THE ILLUSION OF "I"

 

The Illusion of "I"........

Advait, scrolling through his phone, suddenly let out a frustrated sigh. Aditi, who was sitting relaxed in the living room, looked up. "What happened?" she asked, concerned. "This guy on social media," Advait grumbled, showing her the screen. "He's saying that vada pav is overrated and pav bhaji is the real king of Mumbai street food. Can you believe it?" Aditi chuckled. "Well, everyone has their own preferences, Advait." But Advait was already worked up. "It's not just a preference, Aditi! It's like he's attacking our city's identity! Vada pav is a classic, it's iconic. How can he even compare it to pav bhaji?" His voice had risen, a touch of defensiveness creeping in.

Aditi gently closed the book she was reading and said, "Advait, he's just sharing his opinion about food. It doesn't diminish your love for vada pav, does it? Or the fact that so many people in Mumbai enjoy it?" Advait frowned. "But it's just... wrong!" he insisted. Aditi smiled softly. "See, that's your ego talking. You're taking his comment personally, as if he's criticizing you for liking vada pav. But he's not. He just has a different taste. Your ego confuses opinions with facts, and then it feels the need to defend itself, even when there's nothing to defend."

Later that day, they were stuck in typical Bombay traffic. A car abruptly cut in front of them, nearly causing a fender bender. Advait instinctively honked loudly, slammed his hand on the dashboard, and muttered angrily, "What an idiot! Don't these people know how to drive? This is why traffic is so bad!" Aditi calmly said, "Maybe they're in a hurry, Advait. Let it go." Advait retorted, "Why should I? They can't just drive like that! It's so inconsiderate and dangerous." Aditi sighed. "Again, you're focusing on your reaction – your anger and frustration – instead of just acknowledging what happened. The car cut in front of us; that's the fact. Your anger is your response to it. Your ego cannot tell the difference between the event and its reaction to that event. It takes everything personally, as if that driver intentionally set out to annoy you."

The next morning, Advait was reading the newspaper over his chai. Suddenly, he slammed it down. "Can you believe this?" he exclaimed, pointing to a headline about a local politician involved in a corruption scandal. "Another one! These idiots are ruining our country, our city! They have no shame, no morals! It makes my blood boil!" He was visibly agitated, shaking his head in disgust, feeling a deep sense of betrayal and anger, as if the politician had personally wronged him. Aditi, seeing his distress, gently put her hand on his arm. "It's certainly frustrating, Advait, and corruption is a serious issue. But notice how you're reacting. The news is a fact – the politician is accused of corruption. Your intense anger and feeling of personal violation, that's your ego's interpretation. It's taking the abstract idea of 'our country' and 'our values' and making it a personal attack on you. The truth of the situation, the facts of the corruption, don't need your anger to be true. Your anger is just your own emotional response."

Advait finally started to see her point. Whether it was a trivial comment about food, a rude driver, or frustrating news about corrupt politicians, his immediate response was often fueled by a sense of personal offence. He was so caught up in his own viewpoint, infused with a sense of "I," that he couldn't see the situation objectively. His ego was a master of selective perception and distorted interpretation, always ready to jump to the conclusion that something was directed at him or was fundamentally "wrong" if it didn't align with his internal narrative. 

Aditi's gentle reminders helped him realize that most of the time, these external events weren't personal attacks, but simply things happening. His awareness, not his overthinking, began to create a crucial space between the event and his emotional response. He learned to observe: "There is the situation, and here is the anger I feel about it." This simple act of observation allowed him to see that there were other ways of approaching situations, other ways of seeing them and dealing with them, leading to a calmer, more rational perspective. Slowly Advait was trying to come out of THE ILLUSION OF "I"..........

THE BOMBAY LOCAL LOVE STORY

 

The Bombay Local Love Story........

 

Every morning on the busy Bombay local, something quietly magical was happening.

Advait, a shy South Bombay guy, always had his nose buried in a book or a newspaper, even with people squished around him. Aditi, full of life and chatty, was from the suburbs and studying engineering. Their paths crossed every day—usually at Dadar station. He always managed a window seat. She often stood in front of him, holding the bar overhead. It wasn’t love at first sight. Not in that sweaty, noisy train. But something soft started growing.

First, they’d steal glances. Then came a smile over a funny headline in his newspaper. On a rainy day, the train stopped suddenly between stations, and the lights went out. In the dark, Advait gestured and offered Aditi his seat and a piece of "thepla" (a type of Indian bread) which his mom had packed. She laughed and took a bite. That tiny moment broke the ice—and made the whole train compartment warm up to them, too.

Soon, their commute became the best part of their day. They talked about everything—college stress, silly Bollywood news, and who sold the best vada pav. Advait, usually quiet, started opening up thanks to Aditi’s cheerful nature. And Aditi, who once thought South Bombay boys were snobby, found Advait sweet and surprisingly funny.

Their chats didn’t stop with the train ride. They’d walk together till the exit, not wanting to say goodbye. Their friends teased them, calling them "train wale lovebirds." Eventually, their dates moved beyond the local train—Marine Drive sunsets, roadside chai, wandering through Colaba lanes. But the train always felt special, like their personal Cupid.

Of course, they had their share of little fights—missed calls, late trains, small misunderstandings. But just like the rhythm of the local, they always found their way back to each other. Through the madness of city life, they found comfort in each other's company.

And now, years later, they’re settled and have a family of their own. But whenever they hear the sound of a local train, it brings a smile. It takes them back to stolen glances, shared theplas, and a quiet love that grew in the heart of Bombay’s chaos.

Their story isn’t flashy. It’s soft, simple—and full of heart. Just like Bombay itself.

 

LIFE GOALS

Do you often wish that you could change the past? 

It's okay to wish you could get a second chance from time-to-time however, it is not okay to desire change every day. You're probably settling for less than you deserve if you're not happy with the way things are.

At some point, you have to come to the realization that settling will eventually cause you unhappiness and discontent. You only get one life so live it up without regrets.

Life goals.....