already in mind, we may unconsciously interpret everything through the lens of what we want to happen. We overlook inconvenient truths, dismiss alternative perspectives or rush towards solutions that offer temporary relief without addressing the underlying issue. Krishnamurti encourages us to approach problems with curiosity rather than urgency. This means observing our thoughts, emotions and assumptions without immediately judging them or trying to change them. It requires patience, honesty and a willingness to remain with uncertainty long enough for a deeper understanding to emerge.

Importantly, this does not mean we should avoid making decisions or taking action. Rather, it suggests that meaningful action becomes possible when we understand what we are responding to. Sometimes, the answer we initially seek is not the answer we actually need. And occasionally, understanding a problem changes the very question we were asking. Perhaps the greatest wisdom in this quote is the reminder that clarity cannot always be hurried. By releasing our insistence on immediate answers, we create space for insight, understanding and possibilities we might otherwise have overlooked.

November seems determined to keep me on my toes! This week has been a mixture of familiar responsibilities, unexpected frustrations and a growing excitement about possibilities that are slowly beginning to take shape. At work, there have been moments when circumstances beyond my control have made even straightforward tasks unnecessarily complicated. Technology, in particular, has reminded me just how dependent we have become on systems we barely think about until they stop working. There is something almost comical about being ready to get things done, only to discover that the tools you need have decided otherwise!

But the more interesting developments have been happening away from the usual routines. I’ve been taking small, deliberate steps towards building something different for the future. Nothing dramatic, and certainly nothing that will transform overnight, yet each conversation, each new connection and each possibility explored has made me feel that I am moving in a direction that increasingly makes sense.

I’ve also been thinking about the growing emphasis on emergency preparedness, with several countries encouraging households to keep enough essential supplies for at least 72 hours. It’s a sobering reminder of how quickly ordinary life can be disrupted. While I don’t believe in living fearfully, there is wisdom in being prepared for circumstances we cannot predict. Perhaps that’s the thread connecting everything this week: learning to distinguish between worrying about uncertainty and preparing thoughtfully for it. We cannot control everything that happens around us, but we can make choices today that give us greater confidence, resilience and freedom tomorrow. And sometimes, those choices begin with the smallest possible step.

Reading about the growing number of countries encouraging citizens to maintain 72 hours of emergency supplies has left me with mixed feelings. On one hand, it is reassuring to see governments taking preparedness seriously. On the other, it is rather unsettling that such advice feels increasingly relevant. Perhaps we have become so accustomed to convenience that we’ve forgotten how vulnerable our everyday systems can be. I don’t think the answer is to panic or stockpile indiscriminately, but to prepare sensibly, understand the risks and remember that being self-reliant for a few days could make an enormous difference when the unexpected happens.

This week, in verse 12.8, the Bhagavad Gita shares how to focus our minds. The mind is constantly pulled in different directions. One moment we are hopeful, the next we are anxious. Krishna’s advice is simple but profound: choose a centre and return to it repeatedly. Whether one understands this verse spiritually or symbolically, the lesson remains relevant. A scattered mind creates confusion, while a focused mind creates peace. We cannot stop distractions from appearing, but we can decide where our attention ultimately rests.

You don’t always have to chase happiness. Sometimes, it comes naturally when you stop resisting what has already happened, embrace the present, and trust that what’s meant for you will find you. Don’t let negative thoughts paint a misleading picture of your life. You don’t need everything to be perfect to appreciate what is good in your life. Happiness grows when you accept that you can be at peace with what was, grateful for what is, and let life work its magic.

That’s all from me this week! Stay safe, stay positive and keep smiling!

In My Hands Today…

A Thousand Feasts: Small Moments of Joy… A Memoir of Sorts – Nigel Slater

Nigel Slater has kept notebooks of curiosities and wonderings, penned while at his kitchen table, soaked in a fisherman’s hut in Reykjavik, sitting calmly in a moss garden in Japan or sheltering from a blizzard in a Vienna konditorei. Nigel records the small things, events and happenings that gave pleasure before they disappeared. In A Thousand Feasts he details a soup for breakfast, packing a suitcase for a trip and watching a butterfly settle on a carpet, hiding in plain sight. He gives short stories of feasts such as a mango eaten in monsoon rain or a dish of restorative macaroni cheese.

This funny and sharply observed collection of the good bits of life, often things that pass many of us by, is utter joy from beginning to end. Nigel hones in on the scent of a bunch of home-grown sweet peas, the sound of water breathing at night in Japan, the occasional pfuff as a tiny avalanche of snow falls from leaves.

Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Divya Desams – Part 32

Thiruvanparisaram Temple, Thiruvanparisaram, Tamil Nadu
Thiruvanparisaram, located near Nagercoil in Tamil Nadu, is one of those Divya Desams where the mood of the temple is set not by scale or spectacle, but by a single, intimate detail. The presiding deity here is Thiruvazhmarban Perumal, and the goddess is Kamalavalli Thayar. The name Thiruvazhmarban itself carries the meaning. It refers to the Lord who holds the goddess on his chest. In many Vishnu temples, Lakshmi resides symbolically on the Lord’s chest, but here that presence feels more immediate, more visible, more central. The temple is built around that closeness. It is not just a theological idea. It is something you are meant to notice and sit with.

The legend of Thiruvanparisaram is connected to Lakshmi’s penance. According to tradition, the goddess once wished to remain inseparably close to Vishnu, not as a distant presence but as one who is always held and never set aside. She performed penance at this place, seeking that union. Vishnu appeared before her and granted the wish, holding her on his chest in a way that symbolised complete togetherness. The temple takes its identity from that moment. It is not about separation and reunion. It is about the desire to remain close and the grace that allows that closeness to continue.

Inside the sanctum, this idea becomes clear in the form of the deity. Thiruvazhmarban Perumal stands in a composed posture, but the presence of the goddess is not an afterthought. It is integral to how the Lord is understood. The image carries a sense of balance that is both steady and warm. Kamalavalli Thayar’s presence is not separate from the experience of the main shrine. It is part of it. That changes the tone of the temple. It shifts the focus from individual devotion to shared presence.

There is also a deeper layer to this idea of closeness. In many devotional traditions, the relationship between the devotee and the divine is described in terms of the distance that must be crossed. Here, the emphasis is different. The temple suggests that closeness itself is a form of grace. It is not always something to be achieved. Sometimes it is something to be recognised. That recognition gives the temple a quiet steadiness.

Historically, Thiruvanparisaram reflects the long religious continuity of the southern region of Tamil Nadu, with influences from both Tamil and Kerala traditions. The temple is believed to have been supported by local rulers and communities across centuries, and like many temples in this part of the country, it has evolved through periods of care and restoration. The structure does not aim for monumental scale. It remains grounded, shaped by the rhythm of the land and the communities around it.

Architecturally, the temple carries elements that reflect this regional blending. The layout follows the familiar structure of South Indian temples, but there are also features that echo Kerala-style construction, especially in the use of materials and the way the rooflines are shaped. The sanctum remains the focal point, drawing attention not through size but through the presence of the deity. The temple tank and surrounding spaces add to the sense of calm. Nothing feels excessive. Everything feels measured.

The daily rituals at Thiruvanparisaram follow the Vaishnavite tradition, with regular pujas performed throughout the day. The temple becomes more active during festivals such as Vaikunta Ekadasi and Brahmotsavam, but even then, the atmosphere remains steady. The focus does not shift away from the central idea of the temple. It continues to revolve around the presence of the Lord and the goddess together.

For pilgrims, the experience of Thiruvanparisaram is shaped by its setting. The temple lies away from larger urban centres, and that distance creates a different kind of arrival. The pace slows naturally, and the surroundings allow the mind to settle. Once inside, the sanctum quietly holds attention. There is no need to rush. The image of the Lord holding the goddess close begins to carry its own meaning.

Culturally, Thiruvanparisaram holds its place within the Divya Desam tradition through the hymns of the Alvars, who recognised the significance of the shrine. Over time, the temple has also become associated with themes of harmony, unity and balance in relationships. Devotees often come here not only with personal prayers but with a sense of seeking steadiness in their lives.

In modern times, the temple continues to function as a living place of worship, maintained through regular rituals and community involvement. It does not draw large crowds in the way some temples do, but it remains quietly present for those who seek it out. That presence feels consistent with the identity of the temple itself.

Thiruvanparisaram ultimately represents closeness as a form of strength. Thiruvazhmarban Perumal does not stand alone. He stands with the goddess held close, and that image becomes the centre of the temple’s meaning. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this shrine offers a gentle reminder. Not all forms of grace are about distance being crossed. Some are about the absence of distance altogether.

Thirukkurungudi Temple, Thirukkurungudi, Tamil Nadu
Thirukkurungudi, located at the foothills of the Western Ghats in southern Tamil Nadu, feels like a place where the land itself slows you down before you even enter the temple. The presiding deity here is Azhagiya Nambi, and the goddess is Kurungudivalli Thayar. The name Thirukkurungudi carries a simple meaning. Kurungu suggests something small or compact, and kudi refers to a dwelling. It is often understood as the sacred place where the Lord chose to reside in a smaller, more accessible form. That idea shapes the entire temple. This is not about distance or grandeur. It is about nearness, about a presence that becomes approachable without losing its depth.

The mythology of Thirukkurungudi reflects this idea of the divine stepping closer to the devotee. One of the most well-known stories connected with this temple is that of Nampaduvan, a devotee born outside the traditional structures of society, who nevertheless held unwavering devotion to the Lord. According to tradition, he would come every year on the night of Ekadasi to sing before the deity. One such night, he was stopped by a rakshasa who demanded that he become his meal. Nampaduvan requested time to complete his vow of singing before the Lord, promising to return afterwards. True to his word, he returned after fulfilling his devotion, ready to give himself up. Moved by this honesty, the rakshasa revealed that he was under a curse and was freed through the merit of Nampaduvan’s truthfulness. The story does not rely on spectacle. It rests on integrity. It suggests that devotion is measured not by status but by sincerity.

Another important layer of the temple’s identity is its connection to Ramanuja. Tradition holds that the Lord here, Azhagiya Nambi, played a direct role in guiding Ramanuja. In one story, the Lord himself is said to have taken the form of Ramanuja’s disciple to learn from him, reversing the usual roles of teacher and student. This detail matters because it reflects a deeper idea. The divine is not always above learning. It participates, listens and engages. That willingness to step into human roles gives the temple a distinct philosophical depth.

Inside the temple, Azhagiya Nambi appears in multiple forms, each carrying its own meaning. The main deity stands in a graceful posture, but there are also other forms within the temple complex, including Ninra Nambi (standing), Irunda Nambi (seated), Kidanda Nambi (reclining) and Thirupaarkadal Nambi, located near the river. Together, these forms create a sense of completeness. The Lord is not limited to a single posture or state. He is present in different ways, reflecting the different ways in which devotees approach him.

Historically, Thirukkurungudi has been an important centre of Vaishnavite worship, with roots that extend through the Pandya and later periods. The temple has been maintained and expanded over centuries, with contributions from various rulers and local communities. The structure reflects this continuity, with a large gopuram, spacious prakarams and intricately carved pillars. Yet despite its size, the temple does not feel overwhelming. The presence of the surrounding hills and the open landscape keeps it grounded.

Architecturally, the temple stands out for its detail and proportion. The gopuram rises prominently, marking the temple’s presence from a distance, while the inner spaces guide the movement inward in a steady rhythm. The carvings reflect both mythological themes and everyday life, creating a sense of connection between the sacred and the ordinary. The nearby river and the natural surroundings add to the temple’s atmosphere, reinforcing its sense of place.

The daily rituals at Thirukkurungudi follow the Vaishnavite tradition, with multiple pujas performed throughout the day. Festivals such as Brahmotsavam, Vaikunta Ekadasi and the Kaiśika Ekadasi festival, which is closely linked to the story of Nampaduvan, bring larger gatherings of devotees. During the Kaiśika Ekadasi, the story of Nampaduvan is retold, and the temple becomes a space where devotion is remembered through narrative as much as through ritual.

The pilgrimage experience at Thirukkurungudi is shaped by both the temple and its surroundings. The approach through the foothills, the sound of the river and the openness of the landscape all contribute to a sense of calm. Once inside, the presence of multiple forms of Nambi invites a slower pace. Devotees often move through the temple not just to see the main sanctum but to experience each form, allowing the meaning of the temple to unfold gradually.

Culturally, Thirukkurungudi holds a strong place within the Divya Desam tradition through the hymns of the Alvars, particularly Thirumangai Alvar, who sang extensively about this temple. Over time, it has also become associated with themes of equality, sincerity and the accessibility of the divine. The story of Nampaduvan continues to resonate, reminding devotees that devotion is not limited by social position.

In modern times, Thirukkurungudi remains an active temple, drawing pilgrims from across the region and beyond. Despite increased access and visibility, it retains its quiet character. The rituals continue, the stories are retold, and the temple remains part of a living tradition rather than a preserved past.

Thirukkurungudi ultimately represents nearness as a form of grace. Azhagiya Nambi does not remain distant or unreachable. He becomes small enough to be approached, close enough to be known. In the larger Divya Desam journey, this temple offers a simple but powerful insight. The divine does not lose anything by coming closer. It becomes easier to recognise.

In My Hands Today…

Once Upon A Time In The West…Country – Tony Hawks

You can take the man out of the city, but is the countryside ready for him?

Comedian and born and bred townie, Tony Hawks is not afraid of a challenge – or indeed a good bet. He’s hitchhiked round Ireland with a fridge and taken on the Moldovan football team at tennis, one by one. Now the time has come for his greatest gamble yet – turning his back on comfortable city life to move to the wilds of the West Country.

With his partner Fran in tow and their first child on the way, he embraces the rituals of village life with often absurd and hilarious results, introducing us to an ensemble of eclectic characters along the way. One minute he’s taking part in a calamitous tractor run, the next he’s chairing a village meeting, but of course he still finds time for one last solo adventure before fatherhood arrives – cycling coast to coast with a mini pig called Titch.

In the epic battle of man vs countryside, who will win out?

Poem: The Beauty of Ordinary Days

This poem comes from the idea that people are constantly taught to chase big moments: achievements, celebrations, milestones, and dramatic transformations. But real life is rarely built from extraordinary events alone. Most of our lives are made up of routines, pauses, conversations, errands, tired evenings, and quiet mornings. The poem tries to gently shift attention back to those overlooked spaces.

There is also something deeply comforting about ordinary days, especially after periods of struggle or uncertainty. When life feels chaotic, even simple routines can become grounding. A cup of tea, sunlight through a window, hearing someone move around the house: these tiny details begin to feel meaningful. The poem is really about learning to stop waiting for life to become spectacular before allowing ourselves to appreciate it.

The Beauty of Ordinary Days

Not every day arrives with fireworks.
Most days come quietly.
They slip in through half-open curtains.
through the smell of tea brewing in the kitchen,
through the familiar sound
of someone moving about the house
before the world fully wakes.

There is no grand announcement
for the ordinary days.
No orchestra.
No confetti falling from the sky.
Just laundry drying near the window,
messages replied to hours later,
a neighbour watering plants
with the same patience as yesterday.

And yet,
life happens there too.

In the waiting at the traffic light.
In cutting fruit for someone you love.
In the comfort of old clothes
that have softened with time.
In evening walks taken
without needing a destination.

We spend so much of our lives
looking toward milestones
that we almost miss the quiet miracle
of simply being alive on a Tuesday afternoon.

The truth is,
most of our existence
will never become headlines.
No one applauds us
for surviving difficult weeks,
for making dinner when we are tired,
for trying again after disappointment,
for carrying invisible grief
with grace.

But there is beauty in that too.

There is beauty
in the repetition of small rituals.
In sunlight resting briefly
on the living room floor.
In shared silence.
In unfinished books beside the bed.
In hearing laughter drift
from another room.

Ordinary days ask for nothing.
They do not demand perfection
or transformation.
They simply arrive,
softly placing small moments before us,
hoping we notice.

And maybe happiness
has never really been hidden
inside extraordinary things.

Maybe it has always lived here.
Inside warm meals.
Inside familiar roads.
Inside ordinary days
we once thought we would forget.