Ear Studs & Inner Peace

 As I stirred my favourite semiya upma for breakfast, my mother walked in, freshly back from her week-long trip. She was eager to hear all about the summer camp I had just wrapped up. With a mix of pride and excitement, I pulled out the colourful feedback chits my young campers had written.

She skimmed through them, smiling at the sweet messages—until one particular comment made her pause.

“Your piercings look really good on you,” a child had written.

She looked up, amused. “What kind of feedback is this?”

I laughed. “That,” I said, “is actually the best compliment I got.”

Intrigued, she raised her eyebrows, demanding an explanation.

I told her that for a child to notice the tiny stud in my ear meant something deeper—it meant they were truly present. When a child begins to notice the little things around them—what they see, hear, eat, say, and touch—that’s when mindfulness begins to bloom.

The idea for such a camp took shape thanks to the plethora of messages that flood my community WhatsApp group every morning. Some were funny, some critical, and some downright hurtful. These digital conversations weren’t staying confined to phones; they were spilling into homes—and into children’s minds.

It hit me hard when two of my phonics students, fighting over a table, hurled abuses at each other using the exact words I had read on a WhatsApp message the day before. That’s when I realised how deeply even casual negativity was seeping into young minds.

I wanted to show children that conversations could happen without shouting, blaming, or sarcasm. That they could speak up, assert themselves, and still be kind. That led me to name the camp: The Calmversation Camp—where communication met mindfulness.

When I announced it, one parent called me, puzzled. “Are you going to teach meditation? Then how can you call it a communication camp?” I smiled. Living in the age of Republic TV, where dignified debates have been redefined into shouting matches laced with insults, I could understand the confusion.

Then I explained that mindfulness isn’t just about sitting in silence with your eyes closed. It’s about being aware of our thoughts, words, and actions—and taking responsibility for them.

Working with elementary school children is always a delightful challenge, and true to form, they bombarded me with curious, thoughtful questions that made the camp come alive. I was thrilled to see them learning to express themselves respectfully, even when their opinions differed.

Once they became aware of their senses and surroundings, a quiet calm settled in. Their thoughts became clearer, their words more articulate. Sure, it took a couple of days for them to warm up—but once they did, it was like a river had burst through a dam. They had so much to say. Their insights often left me speechless.

Mindfulness, I realised once again, is a powerful foundation. It provides clarity, direction, and emotional strength—something our children truly need in today’s noisy world.

Recognising its importance, the Delhi government has recently introduced the Science of Living curriculum in all government schools from this academic year. This initiative focuses not only on emotional wellness but also on nurturing values, discipline, emotional intelligence, decision-making, and resilience.

Even the latest National Education Policy 2025 echoes this, with a holistic Happiness Curriculum aimed at boosting mental health and emotional well-being among students.

At a time when children spend more time with gadgets than with people, and engage more online than offline, many struggle to hold face-to-face conversations. When their point of view is challenged, they often resort to shouting or shutting down—because they haven’t been taught to communicate calmly.

“My effort,” I told my mother, beaming, “is to bring back that lost art of having calmversations—at least within our community.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at the pan behind me.

“That’s lovely,” she said dryly. “But maybe you should begin by being more mindful of your cooking.”

I turned to see the smoke rising from my burnt upma. Oops. While the kids found their calm, my upma attained moksha.