Dr Janatha Ramanathan

Life has a quiet way of slipping past us while we are busy waiting for it to become something else.

How often have I caught myself thinking about yesterday-revisiting conversations, remembering choices I could have made differently, or wondering what might have happened if I had taken another path? And then there are thoughts about tomorrow: the work that needs to be completed, the plans that remain unfinished, the dreams that are still waiting, and the hope that someday life will become a little easier and more settled. Somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow, the present moment quietly passes us by.

I have often wondered why we find it so difficult to live in the moment we actually have. There have been days in my own life when I have been so occupied with what was yet to happen that I failed to notice what was already happening around me. A conversation with someone I loved would end while my mind was occupied with another responsibility. A beautiful evening would pass unnoticed because I was thinking about the following day. Even moments that deserved celebration sometimes became stepping stones to the next task rather than occasions to pause and feel grateful. Perhaps this is one of the quiet lessons life keeps trying to teach us: we do not have to wait for a perfect day to appreciate the day we have.

I remember how different life feels when we are truly present. A simple conversation with a friend can suddenly become meaningful when we put everything else aside and listen. Sitting with family over a meal can feel completely different when there is no hurry to leave. Even an ordinary cup of tea, enjoyed slowly in the quiet of the morning, can become a small moment of peace. These are not extraordinary events, yet they are often the moments that stay with us.

Sometimes, it takes a personal experience to understand the value of such moments. We may postpone a conversation thinking there will always be another opportunity. We may keep telling someone we love that we will call when we are less busy. We may imagine that there will always be another evening, another gathering, another chance to sit together. But life does not make such promises. That realisation has made me look differently at ordinary moments.

A child’s laughter is perhaps one of the best reminders of how to live in the present. Children do not need a grand occasion to be happy. A puddle becomes an adventure. A butterfly becomes something worth following. A sunset becomes something worth stopping to watch. They laugh completely and move from one moment to another without carrying the weight of yesterday or the anxiety of tomorrow.

Somewhere along the way, adulthood teaches us to hurry. We begin measuring our lives through achievements, deadlines, responsibilities, and comparisons. We start believing that happiness will arrive after the next promotion, after the next accomplishment, after the next journey, after everything is finally organised. Yet the finish line keeps moving. We achieve one thing and immediately begin thinking about the next.

Nature does not live that way. The flower does not hurry because another flower has bloomed before it. The river does not compare its journey with another river. The moon does not compete with the sun. Each exists in its own rhythm, quietly fulfilling its purpose. Perhaps we too need to learn that life is not a competition in which we must constantly prove that we are ahead.

Being present does not mean abandoning our responsibilities or refusing to prepare for tomorrow. Dreams need planning, and responsibilities cannot simply be ignored. But there is a difference between preparing for the future and sacrificing the present to it. We can plan tomorrow without forgetting today.

I have realised that some of the most precious moments in my life have not been the grand occasions at all. They have been the simple ones: a meaningful conversation, a friend’s unexpected message, laughter shared with family, a quiet morning, the satisfaction of completing something I once thought difficult or simply sitting peacefully and feeling grateful for the people who have remained a part of my journey. These moments may never appear in a biography. They may not be achievements that others notice. But they are the moments that give life its texture.

The present is also where healing begins. Yesterday may carry regrets, but today gives us the opportunity to make peace with them. Tomorrow may bring uncertainty, but today gives us the courage to take one step forward. We cannot rewrite what has already happened, nor can we completely control what is waiting ahead. But we can decide how we will meet this day.

Sometimes, living in the present means forgiving ourselves for what we could not change.

Perhaps this week, I want to remind myself and anyone reading these lines, to slow down. Look at the morning sky before beginning the day’s rush. Listen carefully when someone speaks to you. Call a friend simply because you remembered them. Sit with your family without reaching for your phone. Enjoy your tea while it is still warm. Read a few pages of a book. Take a walk without turning it into another task. Notice the breeze, the trees, the changing light, the familiar voices around you.

One day, we may look back and realise that the life we were constantly waiting for was already unfolding around us. The happiness we postponed, the conversations we delayed, the evenings we hurried through, and the ordinary days we considered unimportant were, in fact, our life.

That thought has made me more grateful for today.

We cannot hold yesterday, and we cannot borrow tomorrow. All we truly possess is this moment-the conversation happening now, the people beside us now, the breath we are taking now, and the opportunity to live this day with awareness.

Life is not measured only by milestones. It is also measured by the moments between them-the laughter, the silence, the affection, the forgiveness, the friendships, the unexpected kindness, and the quiet contentment that asks for nothing more than our attention.

Today will never come again exactly in the same way. So let us not be so busy preparing for tomorrow that we forget to live today. Let us not become so occupied with what is missing that we fail to appreciate what is already present. Let us give the people we love not merely our presence, but our attention. Let us allow ourselves to pause, breathe, notice, and be grateful.

Because perhaps the greatest gift life offers us is not a promise of a better tomorrow.

It is the opportunity to live this day fully.

Reflection of the Week

Yesterday has already become a memory. Tomorrow is still a possibility. But today is alive in our hands. Let us not miss the gift while waiting for something else.

Until next week, slow down, look around, and be present. You may discover that some of the moments you have been waiting for are already quietly happening in your life.

About the Author

Dr. Janatha Ramanathan is a poet, critic, translator, short story writer and columnist, and Associate Professor of English at Sree Ayyappa College for Women, Chunkankadai, Tamil Nadu. In two decades of teaching, she has published over eighty-five articles and presented ninety papers at national and international platforms, with particular scholarly focus on South African Literature.

She is Founder and Chief Editor of The Daffodils – An International Journal of Literature, Language and Criticism, and has edited seven anthologies of academic research and four poetry collections. Her own works, including her debut collection A Bundle of Joy, engage deeply with Indian, African American and Subaltern literatures.

Her honours include the Most Influential Women Award 2021 from the Writers Capital Foundation, Athens, and the Best Researcher Award from the University of Malaya, Malaysia.

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. — Confucius

Life has a way of testing us when we least expect it. Just when everything seems to be falling into place, an unexpected setback can change the course of our lives. A cherished dream may crumble, a trusted relationship may falter, a career may take an unforeseen turn, or an illness may interrupt plans we have carefully made. In such moments, it is natural to ask, “Why me?” Perhaps, however, a more meaningful question is, “What can this experience teach me?”

Every life, no matter how successful it appears from the outside, carries unseen battles. Behind a smile may lie disappointment, silent tears, uncertainty, or a struggle that no one else knows about. Yet our difficulties do not have to define us. What matters is how we respond to them and how we allow them to make of us.

Consider the bamboo plant. For years, it grows quietly beneath the surface, strengthening its roots while showing little visible progress. To an impatient observer, it may seem that nothing is happening. Suddenly, it rises with remarkable speed. Its visible growth is possible because of the invisible foundation it patiently built for a long time.

Our lives often follow the same pattern. There are times when we feel unnoticed, unsuccessful, or left behind. We compare our journey with that of others and wonder whether our efforts are making a difference. But growth is not always visible. Some of life’s most important work takes place quietly within us, building patience, wisdom, resilience, and character. What feels like a season of waiting may actually be a season of preparation.

Failure, too, is not the opposite of success. It is often part of the journey towards it. Every mistake teaches us something that success may never reveal. Every disappointment can reshape our perspective, while every closed door may quietly redirect us towards a path we are not prepared to see before.

Think of a child learning to ride a bicycle. The child falls repeatedly, yet every fall teaches balance, courage and determination. If the child gave up after the first fall, the joy of riding would never be known. Life asks the same of us. Falling is natural. Rising again is a choice.

Resilience does not mean pretending to be strong all the time. It means allowing ourselves to feel pain without allowing pain to determine our future; knowing when to rest, seek help, and when to gather the courage to take another step. True strength is not found in never breaking; it is found in learning how to rebuild.

Perhaps someone reading this is carrying a burden that no one else knows about. If that is you, remember this: you have already survived every difficult day that has come before this one. The courage that carried you then, still lives within you now. Trust it. Nurture it. Let it guide you forward.

As you step into this new week, do not be afraid of life’s storms. They may bend you, but they can also strengthen your roots. Every challenge you overcome becomes part of your story-a story that may one day give someone else the courage to keep going.

Life is not about never falling. It is about discovering, again and again, the quiet strength to rise.

Reflection of the Week: The strongest people are not those who never face storms, but those who learn to dance in the rain while still looking for the sunrise.

Until next week, hold on to hope, believe in your inner strength, and remember: every sunrise is proof that darkness never has the final word, and every new beginning is an invitation to rise again.

Dr. Janatha Ramanathan

About the Author

Dr. Janatha Ramanathan is a poet, critic, translator, short story writer and columnist, and Associate Professor of English at Sree Ayyappa College for Women, Chunkankadai, Tamil Nadu. In two decades of teaching, she has published over eighty-five articles and presented ninety papers at national and international platforms, with particular scholarly focus on South African Literature.

She is Founder and Chief Editor of The Daffodils – An International Journal of Literature, Language and Criticism, and has edited seven anthologies of academic research and four poetry collections. Her own works, including her debut collection A Bundle of Joy, engage deeply with Indian, African American and Subaltern literatures.

Her honours include the Most Influential Women Award 2021 from the Writers Capital Foundation, Athens, and the Best Researcher Award from the University of Malaya, Malaysia.

Grief is the price we pay for love. –  Queen Elizabeth II

There are moments when life falls strangely silent, not because the world has stopped, but because someone we love has suddenly disappeared from it.

The morning still arrives. The breeze moves through the trees. Voices rise and fall around us. The clock continues its quiet journey. Everything remains almost unchanged, and yet, within us, nothing is quite the same.

Grief has a way of altering the ordinary. A familiar room feels different. A photograph becomes a conversation. A name can bring both comfort and pain. The smallest memory can suddenly open a door to a world that once felt complete.

Some losses come without warning, leaving us with questions that have no answers and a silence that words cannot fill. We continue with our daily lives because life expects us to. We wake, work, speak and smile. Yet somewhere within us, a part of the heart remains at the moment when everything changed.

This reflection comes from such a place, from the grief following the sudden and heart breaking loss of a beloved younger brother.

When a relationship has been woven through childhood and growing years, its absence can feel impossible to comprehend. Shared meals, laughter, quarrels, games and countless ordinary moments become precious memories. We rarely recognise their value while we are living them. Only later do we understand that the ordinary was, in fact, extraordinary.

Perhaps that is one of grief’s deepest lessons: we often discover the worth of a moment only after it has become a memory. Yet grief is not merely sorrow. It is love searching for a new place to live.

The person may no longer be physically present, but love remains; in photographs, stories, familiar places, remembered laughter and quiet moments of reflection. Healing does not mean forgetting. It means learning to carry what cannot be changed.

Grief also teaches us the importance of kindness. A gentle word, a thoughtful message, a listening ear or simply sitting beside someone in silence can offer immense comfort. Those who remain present during another person’s darkest hours leave a lasting imprint.

At the same time, loss can reveal unexpected absences. Sometimes we hope certain people will notice our pain, ask how we are, or simply pause to acknowledge that something has changed. When they do not, disappointment can deepen the loneliness. Yet perhaps grief teaches us not to measure love by expectations, but to recognise with gratitude those who genuinely show up.

Time may not erase grief, but it can teach us to live alongside it. There will be songs, places, festivals, photographs and familiar scents that unexpectedly bring memories back. Tears may return. That is not failure. Sometimes tears are simply another language of love.

The heart can hurt and still hope. It can remember and still live. It can carry sorrow and still discover moments of joy. Perhaps strength begins not in forgetting, but in carrying the memories, the love, laughter and the lessons forward.

Reflection of the Week

We do not heal by forgetting those we love. We heal by learning to carry their love differently.

If you are grieving, be gentle with yourself. Grief has no timetable. Take one day at a time, one breath at a time. Let love remain larger than loss.

Until next week, may we remember: some bonds are not broken by death; they simply become invisible and continue to live quietly within the heart.

Dr. Janatha Ramanathan

About the Author

Dr. Janatha Ramanathan is a poet, critic, translator, short story writer and columnist, and Associate Professor of English at Sree Ayyappa College for Women, Chunkankadai, Tamil Nadu. In two decades of teaching, she has published over eighty-five articles and presented ninety papers at national and international platforms, with particular scholarly focus on South African Literature.

She is Founder and Chief Editor of The Daffodils – An International Journal of Literature, Language and Criticism, and has edited seven anthologies of academic research and four poetry collections. Her own works, including her debut collection A Bundle of Joy, engage deeply with Indian, African American and Subaltern literatures.

Her honours include the Most Influential Women Award 2021 from the Writers Capital Foundation, Athens, and the Best Researcher Award from the University of Malaya, Malaysia.