Sarb Randhawa

This!

Funny how language changes. When it hits close to home, Western media doesn’t describe terrorists as ‘misguided sons’ of teachers or local doctors,” they said, posting the front page of The Daily Telegraph’s Monday edition

@ShivAroor @tim_cook People are actually stupid

Hi @tim_cook, in case you’re looking for organic content for the Indian market — Scuffle in crowd waiting for iPhone 17s at Apple Store in Mumbai’s BKC.

Do you still keep something from childhood?

A bucket of water on stone leaves no mark. But a single drop, falling daily, will carve it open. It’s not the rush, but the return. One drop is enough—time does the rest

Some days joy is a loud celebration. Most days it’s just a cup of tea, still warm, waiting

“I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.”

LISTEN TO THE WIND. IT TALKS. LISTEN TO THE SILENCE. IT SPEAKS. LISTEN TO YOUR HEART. IT KNOWS.

the “spiritual path” is the constant conscious toggle between “I figured it out!” and “I know literally nothing”. And holding the view that both are true

Those who commit to nothing are distracted by everything. - Bhagavad Gita

And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.

He did not seek stone walls, nor the echo of chants. Only sun on wood, water below, and a silence vast enough to hold his longing. There, on the old deck of a boat, prayer rose — not from ritual, but from stillness. When the heart is honest, even the wind bows in reverence.

I learned something beautiful today: Octopuses taste with their skin. Not just their arms—their whole body. Makes you wonder what we’re holding without knowing. A glance. A voice. We say we forget. But maybe only the brain does. The rest of you remembers. Quietly.

George Santayana, what a line

Just finished Walden. I didn’t read it fast. Some days, just a page. Thoreau doesn’t teach. He notices. And in his noticing, you remember what you’ve been missing. The way light falls on wood. He made me want to live less out of habit, and more out of attention. A quiet shift.

Screens present you with images, but books force you to create them, and the power of that image-creating muscle is the control center of the creativity because the subconscious whispers in images, and if you let your powers of imagination waste away, you won't be able to hear it

There’s no word for the way your room holds your shape after you leave. The dent in the pillow. The cup half-full. The echo of your hum in the window glass. It’s the pause between a goodbye and a memory.I think that’s what love looks like, Just a space that still remembers you.

Of all the people and companies out there trying to sell you their fix... Mother Nature isn't one of them. Walks in the woods. Sunlight on your face. Hikes by the lake. All free. All yours. No lies. No Catch. Just what you need.

Some words smell like summer on your skin. Chlorine. Crushed grass. The creak of a swing you thought was gone. Funny how a few words online can open a door back to your childhood— and suddenly, you're barefoot again. 🍃🛝

People fight over land. They bleed for views, for postcodes. But the most valuable land? The empire between your ears, sits unguarded. Forgotten. We protect passwords, renovate kitchens, but not thoughts. But this land—your inner world—is ancestral. Sacred. Yours by birthright.