The Visible Miles, The Invisible Hands

As Nazarene and I step into another year of togetherness this Orchid Anniversary, I find myself reflecting on just how much of what I do rests on what she quietly makes possible.

I recently caught up with a fellow professional at the airport, as we were travelling on what could be called a quasi-business trip. Narrating my schedule from the past couple of weeks, I realised — on counting — that I had touched over 24 cities, travelling by air, train, and road. I mentioned to my friend that I'd been really busy. She remarked that I live a hectic life.
I was basking in that little glow of admiration when Nazarene quipped, quite stoically, "And I have been really busy doing the laundry for Emmanuel."
Ouch. Reality hit hard.
It wasn't just the laundry. It was making sure the suits were coordinated with the right socks and ties, and a dozen other little things besides — all invisible until they're missing.
That moment made me pause and think about how little we celebrate the role of homemakers. There is no boarding pass, no city count, no visible metric for what they do. Yet every trip I take, every meeting I walk into well turned out, rests quietly on that unseen discipline.
My deep gratitude to Nazarene — and to homemakers everywhere — whose diligence gives the rest of us the liberty to go out and do what we are called to do. Unsung, but absolutely indispensable. Wishing us a Happy Orchid Anniversary, Nazarene.

Nature’s Perfect Signal

It was a sultry Sunday morning, and I woke up lazily, largely due to the efforts of the summer sun. Bleary-eyed, I walked out to my small lawn to breathe in some freshness. My attention was captured by the screeching of a dozen or so birds of carrion. It was the first time I had seen such a congregation of vultures within the precincts of my house.

Straining my eyes, I could make out in the distance, amongst the grass, the reason for their presence — a dead animal. I glanced sideways and found a few more of these massive birds sitting on a parapet wall, while others perched aloft a Peepul tree, flapping their wings and emitting sharp shrieks.

I noticed more and more birds gathering from different directions. I looked up and observed these scavengers soaring to zero in on their target. Meanwhile, a pack of Pariah dogs scampered across the brush. I wondered as to their destination, especially as they could not see what was attracting the soaring scavengers. To my surprise, they went straight where their instincts led them. By now, there was a multitude of vultures and canines, all partaking of their breakfast.

I paused and marvelled at Nature’s communication. I felt it was perfect. All those who were available to feast on the dead animal received a message, and they came. The signal was not distorted, nor was there discrimination on the basis of rich or poor, white or black feathers, or extrinsic factors such as looks, caste, or status.

I wondered: if these creatures, who live by the raw law of survival, can communicate without distortion, why can’t we?

Authors Footnote: These observations were recorded in Alwar in 1986. Looking back from 2026, the “perfect communication” I witnessed feels even more precious, as the great birds of that morning are now rarely seen in the places they once gathered.