The Momma Clan

The First to Speak—A Reflection on Grace and Growth

When I was in school, I was blessed to have had a couple of teachers whom I admired deeply. They were not merely teachers—these were well-wishers, believing in me and quietly encouraging me.

Years after that, I spotted one of these favourite teachers at a street cart one day. I smiled, really pleased to see her. But she didn’t react as I had wished. Her face showed as if she didn’t know me.

Young and naive at the time, I was quick to get hurt. I assumed she knew who I was and had decided to look through me. That single episode brought a silent misunderstanding in my heart.

Now, with maturity and time, I realise how faulty my assumption was. Her eyesight might have weakened. She might have been lost in thought, or perhaps she just didn’t see the grown version of her one-time student anymore. While she had not really changed, I definitely had—growing from a teenager into a young adult.

But that did not even strike me at that moment. I did not even pause to think if what I was thinking was just. We tend to reach conclusions quicker than we try to comprehend. Our mind gives itself cues and makes up its own mind as to what it wants to believe.

She lived near our house, and I encountered her a few more times. But clad in my own biases, I never said hello to her again. Maybe, as I didn’t say anything, she never knew who I was.

Later, I found out that she had died.

The same thing happened with another teacher as well, who later I found had passed away. Both the incidents took place within a couple of years, and both left me with this lingering pain—a regret for things not said and smiles not given.

I’ve always been a shy individual, not one to strike up a conversation readily. I talk more openly only after feeling comfortable with a person. Oddly enough, I didn’t even realize this about myself until someone else mentioned it to me.

Often our silences don’t stem from pride, but rather from uncertainty, anxiety, or presumption. And yet, they can have lasting and irreversible regrets.

⸻

Recently, while re-reading the Ramayana with a new perspective, I read a lovely verse explaining Lord Rama’s virtues while he was being coronated. When King Dasharatha announced Rama as his successor, people blessed him as:

• Mridu Bhashi – One who utters gentle words, never hurting others.
•Hita Bhashi– One who only says good and beneficial words to others.
• Mita Bhashi – One who speaks in moderation, never unnecessarily or abundantly.
• Poorva Bhashi – Someone who starts talking without caring about the other’s age, status, or position.
This final attribute, Poorva Bhashi, resonated deeply with me.

We so often refrain from talking first—afraid of what the other will think, or not wanting to be misinterpreted. We size people up, balance numbers, and restrain ourselves. We say, “Let them talk first.”

But the skill to greet others first, to extend humility and warmth—that is not a weakness. It is a strength. It is grace. It is what makes us more human.

The Ramayana is not mythology. It’s a manual for life—showing us how to conduct ourselves with dignity, compassion, and courage.

Had I realized this sooner, maybe I would have behaved differently.

But it’s never too late. We can always think, learn, and grow. And if we instruct our children with these values—telling them not only what to do, but why—they will become people who command the world’s respect, not only because of their achievements, but because of who they are.

What do you think?

-Sujata Maggoo