Still Doesn't Pay the Bills

Chanda Chaudhary

09 Apr 2026 — 1 min read

I have been thinking a lot about stillness lately.

Not the kind that comes from a good night's sleep or a quiet Sunday. The other kind. The kind the mystics write about. The kind that sits beneath the noise of everything — the arguments, the ambitions, the WhatsApp notifications.

Still. Unmoving. Witnessing.

I find it, occasionally, at around 6am. Before Ram arrives. Before the phone starts. For approximately eleven minutes I am, I think, enlightened.

Then the builder calls.

He has news about the slab. The slab was supposed to happen in March. Then April. The architect's certificate says one thing. The site visit said another. I am trying to remain the detached witness to all of this, observing without grasping, as the texts advise.

I send a very firm email instead.

Nobody was sending the mystics demand letters. The Ganges doesn't charge by the square foot.

I have an Excel sheet. It runs to December 2027. There are formulas in it. Conditional formatting. It is the least enlightened document I have ever created and I update it with tremendous devotion.

Here is what I have learned about stillness so far.

It is real. I believe this completely.

It is also very difficult to locate when you are calculating whether the insurance maturity will cover the fourth floor slab, the lift installation, and also possibly dinner.

The Shiv Puran says Shiva is the eternal witness. He watches the dance of the universe without being moved.

I am trying.

The bills are very loud.

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The Feet

The Unfinished Human

Earned

Waiting for Her