Small & Sweet……..
Some afternoons have a strange way of slowing everything down.
The heat presses gently on the windows, the house grows quieter than usual, and the mind—unhelpfully, enthusiastically—begins wandering through every corridor of memory and emotion.
This afternoon is one of those.
And my thoughts are circling around something I have known all my life but still find myself revisiting again and again:
Small things matter.
They always have.
Not the grand gestures that people perform for an audience. Not the carefully curated kindness meant for photographs and social media applause.
I mean the real things.
The tiny, almost invisible moments that slip past most people unnoticed.
Like watching a small video clip from a workshop I conducted, and seeing the children completely immersed—laughing, responding, learning with that beautiful intensity only children possess. The kind of learning where their eyes sparkle because they are discovering something themselves.
Those moments make me happy in ways that are difficult to explain.
Or writing a small note to a friend—just a few lines, nothing elaborate—and receiving a reply that tells you it mattered to them.
Not because it was profound.
Not because it was necessary.
But simply because it was real.
Or a small get-together at home.
No fuss. No grand arrangements.
Just tea, conversation, laughter that meanders across stories, memories, ridiculous observations about life and people.
And later someone mentions, almost casually,
“That evening stayed with me.”
And you realise that what felt ordinary to you meant something to someone else. That is the magic of small things.
I suppose that is how I have always lived my life—doing things not because they must be done, not because someone will notice, but simply because it feels right to do them for the people who matter to me.
Without overthinking the why.
I don’t sit down with a calculator of intentions.
I don’t measure affection in equal portions.
I don’t evaluate kindness for returns.
I simply do things.
And then I move on.
But somewhere along the way, a curious question sometimes creeps in on afternoons like this:
Why am I made like this?
Why does every word matter to me?
Why do I remember things people say—sometimes years later—with startling clarity?
Why is “doing the right thing” not just a choice for me but almost a stubborn instinct?
For some people, right and wrong are negotiable territories.
For me, they have always been rather straightforward.
If something is right, you do it.
If something is wrong, you don’t.
There are no complicated mental gymnastics required.
Yet the world, I have discovered, does not always operate on such simple rules.
People sometimes take what you do for granted.
Sometimes they assume that kindness is an inexhaustible resource.
Sometimes they undervalue the effort, the thought, the intention behind actions.
And occasionally—quite spectacularly—they misunderstand everything.
In the past, this would bother me far more than it does now.
There was a time when I would wonder endlessly:
Did I do too much?
Did they misunderstand me?
Did I say something wrong?
Age, experience, and a healthy dose of realism have simplified things considerably.
Now, when I encounter such moments, I remind myself of something rather important.
The value of what you do does not reduce simply because someone else fails to see it.
People understand according to their capacity. Not according to your intention.
And once you accept that, life becomes surprisingly lighter. Another thought that drifts through my mind on afternoons like this is about intuition. That quiet internal voice we all possess.
The one that whispers gently when something feels off.
I have learned—sometimes the hard way—that ignoring intuition is rarely a good idea.
There are always people who suddenly become curious about your life after years of indifference. People who ask questions not because they care, but because curiosity mixed with calculation can be an oddly persistent trait.
There are those who pry.
Those who probe.
Those who suddenly wish to become familiar observers of a life they had little interest in before.
And then there are the other category—perhaps even more fascinating.
The overly sweet ones.
The ones who praise too generously.
Who speak too smoothly.
Who appear to admire everything you do.
Experience has taught me that excessive sweetness is sometimes merely another form of camouflage. So yes, I keep my guards up.
Not in bitterness.
Not in hostility.
Just in awareness.
Life has taught me that boundaries are not signs of distrust; they are simply signs of wisdom.
Another truth I have made peace with is this:
I do not feel obligated to like everyone.
Nor do I feel obligated to forgive people who have knowingly caused harm.
There is a strange social expectation that forgiveness must always be immediate and unconditional.
I disagree.
Forgiveness, like trust, is something that grows from genuine change and accountability—not from superficial politeness. If someone has intentionally caused hurt and later returns wrapped in unnecessary sweetness, I see no reason to pretend amnesia.
Civility, yes.
Politeness, certainly.
But forgetfulness?
That is not a virtue I possess.
And strangely, I am quite comfortable with that.
What surprises me sometimes is how little other people’s anger affects me when I know that my reaction was justified. In earlier years, someone else’s anger would disturb me deeply. Now, if I know I have acted fairly and honestly, their anger simply becomes… background noise.
Because at the end of the day, we cannot control how others interpret our actions. We can only control whether we acted with integrity. And integrity, I have realised, is a remarkably peaceful place to stand. The most comforting discovery, however, is something else entirely. For every person who undervalues what you do, there are others who notice everything.
They may not always say it immediately.
But they observe.
They remember.
They appreciate.
And sometimes they express it in the simplest ways.
A message.
A smile.
A quiet acknowledgment.
Those are the people who make the effort worthwhile. They remind you that authenticity still has a place in this rather complicated world. As the afternoon heat begins to soften and the shadows lengthen across the room, I realise something. All these thoughts – floating in and out like passing clouds – are not really questions anymore. They are simply observations about the kind of person I have always been.
Someone who values small things.
Someone who believes that sincerity matters more than performance.
Someone who trusts intuition.
Someone who chooses honesty even when it is inconvenient.
And perhaps most importantly, someone who has learned that being real is not always easy – but it is always worth it. So yes, on this quiet, slightly reflective, slightly philosophical hot afternoon, I find myself smiling at a simple conclusion.
Small things matter.
A lot more than the world often acknowledges.
And being real?
That matters even more.
Way to go Presidency Group of Schools and Ms. Jayalaxmi, Chairman.
You can also find such encouraging videos of work being done in a quiet but impactful way on our website: https://bbflife.in/
Wickedlyours 