Memoir

Waiting with Folded Wings

“He’ll join in five minutes,” the coordinator whispered, eyes fixed on her phone.

The room was already full. Forty chairs. Forty expectant faces. My slides were ready. My microphone was clipped. Five minutes stretched into ten. Someone in the front row adjusted his notebook. A woman near the aisle checked her watch. I stood there, holding a marker I didn’t need, rehearsing an opening I suddenly didn’t believe in.

I’ve done this hundreds of times. Boardrooms in different cities. Workshops with ambitious teams. Executive rooms where the air smells faintly of carpet cleaner and authority. Normally, I move easily into those spaces. I know how to carry the room. I know how to make people lean forward.

That morning, I couldn’t.

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The Real Opponent in the Room

I used to think life was a series of contests. At school, in work, even in friendships—there was always a hidden scoreboard. To win meant someone else had to lose. It was simple, almost comforting in its clarity. But it was also exhausting. Every victory carried the sour aftertaste of conflict. I had climbed a ladder only to realize it was leaned against the wrong wall.

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Wish You a Happy and Prosperous Life

This greeting, the best wishes I heard from a few friends for the first time, made me wonder. I knew, somehow, what happiness was. But at that age, I didn’t quite understand this word prosperity. That evening, during my Sanskrit class, I asked my teacher, “What is this prosperity, and what is it to be prosperous?”

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