By Praveen Chandhok
I recently listened to a discourse inspired by Osho’s philosophy. It explored suffering, ego and our habit of blaming others. But the image that stayed with me was surprisingly simple: a lion.
A lion does not expect the jungle to be fair. It hunts when hungry, protects itself when threatened and, after an injury, returns to the business of living. Human lives are more complicated, of course. Still, the image left me wondering: do we sometimes spend so long explaining our unhappiness that we forget to ask what we can do about it?
We say we want peace, yet give old grievances a generous share of our attention. One unkind remark can outlive years of kindness. We remember exactly who said what, while the person concerned has probably forgotten the conversation.
I suspect most of us know that feeling.
Gradually, something shifts. A disappointment becomes our identity. We stop saying, “That hurt me”, and start living as though the hurt explains everything.
The discourse also raised an uncomfortable thought: suffering can bring attention, sympathy and reassurance. Compassion is essential. But sometimes we grow so accustomed to receiving care through distress that, without realising it, we become attached to that pattern. This does not make our pain imaginary. It makes our relationship with it worth examining.
A similar pattern can shape family life. We have all seen households where everyone checks one person’s mood before speaking. Decisions wait. Preferences disappear. The people who seem strongest quietly make most of the compromises.
Caring for an elderly parent, an ill relative or someone struggling emotionally is part of family life. The difficulty begins when guilt is repeatedly used to get one’s way. If nobody feels free to disagree, how much peace does that household really have?
Then comes blame, perhaps the most familiar habit of all. Our parents misunderstood us. A friend let us down. A colleague behaved unfairly. Sometimes every word is true. People hurt one another, and life does not distribute its hardships evenly.
But if my happiness depends on someone else apologising, I have handed them considerable power. What happens if the apology never comes? How many more years must I wait?
We can acknowledge a wrong and still refuse to let it govern the rest of our lives.
This is where responsibility takes on a different meaning: response-ability, our capacity to respond.
We cannot choose every circumstance, and we cannot simply order ourselves to stop grieving or feeling angry. What we can develop, gradually, is some choice over what follows. An insult need not occupy the entire day. A failed plan need not become a verdict on our worth.
Sometimes that means setting a boundary. Sometimes it means admitting a mistake, asking for help or beginning again. Seeking professional support when we need it is itself an act of responsibility.
As we grow older, our personal histories can become crowded with unfinished arguments. We know the stories so well that we barely notice how often we repeat them. The past deserves understanding, but it need not have the final word on tomorrow.
Strength, too, deserves a wider definition. It may mean standing firm for a principle. It may mean apologising without adding a defensive “but”. On a difficult day, it may simply mean getting up and trying again.
That is why I liked the discourse’s description of responsibility as a crown. A crown suggests authority, but it also carries weight. To govern our own lives is to accept that our choices, conduct and responses matter.
We will still complain occasionally. We will still want sympathy. We are human, after all. The point is to notice when those habits begin to crowd out the life still available to us.
There are friendships to nurture, ideas to pursue and kindnesses to offer. Surely they deserve more of our energy than the running account of everything that went wrong.
The lion may be wounded, but it does not cease to be a lion.
Wear the crown with humility. Accept responsibility for the life that is yours to live.
The greatest kingdom any of us can hope to govern is the one within ourselves…
(Praveen Chandhok is a proud Josephite, Entrepreneur, Socialite and Writer.)
