PEACE BEYOND RELIGION

Kindness, understanding and hope that transcends all boundaries.

One of the most beautiful aspects of the Walk for Peace is its ability to transcend boundaries. 

Religion, age, background and all the labels we usually carry in life, fade when people come together in hope and kindness.

Every day, the monks meet people from different communities. Some curious, some doubtful, some simply watching quietly. 

They offer small blessings, a red string on the wrist, a bottle of holy water, a kind word. And the people receive it without judgment; not because they all believe the same things, but because the heart behind the gesture is visible.

It’s extraordinary and yet so simple. 

Peace doesn’t demand uniformity. It doesn’t insist on conversion or agreement. 

It asks only for openness; the willingness to accept care, the willingness to give care, the willingness to stand with one another even when life is messy and uncertain.

Watching this unfold makes me reflect on our everyday lives. 

How often do we stop ourselves from kindness because of differences? 

How often do we limit compassion to those “like us”? 

The Walk for Peace reminds me that true peace begins in small acts of recognition, patience and love and it is strongest when it reaches across differences.

There is a quiet miracle in these interactions. Laughter, smiles, blessings and ordinary gestures that carry extraordinary meaning. The monks continue their walk, step by step, mile by mile, in rain, heat and possibly snow, carrying a message that is simple but profound i.e. 

peace is possible, if we let our hearts meet one another 

And for me, that is the enduring lesson of this walk; faith, courage, patience and love - they do not belong to any single religion or group. They belong to anyone willing to walk with awareness and an open heart.

When people come together in hope and kindness, everything else fades…and peace begins! 

FAITH TESTED ON THE ROAD

Enduring heat, rain, cold and fatigue with mindfulness and compassion.

Walking hundreds of miles for peace is not easy. The monks face harsh conditions every single day with the sun beating down, sudden rainstorms, cold nights, long stretches of uneven roads and .. ‘ouch!’ sore, bruised feet. Yet, they walk on.

Also, it is not just their endurance, but the way they carry it, with patience, humour and care for one another. They notice small things, if someone needs warmth, if someone’s shoes are wet, if someone is hungry and they respond without complaint.

Sometimes, I worry about them facing snow in the coming days. But watching them now, I know they will meet it as they meet every challenge, calmly, with preparation and with faith. 

Every step is mindful, every pause intentional. They are not walking blindly, they are walking with purpose.

Even in exhaustion, they share smiles, jokes and gentle words. They laugh about minor discomforts, tease one another lightly and look out for each other. And yet, beneath the laughter, there is steadfastness, a quiet commitment to continue, regardless of the conditions.

This walk is more than miles. It is a living test of faith, patience, compassion and endurance. And through it all, they remind me that true courage is not about avoiding hardship, but about continuing with kindness and mindfulness even in the face of it.

I am left in awe. And I am learning from them to meet my own challenges ie physical, emotional or spiritual, with a little more patience, a little more care and a little more grace.

(Next blog: Peace Beyond Religion) 

THEY ARE JUST LIKE US

Humanity, laughter and care; seeing extraordinary courage in ordinary moments.

As I continue following the Walk for Peace, something quietly beautiful stands out to me; beyond the robes, the discipline and the purpose, they are simply human, just like us.

They laugh. They tease one another. They worry when someone looks unwell. They remind each other to eat, to rest and to stay warm. In between long stretches of walking, there are moments of lightness, shared smiles, gentle jokes and small comforts that feel deeply familiar.

Watching them, I’m struck by how ordinary these moments are and how extraordinary that ordinariness feels in the context of such a profound journey. 

It reminds me that courage does not always look serious or solemn. 

Sometimes, courage looks like laughing despite uncertainty, caring despite fatigue and showing up for one another in the simplest ways.

What touches me most is how naturally kindness flows among them. No grand gestures. No loud declarations. Just quiet attentiveness, like checking in, staying close, offering presence. These moments make the Walk for Peace feel less distant, less symbolic and more intimate.

In seeing their humanity, I feel a deep sense of connection. The Walk no longer feels like something happening “out there,” led by extraordinary beings. 

It feels close. Relatable. Possible. It gently reminds me that peace does not require perfection; only sincerity, care and the willingness to walk together.

Perhaps this is one of the most powerful lessons of all ie peace begins not with ideals but with how we treat one another in ordinary moments. 

(Next Blog: Faith Tested on the Road) 

WHY THE WALK FOR PEACE TOUCHED MY HEART

Discovering courage, grace and quiet lessons from those who walk for peace.

There are moments when you come across something that quietly rearranges you. Not loudly. Not instantly. But steadily…thought by thought, feeling by feeling.

That’s what the Walk for Peace has been doing to me.

At first, I was simply observing, monks walking long distances, meeting people, offering blessings, carrying a message of peace through places that have known pain and violence. It was moving, yes. Admirable too. But somewhere along the way, it became more than that.

I started asking questions.

Why does peace so often begin with monks?

Why do those who have renounced comfort, walk into the hardest places?

Why do people from different religions, backgrounds and beliefs stand together…accepting red strings, blessed water, kind words etc without questioning labels?

And then I watched a video that changed everything for me.

The head monk was on a video call with one of his fellow monks; a teammate who had suffered an accident and was about to undergo surgery that would cost him his leg. 

There was no drama in the conversation. No grand speeches. Just two humans speaking honestly, gently.

The monk who was about to lose his leg spoke with a soft smile (it felt like he was trying to control his tears/sadness?) and he said he had decided to go ahead with the amputation not with bitterness or fear, but with clarity. He offered his leg to the Walk for Peace, to the project, to the Buddha Sasana; choosing meaning over despair.

They spoke about rain, cold, exhaustion, sleeping bags, bonfires. They worried about each other falling sick. They laughed softly. They ended the call with “Sādhu, sādhu, sādhu.”

And that’s when it struck me:

They are just like us.

They feel pain.

They worry.

They joke.

They care deeply for one another.

What makes them different is not that they suffer less but that they carry suffering with grace, patience and love.

This walk is not symbolic for them. It is a living test of everything they practice; mindfulness when it hurts, patience when it rains, compassion when it’s cold and faith when the road ahead is uncertain; even when snow awaits.

Watching this, I felt something soften inside me.

A reminder that peace isn’t loud.

It isn’t imposed.

It is walked, step by careful step, by those willing to remain kind even when it would be easier to harden.

This is why this walk moved me.

And why I felt compelled to write.

(Next Blog: They are just like us) 

WALKING WITH PEACE

Lessons From The Journey 

Peace is not just a word. It is a practice, a journey and sometimes, a path walked step by step in heat, rain, cold or snow. 

Over the past weeks, I’ve been following the Walk for Peace, where monks traverse hundreds of miles, offering blessings, kindness and a quiet example of endurance, patience and love.

Through this series, I’ll share reflections from what I’ve witnessed; their courage, their humor, their humanity and the lessons their journey inspires. 

These are not tales of perfection but stories of ordinary human beings, carrying pain, hope, laughter and compassion… and walking forward anyway.

I hope that as you read, you feel a little closer to the simple yet profound truth they embody ie peace begins with awareness, patience and an open heart.

(Next Blog: Why the Walk For Peace Touched My Heart) 

REMEMBERING MORNING MAGIC WITH MOM

Even now, I can smile remembering the mornings with my mom. She had this playful way of tricking me into thinking I could sleep in.

“Tomorrow, we wake up late, ok?” she’d say. And I’d nod, happy for the promise of a slow morning.

But come the next day, I’d be greeted by the aroma of her sambar simmering, soft thosai on the griddle and a special ghee thosai just for me. 

I’d tease her, “Someone told me we could wake up late!” and she would smile, a smile that last longer by holding back her laughter…😊😂

Those mornings weren’t just about food or routine, they were about love, care and little acts that made ordinary days feel magical. 

Even now, a year without her, I feel her warmth in those memories, in every laugh, every taste, every gentle nudge of love.

Little moments, big love. Mom, you’re always with me. ❤️✨❤️

What little moments from your mornings make you smile? 

THAI AMAVASAI, A LAMP FOR THE DEPARTED AND THE SANDALS I LEFT BEHIND

This morning unfolded quietly, almost unexpectedly.

Late last night, my cousin brother texted to remind me that today is Thai Amavasai, which is an important day in the Tamil calendar, dedicated to remembering and honoring those who have left us ie. parents, grandparents, siblings, ancestors.

It felt last-minute. I had just had two glasses of wine while watching Emily in Paris on Netflix and was ready to call it a night. But something in me said, okay. That was it. No overthinking.

So this morning, I woke up early, showered, dressed decently (as one must for temple visits😄)and drove to the temple. 

I removed my shoes, entered the temple, bought a Moksha Deepam, a small clay oil lamp and paid for a simple fruits offering. Our usual priest wasn’t around, so another priest conducted a group prayer. One by one, we stood in line, offering the names of our departed loved ones.

The Moksha Deepam is known as the Lamp of Liberation which is lit with the intention of peace, release and onward journey for the soul and quiet acceptance for those of us left behind.

After the prayers, I sat for a while. No rush. Just stillness.

Then I drove home.

Only when I reached my car park did I realize! I had left my sandals behind at the temple (I’m used to driving without shoes all the time!!😂).

Well, the sandals wasn’t just any sandals. A comfy, slightly pricey pair that I rarely use…and for some reason, chose to use today.

I paused for exactly one second. Then decided. No turning back.

I got out of the car and walked barefoot all the way to the lift, up to the 17th floor, thinking, I’ll wash my feet when I get home.

But here’s the funny part. No dirt! Nothing. Clean floors, clean lift, clean walk. I laughed to myself.

And then it felt clear.

I decided to leave the sandals there.

Maybe someone needed them more. Maybe someone had been wishing. Maybe it was simply meant to be.

And I could almost hear my mom’s voice, amused and practical as ever:

“It’s ok. Leave it. Someone will use.”

Now it’s late Sunday morning. I’m sitting at Starbucks with a latte and a sandwich, laptop open, choosing work over Netflix (small victories 😅).

Today wasn’t planned. But it was meaningful.

A lamp lit. A quiet remembrance. A small letting go.

And somehow, that feels just right.

And somewhere in all of this, the lamp, the walk, the sandals left behind….I felt my mom close.

Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just quietly present.

In the way things unfolded without force. In the ease of letting go. And in the small, practical wisdom that life doesn’t need to be held so tightly.

She taught me that…long before I knew I’d need it.

And today, on Thai Amavasai, I light a lamp not just for her journey…but in gratitude for the way she still walks beside me, reminding me:

“Enough already. You did good.”