For a writer like me, who is deeply emotional and sensitive, finding someone who truly reads between the lines is profound, especially when that someone is a senior whose words carry the wisdom of years. A few months ago, after sharing one of my blogs on a community page, I received a message that stood out—filled with warmth and blessings. It was from Dr. Arjun Purohit, a retired professor of psychology from Queen’s University in Canada who also had an illustrious career in clinical psychology.                            

Touched by his kindness, I responded, expressing my gratitude and shared my webpage. A few weeks later, my husband shared a voicemail that was meant for me. Dr. Purohit’s compassionate voice sounded like music to my ears. I called him back immediately, and his voice greeted me as if we had known each other for years. Our conversation flowed naturally, and I realized it wasn’t just my writing being acknowledged—it was my soul. He not only read my words but cared for the emotions behind them, the thoughts that breathed life into each line. His validation felt profoundly personal, a transformative recognition.

From that day on, Dr. Purohit became my beloved Arjun Mausa. He shared stories of his life—his journey from Odisha to Australia to Canada as a professor and clinical psychologist. He retired after 66 years, one fine morning, by tearing his license. Our bond deepened with each conversation, enriched by the wisdom he generously shared. His video calls, often spontaneous, were full of light-hearted moments and deep reflections. Once, I joked about wanting a heads-up before he called so I could look presentable. His response was, “You are beautiful inside and out and do not need any artificial makeover to hide.”

In one of our conversations, he said something that moved me: “I have only known you for a few days, but it feels like I’ve known you for much longer through your charming writings. Your words transport me to different places. You have a way with simple, poetic language. With weak eyesight, I read slowly but carefully absorb each word until I can internalize the emotion embedded within it.” He continued, “I am overwhelmed by the variety of the feast you’ve laid out before me. Your versatility in multiple languages is fascinating. Your words carry honesty. As a psychologist, I can tell you this: any original and genuine feeling will always resonate with people. Maintain your simplicity always as that is your biggest asset. Be good and do good.” Authenticity in writing reaches far beyond the page! I have always believed that, but now his words reaffirmed it. His sincere appreciation reminded me of the transformative power of encouragement, inspiring me to share that same warmth with others.

In one of our conversations, Arjun Mausa asked, “Do you wish to be the moon or a flower?” I was momentarily puzzled, as I like both. But I knew he meant something deeper. He explained, “A flower has to compete with many other flowers. A flower spreads its fragrance and, in return, desires to be appreciated. But it competes for admiration. The moon doesn’t compete. It spreads its cool rays equally and is admired by all.” His words held such profound wisdom, reminding me to rise above competition and not seek constant approval.

One day, he shared, “A writer often holds back for fear of judgment. Remember, inhibitions always kill creativity. Write something just for yourself, without sharing it. If it pleases your innermost core, it will be your best work, I promise. Be the kavi, be original, not just an ordinary poet.” How often do we hold back, worried about judgment? His wisdom reminded me (and perhaps it will remind others) to let our creativity flow without inhibition. His words liberated me, and the idea of writing without seeking approval became a powerful and freeing thought. 

Recalling another conversation, he once said, “Let the seed of love in your heart blossom into a beautiful sheltering tree. Love all unconditionally. As a poet and writer, you must bloom like a lotus, slowly unfolding its petals one by one. But always remember, your ultimate goal is to shine like the moon among the stars.” By this point, whenever I received a call from him, I would quickly grab a pen and paper, eager to capture every piece of wisdom, historical insight, or reference material he might share. Many moral stories from Buddhism he had shared by now. Each conversation became an invaluable treasure trove of inspiration. 

As our connection deepened, I longed to meet him in person. I urged him to visit us in Boston one day, but he jokingly replied, “Mountains don’t travel. People come to see them.” I understood that traveling at his age would be difficult, yet my desire to meet him grew stronger. He had expressed a keen interest in reading my book, Ashtanayika: Tatwa O Kabita, and after receiving it, he showered me with heartfelt appreciation for the extensive research, particularly on Rasa Theory. He encouraged me to include a psychophysical perspective and elaborate on the science behind rasas in a future edition.

Our conversations left a profound impact on me, filling a void left by my parents’ passing. Mausa became a beloved figure, someone who gave me not just wisdom, but the parental love I longed for. The growing urge to meet him led me to persistently suggest to my husband that we plan a trip to meet Mausa. This desire eventually led to a spontaneous getaway to cherish.

(Please check out my blog: A Spontaneous Getaway to Cherish @ 1000 Islands!)