The Bane of Comparison: Measuring Life with the Wrong Scale

The Bane of Comparison: Measuring Life with the Wrong Scale

"Look at him." "Look at her." "Look at X's daughter, she scored excellent marks and got admission into a premier institution. And look at you!"

These conversations have echoed through many  homes for generations. Parents often compare their children believing it will motivate them to work harder. Sometimes it does. But very often, comparison leaves behind invisible scars of inadequacy, resentment and the lifelong feeling of never being enough.

The truth is that every child is unique. We differ in temperament, talents, interests, opportunities and circumstances. Expecting identical outcomes is like expecting every seed in a garden to grow into the same tree.

I often reflect on my own childhood with gratitude. We were four siblings, raised in a simple middle-class family. Yet there was never any pressure to become like one another.

One sibling studied engineering at a premier institution and went on to become a technocrat. Another graduated in Mathematics and built a successful career in banking. A third pursued postgraduate studies in Physics and became a scientist. As for me, despite science being the the most sought after course, my heart was drawn towards the Arts. My parents respected that choice. I studied History, entered the civil services and eventually became an IAS officer.

Our journeys could not have been more different, yet each was equally meaningful. There was no race within the family, no unhealthy comparison, and no expectation that one path was superior to another. There was only one expectation that each of us should work sincerely and give our very best in the field we had chosen.

Looking back, I realise that this freedom was one of the greatest gifts our parents gave us. They did not try to create four identical success stories. They allowed four different individuals to discover their own purpose.

This does not mean comparison has no place in life. As someone rightly observed, "Comparison is useful as a point and destructive as a loop." At times a comparison can help us identify a gap in our approach or preparation. It can inspire us to improve. But when comparison becomes a permanent habit or a source of naggingp, it traps us in a cycle of envy, frustration and disappointment. Our attention shifts from what we can control to what we cannot.

The French political philosopher Montesquieu understood this centuries ago when he wrote:

"If you only wished to be happy, this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe others to be happier than they are."

His words seems to be relevant even today.

Our unhappiness often arises not because we lack something, but because someone else appears to have more. We end up comparing our  struggles with someone else's visible success which often get flashed on social media leading us to a psychological crisis. Every scroll presents smiling faces, promotions, vacations, awards, perfect families and seemingly flawless lives. The sleepless nights, disappointments, financial worries, health challenges or personal struggles behind those moments are rarely seen.

Psychologists call this relative deprivation, the feeling that we are somehow falling behind simply because someone else appears to be ahead of us. We compare our ordinary days with someone else's extraordinary moments. It is hardly surprising that anxiety, low self-esteem and dissatisfaction are on the rise.

As children, many of us may remember the famous Rin detergent advertisement that asked:

"भला उसकी साड़ी मेरी साड़ी से सफ़ेद कैसी?"

As an advertisement it was clever because it was only about clothes. Detergent could probably make one sari appear whiter than another.

But life is not a sari. There is no detergent that can make one life "better" than another. Every life carries its own stains, struggles and strengths.

What we do possess, however, is something far more powerful, our own inner resources. Discipline, perseverance, resilience, honesty, compassion and continuous learning which can be the detergents of our life. They can help us to  become a better version of ourselves, not a copy of someone else.

The Bhagavad Gita offers it's timeless wisdom on this subject also. Lord Krishna tells Arjuna:

"श्रेयान् स्वधर्मो विगुणः परधर्मात् स्वनुष्ठितात्।" (Bhagavad Gita 3.35)

"It is better to perform one's own duty, even imperfectly, than to perform another's perfectly."

How important this thought is! We are not asked to imitate another's journey but to discover our own and fulfil it.

Perhaps we can all cultivate a few simple habits. Reduce exposure to people or platforms that trigger unhealthy comparison. Celebrate small personal victories. Measure your progress against your own past rather than someone else's present. At the end of each day, ask not, "Was I better than others?" but "Did I become a little better than what I was yesterday?"

Comparison will always exist. Human beings naturally observe one another. The question is whether comparison becomes a stepping stone for learning or a prison that steals our peace.

Learn from others. Admire excellence. Draw inspiration from success. But never measure the worth of your life using someone else's scale.

The greatest lesson my parents unknowingly taught us was that success is not about becoming like someone else. It is about becoming the finest version of yourself.

After all, what really matters is not whether we are better than others, but whether we have given our best to the situation in which life has placed us.

R. Vimala, IAS Retd.  

Maharashtra Cadre, 2009 Batch

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra

Founder, AnirvedShakti Foundation

PhD Research Scholar, Centre for Policy Studies, IIT Bombay

The sacredness of a promise...

The sacredness of a promise...

Some lessons cannot be taught by books but can only be learnt through life. Over the past few months, I have been reflecting on a simple question: What is the value of a promise?

This question is not born is out of philosophy but from years of experience. Like many others, I too have trusted words that were spoken with conviction, assurances that inspired confidence and commitments that appeared unwavering.

Some promises were honoured with grace; others quietly remained unfulfilled. In those moments, I realised that the deepest disappointment does not arise from the inconvenience caused by an unfulfilled promise. It arises from the trust that is broken.

A broken promise leaves behind something distasteful. It makes us question not merely another person, but the very value of giving our own word. Perhaps that is why our ancestors looked upon a  promise as something sacred and coined the maxim, "प्राण जाए पर वचन न जाए।" . 

Growing up, I heard this countless times from my parents and elders. A person's word was his honour. A promise was not merely spoken; it was lived. This ideal seems extraordinary today!  More so in a modern world which unabashedly proclaims "Promises are made to be broken." How ironic!  And in between both these sayings lies the story of our civilisation.

Every relationship begins with a promise. A child trusts a parent because of an unspoken promise of protection. Friends promise to stand by each other. Marriage is built upon vows. Governments make promises to citizens. Businesses make promises to customers. Institutions  and individuals sign Memoranda of Understanding believing that both sides will honour their commitments. Builders make promises to homebuyers. For a family buying a home, these are not merely commercial assurances. They are promises around which lives are planned. Retirement savings are invested. Loans are taken. Children dream of their new rooms. Elderly parents look forward to security. When such promises are broken, the loss is measured not only in money, but also in anxiety, delayed dreams, and shattered trust.

 In every sphere of life, society functions not merely because of laws, but because people believe that words matter.

Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, promises have become casual. Words are spoken easily. Commitments are made hurriedly. Excuses are prepared in advance. But the loss is far greater than we imagine. Money lost may be earned again. A house can be rebuilt. Even a failed project may be restarted. But broken trust leaves unremovable scars.

Our epics tell us about timeless examples of upholding of the word. When Queen Kaikeyi demanded her two boons, King Dasharath was devastated. Yet he did not withdraw his promise. Shri Ram could easily have questioned the decision or mobilised the kingdom in his favour. Instead, He accepted fourteen years of exile without resentment because He believed that a father's word must remain sacred. The throne could wait; honour could not. Bhishma's terrible vow changed the course of the Mahabharata. Whether one agrees with the consequences of his vow or not, it earned him the title "Bhishma", the one who undertook a terrible and formidable pledge. King Harishchandra became immortal not because he ruled a prosperous kingdom, but because he refused to abandon truth and his word, even after losing his kingdom, his family and almost everything he possessed.

Such examples remind us that character is not built in moments of comfort but in moments of sacrifice and that greatness is often measured not by power, but by fidelity to one's word. Perhaps that is why the old saying has survived centuries. "प्राण जाए पर वचन न जाए।" And it is not asking us to sacrifice life literally but to build a life where our word has value.  Where promises are made thoughtfully. Where commitments are honoured sincerely.

Where trust is earned slowly and protected carefully. Because in the end, people may forget our achievements. They may even forget our wealth. But they rarely forget whether we kept our word. And perhaps that is the true measure of character.

Today, we often justify broken promises giving excuses like "Circumstances changed" or  "It was only a verbal understanding." "Business is business." 

"Nobody keeps promises anymore." Perhaps this is becoming the norm. Yet every time we break our word, something within us also breaks. Our credibility weakens. Relationships become cautious. People stop believing. Contracts become thicker because trust has become thinner.

This does not mean life never changes. There are genuine situations where fulfilling a promise may become impossible.

Integrity does not demand perfection. It demands honesty to acknowledge, to explain, to make amends where possible, and above all, to honour not merely the letter of a promise but its spirit. That is our karma and our dharma. Perhaps that is why our ancestors placed such extraordinary value on vachan, one's word.

A society where promises are honoured has fewer disputes, fewer lawyers, fewer safeguards and fewer suspicions. Trust is, perhaps, the greatest form of social capital any society can possess. 

During my years in public service, I realised that governance is ultimately built not merely on laws and policies, but on trust. Citizens may not remember every scheme or every decision, but they always remember whether those entrusted with public responsibility honoured their word. The same principle applies equally to families, friendships and businesses. Trust remains the invisible foundation of every enduring relationship.  In this context, the old saying, "प्राण जाए पर वचन न जाए." deserves to be rediscovered not as an impossible ideal, but as a guiding principle, not because every promise is easy to keep but because every promise faithfully kept makes us a little more worthy of the trust others place in us.And in the end, our reputation is built not by the promises we make, but by the promises we keep. 

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, 

Former Resdent Commissioner & Secretary, GoM, 

Social Change Catalyst, 

Founder Anirvedsshakti Foundation,

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay 

From Ritual to Reverence: Rediscovering the Philosophy of Shraddha

From Ritual to Reverence: Rediscovering the Philosophy of Shraddha

A very close friend of mine lost her father and I had gone to attend the twelfth-day ceremony at her house today. India is a land with immense diversity and across it's length and breadth, the rituals of Shraddha and Pinda Daan may have minor variations in custom, but their underlying philosophy to honour our ancestors with gratitude and to recognise that our lives are built upon their sacrifices remains the same. 

Towards the end of the ceremony , the pandit sang a thoughtprovoking  bhajan on the immeasurable contribution of parents to our lives. It was a reminder that while we often celebrate our achievements, we rarely pause to acknowledge the countless sacrifices made by our parents to make those achievements possible.

Our parents give us much more than our basic needs of food, education and shelter. They instil values in us and create a foundation upon which we build our lives. Therefore their influence continues to guide us even after they pass away.

Hindu philosophy has woven this concept of gratitude through the ritual of Shraddha and Pinda Daan. Often these rituals are misunderstood as ceremonies performed merely for the departed. In reality, they are meant for us, the living. They remind us that we are not isolated individuals but are like links to an unbroken chain stretching across generations.

Our scriptures speak of the three krins, the three sacred debts with which every human being is born: Deva krin (our debt to the Divine), Rishi krin (our debt to the sages who preserved knowledge), and Pitr krin (our debt to our parents and ancestors who gave us life, nurtured us and gave us our culture). These debts are not burdens; they are reminders that life itself is a gift received from others. Shraddha is one beautiful way of expressing gratitude for that gift.

Every year, our family performs Shraddha for my parents-in-law, while my brothers perform the rites for our parents. These occasions cannot be seen merely as religious obligations. They are moments of remembrance, humility and thanksgiving. They remind us that whatever we are today has been made possible by those who walked before us.

Periyazhwaar, one of the twelve Azhwaar saints from Tamilnadu, expresses this continuity very beautifully when he links seven generations in their devotion to God. So he says, "Endai tandai tandai tandai tam muttappan... ezh paḍi kaal toḍaṅgi... vandu vazhivazhi atcheyginrom..." meaning my father, grandfather and his father that is seven generations after generation have remained devoted to the Lord. It is a moving reminder that faith, values and gratitude are inherited across generations. We are custodians of a legacy that did not begin with us and will cerainly not end with us.

Perhaps this is why it is so important to involve our children and grandchildren in these observances. If they watch rituals without understanding them, they may dismiss them as outdated customs. But if we explain that these ceremonies are expressions of gratitude, remembrance and continuity, they will begin to appreciate the profound philosophy behind them.

Every civilisation develops customs over time. Some practices may become ritualistic if their original meaning is forgotten. The answer, however, is not to abandon them, but to rediscover the wisdom that gave birth to them.

Hindu Dharma is among the world's most ancient living traditions. Its remarkable continuity lies not merely in preserving rituals but in preserving ideas, gratitude, duty, reverence for knowledge, respect for parents and care for future generations. We need not be defensive about our traditions, nor should we follow them mechanically. Instead, we should try to understand them, appreciating the timeless values they embody and share that understanding with the next generation.

When children attend the Shraddha, hear stories about their grandparents, offer flowers to them and understand why prayers are offered, they learn that a family is not defined only by those living today. It includes those who came before us and those yet to come.

The performance of Shraddha is therefore much more than a ritual. It is a reaffirmation that love does not end with physical departure. We continue to honour those who nurtured us, pray for their peace and draw inspiration from their lives.

In remembering our ancestors, we also remember our responsibility. One day, we also will become someone's ancestors. The values we live by today will become the inheritance we leave behind.

A tree does not begin with the branches we can easily see. It has roots buried deep beneath the soil . They maybe invisible but give strength to the tree and provide nourishment. 

Our ancestors are those roots.

Shraddha is therefore a way of acknowledging that our lives do not begin with ourselves. The opportunities we enjoy, the values we cherish and the lives we lead are all shaped by sacrifices made by those who came before us.

The younger generation, is certainly entitled to question every tradition. Do not follow it blindly, but do  not reject it without understanding it.

Ask questions. Seek meanings. Explore the philosophy behind the practices which have been followed for thousands of years.

You will realise that beneath the rituals lies a profound wisdom teaching us gratitude towards our parents, reverence for knowledge, respect for nature, responsibility towards society and remembrance of those who shaped our lives.

Just remember that when you participate in Shraddha, you are not merely performing a ceremony for the departed. You are remebering three generations backwards and  acknowledging a truth that none of us succeeds alone. We stand on foundations laid by countless hands before us.

Periyāḻvār speaks of this continuity when mentions seven generations united in devotion reflecting that our lives are part of a story much larger than ourselves.

In a modern era that celebrates the individual, our tradition reminds us of continuity. We receive it from those who came before us and we transmit to those who come after us.

And that exactly is the true meaning of Shraddha. Not merely remembering the dead, but strengthening the living bond between generations.

When children understand this, they no longer see these observances as rituals of the past. They see them as acts of gratitude, belonging and continuity. And when gratitude flows from one generation to the next, a civilisation remains alive.

R. Vimala, IAS Retired, MH 2009,

Former Resident Commissioner & Secretary, Government of Maharashtra,

Social Change Catalyst, 

Founder Anirvedshakti Foundation & 

PhD Scholar at IIT Bombay