Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Jyotirlingas Part 10 – Vaidyanath Temple

Located in the tranquil town of Deoghar in Jharkhand, the Vaidyanath Temple, also known as Baba Baidyanath Dham, stands as one of the twelve revered Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva, signifying the Lord of Physicians, who heals all ailments through divine grace. This sacred shrine is a powerful symbol of faith, healing, and redemption, revered by devout Hindus across India and beyond. Situated amidst the serene landscapes of eastern India, Vaidyanath Temple has long been a beacon of spiritual power, pilgrimage, and cultural heritage, drawing millions who seek divine blessings for health and salvation.

The mythology of Vaidyanath Temple is rich with cosmic drama, devotion, and divine intervention. A central legend tells of Ravana, the mighty demon king of Lanka and ardent devotee of Shiva, who sought to bring Shiva’s presence to his kingdom. After intense penance on Mount Kailash, Shiva granted Ravana the Atmalinga, a powerful self-manifested lingam, granting immense spiritual energy. Shiva warned Ravana that the lingam must not touch the ground until it reached Lanka, lest it remain fixed forever.

As Ravana travelled with the Atmalinga, the gods feared his growing power and enlisted Lord Vishnu’s help, who disguised himself as a shepherd boy named Baiju. Vishnu tricked Ravana into giving him the lingam, which he promptly set down at Deoghar, where it became firmly rooted. When Ravana tried to reclaim it, the lingam broke, and in frustration, he pressed his thumb upon it, leaving a mark visible to this day on the lingam’s surface. After Ravana’s penance and efforts, Shiva appeared at this site to heal his injuries, earning the title “Vaidyanath or the Lord of Physicians. This emphasises Shiva’s role not only as a destroyer but as a benevolent healer who cures ailments; both physical and spiritual.

Vaidyanath is also celebrated as a shaktipeetha, where the heart of Goddess Sati is believed to have fallen after Lord Vishnu’s Sudarshan Chakra dismembered her body to pacify Shiva’s grief and cosmic fury. The nearby Jai Durga Temple enshrines this divine feminine power, reinforcing the temple complex’s sacredness and its emblematic union of Shiva and Shakti.

Vaidyanath Temple’s history is woven into the spiritual and cultural fabric of eastern India. Historical records trace the temple’s origins back to the Gupta period in the 8th century AD, highlighted by inscriptions during the rule of Emperor Adityasena Gupta which affirm the sanctity and royal patronage of the shrine. The temple complex, comprising the main temple and 21 surrounding shrines, reflects medieval Indian architectural sensibilities with evident Mughal and Hindu stylistic influences. Raja Bijay Sen, a ruler from the Lohara dynasty, is credited with constructing the current prominent temple structure in the 16th century, combining devotional purpose with grand aesthetics.

Subsequent rulers, including the Palas, Senas, Mauryas, and others, contributed to its upkeep and embellishment. The British colonial era saw the temple maintain its religious importance despite political upheavals, under the care of local trust bodies.

The Vaidyanath Temple is renowned for its architectural grace, blending spiritual symbolism with artistic finesse. The temple stands approximately 72 feet tall with a large shikhara or spire that invokes the symbolic lotus, a motif reflecting purity and spiritual awakening. The main temple houses the lingam in a sanctum sanctorum approachable by devotees through spacious courtyards enclosed by high white stone walls. The complex includes an array of 21 smaller shrines dedicated to various deities, enhancing its spiritual ecosystem. Intricate carvings and frescoes adorn the inner and outer walls, displaying scenes from Shiva’s legends, abstract floral motifs, and geometric designs inspired by medieval Mughal and Hindu architectural styles. The temple’s golden vessels atop the shikhara, donated by various patrons, glisten under sunlight, symbolising prosperity and devotion. Devotees often notice the distinctive thumbprint on the lingam, marking Ravana’s historical bond with the temple.

The temple’s spiritual rhythm is a blend of age-old rituals and dynamic pilgrim activity. The ritual bathing of the lingam with milk, water from holy rivers, ghee, honey, and sandalwood paste is performed multiple times daily, accompanied by chants and hymns. Sacred lamps, conches, and devotional songs fill the temple atmosphere morning and evening. Devotees present fruits, flowers, bilva leaves, and coconuts, seeking health, prosperity, and spiritual welfare. Maha Shivaratri is celebrated in a grand way at the temple with night-long vigils, chants, processions, and masses, drawing vast crowds regionally and nationally. The Shravan month heralds fervent fasting and increased devotion to mark this auspicious lunar month. The temple observes Kartik Purnima and other major Hindu festivals with fervour. Local priests and families maintain a continuous tradition of active worship and pilgrim support, blending spiritual guidance with social welfare.

Pilgrimage to Vaidyanath is an immersive encounter with faith and nature. Deoghar town is well connected by road and rail, with nearest airports at Ranchi and Patna. Pilgrims often combine their visit with eastern India’s wider spiritual routes, including other Jyotirlingas and neighbouring shaktipeeths. Dharmashalas, hostels, and restaurants warmly welcome pilgrims, offering simple vegetarian foods and spiritual camaraderie. The temple’s atmosphere is enriched by surrounding greenery, gardens, and quiet spaces for meditation. Many pilgrims narrate personal stories of healing, familial blessings, and purification, attributing these blessings to the temple’s special healing power and divine energy.

Vaidyanath’s influence permeates eastern Indian religious culture, arts, and communal life. Traced in Puranic texts and local folklore, the temple inspires bhakti poetry, devotional songs, and annual storytelling performances. Folk dramas and music performances during festivals narrate the story of Ravana’s penance and Shiva’s grace. Temple motifs influence local arts and crafts, including stone carving, textile weaving, and devotional iconography. The shrine serves as a cultural and spiritual anchor for Deoghar and the surrounding regions, uniting diverse communities through shared rituals and festivals.

Today, Vaidyanath Temple is a living centre of faith, tourism, and heritage preservation. The temple is administered by local trusts, ensuring the smooth conduct of worship, pilgrim services, and conservation efforts. Safety, sanitation, and infrastructure have been significantly upgraded to accommodate growing pilgrim numbers. Millions of pilgrims visit annually, especially during Maha Shivaratri and Shravan, bolstering the local economy and cultural visibility. Eco-tourism and heritage preservation efforts balance the influx with environmental concerns. Ongoing restoration works maintain the temple’s structural integrity and the vibrancy of its art and iconography.

Vaidyanath Temple in Deoghar stands as a luminous symbol of Shiva’s healing and compassionate power. The temple’s deep mythological roots, rich historical tapestry, and intricate architecture embody a sacred trust passed down through the ages. For countless pilgrims and devotees, Vaidyanath offers hope, health, and salvation, securing its place at the core of India’s spiritual geography. It remains a vital beacon within the Jyotirlinga circuit and a testament to the enduring bond between faith and healing.

Poem: When the City Sleeps

The city is never truly silent. Even at its quietest hour, when shop shutters are drawn and the last bus sighs its way down an empty avenue, a low hum lingers in the air. It is the breath of something vast that never really stops breathing.

Streetlamps cast their pale halos on the pavement, watching over stray dogs curled into shadows. Windows above glow faintly, holding fragments of private worlds: a child tossing in sleep, a student bent over notes, and a woman waiting for a message that will not come tonight. The rest of the city, weary from the weight of the day, folds itself into slumber.

Walking these hushed streets feels like moving through a cathedral made not of stone but of asphalt and sky. The stars, muted by daylight and drowned by noise, finally find the courage to whisper again.

And in that quiet, it becomes clear: the city never sleeps completely. It merely rests, one eye half-closed, listening with the other, keeping vigil for all who dream, all who hope, and all who wander beneath its watchful gaze.

When the City Sleeps

When the city finally exhales,
its neon veins dim to a steady hum,
and the streets, once hurried and loud,
lie bare like a body unclothed of worry.

Shutters sigh as they close,
a last bus crawls through empty avenues,
and the night gathers
all the scattered voices into its folds.

Above, windows still glow—
islands of stories unfinished,
a child restless in dreams,
a mother waiting for news that won’t come tonight.

The stray dog curls into its shadow,
lamps lean into silence,
and even the wind slows its pace,
tiptoeing past sleeping doorways.

I walk through this hushed cathedral of asphalt,
where the stars dare to speak again,
and I realise—
the city does not truly sleep.

It only rests one eye,
listening with the other,
holding its people in the quiet,
until dawn stirs it awake once more.

International Women’s Day: Balance the Scales

Yesterday was International Women’s Day (IWD). Around the world, people will mark this day with events that highlight women’s achievements and focus on the long road left for gender equality. This year’s themes, chosen by two of the main voices in the movement, say a lot about how the world talks about women’s rights today. The UN has set its banner around balancing the scales, while the IWD organisation has also chosen “Balance the Scales” as its call to action for 2026. It’s rare to see both align so closely, but it raises real questions. What exactly does “balance” mean? Is the metaphor useful? Or does it make things too simple in a world where the weight isn’t just on one side of the scale?

What Does “Balance the Scales” Actually Mean?
“Balance the Scales” sounds like a cliché at first. But both the UN and the IWD organisation are using it this year, so let’s unpack it. The clearest way to understand the phrase is as a demand for fair treatment. In blunt terms, too many rules, official or unspoken, still stop women and girls from being safe, heard, or free to make choices. Think of discriminatory laws. Think of violence. Think of missed jobs, unequal pay, or leadership doors shut in their faces.

The image of scales is meant to show justice. Balance implies fairness. But here’s the rub: real life rarely acts like a perfect set of scales. The problems aren’t all the same everywhere. For example, women in Afghanistan face different struggles than those in Norway. Not every barrier is visible, and not every answer is a change in law. The theme’s simplicity risks making the battles all seem equal when they aren’t.

Celebrating Progress, But Not Mistaking it for the End
IWD is, at heart, a day for both celebration and protest. There has been genuine movement. Women vote, lead, and shape their countries in ways their grandmothers couldn’t dream of in much of the world. But pointing out the progress often masks the scale of what’s left. The pay gap still hasn’t closed. Gender-based violence remains a fact of life for millions. Parliamentary seats and CEO chairs are mainly filled by men even in nations with free elections and stable economies.

Even the way we talk about “progress” can hide the truth. Some changes are surface-level. A woman named CEO isn’t a sign of equal opportunity if her company’s board is still stacked against her or if her appointment is used to hide the deeper bias that never vanished. When “balance” is claimed too soon, it keeps us from seeing that old habits and prejudices are only evolving, not disappearing.

Are the Scales the Right Metaphor?
Let’s be honest: the scales are easy to picture, but they flatten the complexity. What does a “balanced” world look like? Equal pay? Equal numbers in parliament? Or something deeper, where difference doesn’t mean disadvantage? Some would argue that perfect parity is neither possible nor desirable if it ignores choice and culture.

And then there’s backlash. The word “balance” draws protest from people who believe women are already favoured, or who see these campaigns as blaming all men. The metaphor of scales, if pushed too far, risks framing equality as a zero-sum contest. But gender justice isn’t a math problem where more for one side means less for the other. The metaphor would work better if it made room for nuances: race, class, sexuality, and culture. Power sits at intersections. Some women have more privilege than many men ever will. The risk is that we talk of “all women” as if they’re the same, when the real world is far more tangled.

Shifting the Narrative: Who Owns Women’s Day?
Both UN Women and the IWD organisation are pushing collective action this year. The language is everywhere: “shared ownership,” “movement powered by all.” It’s a way of trying to prevent top-down dictates, making IWD something that grows from millions of people acting in their own streets and workplaces. The idea is that the struggle belongs to no one person or group, but to everyone. In practice, of course, not all voices carry the same weight. Celebrities, corporate partners, and big NGOs often shape IWD in public, while local actions and unglamorous fights for justice are often drowned out.

That means a real challenge for “shared ownership.” When businesses use the day for branding, it dilutes the meaning. The risk is that companies pay lip service to gender equality while avoiding hard questions, like how they treat staff or whose stories get told. It’s not hard to imagine a world where IWD becomes another hashtag event, with slick meetings, speeches, and awards, while women on the margins see nothing change.

Beyond Slogans: What Needs Fixing?
So, what’s really stopping progress? It’s not just about the law. Sure, in some countries, girls still can’t go to school, and that’s a direct result of policy. But even where rights are protected, invisible barriers persist. Who does the housework? Who stops working when a child is born? Who gets believed when they report abuse?

Balance, if it’s more than a slogan, would mean real shifts in all these areas. Not just fairness in numbers, but also in attitudes. Research shows that just changing laws isn’t enough; cultures need to shift, too. That happens slowly and by constant pushback.

Why Do Some People Oppose International Women’s Day?
Any talk of IWD sparks anger in some circles. Some see it as divisive or outdated. Some claims celebrating women push aside men’s problems. But this kind of pushback often misses the point. Acknowledging women’s problems doesn’t mean ignoring others. In fact, a better balance for women often spills over to help society in general. For example, when women earn more or have safer workplaces, families as a whole benefit. Health outcomes improve, children thrive, and economies grow stronger.

But it’s important to address criticisms honestly. Not every IWD event is meaningful, and some do slip into empty virtue signalling. If a company signs on for IWD but pays its female workers less or sponsors events while ignoring harassment in its own ranks, the critique is fair. The day is not inherently radical or transformative. It only works when actions back up the slogans.

Is the Day Still Needed?
Some people claim that women have “made it” and that a special day is no longer necessary. The numbers tell another story. Globally, women still earn less than men and own fewer assets. They’re more likely to be in insecure work and more likely to do unpaid labour. In many parts of the world, violence against women remains common, and impunity often protects abusers.

If anything, the day matters more now than ever. It’s not just a time to repeat old victories but to reckon with unfinished business, sharpen the debate, and keep pressure on systems that claim equality while delivering little change.

What About Tradition and Culture?
Some critics argue that pushing for more equality upsets traditional cultures. But culture is not static. In many societies, the same people who defend “tradition” also benefit most from old power structures. That doesn’t mean all tradition is bad, but it does mean it’s worth asking whose interests are being served when someone says a change is “too much, too fast.”

Not every tradition by default deserves protection. And culture can adapt. In fact, history shows us that social norms change when enough people push for it. The very fact that IWD is mainstream now, rather than a fringe protest, shows how ideas can evolve.

Why “Balance” Isn’t the End Goal
Even if the scales were truly level, the work wouldn’t be done. Human relationships aren’t about perfect symmetry. The focus shouldn’t be on mathematical equality—one for one, fifty-fifty—but on dignity, respect, and the freedom for everyone, regardless of gender, to live fully and safely. “Balance” as a theme makes sense if it means breaking the old forms of bias and letting new, fairer arrangements emerge.

But if “balance” means small improvements while big patterns of inequality remain, it risks stopping progress dead. Slogans should guide, not chain, the movement.

What Would a Real “Balance” Look Like?
If we take the metaphor seriously, real balance is structural change. That means more than just more women in boardrooms. It means closing the pay gap, ending violence, making reproductive rights real, supporting care work, and making space for every kind of woman, not just those who match the dominant ideal.

It also means dismantling the systems that keep men from being full caregivers or that force gender stereotypes on everyone. True balance reshapes assumptions all the way down. It won’t happen overnight. And it won’t come from slogans alone.

What’s Next?
International Women’s Day will come and go, as it does every year. There’ll be speeches and banners and maybe even a few legal changes. But if the day is to be more than a yearly ritual, it needs more than words. Balance the Scales should be a starting point for a much tougher conversation, one where old ideas can be questioned, and the messy, lived experience of all women can guide the work.

So, when marking the day this year, or any year, don’t just settle for slogans. Ask hard questions. Demand real accountability. And respect that the “balance” many talk about still needs to be fought for, piece by piece, in changing rooms, offices, streets, and parliaments everywhere.

Sacred Stones, Spaces, and Stories: Jyotirlingas Part 9 – Trimbakeshwar Temple

Located in the holy town of Trimbak, near Nashik, the Trimbakeshwar Temple in Maharashtra is one of the twelve revered Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva. Unlike others, this temple’s lingam uniquely features three faces, embodying the Hindu Trinity: Brahma, the Creator; Vishnu, the Preserver; and Shiva, the Destroyer, symbolising the cyclical nature of existence and cosmic balance. Situated near the sacred Brahmagiri hills, the temple also marks the origin point of the sacred Godavari River, India’s second-longest river and a vital lifeline for millions. The Trimbakeshwar Temple combines architectural grandeur, profound mythology, and spiritual potency, drawing devotees not only seeking moksha but also healing and liberation from ancestral sins.

Trimbakeshwar Temple’s mythology is closely intertwined with cosmic balance, penance, and divine grace. According to the Shiva Purana and other scriptures, a celestial dispute arose between Brahma and Vishnu over supremacy. Shiva intervened by appearing as an infinite pillar, or linga of light, challenging them to find its beginning or end. Brahma, taking the form of a swan, lied that he had found the top, while Vishnu, as a boar, admitted defeat in searching below. Enraged, Shiva severed Brahma’s fifth head and decreed he would never be worshipped widely. Shiva then manifested as the three-faced Jyotirlinga here at Trimbak, symbolising the unity of creator, preserver, and destroyer, an eternal trinity in a single form, embodying the cosmos itself.

The epic Padma Purana recounts the story of Sage Gautama and his wife, Ahalya, living near the Brahmagiri range. To absolve Gautama’s sin of accidentally killing a cow, Shiva granted him a boon by releasing the heavenly Ganga at Brahmagiri, which took the earth form as the Godavari River, a life-giving force to the region. Devotees believe the water from Godavari holds the purifying power of Ganga itself.

Trimbakeshwar uniquely hosts several rare and potent rituals like Narayan Nagbali and Kalsarpa Shanti, designed to remove curses and ancestral afflictions. The temple is thus not only a place of worship but also a cultural hub for spiritual healing, fostering communal and familial renewal.

Trimbakeshwar Temple’s origins trace back several centuries, combining mythic legacy with documented history. Though mythology situates the Jyotirlinga here since cosmic times, the earliest structural evidence dates from the medieval period, potentially around the 2nd millennium CE, with successive rulers enhancing the temple. The present structure was mainly built by Balaji Baji Rao, aka Nana Saheb Peshwa, between 1755 and 1786 CE. Using black basalt stone typical of the Hemadpanthi architectural style, Nana Saheb rebuilt the temple in grand form, inscribing his legacy on one of Maharashtra’s holiest sites.

During the British era, an unfortunate theft led to the disappearance of the famous Nassak diamond that once adorned the lingam’s crown. The diamond’s history intertwines with colonial conquest and Indian royal heritage but remains a subject of fascination.

Trimbakeshwar Temple is a classical example of Hemadpanthi architecture, characterised by its simplicity, robustness, and refined stone craftsmanship. The temple structure is primarily basalt stone, durable against time and monsoon. The sanctum houses the three-faced Jyotirlinga with faces toward east (Brahma), north (Vishnu), and south (Shiva). Multiple mandapas (pillared halls) and prakara (boundary walls) enable the flow of devotees and rituals. The temple features intricate carvings on pillars and ceilings depicting scenes from Shiva’s legends and Hindu cosmology. A large number of smaller shrines within the compound honour related deities like Ganesha, Kartikeya, and Annapurna. Located near the Brahmagiri hills, the source of the Godavari River, the temple’s environment reflects sanctity and serenity, with the surrounding landscape playing a pivotal role in the temple’s spiritual ambiance.

Trimbakeshwar’s rituals are known for their depth and spiritual efficacy. The core ritual includes bathing the lingam with water, milk, honey, and other sanctified items, accompanied by Vedic chanting. Morning and evening lamp ceremonies infuse the temple with devotion and energy. Devotees bring bilva leaves, coconuts, sweets, and sacred threads for blessings and ancestral peace.

The Narayan Nagbali and Kalsarpa Shanti are special puja and rituals that address lingering curses and financial or familial troubles. The Tripindi Shraddha honours ancestors to ensure their peace. Local priests and family lineage priests guide these elaborate ceremonies. Mahashivaratri is celebrated with mass pilgrimages, fasting, music, and all-night prayers, while during the month of Shravan, devotees flock here especially on Mondays, considered highly auspicious for Shiva worship. Community participation is high, involving locals and pilgrims in ceremony preparation and hospitality.

Pilgrims undertaking the Trimbakeshwar yatra partake in both spiritual devotion and scenic beauty. The temple is about 30 km from Nashik; it is reachable by road, with ample transport options. Situated in a peaceful small town, the temple is accessible year-round, augmented by nearby spiritual sites and nature spots. Temples, dharamshalas, restaurants, and shops cater to pilgrims, creating a friendly and supportive atmosphere. The nearby Brahmagiri hills, with their natural springs and forests, enhance the pilgrimage’s contemplative quality. Many pilgrims report a palpable blend of serenity, inspiration, and sacred presence while visiting, especially near the Godavari’s source.

Trimbakeshwar resonates deeply in Maharashtra’s religious, literary, and cultural traditions. Manifested in Marathi and Sanskrit devotional songs praising Shiva and the Godavari. Local folklore integrates the temple’s legends into wider narratives. Festivals see congregations performing folk dances, bhajan singing, and dramatic retellings of Shiva’s feats. Local artisans produce temple souvenirs, sacred icons, and embroidered textiles inspired by temple motifs. The temple’s triadic symbolism influences Maharashtra’s religious art. The temple anchors Nashik district’s cultural life and spiritual identity, strengthening bonds across communities and generations.

Trimbakeshwar remains a living spiritual centre adapting to contemporary demands. The temple trust manages daily worship, festivals, upkeep, and visitor services. Digital registrations and pilgrimage facilitation enhance accessibility. Over the years, tourism and pilgrimage growth have been steadily rising with massive foot traffic, especially during auspicious periods. There have been attempts to integrate pilgrimage with ecotourism in the surrounding hill areas as well as the conservation of local heritage sites in the temple vicinity.

The Trimbakeshwar Temple stands as a unique confluence of divine triune power, mythic rivers, and architecture resonating through time. As an enduring beacon of the Jyotirlinga tradition and the source of the Godavari, it offers devotees a path to cosmic understanding and salvation. Through centuries of faith, ceremony, and story, Trimbakeshwar nurtures devotion within Maharashtra and beyond, inviting all to experience Shiva’s three-faced grace in the heart of the Sahyadri hills.

Mumbai Memories: Start of the School Day

It’s been a while since I shared any story about my school, so today is the day when I do that. In Singapore, next to my home is a primary school. Every day at 7:25 am, on the dot, I can hear the school announcement asking the children to stop doing whatever they are doing and stand up for the national anthem. The Singapore national anthem is followed by the national pledge, and this school then follows it up with their school pledge, and on some days, it is followed by the school song. This routine of the national anthem, followed by the pledge, is seen across all primary, secondary, and junior colleges in Singapore. Most primary and secondary schools have an official start of 7:30 am, though some days, they may have a later start. 

This made me think about how we started our school day in Mumbai. Growing up, most schools started the day with the national anthem, but my school was different. In my school, which was a Parsi school and was very proud of its secular roots, every day was a different prayer. Also, my school had a public announcement system in each classroom, and the infant (aka kindergarten) and primary systems were separate from the secondary ones. 

Once we reached school, we were expected to go straight to our classroom and keep our bags on our desks. Then, if you were early enough, you could go and play outside, which was something the kindergarteners or early primary students did. Most of us spent the time inside the classroom, chatting with friends, catching up on homework, or reading. 

The school’s official start time was about 8:30 am, which was common across all classes. But for the older students, say starting from class 6 or 7, we had what was called a morning class. This was period 0, which started around 8 am but did not have a starting bell. Given that it was widespread, most students would be dropped off at school before 8 am, and those who didn’t have a morning class had an extra 30 minutes to themselves. 

At 8:25 am, the first bell would ring, and everybody had to rush to their class to get ready for morning prayers. My school did not believe in the national anthem daily; that was reserved for special days and national holidays. Instead, we had prayers from all religions on a rotating basis. Some days, it would be Parsi prayers; some days, it would be Hindu prayers in Sanskrit or Tamil or Gujarati or Marathi; or some days, we would have Jain prayers. Sometimes, we would have parents come and say the morning prayers, especially if they had something special to share. This was for both the primary and secondary schools. The only exception to the rule was when any sad news was announced. On those occasions, one of the teachers would recite a special Parsi prayer—the Yatha Ahu Vairyo, a Zoroastrian prayer, widely regarded as something of a talisman, a very potent charm, capable of producing extraordinary effects. On trying to learn more about this prayer, I’ve learned that it is recited by Zoroastrians for the protection and benefit of departed souls, particularly during the mourning period following a death. The prayer’s powerful, primordial nature is believed to offer comfort and aid to the soul on its journey after death. I’ve heard this prayer so many times during my years in school that when writing this paragraph, I unconsciously found myself saying the prayer! After the prayer, we would wish our teacher well and start our day.

At the end of the school day, this was repeated. But because different sections ended their days at different times, the infant school had their prayer at noon, the primary school at 2:30 pm, and the secondary school at 3-3:30 pm. The close of the day prayer would be a short one, and after wishing the teacher well, we would be released.

Next to my home in Mumbai is a school. Growing up, they started much later than me, so I don’t really remember much about their start days. But recently, the school has expanded and now works on a shift system. This means their first shift starts around 6:45 am and the second shift around noon. So during our trips to Mumbai, we have been sometimes awakened to both the Indian national anthem, some Sanskrit shlokas and other national songs at 6:30 am, then again around noon when the first shift ends their day, followed by the second shift around 1 pm and then again around 6 pm when the second shift ends their day. Then I knew how people living around my school probably felt, though we had strict instructions not to make any noise, and any noise complaints by residents in the buildings close to my school were taken very seriously!

Writing this blog post brought back so many memories of a time when we were innocent and carefree, and I wrote this with a huge smile on my face. Thanks for allowing me to share my memories with you…