How Do We Become What We Become?

 

How do we become what we become? Is it solely the result of our own efforts, or does chance quietly shape the course of our lives? Is destiny merely a poetic expression for events we fail to understand, or is there indeed an unseen force guiding our journey? Questions such as these have followed me, like everyone else, throughout my life. They have never ceased to intrigue me. The older I grow, the more I realize that certainty is perhaps the greatest illusion of human existence.

Do I believe in destiny? Not entirely. Do I rely on astrology? No. Have I gone from temple to temple praying that God should grant me success, position, or prosperity? The answer is also no.

Yet, it would be equally untrue to say that spirituality means nothing to me. On the contrary, spirituality has always attracted me. This is not as ritual, not as superstition, but as a way of understanding one's place in this vast universe. If there is one teaching that has consistently guided me, it is Bhagwan Shri Krishna's immortal message in the Bhagavad Gita:

कर्मण्येवाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचन।

मा कर्मफलहेतुर्भूर्मा ते सङ्गोऽस्त्वकर्मणि॥

You only have the right to perform actions (karma). You do not have the right to the fruits of your karma. Do not become a person who constantly meditates upon (gets attached to) the results of one’s karma. Do not get attached to inactivity (no karma).

I have never interpreted this verse as an invitation to indifference. Rather, I see it as a call to work without becoming imprisoned by the anxiety of outcomes. Results are never entirely ours to command. Effort, however, always is.

Perhaps that is why I have always remained more interested in stretching my wings than in counting my victories. I wish to continue learning, exploring, writing, speaking, and engaging with new ideas. Yet, beyond all personal ambitions lies a question that refuses to leave me in peace.

Of what consequence am I to the people around me? This question troubles me more than any examination, interview, or professional challenge ever has. What purpose do my achievements serve if they remain confined to my résumé? What meaning do academic publications, television appearances, newspaper articles, blogs, lectures, or social media posts carry if they fail to make even a modest difference in the lives of those from whom I come?

I often think about the people of my village, my relatives, my old classmates, the children growing up in circumstances similar to those in which I was raised, and countless ordinary people whose lives remain untouched by the recognition that I occasionally receive.

Initially, people may genuinely celebrate one's achievements. They may feel proud that someone who emerged from the lowest layers of social and economic reality has reached places that once seemed unimaginable. They may appreciate the journey. But admiration has a short life.

If that admiration never translates into hope, opportunity, inspiration, or meaningful change, it slowly gives way to indifference. People eventually stop caring about your personal branding, your awards, and your photographs with distinguished personalities, your speeches, or your carefully curated social media presence.

And honestly, why shouldn't they? The wisdom of Sant Kabir captures this truth with remarkable simplicity:

"बड़ा हुआ तो क्या हुआ जैसे पेड़ खजूर,

पंथी को छाया नहीं, फल लागे अति दूर।"

What is the use of becoming tall like a date palm if it offers neither shade to the weary traveller nor fruit within easy reach?

This couplet often unsettles me. There are moments when I hesitate before sharing another achievement online. Every new publication, every television discussion, every lecture, every article prompts an uncomfortable conversation within myself. Have I truly been of any use to anyone? Have I changed even one life for the better? Have I lightened someone's burden? Have I created opportunities for those who had none? The answer is often painfully inadequate. That realization humbles me. It reminds me that success without service is ultimately an incomplete achievement.

Perhaps this is also why I find it difficult to understand those who spend their entire lives chasing power, wealth, status, and property without allowing moral considerations to shape their conduct. Every society has such individuals. They measure life through accumulation alone, as though possessions could outlive mortality. I often wonder whether they genuinely believe they will remain on this earth forever.

History offers no such assurances. Every empire has disappeared. Every throne has eventually fallen vacant. Every wealthy man has left his treasures behind. Power, position, and property are temporary companions. Character alone survives in memory.

This does not mean that wealth or authority are inherently undesirable. Our own civilizational wisdom recognises the four Purusharthas: Dharma, Artha, Kama, and Moksha. Material prosperity has never been condemned within the Indian philosophical tradition. Rather, it has always been expected to remain rooted in Dharma. Wealth without ethics becomes exploitation. Power without restraint becomes tyranny. Desire without responsibility becomes destruction. Dharma is not merely one among the four aims of life. It is the moral foundation that gives meaning to the other three.

Unfortunately, spirituality is often reduced to ritual. Many imagine that visiting temples, observing fasts, or performing elaborate ceremonies automatically makes one spiritual. I cannot persuade myself to accept that understanding. True spirituality is born from within. It is reflected in how we treat those who possess nothing to offer us in return. It is revealed in whether we choose honesty over convenience, compassion over indifference, and service over selfishness. Spirituality is neither a withdrawal from worldly life. It is a meaningful engagement with it. To me, the truly spiritual individual does not escape society, but becomes an instrument of doing well to it.

Am I spiritually awakened? Certainly not. Far from it. Do I aspire to become so? Yes. Not because I seek personal salvation, but because I wish to become a person of consequence.

Money has never exercised a powerful attraction over me. Perhaps this is because I grew up possessing so little. I learnt early in life how little one actually needs to remain content. This is not to romanticise poverty. Poverty is harsh, humiliating, and deeply limiting. No one should be compelled to glorify it. Yet poverty also taught me certain lessons that abundance sometimes conceals.

I have indeed encountered opportunities to earn far more than I eventually chose to pursue. I consciously declined some of those paths, not because I lacked ambition, but because I feared losing something far more precious than money: the freedom to remain true to myself.

Do I desire influence? Yes. Do I seek positions of responsibility? Certainly. But only if they enable me to make a meaningful difference before my time on earth comes to an end. I do not pray for a long life. I pray for a life of consequence.

When I ask myself how I became what I am today, I realise that no single answer exists. The answer begins in a small village hidden within the forests of Gadchiroli, where even today modern amenities remain scarce. It continues through public-funded hostels, government schools, government colleges, and ultimately the classrooms of Jawaharlal Nehru University. Every institution that shaped me belonged not to privilege but to the Republic of India. Whatever I have become is, in many ways, a product of public education and the opportunities that independent India made possible for children like me.

The answer also lies with my father. He had studied only up to the seventh standard, yet he possessed a wisdom that no university could confer. His integrity, discipline, and quiet resilience became lessons more enduring than any textbook I have ever read.

Then there were those extraordinary individuals whom I can only describe as God's own angels. Teachers, mentors, friends, and well-wishers appeared at different stages of my life. They encouraged me when I doubted myself, trusted me when I had little reason to trust myself, and opened doors that I could never have opened alone. Their kindness transformed the course of my life.

Without them, a boy born into one of the poorest families in one of the remotest corners of Maharashtra would never have imagined becoming a professor at the University of Delhi. He would never have spoken on national television. He would never have written articles, addressed audiences across the country, or expressed himself confidently in Marathi, Hindi, and English.

But my education did not come only from noble souls. Life also introduced me to individuals whose selfishness, dishonesty, arrogance, and complete disregard for moral values left a deep impression upon me. They taught me lessons of a different kind. Watching how they treated others strengthened my own resolve never to become like them. Strangely, they too shaped my character. Sometimes we become who we are not merely because of those we admire, but because of those we consciously refuse to imitate.

Looking back, I realise that my life has been an extraordinary gift. I have received far more than I could ever have expected. Every opportunity entrusted to me has carried with it a corresponding responsibility. If my education, profession, and public life remain only personal accomplishments, they will ultimately mean very little.

But if they can inspire a child from a forgotten village to dream a little bigger, encourage a young student to persevere a little longer, or enable even one person to discover hope where none seemed possible, then perhaps my journey will have acquired meaning. I believe I have received much from life. Now, it is my turn to give back, in whatever ways I can. For, in the end, I do not wish merely to have lived. I wish to have mattered.