The Myth of Perfection

The Myth of Perfection

“Please ensure that this time, the fit is absolutely perfect. The last trouser you stitched for me was too tight round the waist,” said a customer at the tailor's shop.

The phrase caught my attention immediately.

Not a perfect fit. An absolutely perfect fit.

I looked up from the magazine I was pretending to read and studied the gentleman. He was of generous proportions, with a comfortably protruding belly that appeared to have enjoyed a long and successful relationship with good food. Whether this was his permanent shape or merely the after-effects of a particularly enthusiastic lunch, I could not say.

But his demand intrigued me. What exactly is an absolutely perfect fit?

Suppose the tailor worked a miracle and produced a pair of trousers so precise that even a mathematician would approve of the measurements. What would happen after the gentleman attended a wedding feast the next day and accepted a third helping of biryani in the interests of social harmony? Would the absolute perfection survive dessert?

And what if, inspired by a sudden concern for his health, he skipped dinner for a week? The same trousers might then hang from him like curtains from an abandoned mansion.

Perhaps the tailor should have offered two versions: one for ordinary days and another for festival seasons.

As I watched the proceedings, another thought occurred to me. Human beings are among the few creatures on earth who demand perfection from objects while being spectacularly imperfect themselves.

A man who cannot locate his spectacles while they are resting on his head demands a perfect fit. A person who forgets where he parked his car insists on a perfect memory from everyone else. Someone who burns toast every Sunday morning dreams of a perfect life.

We seem to possess an extraordinary ability to overlook our own imperfections while maintaining very high standards for trousers, neighbours, governments, cricket teams, and occasionally even God.

The incident led me to ponder a larger question. Can anything truly be perfect? Or is perfection one of those fascinating ideas, like the horizon, that appears to exist only because we never quite reach it?

The more one thinks about it, the more elusive perfection becomes. It resembles infinity. We can move towards it, imagine it, discuss it endlessly, and write self-help books about it, but actually arriving there is another matter altogether.

Perfection has a curious habit of retreating just as we think we have caught up with it. The student who scores ninety-five wonders why it was not ninety-eight. The employee who receives a promotion begins thinking about the next one. The homeowner who finally acquires the perfect house discovers that the neighbour owns a slightly larger garden.

what would a truly perfect life look like? In fact, a perfect life might be unbearably dull. Imagine meeting someone who had never failed, never stumbled, never made a foolish decision, never sent a message to the wrong person, and never worn mismatched footwear by accident. Such a person might be admirable, but would they be interesting?

Our imperfections provide texture to life. A face without wrinkles is a face without history. A portrait without shadows is merely a coloured outline. A melody without pauses is noise.

A life without flaws would lack depth. Imperfections do not diminish us. There is no such thing as a perfect person. There can only be a better person—a person who continues to learn, grow, and evolve.

Even when we speak of the Buddha attaining a “perfect” state, is that literal perfection or an expression of profound human achievement? Can a human being truly be without flaw? Or was he simply closer to truth than most — a genius of the spirit, yet human nonetheless?

Perfectionism, however, can be dangerous. It derails goals, squashes dreams, and paralyses action. It is often born of ego — of worrying what others will think. When we chase perfection, we postpone happiness.

The beauty of life lies not in achieving perfection but in embracing imperfection with grace, humour, and authenticity. It is our flaws that make us unique, our limitations that make us humble, and our imperfections that make us human.

Some Quotes on Perfection

“Who are you to judge the life I live?

I know I'm not perfect

-and I don't live to be-

but before you start pointing fingers...

make sure you hands are clean!”

― Bob Marley

“If you look for perfection, you'll never be content.”

― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

“Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.”

― Leonard Cohen

“I am careful not to confuse excellence with perfection. Excellence, I can reach for; perfection is God's business.”

― Michael J. Fox

“The greatest illusion," said the mole, "is that life should be perfect.”

― Charlie Mackesy, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse

“Perfection' is man's ultimate illusion. It simply doesn't exist in the universe.... If you are a perfectionist, you are guaranteed to be a loser in whatever you do.”

― David D. Burns

 

AI AND CREATIVITY IN WRITING

For sometime now I have been bothered about my own writing abilities. After authoring sixbooks I sat down to evaluate what went wrong suddenly and why this doubt whether I could still meet the standards set in the space by Artificial Intelligence. Everyone seemed to become a writer par excellence and with a prodigious output. The social media is now replete with any number of blogs and when I go through them I have to admit that I find myself inadequate. Today I summoned up enough courage to write, wondering whether I could finish what I started with. What stirred my introspection was two articles which appeared in The Times of India over the last ten days-

1. How do we spot AI slop? Lessons from the Granta controversy

2. Are Human+ AI Cowritten Novels The Future?

I reproduce some passages from the articles for they seek to explain what the presence of AI means to the writing community-

‘On X a user shared the very popular blog titled ‘ The quiet grief of adult friendship’ noting that it was one of the most beautiful articles she had read in awhile that hits hard. A few hours later Max Spero of Pangram Labs ( one of the leading AI-detection companies) shared  a screen shot suggesting that this profound article was 100% AI generated. And this was not a singular incident.

There were claims about AI usage by some of the 2026 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, especially the work of writer Jamir Nazir from TRinidad and Tobago. Some experts, critics and Internet sleuths found plenty of markers of AI writing.

At the crux of the everyone of these unmaskings is a simple fact: it was first caught by trained eye  and corroborated by an algorithm. The mild irony is just the trained eye rarely belongs to a veteran gatekeeper. Instead it belongs to someone who is chronically online who has read to much of ChatGPT output.

Why I think this is relevant is because we have to live with the fact that the future belongs to AI. But what frightens me is that our ability to create on our own is being challenged and in the days to come more and more of this bound to happen. 

‘People are wondering whether one day an AI generated novel would get the prize for literature.’

I do not nurture any grouse in this issue. In this era of AI practically everything is getting automated and this is welcome, lessening the burden of repetitive tasks and providing a new and alternate solutions in faster and more efficient ways. Here the human intervention coupled with applications of AI will go a long way and it is possible to co-create.

But my problem is about originality and creativity in writing. In our quest to preserve human creativity, we should not be reduced to judging and accusations regarding the end product. When to use AI and when not is a balance that should guide AI writing in the days to come. What is perfect balance is something the writer should decide so that it does not come at the cost of one’s own creativity.

For me AI is just a tool a physical entity giving form to what is essentially you- your soul. In the foreseeable future I can envisage myself sitting in front of my computer and writing and when I find myself stuck for expression I will turn to AI. So in no sense will I compromise my integrity as a writer, meaning the soul is essentially me. But I have been satisfied with the work I have done in each of my books for I have expressed myself without any external interventions. 

In her essay ‘Why I Write’,Joan Didion said she wrote entirely to find out what she was thinking. Outsource that and you have saved time, but skipped the only part that mattered. A detector cannot save culture on its own. But it can buy us the time to remember what we are protecting, and why.

A cousin of mine visited me somedays ago and the conversations veered of to AI and writing. And he had this to say “With your writing abilities you should be using ChatGPT. The outcome will be tremendous and you will love it” when I replied that I am averse to use any external aid to boost my creativity, he said “Why don’t you try”.

Now looking back at that conversation and my subsequent efforts at using ChatGPT as intervention. I thought to myself why not. My only fear is that in the process of churning out AI aided writing I should not become a slave to the very thing to which I had turned for a slight nudge. I cannot compromise on my integrity as a writer. The Soul will be mine.

Lastly I end with a disclaimer that though you may accuse me of plagiarism for quoting from the articles in TOI, you cannot suspect me of using AI in writing this blog. May be in future I will. 

But I should confess the image to this blog has been generated through ChatGPT. So you see where the balance comes in. I could never have created such an image. But the most meaningful message are at the bottom portion-

AI won’t replace writers but writers who use AI may replace those who don’t

The future of writing is collaborative between human imagination and artificial intelligence 

A MOMENT OF STILLNESS - From my book SECRETS OF THE SOUL

A MOMENT OF STILLNESS 

I stood outside on the balcony trying to beat the claustrophobic indoors and as the first signs of light appeared uncovering the drenched roads from the overnight rain, drowsiness crept in and I made my way back inside, to my bed. As had happened many times before, I went to sleep and to a world of my own and to my dreams. I woke up three hours later, still drowsy. I had my morning coffee and wrote ‘Stillness’. That was fourteen years ago. I remembered the previous evening when on my evening walk along the seashore there was a moment when I felt the Stillness. I explored all those moments which stood frozen in time, those moments of joy, ecstasy, of alienation a snapshot of all those pictures. Years have passed and I still seek the stillness as an extension of ‘Moments of Happiness’. When will these moments ever last? Is it when I find the silence in my heart, and in the stillness of my mind? In fleeting, unguarded moments, it has come like a gentle presence that simply is.

I have felt it while sitting in silence, gazing across distant mountains, my eyes resting on their quiet grandeur. There was no thought, no attempt to grasp or understand—only a still, wordless amazement. The mountains did not speak, yet they seemed to hold within them an ancient, unmoving truth. In their presence, something within me softened and grew quiet, as though I too belonged to that vast stillness.

It returned to me once again by the seashore. The waves, which usually move with a ceaseless rhythm, seemed to hesitate—as if they had forgotten their endless dance. The wind stilled, the horizon blurred into a seamless expanse, and for a brief moment, everything rested in an unfamiliar calm. There was no separation between the observer and the observed—only a single, undivided presence.

On another day, while walking alone in the rain, I sensed it yet again. The droplets fell softly, yet it seemed as though they paused mid-air, suspended between sky and earth. The sea grew silent, the world hushed itself, and within that strange and delicate suspension, I too became still. It was not an effort; it was not a state I entered—it was simply what remained when all movement, inner and outer, came to rest.

As the sun set and darkness slowly descended, the world appeared to withdraw into itself. The colors faded, sounds softened, and life seemed to retreat into a deeper quiet. A bird, perched upon a tree, ceased its song—not abruptly, but as though it had gently dissolved into silence. That silence was not empty; it was full, rich, and alive—a presence that spread quietly through everything, touching all without distinction.

There have been other moments—moments that stand in stark contrast to this stillness. Amidst the restless movement and noise of crowds, I sometimes find myself strangely alone, inwardly untouched by the chaos around me. There is a stillness there too, but it is fragile, fleeting. For as the world resumes its rhythm, as voices rise and footsteps quicken, I feel myself drawn back into the current—carried along almost against my will, as though I had never truly left.

And then, there were those rare and tender instants so subtle that they can easily be missed. When I looked through her eyes and sensed a depth of unspoken feeling, a quiet tenderness that asked for nothing and yet revealed everything. In those moments, something within me had stirred, not with restlessness, but with a gentle ache, as though touching something infinitely precious and infinitely fragile.

It is in those instants that a question arises—not from the mind, but from somewhere deeper: can time not pause here, if only for a while? Can this moment not linger, untouched by the passing of seconds? But even as the question forms, I know the answer. Stillness cannot be held, cannot be preserved or prolonged. It comes and goes as it wills, like a whisper in the vastness of existence. Stillness is not something to be found or kept—it is something to be recognized. It is always here, beneath the surface of all movement, quietly waiting—not to be attained, but to be seen.

A MEDITATION ON SILENCE

 

Take refuge in silence. You can be here or there or anywhere. Fixed in silence, established in the inner 'I', you can be as you are. The world will never perturb you if you are well founded upon the tranquility within. 

Silence is truth. Silence is bliss. Silence is peace. And hence Silence is the Self.

Ramana Maharshi

A MEDITATION ON SILENCE

There are moments in life when silence descends upon us unexpectedly. It is not planned, nor deliberately sought. It simply arrives, quietly and without ceremony. Perhaps that is the nature of silence—it does not announce itself; it just happens.

There was an all-pervading sense of isness. There was only me, and myself. The familiar sounds of the world seemed to have withdrawn beyond the walls. No distant traffic, no voices, no mechanical hums disturbed the stillness. It felt as though the night itself had wrapped the space in a gentle cocoon of quietude.

Within that stillness I began to take a walk within myself. An inward walk, the kind we rarely allow ourselves in the rush of everyday life. Our days are filled with movement, responsibilities, conversations, and distractions that keep our attention directed outward. Rarely do we pause long enough to wander through the corridors of our own inner landscape.

As I turned inward, the mind, which is usually so eager to speak, had grown strangely quiet. The usual chatter of the mind had simply faded away.

At first this quietness felt unfamiliar. We are so accustomed to the noise within our own heads that silence can feel almost unsettling. But as I lingered within it, the discomfort dissolved. What remained was a gentle awareness—an alert but unforced presence.

It was during this quiet inward walk that a realization dawned upon me, this was meditation. It was the meditation that happens when the mind stops struggling and simply rests within itself. I understood that meditation is not always something we do. Sometimes it is something that happens when we stop doing everything else.

Silence at first glance  appears empty, almost barren. Yet the longer one remains within it, the more one begins to sense its quiet richness. What once seemed like emptiness gradually reveals itself as a profound fullness. It is as though silence is not the absence of sound, but the presence of something deeper. Within silence the mind loses its compulsion to perform. It stops explaining, analysing, judging, and narrating every passing experience. Awareness begins to settle into a simple state of being. And within that state of being, a subtle transformation occurs.

The boundaries that usually separate us from the world begin to soften. The distinction between observer and observed becomes less rigid. Instead of standing apart from life, we begin to feel quietly immersed in it.

It was during such a moment that I experienced something I can only describe as a quiet encounter with the sacred. 

The coolness of the winter air seeped gently through the stillness. When I looked out of the window, the moon hung high in the sky, bathing the world in a soft, luminous glow. Its light did not glare or demand attention. It simply illuminated everything with quiet generosity. Shadows moved gently along the walls and across the ground outside. They seemed almost alive, drifting silently as the breeze stirred the branches of nearby trees. The rustling leaves whispered softly, like a secret conversation between the night and the earth.

That night, I discovered God.

There was only the quiet presence of the night, the cool touch of the air, the luminous calm of the moonlight, and the gentle movement of shadows.

And within all of it, there was silence. It was in that silence that I sensed something profoundly sacred.

Perhaps the divine has always been present in the small, unnoticed details of existence. Perhaps it is we who are too preoccupied to notice. We begin to realize that beneath our worries, ambitions, and identities lies a deeper stillness. That stillness is not empty, it is alive with awareness. And within that awareness, one senses a mysterious connection with everything around us.

For a brief moment that night, I felt a part of that silent unity. In that moment, it felt like God, a subtle presence that permeates the very fabric of existence. And it revealed itself through silence.

We do not need to search for meaning of God. we only need to pause long enough to listen to the silence that patiently waits within and around us. It is there, in that gentle stillness, that we sometimes discover truths that words can never fully express.

DARKNESS AND BEYOND - A MEDLEY OF MANY LIVES- A RECOLLECTION

 

It’s been nine years since my book Darkness and Beyond - A Medley of Many Lives was published. Of all my books I found maximum fulfillment writing this. For it covers nine different people and their stories and I hover in the background travelling along in a bid to understand the common thread running through them. While a number of my friends did buy the book and some even put in a review, I can understand that there is a vast majority out there who have missed it, may be due to lethargy or a lack of reading habit. In any case I decided that this book needs rejuvenation and may be in the process motivate them to get and read it, of course I will be all the more elated if they leave a review- a feedback, for that is what the author looks forward to.

So I decided to introduce and tell you what the book is about. Since a number of you would have read the book I am putting this as a recap. So read on. It only gives a peep into each story. May be you will get interested, may be you will buy it and put up a review. In any case read this post. Thank you.

DARKNESS AND BEYOND - A MEDLEY OF MANY LIVES
A RECOLLECTION

It was a late December evening in 2013. As I began my walk back home, I watched the sun sink into the western horizon—a reddish glow slowly dissolving into the gathering dusk. Neon lights flickered on, one by one. When I paused and looked back along the beach road, I saw alternating stretches of light and shadow marking the path I had traversed. In that moment came an overwhelming realization: life itself unfolds in much the same way—an oscillation between light and darkness, between joy and suffering, each marking the passage of our existence.

Though darkness evokes in us a primal fear—the anxiety of dissolving into nothingness—we surrender to it every night, trusting that dawn will return. For a man sustained by hope, it seems only natural to believe that just as night yields to morning, there exists something beyond the darkness of death. We may not know what lies there, but it is hope that sustains us, that renders life meaningful. Without it, the very prolongation of existence would seem absurd.

It was from this reflection that Darkness and Beyond – A Medley of Many Lives was born.

This work is not merely about aging or the acceptance of life’s final passage. It is about those who have journeyed through darkness and found light—those who have discovered meaning, fulfillment, and authenticity in their existence. Whether it is the revolutionary fighting for the oppressed or the seeker in pursuit of ultimate truth, the quest remains the same: to dispel darkness—of suffering, of ignorance—and move toward light. Understanding and acceptance, in themselves, become the path to overcoming suffering.

Just as a medley in music weaves together different tunes into a continuous whole, so too is life—a confluence of many lives, many experiences, seamlessly intertwined.

I was barely six months old when my grandfather passed away. I am told he would quietly peer into my cradle, just to catch a glimpse of his sleeping grandson. From fragments of memory shared by elders, I have come to sense something deeply mystical about him. He was, by worldly standards, an ordinary man—simple and unassuming. Yet, in essence, he was extraordinary. He lived guided by an inner calling, a spiritually elevated soul held in quiet reverence.

*****

Roots traces my journey back to the village of my ancestors—a journey toward belonging, toward connection. It is a fictional biography of a man I never knew, reconstructed through memory and imagination. While the circumstances and characters are imagined, I believe the essence remains true.

It is also a meditation on what we have lost—the gradual movement away from our roots in pursuit of opportunity, and the disintegration of the joint family system that once anchored us. In rediscovering the past, we begin to understand the present.

*****

Sometimes, life alters course through the simplest of encounters. In The Old Man and I – Darkness and Beyond, an incidental meeting grows into a meaningful bond. The old man, standing at the twilight of his life, accepts his approaching end with remarkable calm. Sustained by hope, he reflects:

“I do not know what lies beyond. But just as light fades into darkness and darkness dissolves into dawn, I believe there is something beyond—and that belief is the hope I carry.”

It is a quiet affirmation of faith in the face of the unknown.

*****

As our children move away in search of their own futures, we are left to confront an unsettling reality—the possibility of growing old alone.

What does it mean to have a dignified end?

This question becomes urgent when we witness the slow erosion of a loved one—physically and mentally—through age and illness. Dementia, paralysis, and the gradual fading of identity reduce a person to a state of existence without presence. It is one of life’s most painful experiences: to watch someone you love disappear while still alive.

In Waiting for Deliverance, I attempt to explore both perspectives—the sufferer and the caregiver. The anxiety is universal:

“We are growing old. When my time comes, I wish it to be swift. I dread becoming a burden… Love should never be tested that way.”

There are no easy answers. Only questions that linger.

*****

The turbulence of youth and ideology finds expression in Master Moshai, set against the backdrop of the Naxalite movement. It reflects a clash between violent revolution and transformative change through awareness and education.

Those were years of unrest—the Vietnam War, cultural upheavals, and closer home, the birth of Bangladesh and the Naxalite uprising. I witnessed fragments of this as a young observer. Though the story is fictional, its emotional and historical grounding remains real.

*****

Relationships, too, are fraught with complexity.

In A Man and A Woman, I explore the fragile balance between commitment and individuality. There is no perfect relationship—only imperfect individuals attempting to coexist.

Perhaps conflicts arise less from circumstance and more from the absence of empathy. And sometimes, choosing to walk away is not failure, but a form of liberation.

*****

Music, unlike any other art form, has the power to transcend the senses.

When we close our eyes to listen, we heighten our awareness of sound. For the visually impaired, this becomes a gateway to experiencing the world.

A Light in the Darkness follows the life of a boy born blind, whose parents help him discover meaning through music—a reminder that deprivation in one sense can awaken depth in another.

*****

In The Patriarch, Periyachamy rises from deprivation to become the head of a large family. His life rests on two pillars—faith and loyalty. Through struggle and perseverance, he discovers that even the deepest darkness can be dispelled by hope.

*****

The idea of transformation finds a powerful echo in the story of Raju from Guide. A flawed man, shaped by circumstance, ultimately finds spiritual fulfillment—not through miracles, but through surrender.

“I am doing what I have to do; that is all.”

In that surrender lies liberation—the erasure of ego, the acceptance of purpose. Not all who seek truth become saints. Some, like the Buddha, arrive at it through deep introspection. Others have sainthood thrust upon them. And some merely assume its appearance.

Ekant, The Savant, belongs to neither category. He is simply a seeker—one who understands that true renunciation is not an act, but a state of being.

“One does not renounce. One simply outgrows the need to possess.”

*****

Finally, Tonsured – A Tale of Two Widows revisits a painful chapter in our social history—the marginalization of widows. Though reformers like Raja Rammohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar fought against such practices, remnants persist even today.

This story is one of suffering, resilience, and eventual redemption—a journey from darkness into light through human compassion.

*****

At its heart, Darkness and Beyond is not about death, but about life—about how we endure, evolve, and find meaning. It is a tapestry of human experiences, a medley of many lives. And through it all runs a single thread: That no matter how deep the darkness, there is always—somewhere, somehow—a light.