The water module could not have come at a better time. Bangalore’s heat wave was at its peak and we were feeling the effects at the Bhoomi campus.        
We started the module with a rain folk song that goes:

Allah megh de        
Allah megh de        
Allah megh de, paani de        
Chaya de re tu hi, Allah megh de        
Aasman holio tuta tuta, jameen holio phata         
Megh raja ghumiya roiche        
Megh debo tor keda        
Allah megh de        
Allah megh de

There’s a certain way I move through the world. Careful, observant, quietly alert, the kind of person who plans ahead and finds comfort in routines, lists, and timelines. I tend to notice what could go wrong before it does, to keep things in order, to stay prepared. If you were to travel with me, you’d probably see someone with a pen and paper always close by, trying not to miss anything, trying to take it all in. But when I look back now, very little lives in my notes.      
       
What stayed were moments.

Quite recently, I was on the top of a slide.

No, it wasn’t an adult’s slide at an overhyped amusement park. It was a children’s slide with very tiny steps and a narrow slope. And there I was, standing at the top thinking, ‘Why on earth did I decide to do this?’

Picture this: Years after you have graduated, you are back in a college where you are undergoing a 3.5-month residential training programme. As you open the window of your dorm room, you see a white-cheeked barbet protecting its young ones. As you step out in the morning, you hear a chorus of birds calling out to one another.

I have lived a comfortable life: Predictable, convenient, curated.

And yet, somewhere between binge-watching Netflix shows and busy being a corporate leader, a quiet discomfort would creep in. At the end of many days, I felt a strange emptiness.

A walk under open skies, the rustle of leaves, the flutter of a butterfly - these small moments left me feeling fuller than hours spent in front of a screen. And that made me pause and ask a difficult question:

Is my definition of an ideal day truly mine,     
or something I’ve unconsciously inherited?

Today, I went to the park with a group of Grade 5 children. The idea was simple: to sit under a tree, share a story about how different people relate to trees in different ways, and then let the children find a tree they felt drawn to — just to be with it.