I slipped into the quiet for the last eight months.
During that time, messages would occasionally flutter into my inbox like leaves falling off in winter. “Ash, we understand you are building something in the silence, but please, do not stop writing.” I promised I would return, and here I am. But my absence wasn’t an empty void; it was a deeply sacred space. I was busy planting my hands into the soil of the village I now call home, tending to the things that truly matter.
In this quiet season, we breathed life into a community. We opened a wood workshop, offering our local youth not just a livelihood, but a way to protect the ancestral art in their hands. We watched, with full hearts, as a thousand of these wooden artifacts—carved with pure devotion by our villagers—found their way to a technology conference in California. We built a sanctuary of books in a rural school that had forgotten what funding looked like, and we started a “Nature School,” helping children listen to the whispers of the earth around them. We also guided tired urban souls through Digital Detoxes, helping them unburden their minds and reset their nervous systems.
This is the life my twenty-something self used to dream of when he was desperately searching for peace. I just wanted to find a quiet center, and then help others find theirs. Today, this work weaves together ecological healing, education, and mindful gathering. But I must pause here and bow to you—my Substack community. You were the very first drops of rain on this soil. By reading my words and buying my book, you became my very first patrons. You held me up when the future was a blur of uncertainty. Thank you.
In the stillness of these months, I was still writing, but I returned to my mother tongue—Marathi. There is a profound alchemy in thinking and dreaming in the language you were born into. They say, “No matter how far a bird flies across the vast world, it must eventually return to the nest where it first opened its eyes.” It is true. This bird has finally found his branch.
A month ago, my brother returned to that same branch, leaving behind the relentless rush of Mumbai. Just before he made his choice, we sat together and asked a question that defines our era: “What are we chasing? The quiet contentment of the soul, or the empty weight of money?” I am deeply grateful to say he chose his soul.
I know how heavy the world feels right now. If you are reading this and feeling exhausted by the sheer weight of it all, I want you to know that I see you, and your exhaustion is valid. We are living in a deeply stressed world. We watch egotistical leaders grasp for power, while empathy and ethics feel like relics of a forgotten time. The despair is thick, and the anxiety is very, very real. But I want to share a secret with you: Peace is a quiet rebellion. When you step away from the noise, when you turn off the glowing screens that feed you fear, when you dig your hands into the earth and share a genuine smile with a neighbor—you are staging a beautiful revolution. You disrupt a depressed, anxious world simply by cultivating your inner stillness. By regulating yourself, you regulate the world around you.
I love my life. I am in love with the simple rhythm of it, and I wish this profound contentment for every single one of you.
Sometimes friends ask me, “But Ash, what about the future? Have you planned for your retirement?” My answer is simple: I am learning to be a tree. A tree does not rush. It grows in silence, inching toward the sun. For years, it may look like nothing is happening, but it does not panic. When it is time, it blooms. When it is time, it bears fruit. It trusts the natural flow of life. That is how I envision my days—unforced, trusting, and deeply rooted.
In the modern world, we inject everything with chemicals to force unnatural, rapid growth. We do it to our crops, and tragically, we do it to ourselves. We push our minds and bodies into unnatural patterns, and then wonder why we are aging so fast, why our hearts fail, and why depression shadows us. We have forgotten our natural rhythm.
This forgotten rhythm is why I brought a cow and her calf into my life. To the modern mind, it seems like a random choice, but to the earth, it is a perfect circle. Our cow eats whatever is left over from our home, and she gives back to the soil. She awakens the mycelial networks, the microbes, and the deep, silent life beneath the grass. Sitting beside her, reading a book in the open field, is a meditation in itself.
Today, my brother, Sanju dada, and I are growing our own food. We drink warm soups made from pumpkins and spinach pulled straight from our backyard soil, untouched by chemicals. We eat chilies that actually carry the vibrant taste of the earth. Life has come full circle.
But... there is always a but. The winds of change are blowing through my life once again.
Long ago, the Buddha taught that everything is impermanent. We are conditioned to fear change because it brings the unknown. It asks us to walk in the dark. So, what do we do? We surrender. We accept it.
I am accepting whatever the universe is placing at my feet. I no longer try to violently plan my life, because planning is just an illusion of control. None of us know what tomorrow holds, and there is immense freedom in leaving the future to faith.
And so, I am stepping into a beautiful new beginning.
We are launching a foundation called Dharā (meaning: Of the Earth/Ground). Our mission is to deeply heal the roots of our village—nurturing education, protecting our ecology from pollution, and creating sustainable, dignified jobs that honor the land. We, as a society, have wandered too far from the earth we walk upon. I believe that the closer we return to the soil, the closer we return to ourselves.
To bring Dharā to life, to build a future where our children understand nature and our youth can thrive without leaving their homes, we need envision a hopeful future. The seeds are planted, but we cannot water them alone. If this vision of a slower, kinder, and deeply rooted world resonates with your heart, I invite you to help us water this soil. You can donate via PayPal, that will help us push the projects further, but it’s not a compulsion.
All I am here to say is, I am back. I will be writing to you more often, sharing the quiet stories of this village, of my life. Until then, breathe deeply, step outside, and remember that you, too, are allowed to grow slowly. Love you all.
-Ash
To be a part of the Dharā community from afar, you can help me by being an active donor, who can support the activities here. Our current needs are,
In the school : A computer lab for the rural school. Better meals.
We are starting cleanup drives in the village to tackle plastic pollution, for which we need to create posters, banners. We also need equipment that can crush the bottles which makes the transport easier.
We are building sustainable mud architectures to bring in responsible tourism.
We are creating a community centre/ ecology museum that will showcase the wildlife, ecology of the village.
If you feel like supporting this in your capacity, you can send donations via PayPal or Western Union.
Also, a reminder that Substack does not allow me to monetise as I live in India, hence if you would like to buy me a coffee or support my writing, you can do so by clicking this link.