Tillitonse - A Transformational Journey Together

  I caught up recently with an old friend — let’s call him  Krish  — one of those unusual people who somehow stay cheerful even when the world misbehaves. He’s a senior professional in the financial world, a man who deals daily with numbers, volatility, and boardroom storms… yet somehow always manages to find something funny in everything. As we talked about the usual highs, lows, and in-betweens, Krish shared something that instantly made me smile — and think.   “But they couldn’t prevent Jack from being happy.” He said one of his guiding philosophies comes from an old  song by The Who  called  Happy Jack. He quoted this line, with that trademark twinkle in his voice: “But they couldn’t prevent Jack from being happy.” And then a few more: “Happy Jack wasn’t old, but he was a man. He lived in the sand at the Isle of Man. The kids would all laugh as Jack played all day — But they couldn’t prevent Jack from being happy.” At first it sounds playful, ...

  🪷 Negation: The Art of Doing Less, Seeing More A reflection and response from the lens of Buddhist psychology ❓ The Question During a six-day Śamatha and Vipassanā retreat at the Buddhapada Retreat Centre in Kalimpong in September 2025, which focused on the Four Noble Truths , one idea quietly took root in my mind — the concept of negation . I began to notice that in Buddhist practice, the emphasis is not so much on achieving a particular state, but on removing what obscures it. The teacher spoke often of working on causes and conditions, not chasing outcomes. This left me pondering: “In Buddhism, is the path really less about striving toward something — like peace, calm, or enlightenment — and more about negating what blocks them? Because when I strive, there’s always an ‘I’ that wants to get somewhere. But when I work on removing what obscures clarity, the sense of ‘I’ itself seems to dissolve. How does this work psychologically? And how is this kind of doing d...

  Tiny Ripples, Big Waves (Yes, You Are A Superhero) Three weeks ago, I got a call that left me both flattered and a curious (always a good combo for humility). It was from Vaibhao, someone who had attended one of my workshops a few years ago. He’d moved to a new company and was now organizing a two-day meeting. And guess who popped into his mind as the right person to facilitate it?  In our catch-up, he mentioned a very specific moment from our interaction three years ago . He went on to describe it: He’d made a presentation that looked fine, sounded fine, and the audience politely nodded along. And then, apparently, I asked him: “What’s missing from this?” According to him, I pointed out—gently, I hope—that his heart, his energy, his emotion were absent. It was all data, no Vaibhao. And he told me that bit of feedback stuck. Since then, in every presentation, he makes sure to let his own enthusiasm shine through. For me, that was a passing comment. For him, it was ...

Last week, I had one of those moments that reminded me that persistence with a sprinkle of psychology can go a long way.  Picture this: I’m on holiday with family and friends. Our last night. Spirits high, bellies ready for one last glorious meal. I call to make a reservation at a restaurant we’d enjoyed earlier in the trip. The verdict? Sorry sir, fully booked. So, naturally, I do what any self-respecting person in my shoes would do: try to nudge someone higher up the food chain (pun intended). Still no luck. “Sorry sir, full.”  Finally, I took a deep breath, put pen to paper (okay, fingers to keyboard), and wrote in: We’d had a wonderful holiday so far. This was our very last evening. We’d eaten at their restaurant two nights earlier and loved it. It would make the difference between a “good holiday” and a “great holiday.”  And guess what? Voila! A table magically appeared.  Which brings me to a fun bit of research. Back in 1978, a group of psychologists (Lan...

  Big challenges need big shoulders—but not necessarily your own One thing I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) is that when we surround ourselves with people who are strong in areas where we are… let’s say, “under construction,” the results can be transformative. Take me, for example. Starting things? I’m great at it. Finishing things? Well… let’s just say if life were a relay race, I’d need a really fast anchor runner. Example 1: Yoga. When I first began yoga many years ago, I loved the idea of it. But pretty soon, my mat and I fell out of a committed relationship. Left to myself, I would have drifted away. What kept me going was my teacher—and later, a close friend—who kept nudging me back to class. Their persistence built a habit I simply could not have built on my own. Example 2: Buddhist psychology course. Fast forward to the last few years. As many of you know, I’ve been studying Applied Buddhist psychology. Twice I signed up for a year-long program. Twice I dropped out. Tr...

  What I Learnt From the People I Travelled With (aka: Reflections from a Four-Day Group Getaway That Didn't End in Therapy) I recently returned from one of those rare unicorn weekends—four full days with a group of people, in close quarters, without anyone (visibly) losing their mind. Honestly, in today’s world of back-to-back calendars and buffering Wi-Fi, just getting a dozen or so adults in the same place at the same time is a small miracle. And what a gift it turned out to be. Over the years, I’ve come to see travel not just as an escape, but as a mirror. A gentle teacher. It reveals not only the beauty of places, but also the richness of people. And this trip? It was a masterclass. Not from the landscape (though that was lovely), but from the fellow travellers who, in their own unassuming ways, offered life lessons that no podcast or self-help book could quite replicate. Here are just a few things I learnt: 1. Generosity isn't always about giving. Sometimes, it’s about e...

Last week, I wrote about how the halfway point of the year is a natural invitation to pause, reflect, and reset. A gentle checkpoint. Not the dramatic “New Year, New Me” kind—but more like a quiet  “Okay, how am I doing?” Today, I want to stay on that path, and share a phrase that recently struck a deep chord with me: “This is what is available.” It came from an exceptional leader I’ve had the privilege of working with over the past year—someone I admire deeply, not just for his sharp mind, but for the way he navigates complexity with this calm, steady presence (the kind of person who could probably defuse a ticking time bomb  and  make you a cup of tea at the same time). When I asked him what principles had shaped him, he shared this line—something his father used to say often:  “This is what is available.” It’s not a shrug. It’s not resignation. It’s an anchor. A quiet way of saying: stop spinning stories about what  should  be. Start engaging with w...

  The Glass, the Ball, and the Muscle:  A Simple Metaphor for Resilience We’ve all had days at work (or in life) when we feel like we’re falling apart, getting knocked around, or being stretched to our limit. In a recent coaching session, I found myself using a simple metaphor that landed well — so I thought I’d share it here, with a real-life story woven in. Three Ways We React to Challenge Imagine three objects: A glass — if it falls, it shatters. A ball — if it falls, it bounces back to exactly how it was. A muscle — if it is stretched and stressed, it becomes stronger. But if it’s not used, it gets weaker. Each of these represents a mindset we might carry when dealing with adversity. 🫙 “I’m like glass — if something goes wrong, I’ll break.” 🏀 “I should be the ball — bounce back instantly and perfectly.” 💪 “I’ll be the muscle — stretch, adapt, and grow.” The truth? Most of us are some combination of the three. But over time, with awareness and supp...

  The “Ouch-That’s-Me” Club:  Why Taking Feedback Feels Like Chewing Lemons (and Why We Should Do It Anyway) Over the last few weeks, I’ve found myself biting my tongue in a few coaching conversations. Quite an achievement, if I may say so. 🫢 Let me tell you about one of those moments (names changed, drama lovingly retained). Meet Sam Sam is a dynamic, successful leader in her late 40s. She’s leading a bold new initiative that brings together several organizations. Think: coalition, collaboration, coordination — and yes, conflict . In a recent coaching chat, Sam was visibly upset. One of her key partners had refused to take responsibility for mistakes made on his side. He was defensive, finger-pointing, and doing the classic “blame everyone else but me” dance. 🕺 Sam’s frustration? Completely valid. But as we talked, I asked her — gently at first: “Is there any chance you might have made a mistake too?” Cue: silence. Then some elegant sidestepping. I tried agai...

 Multiple Roles. One Juggler So there I was. Early morning, post-yoga glow, walking down a quiet flight of stairs with another practitioner — let’s call him the Enlightened Fumbler. First, his yoga mat slipped. A bit clumsy, I thought. Happens. Then his water bottle fell. Slightly more concerning — hydration is sacred. And just as I was about to mentally wish him a better grip on life,  clatter!  — the mobile phone dropped. The universal symbol of fragility and panic. I bent down, handed it to him, and smiled. He mumbled a flustered thank you and carried on down the stairs like this was all perfectly normal. And that’s when it struck me: This is all of us. We’re carrying way too many things — Our roles: Parent. Partner. Team leader. Volunteer. Friend. Committed daughter. Dutiful son. Sometimes unpaid Uber driver. Our aspirations: Be calm. Be productive. Be kind. Also, get those taxes done. Our emotional cargo: Worries, half-dreams, quiet regrets, WhatsApp notifications. A...

  THE LIGHT YOU FORGOT YOU HAD Let’s be honest. Even the most luminous among us occasionally flicker. A few months ago, I was sitting in a training program — not as the wise one with a flip chart, but as a humble participant with a slightly leaky pen and jumbled notes. It was the end of a long week. I was ready for my gold star and exit snacks when my teacher — a warm, yet firm type — turned to me and said: “Sanjay, why are you not teaching? Why have you stopped?” It hit me like an unexpected WhatsApp call. You know that moment when someone says something kind… and inconveniently true?  That was it. I’d somehow let six months pass without leading a session — distracted by other tasks, wrapped up in self-talk (read: excuses), and honestly, I’d just fallen out of the groove. But in that one compassionate question, something clicked. It wasn’t a shove. It was a gentle torch held up when my inner candle had gone a bit dim. So, I did something radical: I. Started. Again. ...

  Does Fear of Criticism Hold You Back? Over the last year, I’ve been working with a thoughtful, wise, and quietly competent leader—we’ll call her San. Now, San is the kind of professional we all want on our team:  Clear-headed  Mission-driven  Will-do-whatever-it-takes (without complaining about the Wi-Fi)  Peers admire her  Bosses adore her  Honestly, she could teach a course on how to be "that" person who gets things done and still remembers your birthday. But every now and then... she’d quietly  step back . No, it was subtler—more like the whisper of a hesitant foot on the brakes. San avoided situations where there was even the  faintest  risk of being misunderstood or judged harshly. But if a situation felt like it might even  sniff  of criticism? Her inner compass said:  “Abort mission.” The Invisible Edge It’s that almost imperceptible boundary where clarity and commitment meet a strange, quiet hesitation. A pl...