Bani Guru, Guru hai Bani…’ Comprising the text of Guru Granth Sahib, ‘Gurbani’ or ‘Baani’ is like a vast, deep ocean of knowledge and divinity. It teaches us how to follow the true path and live it on a higher plain.

Significantly, because of what it teaches, Gurbani is also a great teacher, healer and stressbuster.

Why do these religious scriptures profoundly calm and heal us? Certain thought and behaviour patterns have a profound effect on our mental and physical health. A positive attitude, a giving nature and kindness are considered effective health tools.

Spiritually rich Gurbani possesses all these attributes. Besides its universal message and profound appeal, it promotes general welfare through love and selfless devotional service to humanity. It espouses peace, amity, friendship, simplicity and forgiveness – virtues that transport us into a positive frame of mind and treat and heal us.

‘Awal Allaha noor upaya kudrat ke sabh bande,’ – regardless of our caste and creed, we are all children of God. Gurbani advocates coexistence, the best way to engender peace and harmony, so badly needed today. It makes us feel calm and fulfilled.




It preaches benevolence and kindness, as practised by Sikh gurus in exemplary fashion. The gurus embodied kindness throughout their lives, the level of their sacrifice is unparalleled.

The sermon is clear. Accept God’s will. He is the creator, provider, friend, philosopher, guide and healer. Not only does He heal us, but He also teaches us to self-heal. ‘Pavan guru paani pita, mata dharat mahat balihari kudrat vasaiya,’ – Gurbani tells us that natural elements are akin to our parents. Today, the world has seen havoc unleashed through global warming and climate change.

Gurbani teaches us to avoid addictions. Addictions overpower us, then imprison us and eventually ruin our lives. Greed is a vice that engenders evil thoughts and actions. Avoiding these has a calming effect on us.




Guru Nanak Dev had strongly advocated gender equality. It also addresses family concerns and encourages us to develop altruism. Family concerns and problems create great stress. Addressing these helps us enormously.

Bani’s hymns are spiritually, socially, culturally and poetically rich; they wean seekers away from hatred, bigotry, fanaticism and irrational impulses. Those who are devoted to Bani automatically learn about Self-realisation, introspection, selfdiscipline, simplicity and learn to steer their own paths. They attain spiritual bliss and solace through recitation of God’s name, without ignoring their household duties, or losing their earthly touch. This meditation is the ultimate stressbuster.
Gurbani advocates jivanmukt way of life that means attaining salvation while alive. It also advocates renouncing one’s pride, attachment and greed, and doing good for humanity through seva.

The messaging is simple. We can help ourselves and that will enable us to create a better world. The wisdom is here. We just have to ensure we don’t miss it.

By Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar

We have all heard the beautiful story from the Puranas about Ganesh. The story goes that Shiv returned home to meet his wife, Parvati. He found a boy standing outside, blocking his path to meet Parvati, who was taking a bath. Angered, Shiv chopped off the boy’s head. Parvati came out to see her son, born from the impurities of her own body, lying lifeless. She became miserable and pleaded with Shiv to bring his son back. To pacify her, Shiv sent to look for the head of a person sleeping with the head towards the north. They could not find anyone but an elephant with the head in that position. Its head was placed on the little boy. This is the story of Ganesh.

Now, for someone listening to this story for the very first time, it can seem absurd and raise many questions: Shiv, who is all-knowing, all-pervasive, and all-powerful, who can see through time, how could he be so angry and rude? Secondly, did he not even know that the boy was his son? Third, even if so, the boy just stopped him for a while because Parvati was taking a shower. Why did Shiv become so impatient? If this story is taken literally, Shiv comes across as an angry, absurd, violent, and illogical figure.




The essential meaning of this story symbolises something stupendous. Shiv represents transcendental consciousness. Shiv is that Self, consciousness, which is ever peaceful, all-pervading, summum bonum of all creation – unmanifest energy. Parvati represents Prakriti, manifest energy. Her body’s mala, dirt, represents distortions and ignorance that accumulate in nature, covering the soul like mud mixing with pure water. When Parvati infused these impurities with life, she created Ganesh – the jiva-atma, living soul, born from Nature.

Prakriti, nature, and vikriti, distortion of energy, are part of the same whole. Nature has decay as part of it. Distortion guards creation, just like compost supports a tree’s growth. Death supports life. So many cells in your body are dying every day. Only then does it give space to new cells to be born.

It’s called Lesha Avidya, a little distortion of energy, or relative energy is essential. When you go into the depths of the oneness of the universal spirit, you are there as one. But when you have to come out of it to the world, to even express that ‘i had a great meditation,’ there has to be somebody who comes out of it. From the absolute realm, you have to come to the relative realm. The seen world and the unseen world both go together. The unseen world glorifies the seen, and the seen world glorifies the unseen – that is Shiv and Shakti.

Parvati bathing symbolises Nature withdrawing into its purity, ready to unite with consciousness. Shiv represents Purush – pure, non-dual consciousness where no impurity can remain.

‘Shiv beheading the boy’ symbolises removal of all impurities. The head indicates intellect, which needs to be transformed to find wisdom. The elephant has the largest head and stands for vast wisdom. It unites jnanendriyas, organs of perception, and karmendriyas, organs of action, in one, its trunk, which can both perceive and act. It constantly moves its ears, teaching harmony between what is heard and what is seen, as integrated knowledge.

Placing the elephant’s head signifies establishing complete wisdom; it becomes capable of removing obstacles and bestowing buddhi, intellect and siddhi, accomplishment. That is the Ganapati principle.

By the XIV Dalai Lama

We live in a time of profound global challenges – climate change, inequality, conflict, and deepening isolation. These problems know no borders. They affect us all. And so, they call for something greater than individual or national interest. They call for a sense of universal responsibility.

At its core, this responsibility arises from recognising our deep interdependence. In the past, we lived in relative separation – villages, nations, and religions evolved independently. Today, information, goods, people, and ideas move freely, revealing how interconnected we truly are. The well-being of one is linked to the well-being of all.

We can no longer believe that our actions are contained within personal or national boundaries. When forests disappear in one country, the air suffers everywhere. When war breaks out in one region, it displaces people and shakes the peace of others far away. The pain of one becomes the burden of many.

This is why we must move beyond narrow self-interest. Universal responsibility asks us to shift from ‘me’ to ‘we’ – to recognise that compassion for others is not a luxury, but a necessity.

This shift begins not with great acts, but with awareness. When we realise that others’ happiness is linked to our own, compassion arises naturally. From this, action flows: to ease suffering, promote justice, and care for the Earth that sustains us.

Some may ask, ‘But what can one person do?’ The answer is: a great deal. History is shaped by individuals who chose not to be indifferent. A single act of kindness, born of courage and sincerity, can ripple outward. A warm heart can be quietly powerful.
Education is key – but it must educate both heart and mind.

Knowledge alone is not enough. Without ethical grounding, intelligence can be used to divide, deceive, or destroy. This is why I often speak of secular ethics – basic human values such as compassion, honesty, patience, and self-discipline. These are not tied to any one faith. They are universal.

Whether one believes in God or not, these values remain the foundation of a good life. I have met deeply ethical people of many religions, and also those of none. Goodness is not exclusive to believers. Responsibility belongs to all.

This includes responsibility to the environment. The Earth is our only home. We cannot treat its resources as endless. We must develop ecological awareness – not only for ourselves, but for future generations. A clean river, a green forest, a clear sky – these are gifts we owe to our children.

We also carry responsibility for peace. In the modern world, violence is an outdated response to conflict. It causes immense suffering, and rarely solves the problems it claims to address. Peace cannot come from weapons or domination. It must be built through understanding, dialogue, and respect for human rights.

Is universal responsibility realistic? I believe it is not only realistic – it is essential. Without it, division will grow, conflict will spread, and the environment will collapse. Our survival depends on cooperation.
And it begins with each of us. We all have daily chances to live this responsibility – by being kind, by acting honestly, by showing care. Parents, teachers, leaders – all can guide by example.

When we feel love for others, we find peace in ourselves. When we act from that love, we heal the world. An ocean is filled drop by drop. Let us each be one drop. Together, we can create a sea of kindness strong enough to heal even the deepest wounds. Let us not wait. Let’s begin.

As told to Rajiv Mehrotra

(By Partha Sinha)

There is a thin line that separates confidence from arrogance. Confidence is porous, open to air and light. Arrogance calcifies into a shell. Confidence grows with learning, while arrogance hardens into certainty. The difference is not always visible, but it becomes clear the moment a question enters the room.




Questions are the natural solvent of pride. They loosen what has become stiff. They remind us that no matter how high the pedestal, gravity still applies. When you are asked a question, you are being invited to revisit your own truth. That invitation can be unsettling. People in authority often reject it, not because the question is flawed, but because it threatens the fragile armour they mistake for strength.

I have seen this often in boardrooms, classrooms, even in living rooms. The most dangerous sentence in any of these places is, “That is a silly question.” It is not the question that is silly. It is the refusal to acknowledge that another perspective exists. Confidence says, “Let us consider.” Arrogance says, “Do not bother me.”

Children know better. Their days are filled with why, how, when, what if. Their questions are not rhetorical devices but lifelines. Each one is an act of humility, a confession that the world is too vast to be managed alone. That is why their questions disarm us. They reveal the pretence of adulthood. When a child asks, “Why is the sky blue?” the right answer is not a lecture in physics. It is wonder.

Our spiritual traditions also honour this truth. Socrates never tired of asking questions, because he believed wisdom was not a well to be filled but a river to be entered again and again. In Zen practice, the koan is not meant to be answered. It is meant to unsettle the self that insists on neat solutions. The Bhagwad Gita begins with a question from Arjun, paralysed by doubt, and it is only through his asking that wisdom flows.

Yet in modern life we prize answers more than questions. The quick reply, instant solution, clever sound bite. Answers inflate the ego, while questions deflate it just enough for humility to enter. To sit quietly with a question, is to let the self breathe.

Think of the last time someone asked you a real question. Not a trap, not a test, but a true inquiry. For a moment you slowed down. You listened more deeply. You put aside the armour of performance. That moment itself was grace.

Questions and silence are siblings. Both clear the noise. Both remind us that the ego is not a fortress but scaffolding, temporary and fragile, built to be taken down so that we may rebuild again.
So when a question unsettles you, do not swat it away. Hold it gently, the way you hold a seashell to your ear. Listen for the ocean inside it. For in every question lies a hand tugging softly at your sleeve. Take that hand. It does not shrink you. It only reminds you that to be human is not to defend certainty, but to remain curious, open and alive.

Because in the end, it is not answers that keep us alive. It is the courage to keep asking

(By Partha Sinha)

There is a thin line that separates confidence from arrogance. Confidence is porous, open to air and light. Arrogance calcifies into a shell. Confidence grows with learning, while arrogance hardens into certainty. The difference is not always visible, but it becomes clear the moment a question enters the room.

Questions are the natural solvent of pride. They loosen what has become stiff. They remind us that no matter how high the pedestal, gravity still applies. When you are asked a question, you are being invited to revisit your own truth. That invitation can be unsettling. People in authority often reject it, not because the question is flawed, but because it threatens the fragile armour they mistake for strength.

I have seen this often in boardrooms, classrooms, even in living rooms. The most dangerous sentence in any of these places is, “That is a silly question.” It is not the question that is silly. It is the refusal to acknowledge that another perspective exists. Confidence says, “Let us consider.” Arrogance says, “Do not bother me.”

Children know better. Their days are filled with why, how, when, what if. Their questions are not rhetorical devices but lifelines. Each one is an act of humility, a confession that the world is too vast to be managed alone. That is why their questions disarm us. They reveal the pretence of adulthood. When a child asks, “Why is the sky blue?” the right answer is not a lecture in physics. It is wonder.

Our spiritual traditions also honour this truth. Socrates never tired of asking questions, because he believed wisdom was not a well to be filled but a river to be entered again and again. In Zen practice, the koan is not meant to be answered. It is meant to unsettle the self that insists on neat solutions. The Bhagwad Gita begins with a question from Arjun, paralysed by doubt, and it is only through his asking that wisdom flows.

Yet in modern life we prize answers more than questions. The quick reply, instant solution, clever sound bite. Answers inflate the ego, while questions deflate it just enough for humility to enter. To sit quietly with a question, is to let the self breathe.

Think of the last time someone asked you a real question. Not a trap, not a test, but a true inquiry. For a moment you slowed down. You listened more deeply. You put aside the armour of performance. That moment itself was grace.

Questions and silence are siblings. Both clear the noise. Both remind us that the ego is not a fortress but scaffolding, temporary and fragile, built to be taken down so that we may rebuild again.
So when a question unsettles you, do not swat it away. Hold it gently, the way you hold a seashell to your ear. Listen for the ocean inside it. For in every question lies a hand tugging softly at your sleeve. Take that hand. It does not shrink you. It only reminds you that to be human is not to defend certainty, but to remain curious, open and alive.

Because in the end, it is not answers that keep us alive. It is the courage to keep asking.

(By Partha Sinha)

There is a thin line that separates confidence from arrogance. Confidence is porous, open to air and light. Arrogance calcifies into a shell. Confidence grows with learning, while arrogance hardens into certainty. The difference is not always visible, but it becomes clear the moment a question enters the room.

Questions are the natural solvent of pride. They loosen what has become stiff. They remind us that no matter how high the pedestal, gravity still applies. When you are asked a question, you are being invited to revisit your own truth. That invitation can be unsettling. People in authority often reject it, not because the question is flawed, but because it threatens the fragile armour they mistake for strength.

I have seen this often in boardrooms, classrooms, even in living rooms. The most dangerous sentence in any of these places is, “That is a silly question.” It is not the question that is silly. It is the refusal to acknowledge that another perspective exists. Confidence says, “Let us consider.” Arrogance says, “Do not bother me.”

Children know better. Their days are filled with why, how, when, what if. Their questions are not rhetorical devices but lifelines. Each one is an act of humility, a confession that the world is too vast to be managed alone. That is why their questions disarm us. They reveal the pretence of adulthood. When a child asks, “Why is the sky blue?” the right answer is not a lecture in physics. It is wonder.

Our spiritual traditions also honour this truth. Socrates never tired of asking questions, because he believed wisdom was not a well to be filled but a river to be entered again and again. In Zen practice, the koan is not meant to be answered. It is meant to unsettle the self that insists on neat solutions. The Bhagwad Gita begins with a question from Arjun, paralysed by doubt, and it is only through his asking that wisdom flows.

Yet in modern life we prize answers more than questions. The quick reply, instant solution, clever sound bite. Answers inflate the ego, while questions deflate it just enough for humility to enter. To sit quietly with a question, is to let the self breathe.

Think of the last time someone asked you a real question. Not a trap, not a test, but a true inquiry. For a moment you slowed down. You listened more deeply. You put aside the armour of performance. That moment itself was grace.

Questions and silence are siblings. Both clear the noise. Both remind us that the ego is not a fortress but scaffolding, temporary and fragile, built to be taken down so that we may rebuild again.
So when a question unsettles you, do not swat it away. Hold it gently, the way you hold a seashell to your ear. Listen for the ocean inside it. For in every question lies a hand tugging softly at your sleeve. Take that hand. It does not shrink you. It only reminds you that to be human is not to defend certainty, but to remain curious, open and alive.

Because in the end, it is not answers that keep us alive. It is the courage to keep asking.

By Ullhas Pagey

In the stillness of early morning, there is a sacred space when timeless wisdom is revealed through recital of Ganapati Atharva Shirsha , an ancient text dedicated to Ganesh, symbol of wisdom, remover of obstacles, and guardian of beginnings.

Ganesh is described not as a distant god, but as the fundamental energy rooted within the human body and consciousness. This energy resides at the base of spine, the seat of potential and source of life’s momentum. Thus, the hymn invites us to turn inward, to locate the Divine not in temples or rituals, but in the subtle presence within the Self. The journey is not towards a god, but towards awakening.

As verses unfold, a striking declaration emerges: Ganesh is not one god among many but the essence of all gods, all energies and all forms. He is creation, preservation, and dissolution: all aspects of life rolled into one unifying force. Through this lens, we begin to understand that names and identities are mere masks. The Divine is not many; it is one, appearing in countless guises. Ganesh is not just a character from Indic mythology, but a symbol of unity that underlines all diversity.




This leads to another insight that everything in the universe is interconnected. There are no separate parts, only expressions of a whole. The remover of obstacles is not someone who clears life’s path, but the real obstacles are within. Ganesh represents clarity that dissolves these internal blocks. By invoking this clarity, we become free, not because the world changes, but because our perception changes.

Another powerful element in the text is its focus on wisdom, not information or knowledge, but an insight: Asking not for wealth or favours, but for the illumination that helps us understand what truly matters.

Through the hymn, we learn that spiritual growth is less about accumulation and more about refinement. The final message the text offers is about fearlessness. It promises that one who truly understands this wisdom will live without fear, sorrow, or confusion.

This does not mean a life free from hardship, but a life rooted in something deeper than circumstances. When we realise that the Divine lives within us, then fear naturally dissolves. We no longer seek approval, avoid discomfort or manipulate to control circumstances. We begin to flow with life, trusting its intelligence.

Ganapati Atharva Shirsha is not just a devotional hymn; it is a spiritual map. It tells us that the Divine is within, that clarity is true power. It is a call not just to worship, but to recognise that god we seek is the presence already beating in our hearts and in the quiet that follows this realisation, there comes a peace not born of belief, but of recognition that we are not separate from the whole.

By Ezekiel Isaac Malekar

What is the purpose of religion? Is it to elevate our souls and to bring us as close as possible to God? The true purpose of religion is to bring out the potentialities of everyone to create a new Garden of Eden. To this, we must maintain a high level of spirituality otherwise we will stoop to illicit means to obtain our goals.

Acts of charity, loving kindness and righteousness are outward manifestations of an interior faith. Religion is not an abstraction and selfish quest for personal satisfaction. It is a quest for the perfection of the world through deeds of kindness.

Judaism lays a great emphasis on importance of a good moral life at every moment. Charity must be practised, and a proportion of one’s income should be earmarked for this purpose, as a visible expression of universal love. Charity also saves a man from death.

And when you reap the harvest of the land, thou shall not wholly reap the harvest of the land, thou shall not wholly reap the corners of the field when thou reapest, neither shall thou gather the gleaning of thy harvest; thou shall leave them for the poor and for the stranger.

There are three characters among men – he who says, what is mine is mine, and what is thine is thine; he is a neutral character. He who says what is thine and what is mine is thine, is a saint. He who says what is thine is mine and what is mine is mine; is wicked. Torah says, “Happy is he who giveth to the poor,” but “Happy is he who wisely considers the poor.”

In Judaism, the concept of charity is called Tzedakah, a Hebrew word that means ‘righteousness’ or ‘justice’. It is a religious obligation to help others and bring fairness to the world, and it is not limited to financial donation. Tzedakah can include giving money, showing kindness, charity, good deeds, building relationships and contributing time and effort. Judaism holds anonymous giving to people who are less fortunate with compassion as the highest form of charity.

There are Maimonides, Eight degrees of giving, one higher than the other. He who gives grudgingly, reluctantly, or with regret. He who gives less than he should but gives graciously. He who gives before he is asked. He who gives without knowing to whom he gives although the recipient knows the identity of the donor.

He who gives without knowing to whom he gives, neither does the recipient know from whom he receives. He who helps a fellowman to support himself through a gift or a loan. Or by finding him employment, thus helping him become self-supporting.

Life and death are part of the divine plan for the world. Since life is the most sacred gift of God, we are all obliged to fulfil obligation to save lives of our fellow brothers and sisters. Let us all hope that we are all able to be kind, compassionate, loving, tolerant, nonviolent so that our planet is illuminated with peace and wisdom.By Ezekiel Isaac Malekar

What is the purpose of religion? Is it to elevate our souls and to bring us as close as possible to God? The true purpose of religion is to bring out the potentialities of everyone to create a new Garden of Eden. To this, we must maintain a high level of spirituality otherwise we will stoop to illicit means to obtain our goals.

Acts of charity, loving kindness and righteousness are outward manifestations of an interior faith. Religion is not an abstraction and selfish quest for personal satisfaction. It is a quest for the perfection of the world through deeds of kindness.

Judaism lays a great emphasis on importance of a good moral life at every moment. Charity must be practised, and a proportion of one’s income should be earmarked for this purpose, as a visible expression of universal love. Charity also saves a man from death.

And when you reap the harvest of the land, thou shall not wholly reap the harvest of the land, thou shall not wholly reap the corners of the field when thou reapest, neither shall thou gather the gleaning of thy harvest; thou shall leave them for the poor and for the stranger.

There are three characters among men – he who says, what is mine is mine, and what is thine is thine; he is a neutral character. He who says what is thine and what is mine is thine, is a saint. He who says what is thine is mine and what is mine is mine; is wicked. Torah says, “Happy is he who giveth to the poor,” but “Happy is he who wisely considers the poor.”

In Judaism, the concept of charity is called Tzedakah, a Hebrew word that means ‘righteousness’ or ‘justice’. It is a religious obligation to help others and bring fairness to the world, and it is not limited to financial donation. Tzedakah can include giving money, showing kindness, charity, good deeds, building relationships and contributing time and effort. Judaism holds anonymous giving to people who are less fortunate with compassion as the highest form of charity.

There are Maimonides, Eight degrees of giving, one higher than the other. He who gives grudgingly, reluctantly, or with regret. He who gives less than he should but gives graciously. He who gives before he is asked. He who gives without knowing to whom he gives although the recipient knows the identity of the donor.

He who gives without knowing to whom he gives, neither does the recipient know from whom he receives. He who helps a fellowman to support himself through a gift or a loan. Or by finding him employment, thus helping him become self-supporting.

Life and death are part of the divine plan for the world. Since life is the most sacred gift of God, we are all obliged to fulfil obligation to save lives of our fellow brothers and sisters. Let us all hope that we are all able to be kind, compassionate, loving, tolerant, nonviolent so that our planet is illuminated with peace and wisdom.

By Muni Pranamyasagar)

Chaos, unrest, suffering, and misuse of power arise when the human mind disconnects from real nature of the soul. The connotation of Dashlalshan Dharm, ten virtues, is not religious; it is to focus on inherent qualities of soul. In Jain philosophy, dharm is defined as svabhav , the natural state of a person or thing. When a person is following their true nature, he is following dharm.






The ten are not divisions of dharm but its components. Even if one virtue is practised fully, others naturally follow. Names are given separately for focused cultivation, much like subjects are divided in education. For example: Kshama, forgiveness, marda, humility, arjava, straightforwardness/simplicity, shaucha, purity, satya, truth, tapa, austerity, tyag, renunciation, aakinchanya, non-possessiveness, brahmacharya, celibacy, and santosh, contentment.

Someone who cultivates forgiveness will naturally also become humble and simple, but to sharpen focus, they are explained separately. Just like students study many subjects but eventually realise the unity of knowledge, these virtues are facets of one essence.

If one begins with forgiveness and abides in their true Self, they complete the journey of Self-realisation. Wrongdoing—towards family, society, or nation— happens when a person strays from these virtues. Anger, ego, greed, and possessiveness are deviations from one’s true Self. Jain Darshan says: When the mind is connected with these ten virtues, it stays under control.

These virtues are not external impositions; they are soul’s own nature. Practising them is to align the mind with the soul. The annual observance of Dashlakshan dharm festival ensures at least once a year, people reconnect with the Self. Disorder, oppression, or cruelty arise only when people lose connection with their own true nature.

When a person cultivates these virtues, they become an example for others.

Every soul is eternal but impure, bound with karm since beginningless time. The ten virtues are like detergent to cleanse the soul. Once the soul is purified, it remains in this state. Each soul is complete in itself, not a fragment of some universal whole. Once purified, the soul attains infinite knowledge and bliss – this is liberation. In Jainism, god is not a single supreme being but every liberated soul. Hence, there are infinite gods; any soul can attain Godhood through purification. Jainism holds that each soul has the potential for liberation. One who transcends bondage becomes God. All souls are equal, but their states differ according to karm.
There are four realms of existence: human, tiryancha, animal/plant, deva, celestial and narak, hell. Souls migrate among these until liberation. Devas are not the same as liberated souls; they enjoy pleasures and powers, but only a liberated soul, free from body and mind, is called Bhagvan.

The essence of the soul is consciousness – the power to know and perceive. This power does not exist in non-living matter like books, wood, or stone. From nigod , the lowest state of existence, souls gradually evolve, migrating through various forms. Souls are eternal – they are never created anew, only transformed in state, just like matter, which cannot be created or destroyed.

(As told to Sonal Srivastava)

Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev

Every year, as the monsoon clouds thin and the air fills with anticipation, millions prepare to celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi – one of India’s most cherished festivals, honouring Ganapati, God of wisdom, learning, and remover of obstacles. Yet beneath festive rituals and sweet treats lies a story that goes beyond myth into a profound symbol of intelligence, transformation, and the power of creation.

The story begins with Shiv, the great ascetic yogi, leaving home and his consort, Parvati, for long periods. Driven by loneliness and maternal longing, she took an extraordinary step. She gathered the sandal paste from her body – carrying flakes of her skin with it – blended it with soil and shaped it into a child.

Into this figure, she breathed life. Years later, when Shiv returned, he encountered a boy guarding his mother’s privacy. Neither recognised the other, and in anger, Shiv beheaded the child. Parvati’s grief and rage were immense, and to repair the tragedy, Shiv replaced the boy’s head with that of the leader of his ganas – strange, otherworldly beings who accompanied him.

These ganas were said to have boneless limbs and forms unlike humans, which inspired artists to depict Ganesh with an elephant’s head, but still, in every mantra, in every expression of devotion, it is Ganapati, and not Gajapati. Thus, Ganesh was born from Parvati’s life-giving force, enjoined with the head of Shiv’s gana, symbol of intelligence and consciousness. Ganesh is the embodiment of balancedintelligence, the nemesis of all obstacles.

He is revered as Vigneshwar, remover of obstacles. But this does not mean he magically erases difficulties. His real teaching is subtler: when we cultivate intelligence, balance, and clarity, obstacles dissolve. They cease to be barriers and instead become stepping stones.

Intelligence here is not cunning or manipulation, but an attunement to existence – an inner equilibrium that allows us to move through life with ease, within and without. This understanding comes alive during Ganesh Chaturthi. For days, devotees craft idols of Ganesh, worship with food and music, and celebrate with devotion.

The festival culminates in immersion of the idol in water. The making of the idol reflects Parvati’s act of creation, while its immersion echoes Shiv’s transformative act of destruction and renewal. Together, these embody the same cycle of intelligence – bringing form into being, learning through it, and then releasing it.

Through Ganesh Chaturthi, we learn that true intelligence is never rigid or possessive, but fluid and unbound, like life itself, which constantly creates and dissolves. The practice of creating and then immersing the idol is a cultural way of acknowledging existence’s fluid nature – not clinging blindly to forms but imbibing their qualities and letting go.

Ultimately, Ganesh Chaturthi is a celebration of moving from form to formlessness. True intelligence is not accumulation of knowledge or being street smart; it is the capacity to live in harmony with existence, to flow without resistance, to transform obstacles into growth, and to expand beyond limitations.

So, as you partake in this vibrant festival, savour modaks, admire artistry of the clay idols, and reflect on deeper message of Ganapati: to cultivate intelligence that dissolves obstacles, celebrates unity, and honours delicate balance of life itself.
May this Ganesh Chaturthi awaken that boundless intelligence and balance of creation in you.

By Ezekiel Isaac Malekar

What is the purpose of religion? Is it to elevate our souls and to bring us as close as possible to God? The true purpose of religion is to bring out the potentialities of everyone to create a new Garden of Eden. To this, we must maintain a high level of spirituality otherwise we will stoop to illicit means to obtain our goals.

Acts of charity, loving kindness and righteousness are outward manifestations of an interior faith. Religion is not an abstraction and selfish quest for personal satisfaction. It is a quest for the perfection of the world through deeds of kindness.

Judaism lays a great emphasis on importance of a good moral life at every moment. Charity must be practised, and a proportion of one’s income should be earmarked for this purpose, as a visible expression of universal love. Charity also saves a man from death.

And when you reap the harvest of the land, thou shall not wholly reap the harvest of the land, thou shall not wholly reap the corners of the field when thou reapest, neither shall thou gather the gleaning of thy harvest; thou shall leave them for the poor and for the stranger.

There are three characters among men – he who says, what is mine is mine, and what is thine is thine; he is a neutral character. He who says what is thine and what is mine is thine, is a saint. He who says what is thine is mine and what is mine is mine; is wicked. Torah says, “Happy is he who giveth to the poor,” but “Happy is he who wisely considers the poor.”

In Judaism, the concept of charity is called Tzedakah, a Hebrew word that means ‘righteousness’ or ‘justice’. It is a religious obligation to help others and bring fairness to the world, and it is not limited to financial donation. Tzedakah can include giving money, showing kindness, charity, good deeds, building relationships and contributing time and effort. Judaism holds anonymous giving to people who are less fortunate with compassion as the highest form of charity.

There are Maimonides, Eight degrees of giving, one higher than the other. He who gives grudgingly, reluctantly, or with regret. He who gives less than he should but gives graciously. He who gives before he is asked. He who gives without knowing to whom he gives although the recipient knows the identity of the donor.

He who gives without knowing to whom he gives, neither does the recipient know from whom he receives. He who helps a fellowman to support himself through a gift or a loan. Or by finding him employment, thus helping him become self-supporting.

Life and death are part of the divine plan for the world. Since life is the most sacred gift of God, we are all obliged to fulfil obligation to save lives of our fellow brothers and sisters. Let us all hope that we are all able to be kind, compassionate, loving, tolerant, nonviolent so that our planet is illuminated with peace and wisdom.