Have a Karmic Year

I may be a Sikh by religion,

But I honour every spiritual tradition with equal reverence

Somehow, my worship is quieter,

I worship Karma.

My faith does not ask me to travel

To a Gurudwara or a Mandir,

It meets me where I stand,

In the ordinary corridors of each day.

I see it

In the tired eyes of an old rickshaw puller

Who carries both weight and silence with grace.

In the bare feet of a labourer’s child,

Soiled by circumstance, yet eyes twinkling with hope

I recognise it

In the hesitant voice of a modest employee

Who wants nothing extravagant—

Only a future that feels fair.

My faith lives

In a simple “thank you” to the cook who serves me,

In the respect owed to the guard

Who opens my car door as if it were an honour,

Not an obligation.

Karma reveals itself

In choosing compassion over material worth

In meeting people stripped of labels and layers,

Valued not for what surrounds them,

But for the life within them.

I do not announce my faith,

I do not display my generosity,

Because Karma seeks no witness—

It unfolds in quiet intention

I speak to my faith through my deeds,

And Karma responds

Without Applause

But with energy.

Unspoken.

Unseen.

Yet present

In every single day of my life.