5. Parigrah: The Possession I cannot see.

PARIGRAH: The possession I cannot see!

WHAT AM I STILL CALLING "MINE"?

(Day 4 of Paryushan)

When I hear the word Parigrah, my mind normally goes towards possessions.

How many clothes do I have?

How many pairs of footwear?

How much money?

How much property?

How much do I really need?

And rightly so.

External Parigrah does require restraint. Limiting possessions, reducing unnecessary accumulation, simplifying our needs, looking at wealth carefully and becoming conscious of how much time and energy we spend in earning and collecting are all important steps on the spiritual path.

But does the buck stop there?

Is Parigrah only about what I possess outside?

Or is there something much deeper that I need to look at?

---

The Parigrah that I can see

External Parigrah is relatively easy to understand.

Kshetra: land and property

Vastu: houses and buildings

Hiranya: silver and coins

Suvarna: gold

Dhana: wealth and money

Dhanya: grains and food

Dasa-Dasi: servants

Chatushpad: animals and other such possessions

Kupya: clothes and garments

Shayyasana: beds, seats and furniture

These are visible.

I can count them.

I can measure them.

I can reduce them.

I can even renounce them.

And that is exactly where I need to be careful.

I may reduce my possessions outside and still remain full of possessions inside.

I may have fewer clothes but more pride.

Less wealth but more attachment.

A smaller house but a bigger ego.

Fewer possessions but greater fear of losing the few that remain.

Less accumulation outside, while continuously accumulating inside.

Then what exactly have I renounced?

---

The Parigrah that I cannot see

The internal Parigrahas are far more difficult to notice.

Mithyatva: wrong belief or wrong understanding

Krodha: anger

Maan: pride or ego

Maya: deceit

Lobh: greed

Hasya: laughter or mockery out of contempt

Raati: attachment and pleasurable indulgence

Araati: discontent or dejection

Bhay: fear

Shok: sorrow

Jugupsa: disgust or aversion

Purusha-veda: male sexual urge

Stree-veda: female sexual urge

Napunsaka-veda: neuter sexual urge

Now Parigrah becomes much more personal.

Because I cannot simply leave these at home.

I carry them everywhere.

I cannot put them in a cupboard.

I cannot donate them.

I cannot sell them.

I cannot count them.

They silently travel with me into every thought, every interaction and every reaction.

And perhaps the most uncomfortable realisation is this:

I can give up an object and still remain deeply attached to it inside.

---

What exactly am I holding?

If Parigrah is connected with Mamatva, the feeling of "mine", then I need to ask myself a much deeper question:

What am I continuously calling "mine"?

My body.

My wealth.

My house.

My family.

My reputation.

My knowledge.

My achievements.

My opinions.

My image.

My relationships.

My success.

My failures.

My fears.

My desires.

Even my spirituality.

And perhaps the most subtle possession of all:

"My spiritual progress."

The moment I say, "I am progressing spiritually", who is this "I" that is claiming the progress?

Can even the identity of being a spiritual person become another possession?

Can renunciation itself become something I am proud of?

Can detachment itself become another achievement of the ego?

This is where Parigrah becomes truly sukshma.

Very subtle.

Almost invisible.

---

Why is Bhay, fear, a Parigrah?

This is where the teaching becomes very deep for me.

Why should Bhay, fear, be considered an internal Parigrah?

Because fear often has a hidden thought behind it:

"I am going to lose something that is mine."

My body.

My life.

My wealth.

My relationship.

My status.

My security.

My future.

My identity.

If there is no feeling of "mine", then what exactly am I afraid of losing?

And therefore fear shows me something deeper.

Behind fear may be attachment.

Behind attachment may be Mamatva.

Behind Mamatva may be identification.

And behind that identification may be Mithyatva, the wrong belief.

This is why something as ordinary as fear can become such a deep spiritual mirror.

I am not merely afraid.

I am afraid because somewhere I have created a "mine".

---

And then Mithyatva becomes even more important

Among all the internal Parigrahas, Mithyatva makes me stop and think.

Wrong belief is not just one more item in the list.

It goes to the root.

If I take the non-Self to be the Self, if I take the temporary to be permanent, if I take the body and its experiences to be the real "I", then the whole structure of attachment can begin from there.

The body becomes "me".

The possessions become "mine".

Pleasure becomes "mine".

Pain becomes "mine".

Praise becomes "mine".

Insult becomes "mine".

Fear becomes "mine".

Desire becomes "mine".

And then the cycle continues.

I protect what is mine.

I acquire what is mine.

I defend what is mine.

I fear losing what is mine.

I become angry when someone interferes with what is mine.

I become proud because of what is mine.

I deceive to protect what is mine.

I become greedy to acquire more of what is mine.

And one wrong belief can therefore create an entire world of bondage.

---

This is where the core of Jainism starts connecting beautifully

There are two thoughts that I deeply relate to:

"Jyaan tyaan thi Raag-Dwesh rahit thavu e dharm chhe."

To become free from Raag and Dwesh, wherever they arise, is Dharma.

And:

"Sharir ne Self maanvu e wrong belief chhe."

To consider the body as the Self is wrong belief.

When I put these two thoughts together with Parigrah, the connection becomes very clear.

If I take the body to be the Self, then the feeling of "I" and "mine" starts becoming bigger and bigger.

And wherever there is "mine", there is something to protect.

Where there is something to protect, there is fear.

Where there is obstruction, there is anger.

Where there is comparison, there is pride.

Where there is acquisition, there is greed.

Where there is something to hide, there is deceit.

Where there is attraction, there is Raag.

Where there is resistance, there is Dwesh.

And slowly, all these seemingly different things begin to connect.

**The problem is not simply that I possess things.

The problem is that I become possessive about them.**

---

Parigrah and the 18 Paaps

This also gives me a different way of looking at the 18 Paaps.

Hinsa.

Jhooth.

Chori.

Abrahmacharya.

Parigrah.

Krodh.

Maan.

Maya.

Lobh.

Raag.

Dwesh.

Klesh.

Abhyakhyaan.

Paishunya.

Par-Parivaad.

Raati-Araati.

Maya-Mrushavaad.

Mithyatva.

I would not say that all 18 Paaps are technically just different forms of Parigrah.

But they are deeply connected.

Again and again, the same things keep appearing:

Attachment.

Aversion.

Ego.

Desire.

Identification.

Wrong belief.

Mamatva.

If something is "mine", I may commit Hinsa to protect it.

I may lie to protect it.

I may steal to acquire it.

I may indulge for it.

I may become angry when it is threatened.

I may become proud because I possess it.

I may deceive someone for it.

I may develop Raag towards it and Dwesh towards whoever comes in the way.

So the external object may be very small.

But the internal attachment to that object can be enormous.

---

The real danger is not possession. It is identification.

This distinction is very important.

Having something externally is one thing.

Being mentally and emotionally tied to what I have is another.

A person may possess very little and still be deeply attached.

Another person may have many external responsibilities and yet be far less possessive internally.

Therefore the question cannot be only:

"How much do I own?"

It has to become:

"How much owns me?"

How much does my reputation own me?

How much does praise own me?

How much does criticism own me?

How much does comfort own me?

How much does certainty own me?

How much does security own me?

How much does my image of myself own me?

How much does my expectation of how others should behave own me?

How much does my own body own me?

And perhaps the deepest question:

How much does my idea of "myself" own me?

---

The danger of shallow renunciation

This is where I need to be very careful.

I do not want to congratulate myself simply because I have reduced some external possessions.

That reduction is valuable.

But it cannot become a certificate of spiritual progress.

If I give away ten things and become proud of having given them away, then what happened?

The objects left.

But the possessor remained.

Perhaps the possession simply changed its form.

"I own this" became:

"I have renounced this."

And suddenly even renunciation became "mine".

This is why the inner examination has to go much deeper.

**The goal is not merely to reduce the number of things around me.

The goal is to reduce the intensity of "mine" within me.**

---

The microscopic examination

Perhaps this is where I need to take my Paryushan introspection to the next level.

Before I react, can I watch?

Before I defend myself, can I watch?

Before anger arises, can I see the attachment underneath it?

Before fear arises, can I see what I am afraid of losing?

Before pride arises, can I see what identity I am protecting?

Before greed arises, can I see what I believe I still need?

Before aversion arises, can I see what I am refusing to accept?

Before sorrow overwhelms me, can I see what I am calling "mine"?

Before desire pulls me, can I see the identification behind it?

And before I call something "myself", can I pause and ask:

Is this really the Self?

This is where Saakshi Bhaav becomes meaningful.

Not as another concept.

Not as another spiritual achievement.

But simply as watchfulness.

Seeing.

Knowing.

Observing.

Without immediately becoming the reaction.

---

The dirt is not always visible

External Parigrah is visible.

I can see it.

I can understand it.

I can consciously reduce it.

Internal Parigrah is different.

It can build up in tiny layers.

One thought.

One preference.

One resistance.

One small ego.

One expectation.

One fear.

One judgement.

One desire for recognition.

One need to be right.

One need to be appreciated.

One need to control.

One need to feel secure.

One need to be somebody.

Each one may appear very small.

But repeated again and again, these small attachments become layers.

Those layers become habits.

Those habits keep creating Raag and Dwesh.

And Raag and Dwesh keep becoming causes of further karmic bondage.

So perhaps the real spiritual practice is not only the dramatic renunciation that everyone can see.

It is the small renunciation that nobody sees.

Giving up one unnecessary reaction.

One unnecessary expectation.

One unnecessary identification.

One unnecessary "mine".

One unnecessary "I".

Again and again.

---

Paryushan becomes an experiment in vigilance

I do not want to complete Paryushan thinking:

"I have reduced my possessions."

I want to complete it asking:

"What possessions have I discovered inside myself?"

What am I still defending?

What am I still demanding?

What am I still afraid to lose?

What am I still calling mine?

What am I still calling myself?

Where am I still creating Raag?

Where am I still creating Dwesh?

Where is Mithyatva quietly operating?

Where is ego hiding behind spirituality?

Where is attachment hiding behind love?

Where is fear hiding behind prudence?

Where is greed hiding behind ambition?

Where is pride hiding behind self-respect?

Where is aversion hiding behind principle?

These are uncomfortable questions.

But perhaps these are exactly the questions I need to ask.

---

I do not want to become satisfied too early

There is a danger in every spiritual practice.

I can perform it.

I can understand it.

I can discuss it.

I can write about it.

I can even feel deeply moved by it.

And then I can become satisfied that I have understood it.

But understanding Parigrah intellectually is not freedom from Parigrah.

Knowing the definition is not witnessing the attachment.

Speaking about Mamatva is not dissolving Mamatva.

Reducing possessions is not necessarily reducing possessiveness.

And writing about detachment is certainly not the same as becoming detached.

Therefore this reflection itself must not become another possession.

**I do not want to possess this understanding.

I want to use it.**

As a mirror.

As a warning.

As an instrument of awareness.

As a reminder to watch.

And then even this reminder must eventually be left behind.

---

The question I want to carry forward

Perhaps my deepest question is no longer:

"What should I give up?"

It is:

"What am I still calling mine?"

And then, one level deeper:

"Who is the 'I' that is calling it mine?"

And one level deeper still:

"What am I truly?"

If these questions remain alive within me, perhaps Paryushan has served its purpose.

Because the objective is not to create another identity of being a renunciate.

Not to become proud of simplicity.

Not to accumulate spiritual knowledge.

Not even to become attached to the idea of Liberation.

The direction is much simpler:

To see Raag and Dwesh wherever they arise.

To recognise Mithyatva wherever it operates.

To watch Mamatva wherever "mine" is born.

To become increasingly alert about the smallest movements of attachment and aversion.

To separate the Self from everything that is not the Self.

And slowly, layer by layer, to stop adding to the accumulation.

---

Perhaps this is the real Parigrah introspection

External Parigrah asks:

What do I have?

Internal Parigrah asks:

What has me?

Deeper introspection asks:

What am I calling "mine"?

Still deeper introspection asks:

Who is the "I" that claims ownership?

And perhaps the journey towards Liberation is the gradual falling away of these false claims.

Not dramatically.

Not superficially.

But at the smallest and most subtle level.

Because the karmic bondage can be very subtle.

My awareness therefore has to become subtler.

My watchfulness has to become subtler.

My Saakshi Bhaav has to become subtler.

And my renunciation has to become subtler.

Until there is nothing left to possess, nothing left to protect, nothing left to defend, nothing left to fear losing, and ultimately no false "I" left to claim anything as "mine".

That is the direction.

That is the vigilance I seek.

And perhaps, on Day 4 of Paryushan, this is the question worth sitting silently with:

"Mara ma shu chhe je haju pan 'maru' chhe?"

What within me is still saying: "This is mine"?

4. The third day note to the Self.

On this third day of Paryushan, I want to remind myself of something that appears extremely simple, yet is perhaps one of the easiest things to lose sight of.

The purpose of Tap is not merely to make the body endure discomfort.

The purpose is not the fasting.

The purpose is not the discipline.

The purpose is not the ritual.

The purpose is not even the austerity itself.

The purpose is what all of these are meant to facilitate within.

To heat water, one has to heat the vessel.

If I consider the body to be the vessel and the karmic bondage to be associated with the soul, then Tap becomes the process through which I deliberately put the vessel through discipline so that the deeper work of shedding karma can take place.

But there is a danger in this analogy.

I can become so fascinated by heating the vessel that I forget why I started heating it in the first place.

I can become attached to the fasting instead of becoming detached through fasting.

I can become proud of the austerity instead of becoming humble through it.

I can start seeking appreciation, recognition, maan, praise, validation or admiration.

And then I have to stop and ask myself:

What exactly am I accomplishing?

If the body is being disciplined but the ego is being nourished, have I really understood Tap?

If everyone around me notices my austerity but I fail to notice my own anger, attachment, pride, greed, reactions and subtle expectations, then what have I actually observed?

The external process may be correct.

But the internal direction may have quietly changed.

That is the vigilance I need.

THE SEARCH

For more than a decade, I was searching for someone who had truly understood, someone who had attained something profound and yet remained deeply grounded.

At times, the search was almost desperate.

Then something changed.

I realised that I was searching outside for something whose real verification had to happen inside.

Yes, finding an accomplished and grounded person can be immensely valuable.

But if I become excessively occupied with identifying the "right" person, examining everyone's behaviour, judging their character and searching for visible signs of attainment, I may completely miss the path itself.

The enlightened ones have already shown the path.

The path is ONE.

My responsibility is to walk.

I need the discernment to recognise authentic guidance, certainly. But once I recognise it, I cannot spend my entire life standing at the railway station analysing which train looks most perfect.

I have to get on the train.

I have to walk.

I have to practise.

I have to observe.

I have to transform.

And perhaps, as the old saying goes:

When the student is ready, the master appears.

Mare maari paatrata par kaam karta rehvaanu chhe.

Nimit pratyaksh male ke paroksh, nimit malshe j.

My work is to keep becoming eligible.

THE VEHICLE AND THE DRIVER

Another reminder to myself:

I must not confuse decorating the vehicle with reaching the destination.

The body matters.

The mind matters.

Discipline matters.

Ritual matters.

Tap matters.

But they are the vehicle.

I have to remember where the driver is supposed to go.

If I spend all my energy polishing the vehicle while forgetting the destination, I have missed the entire journey.

The body can become extremely disciplined while the consciousness remains undisciplined.

The tongue can remain silent while the mind continues arguing.

The body can fast while the ego feasts.

The hands can perform rituals while the inner self continues reacting.

That is why the real Tap has to eventually become an inner Tap.

THE REAL PRACTICE

So during these eight days of Paryushan, I want to treat every situation as an opportunity for practice.

Not merely the situations that are comfortable.

Especially the ones that are not.

If karma presents me with something unpleasant, let me observe.

If someone praises me, let me observe.

If someone criticises me, let me observe.

If something happens according to my expectations, let me observe.

If something happens completely against them, let me observe.

If maan arises, observe.

If lobh arises, observe.

If anger arises, observe.

If attachment arises, observe.

If the desire to prove myself arises, observe.

If the desire to be recognised as spiritual arises, observe that too.

Nothing should escape observation.

The situation is not necessarily the problem.

My reaction to the situation is where I need to look.

LISTEN. GAUGE. OBSERVE.

A constant reminder to myself:

Listen.

Do not immediately react.

Gauge.

What is actually happening within me?

Observe.

What is arising?

What is triggering it?

What am I expecting?

What am I protecting?

What am I trying to prove?

What is seeking recognition?

What is afraid?

What is attached?

And then:

Do not react.

Peacefully acknowledge.

Pause.

Observe.

And then respond.

Not because I have suppressed the reaction.

But because I have seen it clearly enough to not become its slave.

That distinction matters.

THE EIGHT DAYS

These eight days are not merely eight days of rituals.

They are eight days of training.

Training attention.

Training awareness.

Training restraint.

Training the ability to witness without immediately becoming entangled.

Training myself to see the difference between what happens and what I make of what happens.

Training myself to remain steady when circumstances try to pull me away from my centre.

I do not want Paryushan to become another beautiful spiritual experience that I remember fondly after eight days.

I want it to leave behind a stronger capacity for awareness.

A stronger capacity to witness.

A stronger capacity to pause.

A stronger capacity to respond consciously.

A stronger capacity to recognise myself before I get lost in myself.

COME WHAT MAY

So, come what may.

Let karma offer whatever it has to offer.

Let circumstances change.

Let people behave differently from what I expect.

Let appreciation come.

Let criticism come.

Let success come.

Let failure come.

Let comfort come.

Let discomfort come.

My work remains the same.

Stay aware.

Stay watchful.

Stay grounded.

Stay as the witness.

Do not fumble the journey because the road became difficult.

Do not lose the destination because the vehicle became uncomfortable.

Do not mistake the process for the purpose.

Do not mistake recognition for transformation.

Do not mistake austerity for attainment.

And above all:

Do not allow the ego to quietly take ownership of the very practice that was meant to dissolve it.

Tap is a means.

Awareness is the practice.

Nirjara is the deeper purpose.

Liberation is the destination.

And my job, today, is very simple:

Keep walking.

One observation at a time.

One reaction consciously avoided at a time.

One attachment recognised at a time.

One layer of ignorance seen through at a time.

No drama.

No hurry.

No performance.

Just sincere, relentless vigilance.

Listen. Gauge. Observe. Acknowledge. Respond.

And keep walking.

3. Three Lenses (Bhagvad Gita, Ashtavakra and Jainism).

THREE LENSES ON LIBERATION

Bhagavad Gita, Ashtavakra Gita & Jainism

The Bhagavad Gita, the Ashtavakra Gita and Jain philosophy can appear to be saying similar things: do not identify with the body, overcome attachment, transcend the ego and seek liberation.

At one level, that similarity is real.

At another, it can be deeply misleading.

These three traditions offer three remarkably different lenses through which one can examine the same fundamental human predicament:

Who am I, why am I bound, and what does liberation actually mean?

A useful way of understanding them is through a simple trilogy:

Bhagavad Gita: The spirituality of Action.

Ashtavakra Gita: The spirituality of Recognition.

Jainism: The spirituality of Purification and Liberation.

THE BHAGAVAD GITA: THE SPIRITUALITY OF ACTION

The Gita predominantly meets the human being at the level of Vyavahara, the practical world of relationships, responsibilities, action and consequence.

Arjuna is confused not because he lacks metaphysical knowledge alone, but because he does not know how to act while facing conflict, attachment and uncertainty. Krishna therefore teaches him to perform his dharma, but without attachment to the fruits of action.

Action need not bind when the egoic ownership of action and its results is relinquished.

The Gita thus begins in Vyavahara but progressively takes the seeker toward deeper knowledge of the Self, the Divine and ultimate reality.

Its central question can therefore be expressed as:

"How shall I act without becoming bound by action?"

THE ASHTAVAKRA GITA: THE SPIRITUALITY OF RECOGNITION

The Ashtavakra Gita takes a far more radical route.

Rather than primarily asking how the individual should perfect his conduct, it questions the identity of the individual who believes himself to be bound.

Its central movement is toward direct recognition of the Self as pure awareness.

Body, mind, emotions, thoughts and actions are changing appearances. The witnessing consciousness is not fundamentally any of these.

Thus the question changes from:

"How do I become free?"

to:

"Who is the 'I' that believes it is bound?"

In this radical perspective, liberation is fundamentally recognition rather than acquisition. The essential Self was never truly bound.

Its central question can therefore be expressed as:

"Who is the 'I' that acts and believes itself to be bound?"

JAINISM: THE SPIRITUALITY OF PURIFICATION AND LIBERATION

Jainism offers a different and exceptionally structured framework.

It does not collapse the individual into a universal consciousness. The jiva is a real, individual, conscious substance.

It is intrinsically endowed with knowledge, perception, energy and bliss, but its natural qualities are obscured by karmic bondage.

Jain philosophy therefore places enormous importance on understanding the mechanisms of asrava, karmic influx; bandha, bondage; samvara, stoppage of karmic influx; and nirjara, shedding of accumulated karma.

Right faith, right knowledge and right conduct, together with restraint, non violence, reduction of passions and non attachment, constitute the path toward liberation.

Its central question can therefore be expressed as:

"What exactly binds the jiva, how can new bondage be stopped, and how can existing bondage be shed?"

VYAVAHARA NAYA AND NISCHAYA NAYA

This is where the Jain distinction between Vyavahara Naya and Nischaya Naya becomes especially illuminating.

From the Vyavahara standpoint, one is a person living in the world, performing actions, relating to others and experiencing the consequences of those actions.

From the Nischaya standpoint, the essential reality is the jiva, distinct from the transient body and karmic modifications.

Jainism does not simply choose one standpoint and reject the other. Its strength lies in refusing to make either an exclusive absolute.

The practical and ultimate perspectives coexist, each illuminating a different aspect of reality.

Seen through this comparative lens, one might say:

The Gita asks:

"How shall I act without becoming bound by action?"

Ashtavakra asks:

"Who is the 'I' that acts and believes itself to be bound?"

Jainism asks:

"What exactly binds the jiva, how can new bondage be stopped, and how can existing bondage be shed?"

These are not merely three different wordings of the same philosophy. They represent three distinct approaches to understanding bondage and liberation.

THE VEHICLE AND THE DRIVER

The metaphor of a vehicle and driver provides another useful bridge between these philosophies, provided its limitations are understood.

The present body, mind and personality can be viewed as a temporary vehicle through which the conscious being experiences one particular embodied existence.

Birth is the beginning of one such configuration. Death is its termination.

The underlying conscious principle is not destroyed with the body.

In Jainism, the jiva continues beyond one embodiment because karmic conditions give rise to further embodiments. As purification progresses and karmic bondage is eliminated, the cycle of embodied existence ultimately ends.

But there is an important philosophical refinement.

In Jainism, the jiva is not merely some vague "energy" inhabiting a body. It is a real conscious dravya with its own intrinsic nature.

And liberation is not merely the acquisition of a better vehicle.

It is the complete cessation of the need for embodiment.

WHERE THE THREE PATHS DIVERGE

The Gita teaches that the Self is not reducible to the changing body and that the wise do not mistake the temporary for the eternal.

Jainism teaches that the individual jiva passes through successive embodied states while remaining an individual conscious reality, until karmic bondage is completely destroyed.

Ashtavakra goes further in another direction.

Even the thought "I am the driver rather than the vehicle" can remain a subtle identification.

The ultimate Self is not merely an individual entity operating a body. It is pure awareness, untouched in its essential nature by the changing drama of body and mind.

THE DEEPEST DIFFERENCE

This produces perhaps the most fascinating distinction of all.

Jainism preserves individuality in liberation.

The liberated jiva remains an individual soul, free from all karmic matter and embodiment, manifesting its intrinsic qualities completely.

Radical Advaita, as expressed in the Ashtavakra Gita, ultimately transcends the very notion of separate individual selves in the realization of non dual consciousness.

The Gita occupies a distinctive terrain, integrating action, knowledge, devotion, renunciation and surrender, while leaving room for different Vedantic interpretations of the precise relationship between the individual Self, Brahman and Ishvara.

THREE LENSES, ONE PROFOUND HUMAN QUESTION

These three traditions should neither be artificially separated nor casually declared identical.

They share a profound concern with the human tendency to mistake the temporary for the ultimate, to become enslaved by attachment, aversion and egoic identification, and to overlook the deeper reality of consciousness.

But they diagnose the problem differently and therefore prescribe different routes to liberation.

The Gita transforms our relationship with action.

Ashtavakra transforms our understanding of identity.

Jainism transforms the condition of the jiva by stopping and eliminating karmic bondage.

Perhaps the most fruitful way to hold all three together is not to ask:

"Which one is saying the same thing as the others?"

but rather:

"What does each reveal that the others force us to examine more carefully?"

The Gita reminds us that realization cannot simply become an excuse to abandon life and responsibility.

Ashtavakra reminds us that even spiritual self improvement can become another project of the ego if the fundamental identity of the seeker is never questioned.

Jainism reminds us that profound metaphysical insight cannot be separated from conduct, restraint, non violence, vigilance and the actual purification of consciousness.

Three lenses.

Three philosophical architectures.

Three different understandings of the Self and liberation.

And yet, standing together, they illuminate one extraordinary question:

What remains when everything that is temporary, changing, acquired and identified as "me" has finally been seen for what it is?

2. Sitting on the wall of a well.

Kue (well) ki wall par baithkar...

kabhi to kue se paani niklega... kabhi to woh mere hothon tak aayega...

isi aasha mein main moorkh saalon tak subah shaam kue ke paas baitha rehta hun..

Aur phir apne hi dil ko behlaata hu:

“Baith beta, baith… himmat mat haar.

Kabhi na kabhi to kue ka paani tere hothon tak zaroor aayega.”

But the well doesn't work like that.

Paani nikalne ke liye sirf kue ke paas baithna kaafi nahi hai.

Something has to be decided.

A direction has to be chosen.

The effort has to begin.

And the rope has to be lowered into the well.

Otherwise, years can pass sitting beside the very well that could have quenched the thirst.

This is exactly what happens when I keep listening to satsang, swadhyay and sermons without any clarity of purpose, without any nirnay, without any determination, and without translating what I hear into the direction of my own life.

I keep sitting beside the well.

I keep hearing about the water.

I keep talking about the water.

I keep admiring the water.

I keep discussing how pure and precious that water is.

And somewhere within, I keep comforting myself:

“Main satsang kar raha hoon… swadhyay kar raha hoon… sun raha hoon… samajh raha hoon… kabhi na kabhi mere hothon tak bhi ye paani aa hi jayega.”

But knowledge about water is not drinking water.

And sitting beside the well is not drawing water.

The purpose of satsang and swadhyay cannot merely be to make me feel spiritually nourished.

They must eventually create nirnay.

They must create direction.

They must create inner movement.

Otherwise, satsang itself can become another beautiful form of spiritual entertainment.

The well is there.

The water is there.

The thirst is there.

But unless I decide to lower the rope, draw the water and actually drink it…

I may spend my entire life sitting on the wall of the well, waiting for the water to somehow reach my lips.

And that, perhaps, is the most dangerous illusion of all.

1. Paryushan 2026 - A reminder to self.

 *P A R Y U S H A N : 2 0 2 6*

🌿 A Reminder to the Self 🌿

Whenever I think about religion, life, death, afterlife, or liberation, there is one question that naturally arises within me:

Why?

Not “why” born out of doubt, rejection or negation.

But why in the sense of purpose.

Why am I doing this?

What is it meant to accomplish?

Where is this taking me?

And does this truly serve the ultimate purpose?

That is perhaps why, when it comes to the path of liberation, I have always felt the need to understand the why before investing myself completely in the what and the how.

Studying.

Swadhyay.

Austerities.

Tap.

Ceremonies.

Disciplines.

Practices.

I want to understand their purpose before I perform them merely because they have been prescribed.

I have always wanted to live a purpose driven life. And once I gain sufficient clarity about the direction, I want to walk that path wholeheartedly.

But I also want to remain willing to reroute.

Because if, somewhere along the journey, I discover that the road I am walking is not taking me towards the purpose, continuing merely because I have already travelled a long distance would make little sense.

So there have been years of walking, stopping, questioning, rerouting, taking detours, discovering, unlearning and rediscovering.

And today, despite knowing that my pace is painfully slow, I feel something I did not always have:

Clarity about the path.

The destination is not somewhere outside.

Liberation is not a place to reach.

It is the ultimate cleansing of the Soul.

The Soul and karmas are distinct. The karmas may have been associated with the Soul since beginningless time, but they are not the Soul.

And therefore, the work is not to become something new.

It is to progressively remove what obscures what is already there.

As the karmic coverings fall away, the inherent potential of the Soul becomes increasingly manifest.

And among the karmas, the deepest work seems to begin with the Mohaniya karma, the delusion that makes me identify myself with what I am not.

This body is a vehicle.

This mind is an instrument.

Thoughts arise.

Emotions arise.

Sensations arise.

Circumstances arise.

Punya and paap karmas come into fruition.

Experiences keep unfolding.

But I am the knower of all this.

I am not the body.

I am not the mind.

I am not the emotions.

I am not the circumstances.

I am not the karma that is coming into fruition.

And I am certainly not the doer of everything that happens through this vehicle.

My true karta is my own nature.

And perhaps this is where Nijbhaan, complete awareness of the Self, becomes so central.

Not merely knowing intellectually that “I am the Soul”.

But repeatedly, moment after moment, becoming aware of it.

Knowing that I am knowing.

Watching without getting lost in what is being watched.

Witnessing without creating another layer of attachment or aversion.

This is where I want to place my attention during these eight days.

Of course, Paryushan is not limited to eight days.

The path is not seasonal.

The remembrance is not seasonal.

The work is not seasonal.

But these eight days can become an especially conscious period of training, a deliberate opportunity to pause, introspect, observe, analyse and strengthen the direction in which I want this life to move.

So perhaps I don't need to create an elaborate spiritual programme for these days.

I need something much more fundamental:

Awareness.

If I am studying, be aware that I am studying.

If I am listening to a vyakhyan, be aware that I am listening.

If I am doing tap, be aware of what is happening within.

If I am silent, be aware of the silence.

If thoughts arise, know that thoughts are arising.

If emotions arise, know that emotions are arising.

If irritation arises, know that irritation is arising.

If attachment arises, know that attachment is arising.

If aversion arises, know that aversion is arising.

If comfort comes, observe it.

If discomfort comes, observe it.

If punya unfolds, observe it.

If paap unfolds, observe it.

Whatever karma chooses to bring before me, let me practise remaining the knower and observer, rather than getting completely absorbed in the drama of the vehicle.

And perhaps even when I fail to remain aware, there is another opportunity:

Become aware of the fact that I became unaware.

No guilt.

No unnecessary self judgement.

Just return.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Because this is training.

The vehicle will continue to move.

Life will continue to happen.

Karma will continue to unfold.

People will say things.

Circumstances will change.

The body will experience pleasure and pain.

The mind will produce thoughts.

Emotions will rise and fall.

I cannot necessarily control all of that.

But I can keep training myself to recognise:

“This is happening to the vehicle.

I am the one who knows that it is happening.”

And perhaps this is the most important practice for these eight days.

Not running away from life.

Not creating an artificial spiritual identity.

Not collecting more spiritual information.

Not even becoming obsessed with doing more and more.

But becoming increasingly aware of who is actually experiencing all this.

There are twelve forms of Tap described in the traditional teaching, and beyond these external and internal austerities lies the deeper principle expressed as “Ichcha Nirodhah Tapah”, the restraint, cessation or dissolution of desires.

That makes me pause.

Because ultimately, perhaps the most meaningful Tap is not merely what I can make the body endure.

It is what happens to the inner demand.

The craving.

The resistance.

The insistence that reality must be different from what it is.

The attachment to what I want.

The aversion to what I don't want.

The subtle insistence of the ego that says:

“This should happen.”

“This should not happen.”

“I need this.”

“I cannot accept that.”

And so, while the world may see eight days of Paryushan, I want to see eight days of training the driver.

The vehicle can continue to perform its functions.

Let it eat.

Let it work.

Let it speak.

Let it listen.

Let it walk.

Let it rest.

Let it experience whatever karma brings.

But let the Driver become increasingly conscious of itself.

Dilip is doing.

The Soul is witnessing.

The vehicle is moving.

The Driver is watching.

And perhaps, slowly, the distance between intellectually knowing this and actually living from this awareness is what I need to reduce.

I don't need to worry about who complicated the path.

I don't need to judge who understood it and who did not.

I don't need to win an argument about what is truly spiritual.

I have spent enough time searching.

Enough time questioning.

Enough time taking detours.

And today, I am grateful for the clarity that has emerged.

The path now appears beautifully simple.

Not necessarily easy.

Not necessarily quick.

But simple.

Know the Self.

Observe the Self.

Return to the Self.

Reduce attachment and aversion.

Dissolve delusion.

Cleanse the karmic coverings.

And allow the inherent nature of the Soul to reveal itself.

The journey may still be long.

My pace may still be slow.

There may still be countless moments when I forget.

But I know where I want to walk.

And perhaps, for these eight days, that is enough.

I don't want to merely celebrate Paryushan.

I want to use it as a training ground.

A laboratory for awareness.

A mirror.

A reminder.

A conscious attempt to watch the unfolding of karma without losing sight of the one who is watching.

So, Dear Self,

Pause.

Watch.

Know.

Remember.

Whatever happens, remain aware.

And whenever you forget,

remember again.

The path is not outside.

The work is not outside.

The liberation is not outside.

The Soul is already what it is.

I only have to stop covering it.

And perhaps that is the whole journey. 🙏

4. The Asset & The Paradox.

The Most Valuable Asset I Own Is the One I Cannot Save

There is a peculiar irony in the way one lives.

Recently, I saw the below video

https://youtu.be/3SBf7hD0sEw?si=eKDnyAe6Uahl9eKw

And the thoughts started pouring...

Hence, as always, I thought of penning those down..

Here we go...!!!

I have spent a significant part of my life trying to accumulate things that I believed would eventually give me freedom. Yet, as I look at life more closely, I realise that there is a danger in spending too much of the present preparing for a future in which I may finally have the freedom to use what I accumulated.

Money can be earned again. Wealth can be rebuilt. Investments can recover. Possessions can be replaced.

Time cannot.

That, perhaps, is the most important financial lesson of my life, although it has very little to do with money.

I recently came across an interesting thought experiment involving a lottery. If I were offered a certain amount of money with absolute certainty, or a much larger amount with only a 25 percent probability of receiving it, my decision would depend greatly on where I stood in life. What may feel like an attractive risk when my basic needs are already secure may feel completely irrational when those basic needs are not.

And that is where the idea becomes much larger than a lottery.

My priorities have changed as I have moved through life.

At one stage, survival matters. Then security. Then comfort. Then experiences, relationships, freedom, meaning and, perhaps eventually, self-actualisation.

The mistake would be to keep playing the same game even after I have reached a different stage of the game.

At some point, the question should stop being:

“How much more can I earn?”

and become:

“What am I earning this additional money for?”

That question has been occupying my mind for some time.

Looking back at my own life

When I look at my twenties, I realise that I was playing a very different game.

I wanted to experience life.

I worked, I saved and I was reasonably responsible with money, but saving was not the central objective of my existence. I had energy, curiosity and a strong desire to consume life in its many forms.

I travelled.

I ate well.

I explored.

I learnt.

I questioned.

I experimented.

I tried to understand life, spirituality, existence, the afterlife and the fundamental principles behind things that interested me.

I was never interested in alcohol or drugs, not because I was making some grand financial calculation, but simply because they were never my choices. Similarly, whatever food restrictions I had were also choices, while I still enjoyed rich and good food.

My twenties and early thirties were largely about experiencing life while I had the energy to experience it.

I had also dreamt about self-employment. But somewhere within me there was a sense that I did not necessarily have to rush into it. I wanted to experience the transition between one phase of life and another consciously.

So, at 33, I took a sabbatical.

I experimented.

I tried to understand what it meant to earn differently, live differently and perhaps eventually work differently.

It gave me experience, but it also gave me something more valuable: perspective.

I eventually returned to salaried employment.

But I did not return to exactly the same mindset.

Over the years that followed, I began finding my own balance between money, entertainment, fitness, experiences, learning and freedom.

And perhaps that balance has been one of the most important outcomes of my life.

Money matters. But money is not the destination.

I do not believe in romanticising financial irresponsibility.

Money matters.

Savings matter.

Inflation matters.

Investments matter.

Financial security matters.

Health security matters.

Planning for the future matters.

There is nothing spiritual about being financially careless and then expecting life to somehow take care of the consequences.

But there is another equally dangerous mistake.

To continue accumulating simply because accumulation has become the habit.

At some point, I need to sit down and ask myself a brutally honest question:

Am I still earning because I genuinely need to build more security and freedom, or am I earning because I need to prove something to myself, to my family, to society or to an imaginary scoreboard?

The answer matters enormously.

Because there is a difference between working for freedom and becoming a prisoner of the work that was supposed to create freedom.

The objective of financial planning, at least for me, is not to become infinitely wealthy.

It is to reach a point where my money and investments can provide sufficient financial security while allowing me to make choices about how I spend the most valuable resource I possess.

Time.

The race against time

Time is perhaps the strangest asset of all.

I know exactly what it is doing, yet I can still behave as though I have plenty of it.

Every day, the balance falls.

And there is no top-up.

No refinancing.

No recovery.

No inheritance of someone else's unused time.

No investment that compounds yesterday.

Money can buy convenience.

Money can buy healthcare.

Money can buy experiences.

Money can buy comfort.

Money can even buy someone else's time and therefore give me more usable time.

But money cannot buy back a Tuesday that has already disappeared.

This is why the Warren Buffett example is so powerful to me.

The idea is not really about whether someone is worth millions or billions. It is about recognising that even the wealthiest person on earth has exactly the same fundamental constraint as everyone else.

There are only so many mornings left.

And the older I become, the more precious each remaining morning becomes.

When I am twenty-five, losing an afternoon feels almost irrelevant because there appear to be thousands more ahead.

At fifty, sixty or seventy, the arithmetic is different.

The remaining years may still be many, but the years of physical energy, health, curiosity and freedom are not infinite.

That distinction is crucial.

It is not enough for me to ask:

“How long might I live?”

I also need to ask:

“How many years will I have the physical and mental capacity to actually consume the things I spent my life earning?”

Because there is a peculiar tragedy in accumulating resources for a future version of myself who may no longer have the energy, health or inclination to use them.

The calculation I want to keep making

This is where financial planning needs to become life planning.

I want to periodically ask myself:

Have I saved enough?

Have I invested enough?

Have I accounted for inflation?

Have I protected myself against foreseeable financial risks?

Have I taken adequate care of my health?

Have I created enough financial independence to make choices rather than merely accept circumstances?

And then comes the more uncomfortable question:

If the answer to all of these is reasonably satisfactory, why am I still running at the same speed?

Perhaps I can continue working.

Perhaps I genuinely enjoy my work.

Perhaps I can continue earning and investing.

There is nothing wrong with that.

But there should be a fundamental difference between choosing to work and having no choice but to work.

If I can work for a few hours because I enjoy the intellectual stimulation, relationships, purpose or sheer pleasure of doing something meaningful, that is one thing.

If I work because stopping would collapse the entire structure of my life, that is something else.

The external activity may look identical.

The internal experience is completely different.

One is choice.

The other is burden.

And burden and freedom are deeply personal definitions.

Nobody else can calculate them for me.

Society can tell me what success looks like.

People can tell me when I should retire.

Financial influencers can tell me how much I should have.

Friends can tell me what I should aspire to.

But only I can honestly answer whether I have enough.

And being dishonest with myself on that question does not punish anyone else.

It punishes me.

Perhaps 45 to 65 deserves a different strategy

I have often thought about the period between roughly 45 and 65 as a particularly important window.

Not because life ends at 65. It obviously does not.

But because for many people, this may be the period when financial resources are relatively strong while physical and mental energy are still reasonably available.

It is therefore worth asking whether this is the period when I should begin slowing down the things that feel like burden and accelerating the things that feel like life.

Not recklessly.

Not impulsively.

Not by abandoning responsibility.

But consciously.

Perhaps fewer unnecessary possessions.

Less comparison.

Less proving.

Less compulsive accumulation.

Less running merely because everyone else is running.

And perhaps more travel.

More conversations.

More learning.

More fitness.

More food enjoyed without guilt.

More time with people I love.

More curiosity.

More silence.

More exploration.

More sitting somewhere beautiful without checking the clock.

More time doing things that have no economic value but enormous human value.

Because eventually, the question may not be:

“How much did I earn?”

It may be:

“Did I actually experience the life that my earnings were supposed to make possible?”

There is another journey I am preparing for

There is also a deeper dimension to how I look at all this.

I think of this life as having two layers.

The first is temporary.

This body is a vehicle.

This mind is also a vehicle.

It needs to be maintained.

It might need good food, movement, rest, discipline, stimulation and care.

If I want to travel through this life well, I cannot completely neglect the vehicle carrying me through it.

So fitness, health, food, sleep and mental well-being are not separate from spirituality or financial planning.

They are part of the same responsibility.

But I also believe there is another journey beneath the visible one.

Perhaps what I call myself is not limited to this body and this mind.

Perhaps consciousness, energy or what I call the soul has a journey that extends beyond this temporary existence.

I cannot claim to know the ultimate truth of that journey.

But I can choose to prepare for it.

And that preparation, for me, is not about escaping this life.

It is about experiencing it more consciously.

If the body is temporary and the journey is permanent, then this life becomes an opportunity to understand the traveller rather than merely decorate the vehicle.

Perhaps the purpose is not only to accumulate things for the vehicle.

Perhaps it is also to understand what is travelling in it.

To observe.

To learn.

To become less attached.

To understand myself.

To explore consciousness.

To reduce unnecessary desires.

To experience life fully without becoming completely entangled in it.

And perhaps, when this vehicle eventually completes its journey, whatever comes next will not feel entirely unfamiliar.

I feel I have, by and large, already been living this way; and for my benefit. It might sound like a brag but so be it. I respect that perspective also, if anyone offers.

Anyway, when I look back, I realise that none of this happened overnight.

The person I am today did not suddenly appear at forty.

It began somewhere around thirty-six.

The twenties taught me how to experience.

The early thirties taught me how to experiment.

The years that followed taught me how to balance.

And somewhere along the way, money stopped being merely something to accumulate and started becoming something to use intelligently in the service of life.

I do not think I have designed everything perfectly.

Life has obviously played its own role.

Circumstances, people, opportunities, limitations, coincidences and overall, what I personally understand as karmic arrangements have all contributed to where I am today.

But I also recognise that many of my choices have consciously moved me towards a life that feels increasingly aligned with what I value.

And today, if I have to describe my life honestly, I would say this:

I feel satisfied.

Not because I have everything.

Not because I know what tomorrow holds.

I don't.

I do not even know what the next moment holds.

And perhaps that is precisely why I want to remain available to it.

The reminder I want to carry forward

I do not want to turn this philosophy into another achievement.

That would be wonderfully ironic.

I do not want to create a new target called "freedom" and then spend ten years anxiously trying to achieve it.

I want to continue flowing with life.

To earn when earning makes sense.

To save when saving makes sense.

To invest when investing makes sense.

To work when work gives me meaning or value.

To stop when continuing has become unnecessary burden.

To travel when I can.

To learn when curiosity arises.

To take care of this body because it is the vehicle through which I experience this existence.

To explore the mind because it is the instrument through which I interpret it.

And to explore the possibility of something beyond both because that question has always fascinated me.

Most importantly, I want to remember that the purpose of accumulating resources is not to accumulate resources.

The purpose is to create the freedom to experience, understand, love, explore and live.

There will always be another financial target.

Another investment.

Another upgrade.

Another opportunity.

Another milestone.

Another number.

But there will never be another TODAY, another NOW.

Time is the only asset whose balance decreases simply because I am alive.

It depreciates every second.

It cannot be insured.

It cannot be borrowed.

It cannot be bought back.

And unlike money, its scarcity does not become apparent only when the balance is low.

The balance is falling right now.

So perhaps the real question I need to keep asking myself is not:

“How much more can I accumulate?”

It is:

“Am I using what I have accumulated to live the life for which I accumulated it?”

And perhaps an even deeper question:

“Do I realise that eventually this vehicle will change, but the journey will continue? And while I put the current vehicle to the best possible use, am I also preparing for the vehicle I may receive on my onward journey, so that it helps me move closer towards the final destination on the path to Liberation?”

For me, Liberation represents a state beyond the need for a vehicle altogether, a vehicle-less state extending into infinity.

Perhaps that is the deeper purpose of this journey.

To take care of the vehicle.

To use it fully.

To experience what it allows me to experience.

To learn through it.

To understand the traveller within it.

And, at the same time, to prepare the traveller for the journey beyond the current LIFE.

:-)

3. (Pre) Paryushan 2026.

 Paryushan gives me eight days to pause, introspect, restrain, forgive, turn inward and, above all, remain aware.

Perhaps, the deeper question is not how much introspection was done during these eight days, but how much of this awareness carries into the other 357.

There should ideally be no great divide between the two.

So, a note to self:

*Am I living the 357 days of my year like the 8 days of Paryushan, or am I merely living the 8 days like the other 357?*

The true essence of Paryushan is perhaps not that these eight days become more spiritual, but that they remind me to bring this awareness into the remaining 357; into my thoughts, reactions, attachments, words, actions and relationships.

The real Paryushan may not be these eight days.

It may be what these eight days awaken in the other 357.