ఉపాయం - 364 A thoughtful message to share on being your own lamp and shining without burning through "Aatma Deepo Bhava"!
The Approach
The Approach
Topics

Topics

ఉపాయం - 364

When the Buddha said, “Aatma deepo bhava”—be your own light (shine from within)—he wasn’t speaking of a flame that burns forever. Every lamp has its span, just as beauty fades, success shifts (from one person to another), positions change, and fame dissolves like smoke after a flame. What matters is not how long the lamp burns, but how purely it shines—how steadily it glows in truth. For many young Indian Americans, and especially for women breaking barriers, the world often measures worth by visibility—by grades, titles, trophies, and followers. It’s easy to mistake light for attention, or visibility for value. Yet the truest light isn’t the one that dazzles; it’s the one that helps others see. Fame and recognition are like a lamp’s glow in a gust of wind—beautiful, yes, but fleeting. What sustains the flame is not applause, but intention: the oil of kindness, the wick of integrity, the quiet breath of purpose. And yet, somewhere between your parents’ dreams and your own definitions of success, you may lose that inner flame. The “perfect” Indian American family gleams outwardly—a tidy home, gifted children, secure careers, vacation pics shared in careful harmony. It’s a portrait built on discipline, sacrifice, and pride—the kind of life that once seemed like the ultimate victory after generations of struggle. But perfection has a price when the lamp shines outward but not within. When life becomes a checklist—college, career, marriage, reputation—the soul begins to tire. In chasing excellence, some forget tenderness. Families fracture not from lack of love, but from exhaustion—the pressure to keep glowing even when the oil is gone. And so, you witness the quiet tragedies behind success: divorce, isolation, even despair. The lamp burns too bright, too fast, mistaking endurance for meaning. Meanwhile, across the ocean, a girl from a rural Indian village runs barefoot toward a gold medal at the Asian Games. She owns no luxury, but she owns herself—her grit, her humility, her purpose. Her lamp may be small, but its light is pure. It does not blind; it inspires. Perfection, then, is not the absence of struggle, but the presence of meaning. The ideal family is not the one that never falters, but the one that holds space for truth, failure, and forgiveness—for the kind of love that renews the flame rather than masks the dimming. For Indian American parents, the pursuit of perfection began with love. They wanted their children to have the chances they never had—good schools, good homes, a life safe from the struggles they once knew. But in protecting their children from hardship, many forgot that struggle is what gives light its glow. Ease without purpose becomes emptiness. The girl from rural India runs barefoot toward her dream not because she is fearless, but because she knows the meaning of every step. Her hunger fuels her joy; her victory feels alive because she has earned it in dust and sweat. She has purpose stitched into her pain. To find that same satisfaction, Indian American parents must teach less performance and more presence. Replace the script of achievement with the rhythm of meaning. Allow children to see that life’s value is not in how much they own, but in how deeply they feel. Perfection polishes away the fingerprints of humanity—the laughter, the mess, the vulnerability that make love real. Children who grow up seeing only excellence learn to fear mistakes, and fear, when unhealed, turns into silence or rebellion—the kind you now see in stories of depression, drugs, and mental health issues. The soul cannot breathe under constant expectation. Parents can begin again, not by lowering standards, but by widening them—to include kindness as success, curiosity as achievement, and inner peace as progress. Let the conversation at the family dining table be less about comparisons and more about connection. Let failure be spoken of not as shame, but as a shared teacher. A truly luminous household doesn’t hide its cracks; it lets the light pass through them. When parents live with humility, gratitude, and emotional honesty, their children absorb a deeper kind of confidence—the kind that no résumé can capture. To be less polished is not to be less proud. It is to return to the essence of Aatma deepo bhava—to nurture the flame that burns with truth, not pressure. So, to every parent who has crossed oceans for a better life—remember, the greatest inheritance you can offer your children is not perfection, but presence. Teach them how to fall without fear, to win without arrogance, to love without condition. For in the end, it is not the brilliance of your lamps that matters, but the warmth they leave behind!

Go back Next
© 2025 Upaayam: Published under the Telugu Bhavanam Cultural Reflection and Educational Initiative Project.