7. Tweaked version of the immediate previous blog.

 The below write-up is a tweaked version of the immediate previous one (https://so-what-dilip.blogspot.com/2026/09/6-walking-watching-deviating-returning.html)

Paryushan Day 5: From Daman to Shaman, From Identification to Saakshibhaav

It is so critical to be calm amid the chaos.

But perhaps the deeper question is not merely:

"How do I remain calm?"

Perhaps the deeper question is:

"What is it that makes me disturbed in the first place?"

The more I contemplate this, the more I see two very different approaches.

One is Daman.

An effort to control the reaction.

Someone says something unpleasant, I try not to react.

A situation goes against me, I try to remain calm.

Something unexpected happens, I tell myself to stay composed.

There is value in this. Restraint is certainly better than an uncontrolled reaction.

But there is a vulnerability here.

If calmness depends primarily on my ability to control the reaction, then the calmness remains somewhat conditional. When the stimulus becomes stronger than my capacity to control it, the reaction can break through.

The other approach, as I experience it, is Shaman.

Not forced calmness, but the subsiding of the very basis of the disturbance.

And that requires understanding.

The disturbance is not merely caused by what happened outside.

It is caused by my identification with what happened.

What is happening to whom?

This is where Saakshibhaav becomes important for me.

The body is experiencing something.

The mind is producing thoughts.

Emotions are arising.

The ego is interpreting an event as "my insult", "my loss", "my success", "my failure", "my problem".

Circumstances are continuously changing.

But the Jiva is not identical to any of these temporary manifestations.

The body is Ajiva.

The mind, in its material aspect, belongs to the realm of Ajiva.

Circumstances are Ajiva.

Thoughts and emotions arise as states associated with the interaction of the Jiva with karmic and material conditions.

The more clearly I understand this distinction, the more naturally a certain witnessing awareness begins to arise.

A simple example makes the point.

Suppose someone insults a stranger in front of me.

I may feel empathy.

I may understand that the person has been hurt.

I may even feel disturbed by the injustice.

But I generally do not experience the insult as an attack on "me".

Why?

Because I am not identified with it.

Now suppose exactly the same words are directed towards me.

Suddenly the mind says:

"He insulted me."

And the reaction changes.

The words may be identical.

The external event may be almost identical.

But identification has changed.

That is worth observing.

Perhaps the real problem is not merely the event.

Perhaps the deeper problem is the Mamata and identification with the body, mind, ego, role, possession, reputation and circumstance that makes the event "mine".

And that is where Saakshibhaav becomes much more than simply "staying calm".

It becomes an exercise in right seeing.

From reaction to awareness

This also changes my understanding of Shaman.

Shaman is not:

"I should suppress my anger."

It is not:

"I should pretend I am unaffected."

And it certainly is not:

"Nothing matters."

That would simply be another form of Daman, or perhaps indifference.

Instead, the movement is towards seeing the arising of anger, hurt, fear, attachment or ego with increasing clarity.

The emotion may arise.

But I begin to see:

This is a state arising in the mind. It is not the entirety of what I am.

The anger can be observed.

The hurt can be observed.

The desire can be observed.

The fear can be observed.

Even the ego's insistence that "I am right" can be observed.

And once something is being observed with sufficient awareness, identification with it begins to loosen.

This is where I see a beautiful connection between Saakshibhaav and Upayoga.

The question is not merely whether my mind is quiet.

The question is:

Where is my awareness directed?

What am I identifying with?

What am I repeatedly dwelling upon?

What is occupying my consciousness?

The journey therefore is not simply from an agitated mind to a calm mind.

It is from unawareness to awareness.

From identification to discernment.

From Kashaya-driven reaction towards increasing equanimity.

And ultimately, from bondage towards the conditions that support Samvara and Nirjara.

The strange paradox of spiritual understanding

The more I explore Jain philosophy and the scriptures, the more fascinating this becomes.

There appear to be layers and layers of depth.

Yet the deeper I go, the simpler the essential understanding seems to become.

That feels almost paradoxical.

More understanding.

Less complication.

More awareness.

Less reaction.

More discernment.

Less insistence.

More clarity.

Less identification.

And somewhere underneath all this lies a thought that genuinely makes me stop:

What have I been doing since the beginningless state of time?

If the Jiva is intrinsically different from the body and Ajiva, and if bondage is sustained through the mechanisms of Kashaya and karmic bondage, then perhaps my greatest challenge is not discovering something completely new.

Perhaps it is recognising what I have repeatedly failed to recognise.

And perhaps that is why the path can simultaneously feel extraordinarily deep and extraordinarily simple.

Walking matters

But understanding alone is not enough.

Walking matters.

Purusharth matters.

Knowing the direction matters.

I need to walk on the path that leads towards the purpose I am serving.

And I also need the humility to accept that I may deviate.

I may take a detour.

I may forget.

I may become identified.

I may react.

I may fall back into old patterns.

But a deviation does not have to become a destination.

The moment discernment recognises the deviation, the next Purusharth is simply to manoeuvre back.

This is where Vivek and discernment become crucial.

Perhaps spiritual progress is not merely accumulating more beliefs.

It may actually require me to question some of the beliefs I already have.

To attack my own insistences.

To examine the things I defend most strongly.

To ask:

"Is this really understanding?"

"Or is this simply my attachment to my understanding?"

"Am I seeking truth?"

"Or am I seeking confirmation of what I already believe?"

That distinction can be uncomfortable.

But perhaps genuine openness requires exactly this.

If the exploration is honest, the results can be phenomenal.

The milestones become marvelous not because I have acquired something to display, but because something within me has genuinely shifted.

Paryushan, restraints and the instrument

Paryushan naturally places considerable emphasis on restraints.

And I understand why.

Restraints are tangible.

They are visible.

They make these eight days externally different from ordinary routine life.

They give expression to an internal intention.

But precisely because they are visible, I need to be careful.

The restraint is an instrument.

The transformation is the purpose.

If the instrument itself becomes the destination, something fundamental may be missed.

I am certainly not saying that restraints are wrong.

That would be a misplaced conclusion.

Restraint is deeply relevant to the Jain path.

Austerity, vows, control of the senses, fasting, limiting possessions and various other forms of disciplined conduct can have profound spiritual value.

But their value cannot be measured merely by their external appearance.

What is happening to my Raag and Dwesh?

What is happening to my Kashaya?

What is happening to my attachment?

What is happening to my ego?

What is happening to my awareness?

What is happening to my relationship with the things I call "mine"?

That is where I need to look.

Otherwise, I may possess the right instrument and still use it for the wrong purpose.

I may have a hammer in my hand and use it as a paperweight.

The problem is not with the hammer.

The problem is that I am not using the hammer as a hammer.

Similarly, the question is not whether I am undertaking enough restraint.

The deeper question is:

Is the restraint helping me move in the direction for which the restraint exists?

And here again, perhaps quality begins to matter more than quantity.

Not because quantity is irrelevant.

But because the inner comprehension behind the restraint determines whether it is merely an external discipline or whether it is actually contributing to the larger spiritual journey.

If the understanding is becoming deeper, the restraint becomes meaningful.

If Raag and Dwesh are reducing, the restraint becomes meaningful.

If identification is reducing, the restraint becomes meaningful.

If awareness is increasing, the restraint becomes meaningful.

If Samvara is being supported and the causes of further bondage are being weakened, the restraint is serving its purpose.

Then the path becomes clearer.

The footwear is set.

The navigation is known.

The direction is established.

The pace may vary.

Pit stops may happen.

Detours may happen.

But I know where I am going.

Purusharth without unnecessary burden

Life, meanwhile, will continue to happen.

There may be unexpected issues at the workplace.

There may be challenges within the family.

There may be situations in the outer world that genuinely require action.

Saakshibhaav cannot become an excuse for passivity.

If something needs to be solved, I need to solve it.

If something needs to be corrected, I need to correct it.

If Purusharth is required, I need to give it fully.

Perhaps even more than 100 percent.

But there is an important distinction between complete Purusharth and complete ownership of the outcome.

I can give my best without carrying the entire universe on my head.

I can act intensely without creating unnecessary pressure.

I can take responsibility without creating unnecessary anxiety.

I can make every possible effort while remembering that the final unfolding is not entirely in my control.

And this is where a line that I repeatedly come back to becomes meaningful:

"Gnaani na gnaan ma je aavyu chhe te j thashe."

For me, this does not mean:

"Do nothing because everything is predetermined."

That would be a dangerous misunderstanding.

It means:

Do your Purusharth completely, but do not confuse Purusharth with control over the entire outcome.

My responsibility is the effort.

The karmic arrangement and its unfolding are not mine to command.

That understanding does not reduce Purusharth.

It purifies the relationship with the result.

And perhaps that itself is a form of freedom.

The beautiful arrangement

When I step back and look at the larger picture, one thought fills me with a very different kind of gratitude:

Sat, Dev, Guru, Dharma ni aseem krupa chhe.

Eternally. Forever. Always.

And alongside this:

Karmo ni fantastic arrangements chhe. So far.

The two together make the journey strangely beautiful.

The grace of Sat, Dev, Guru and Dharma provides the direction, the discernment and the opportunity.

The karmic arrangement provides the field in which that Purusharth unfolds.

I do not have to like every circumstance.

I do not have to call every difficulty pleasant.

I do not have to deny pain.

But I can perhaps learn to see the larger arrangement without constantly fighting the fact that it is unfolding.

That brings a different kind of peace.

Not the peace of:

"Everything will happen the way I want."

But the peace of:

"Everything does not have to happen the way I want for me to continue walking correctly."

That is a very different peace.

And perhaps this is where Daman gradually gives way to Shaman.

I am not repeatedly telling myself:

"Do not react. Do not react. Do not react."

I am beginning to understand:

"Why should I identify with this reaction in the first place?"

That question changes everything.

Perhaps the shore is closer than I think

I strongly feel:

"Ek ansh shaata hi karine purnamkaamta sudhi ni sarva Samadhi nu kaaran Sat, Dev, Guru ane Dharma chhe."

This is not merely an emotional statement for me.

There is a logic behind it.

The discernment that I have today did not appear from nowhere.

Whatever understanding has brought me to this point has itself emerged through the journey so far.

Which makes me wonder:

Perhaps I am closer to the shore than I realise.

I am not claiming that I have reached the other side.

Far from it.

There is still plenty to see.

Plenty to understand.

Plenty to unlearn.

Plenty of Raag and Dwesh to observe.

Plenty of identification to catch.

Plenty of Purusharth to make.

Plenty of times when I will forget the witness and become the experience.

But perhaps the direction is becoming clearer.

And perhaps that clarity itself is a blessing.

So I want to keep walking.

Not obsessing over the pace.

Not becoming arrogant about the distance already covered.

Not becoming despondent about the distance that remains.

Just walking.

And when I realise that I have deviated, returning.

When I realise that I am identified, observing.

When I realise that I am reacting, understanding.

When I realise that an insistence has taken over, questioning.

When Purusharth is required, acting.

When the outcome is beyond my control, letting go of the unnecessary burden of ownership.

And throughout it all, attempting to remain in Saakshibhaav.

Perhaps this is what I am increasingly beginning to understand:

The goal is not to escape life.

The goal is to see life correctly.

To know the difference between the Jiva and what is not the Jiva.

To recognise the arising of Raag and Dwesh without becoming their servant.

To use restraints as instruments rather than trophies.

To undertake Purusharth without arrogance about the result.

To cultivate discernment without becoming attached even to one's own understanding.

And to keep walking towards that state where the disturbances do not merely get controlled, but gradually lose their foundation.

The deeper I go, the simpler it seems.

And the simpler it seems, the more astonishing the question becomes:

If this understanding is so simple, what have I been doing since beginningless time?

Perhaps Paryushan is not asking me to become someone else in these eight days.

Perhaps it is asking me to see, even for a few moments, what I have always been failing to see.

And perhaps that one moment of seeing is worth far more than everything I may externally manage to demonstrate.

Keep walking.

Keep observing.

Keep discerning.

Keep doing the Purusharth.

And whenever I wander away from the path,

return.

Then walk again.

6. Walking, Watching, Deviating, Returning.

Paryushan Day 5: Walking, Watching and Returning to the Path

It is so critical to be calm amid the chaos.

The more I think about it, the more I feel that there are predominantly two ways of approaching this calmness.

One is Daman.

An effort to control the mind, control the reactions and somehow remain calm in the middle of a difficult situation.

This can certainly work. At times, it works beautifully.

But there is a limitation. When calmness is an effort, the possibility of fumbling always remains. The moment the pressure becomes greater than my capacity to control, the suppressed reaction can surface.

The other is Shaman.

Not forced calmness, but a natural settling.

And perhaps the difference between the two lies in understanding rather than effort.

When the logic is truly understood and becomes deeply settled within, peace does not have to be manufactured. It begins to happen naturally.

The logic, for me, is awareness.

Awareness that what is happening is happening to the body, the mind, the ego, the circumstances and the identities associated with them.

And "I" am the one witnessing it.

I find a simple example useful.

If someone insults a stranger in front of me, I may feel empathy. I may understand the pain. I may even feel disturbed by the injustice.

But somewhere within, there is clarity that the insult is not happening to me.

I can witness it without becoming the victim of it.

The moment the same insult is directed towards me, however, something changes.

Why?

The event has not fundamentally changed.

My identification with the event has changed.

And that, perhaps, is where Saakshibhaav begins becoming more than an idea.

It becomes a way of seeing.

A way of living.

A way of remembering that there is a distinction between what is happening and the one who is witnessing what is happening.

The deeper I explore the scriptures, the more fascinating this becomes.

There seem to be layers and layers of understanding.

And strangely, the deeper I go, the simpler it seems to become.

That itself feels almost paradoxical.

More understanding, less complication.

More clarity, less struggle.

More awareness, less reaction.

And somewhere underneath all of this lies a thought that repeatedly makes me stop and wonder:

What have I been doing since the beginningless state of time?

Perhaps this is why the journey matters so much.

Walking is important.

Walking on the path that leads towards the purpose I am here to serve is important.

But perhaps equally important is having the clarity that if I deviate, or take a detour, I can recognise it and manoeuvre my way back.

A detour does not have to become a destination.

A mistake does not have to become an identity.

A deviation does not mean the path has disappeared.

I simply need enough discernment to recognise where I am and enough Purusharth to return.

And this discernment seems to play a crucial role.

Perhaps spiritual growth is not merely about collecting more beliefs.

It may actually require me to attack some of my own beliefs.

To question my insistences.

To examine the things I hold on to so tightly.

To ask myself:

"Is this really true?"

"Or do I simply want it to be true?"

"Is this understanding?"

"Or is this another form of attachment to my own understanding?"

If the exploration is undertaken with openness, something remarkable can happen.

The exploration itself becomes transformative.

The milestones become more meaningful because they are not milestones of achievement. They are milestones of understanding.

Restraints and the real purpose of Paryushan

Paryushan naturally brings a greater focus on restraints.

Perhaps that is understandable.

Restraints are visible.

They make these eight days look different from our routine lives. They provide an external expression to something that is essentially an internal journey.

And because I live within a social setup, I inevitably participate in that external expression too.

But this also makes me wonder:

What happens when the restraint becomes more important than the transformation it is supposed to facilitate?

If the journey is internal, and the experience can ultimately only be experienced rather than explained, then an external restraint can become either a powerful tool or merely an external display.

The difference lies in what is happening within.

I am certainly not saying that restraints are wrong.

Far from it.

A restraint can be an incredibly powerful instrument.

But an instrument has value only when it is used for the purpose for which it exists.

I may have a hammer in my hand, but if I use it as a paperweight, the problem is not with the hammer.

I am simply not using the hammer as a hammer.

Perhaps the same applies to restraints.

If a restraint becomes a means of proving something, showing something, or accumulating a sense of spiritual superiority, its deeper purpose may get diluted.

There may still be some punya involved. There may still be some discipline. There may still be some benefit.

But is that what the restraint was really meant for?

This is where introspection becomes important.

And there is another thought that has been coming to me.

Perhaps, as understanding deepens, the quantity of restraints matters less than their quality.

Not because quantity is irrelevant, but because the real value of a restraint lies in whether I am comprehending and aligning with the purpose behind it.

If that alignment is happening, then bingo.

The path becomes clearer.

The footwear is set.

The navigation is known.

The direction is established.

The pace may vary.

Pit stops may happen.

Detours may happen.

I may even stumble.

But that is okay.

What matters is that I know the path and, more importantly, I know the purpose.

Purusharth and what is not in my hands

Of course, life will continue to bring situations.

There may be unexpected issues at the workplace.

There may be challenges in the family.

There may be situations in the outer world that demand my attention.

I cannot use Saakshibhaav as an excuse for passivity.

If something needs to be done, it needs to be done.

If a problem needs to be solved, it needs to be solved.

If Purusharth is required, I need to put in 100 percent, perhaps even more.

But there is a subtle difference between giving 100 percent and carrying 100 percent of the outcome on my head.

That distinction feels important.

I need to put in my Purusharth fully.

But at the same time, I want to keep reminding myself:

Gnaani na gnaan ma je aavyu chhe, te j thashe.

What is destined to unfold according to the understanding of the Gnaani will unfold.

This does not reduce my effort.

It simply reduces my unnecessary ownership of the result.

I can work intensely without inviting unnecessary pressure.

I can act completely without becoming consumed by anxiety.

I can give my best without believing that the universe has appointed me as the sole manager of the outcome.

Perhaps this too is Saakshibhaav.

Doing what is mine to do.

Witnessing what unfolds.

And maintaining the discernment to know the difference.

The larger picture

When I step back and look at all of this, one thought keeps returning:

Sat, Dev, Guru and Dharma ni aseem krupa chhe. Eternally. Forever. Always.

And alongside that:

Karmo ni fantastic arrangements chhe. So far.

There is something deeply peaceful in seeing both together.

The Grace is infinite.

The karmic arrangements are precise.

And within this combination, everything begins to look strangely beautiful.

Even the difficult parts.

Even the detours.

Even the situations that I initially want to resist.

Perhaps the serenity does not come from believing that everything will happen according to what I want.

It comes from understanding that everything does not have to happen according to what I want.

That is a very different kind of peace.

And perhaps this is where the journey from Daman towards Shaman begins.

Not by trying harder to remain peaceful.

But by understanding more deeply why I need not be disturbed in the first place.

The body will experience.

The mind will react.

The ego will claim.

Circumstances will change.

Karmas will unfold.

I will continue to do my Purusharth.

And through all of this, there is an invitation to remain a witness.

Not indifferent.

Not irresponsible.

Not detached from the world in the sense of becoming insensitive.

But aware.

Participating fully, while remembering that I am not merely the participant.

Perhaps I am closer than I think

I strongly feel:

"Ek ansh shaata hi karine purnamkaamta sudhi ni sarva samadhi nu kaaran Sat, Dev, Guru ane Dharma chhe."

Even a small fraction of true peace, when understood and lived rightly, can become a cause for moving towards completeness and ultimate Samadhi.

And this is not merely an emotional statement for me.

There is a logic behind it.

The discernment that exists today did not appear from nowhere.

Whatever understanding has brought me here has itself emerged through the journey so far.

Which makes me wonder whether I am perhaps much closer to the shore than I realise.

I may not have reached the other side.

There may still be a lot of walking left.

There may be many more detours to recognise.

Many more beliefs to question.

Many more insistences to drop.

Many more restraints to understand.

Many more moments in which I will forget the witness and identify with the happening.

But perhaps that is okay.

I know the direction.

I know the purpose.

I know that I need to keep walking.

And whenever I realise that I have wandered away, I need to simply turn back and continue.

No drama.

No despair.

No unnecessary guilt.

Just awareness.

Just discernment.

Just Purusharth.

And above all, Saakshibhaav.

Perhaps that is the real beauty of the path.

The deeper the understanding becomes, the less complicated the journey becomes.

And one day, perhaps, I will look back and realise that the path, the walker and the destination were never as separate as I imagined them to be.

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. 🙏