A solitary Sunday and the strength in stillness - World News Network

By Suvir Saran
New Delhi [India], January 21 (ANI): This Sunday began in stillness, the kind of silence that doesn’t beckon but envelops, cocooning you in the solitude of your own being. I woke early, as I always do, not by the alarm of a clock but by the rhythm of a body long attuned to its own restlessness. The hour was six, the morning clung to its residual humidity, the scent of the ocean still lingering. The villa–a quiet, stoic companion–stood watch over my solitude. The day yawned ahead, inviting me to step into its arms. But instead, I lingered in bed, caught between the weight of my singlehood and the whisper of a creative muse.
By eleven, I had completed three artworks, pieces destined for my solo show this spring. They were born not from urgency but from a meditative flow, each stroke of color or texture a reflection of something deeper–a thought, a longing, a memory. The villa, my refuge in Goa, had witnessed my quiet creation. Its walls, white and unassuming, seemed to hold space for my thoughts, bouncing them back to me as I worked. The silence of the room was rich, not empty, and for those hours, I was not lonely but whole, absorbed in the alchemy of art.
But art is a fleeting companion. It carries you to a place of fullness, only to leave you emptier when it departs. As I stepped out into the midday sun, heading toward Jolene, the cliffside restaurant I’ve poured my heart into, I felt lighter, happier. The drive, though brief, felt like an interlude between worlds. Jolene stood there, perched above the beach, a vision of the labor and love of many hands. It is not just mine but the collective spirit of Amrita, Shakeel, Gaurav, Ankit, and the team of chefs, bartenders, and servers who have made its essence their own.
The day unfolded perfectly. The restaurant hummed with quiet confidence, its every detail–its spirit, its design, its food–aligning effortlessly. I watched smiles bloom on the faces of those who dined with us, their joy reflecting the very reason we built this place. Yet even as I celebrated these moments, a part of me stood apart, observing, reflecting, questioning.
By 10:10 p.m., I was back at the villa, the day’s triumphs now a memory. The walk from the car to the front door felt heavier than it should have, the weight of solitude settling back onto my shoulders. Inside, the air was cool, the bed colder still. The stillness that had been a balm in the morning now pressed against me like an unwelcome guest. I sat there, alone, stranded–not just by the lack of a car or scooter, but by the absence of another heartbeat in the room.
As I sank into this quiet, lost in the noise of my own thoughts, my phone buzzed with a message. It was from Shobha Tharoor, arriving unexpectedly, as though the universe had chosen that moment to remind me of connection, to offset my solitude with solace. Shobha, a celebrated author with a reputation for brilliance, lives in the San Francisco Bay Area but carries the heart of India within her words and her actions. She is a devoted daughter, a loving friend, and a hostess who makes every guest feel cherished. Her intellect is matched by her warmth, and her writing reflects a profound understanding of human nature. Her message to me, sent on this Sunday evening, was more than an acknowledgment; it was a gift, a salve for my aching soul.
“You are a modern-day guru, my friend,” she wrote. “There is honesty and heart in your words, and they compel gently to reflect. I’m sorry about the pain, especially since I’m sure that you offer pain relief to many. Thank you for telling me. I spoke from the heart, and I’m glad that today I made you happy.”
Her words humbled me and healed me in equal measure. Guru–a word that carries weight, responsibility, and expectation. Am I ready to wear that mantle? Or is it enough to simply write, to share my truth, and let others find their own meaning in it?
So I wrote. Late into the night, I sat with the silence, letting her words guide my reflection. I wanted to capture the essence of this day, the emotions it stirred, and the larger truths it revealed.
As I write this now, on a Sunday that has already slipped into the past, the weight of the day still presses gently against my limbs. I am struck by the paradox of my life. I am alone, yet not lonely. I am broken, yet whole. My bed is cold, but my heart is warm with the echoes of those who have reached out to tell me my words matter.
This solitude is not emptiness; it is a space where new stories are born. It is in these moments of quiet that I find the courage to face my fears, to confront the truths I’ve tried to ignore, to embrace the man I am becoming.
The ache in my joints, the silence of the villa, the distance from loved ones–these are not burdens but reminders of the life I’ve chosen. A life of creation, of reinvention, of finding purpose in the spaces where others might see only voids.
Tomorrow will bring another day at Jolene, another chance to pour my heart into something larger than myself. And in the quiet hours before sleep, I will return to this space of reflection, carrying with me the hope that my words will continue to bridge the gap between my solitude and the shared humanity of those who read them.
So tonight, I embrace the stillness. I let it wash over me, not as a wave of despair but as a tide that carries me closer to myself. I remind myself–and my readers–that we are never truly alone. In our brokenness, we find connection. In our solitude, we discover strength. And in our longing, we uncover the seeds of hope.
This was my Sunday. And as you read this on a Tuesday morning, I hope it becomes not just the story of my day, but an invitation to reflect on your own. This is my journey at 52. It is not perfect, nor is it easy. But it is mine, and it is enough. (ANI/Suvir Saran)
Disclaimer: Suvir Saran is a Masterchef, Author, Hospitality Consultant And Educator. The views expressed in this article are his own.

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