America is the melting pot of all nationalities and religions. It is the land of opportunity, a magnet for people from all over the world. Having worked here for over twenty years, I have visited a great deal of this nation. Every now and then, particularly on long flights, I meet people curious about India—the land of Yoga, Vaidik philosophy, and its mystical nature. The internet has only fueled this curiosity, and I guess many people have worked hard to brand and sell the Indian heritage (nothing wrong with that). At the same time, the West is realizing that material and consumptive approaches have their limits when it comes to internal satiation. Whatever the reason, or perhaps just as a conversation filler, I often sense a thirst to know more about "Eastern Wisdom" and India in general.

In my early days, I responded ad-hoc, depending on who I was talking to or the situation. As I grew older and more comfortable with American culture, its openness, and its genuine curiosity, I felt obligated to provide a more thoughtful answer. I may not be credible enough to offer a definitive view on this immense question, but that should not stop me from trying to answer it: what is India?

My quest led me to the archives of Panḍit Neharū, the first prime minister of India. In his speeches, he would ask, "What is 'Bhārat Mātā' (Mother India)?" When the crowd pointed to the land, he would respond that India is all of you—in addition to the mountains, the rivers, and the seas on its shores. But the real problem is how to represent over a billion Indians—Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and hundreds of other religions and their factions. The question is valid, but the answer is difficult. How does one define India?

It's a land of over a billion people, with a large and fertile agricultural base, rapidly growing in technology, hundreds of political parties, all sorts of weather, the tallest mountains, and the deepest seas. But if you want a concise and meaningful answer that truly addresses the intent of the question, then the answer is not in the geography or the history. When people ask about India, they really want to know…

What is the essence of India? What must you know to blend in? What inspires the Indian ethos, and what drives its value system?

After much introspection and conscious thought, I concluded that India is essentially two stories: the story of Rama and the story of Krishna. These two epics transcend caste, region, and even religion. Yes, even Indian Islam has shades of Rama and Krishna. Whether in the devotion of Raskhan or the philosophy of Mirza Ghalib, they seem to echo a single culture. In fact, the offspring of Islam and Hinduism is the Sufi culture. Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti chose to settle in India (Ajmer) and married into a Hindu family. So did Akbar, whose wife Jodhabai was an ardent devotee of Krishna and even had a Krishna temple in her palace.

The narratives of Rama and Krishna are woven into the fabric of the Indian psyche. One wouldn't be wrong to assume that Rama and Krishna are Gods, but in truth, they are much more than heavenly beings. Their stories contain the blend of Indian culture. These stories are not just godly teachings; they are tales of war, deceit, love, hate, and nearly every imaginable aspect of life. If you understand these two grand narratives, the Rāmāyaṇa and the Mahābhārat, you can grasp ninety percent of what India is. I mean, if you are in India and know these two timeless epics well, you can confidently navigate any conversation as someone who understands India.

The remaining ten percent is where we delve into the deeper philosophy. Unfortunately, mere "stories" don't suffice in such conversations. We need a deeper appreciation of scriptures like the Vedas, Upanishads, Puranas, and Samhitas. Reading and understanding all of them is a true labor of love, and it can be quite confusing, as they evolved over thousands of years and may even contradict each other. That is where the Gītā fits in.

The Gītā packs the entire wisdom of the East into just seven hundred verses that are easy to understand and available in every language. Hundreds of gurus and philosophers have described the Gītā with their own commentary, though the Gītā is not a book in itself. It is just one chapter of the epic Mahābhārat. It is a conversation between Krishna and Arjuna in the middle of the great war—also named Mahābhārat. Thus, knowing the Gītā is, in a way, the fastest way to get to the core of Eastern wisdom.

Krishna & Mahābhārat

In the larger epic of the Mahābhārat, Krishna is the multifaceted incarnation of God—as a king, a diplomat, a messenger, a friend, and the one who stands up to evil. Among his many roles, his role as the driver of Arjuna's chariot is fascinating. This role symbolizes one who leads us on a righteous path, particularly when we are stuck in dilemmas.

Dilemma is the central theme of this epic. Arjuna faced the most daunting challenge humanly possible—something beyond imagination. Destiny forced him to take up weapons against his own extended family, friends, and teachers. He would rather give up his own life than harm his loved ones. It was, quite literally, an existential question: to choose his own life versus the lives of those who gave his existence meaning. Despite being the most skilled warrior of his time, he had become a victim of the "cycles of time." No one, not even God himself, can change this basic nature of our reality: that good and bad times are two sides of a single coin—a sinusoidal wave.

We now know for sure that everything in our universe is a wave, including physical particles like electrons and even our own bodies. What science doesn't explain is how we attach a sense of joy and grief to this wave pattern.

Cyclic Nature

"God" may not change this eternal truth, but She can surely hold our hands during these difficult transitions. She can show us a path that may not be self-evident to our intelligence. An option may exist that enables us to ride this wave!

The Gītā targets this timeless, universal problem: the cyclic nature of our lives. That is what makes it ever-relevant. Birth and death are cyclic, as are day and night. In the observable universe, everything grows and then diminishes. The greater the rise, the bigger the fall. Every success eventually meets its failure, and vice-versa. This is as true in business as it is in our emotional lives. Happiness and pain are a never-ending cycle. Planets, stars, and even black holes cannot escape this truth.

Krishna says..

Jatsya hi Druvo Mritur; DhruvaM Janm Mritsya Cha.

All things born in truth must die, and out of the death in truth comes life.

Karm Yoga

In the aforementioned conversation, Krishna lays out an elaborate method to help us stay afloat in the waves of joy and grief associated with the rise and fall. This method was unheard of until he articulated it, and it remains unique to this day. The message of Karm Yoga is both rational and practical. It doesn't require a leap of faith because it is experiential. Not only does it offer an exit from the cycles—Nirvana—but it also makes its followers feel "blessed and blissed," which obviously translates into worldly success. Thus, Karm Yoga is a useful guide rail for navigating modern life.

My Journey

Growing up and being educated in India ensures that one is unknowingly exposed to the stories of Rama and Krishna, among many others. But these narratives take a back seat as one immerses oneself in work, career, and kids. It was no different for me. But as I started thinking about India afresh—from the vantage point of explaining it to someone who has never been there—my dormant interest was rekindled. It could also be that I had turned fifty! I realized that I hadn't fully read the Gītā myself (from cover to cover), and the parts I thought I knew were fading away. Even then, it wasn't easy for me to jump back into the Gītā blindfolded. Truth be told, I did my due diligence. Here is my rationale before I took on the journey. The first obvious comfort was that the ideas of the Gītā appealed to me because it didn't ask me to give up my life for a strange, unknown blessing. All it basically says is to do your duties without worrying about the outcomes. In addition …

• It didn't ask me to visit a temple or light up the candles at a church. In fact it didn't sound religious at all. It calls for realization of your inner "self" and it says once you know yourself, you are the God!

• Despite being part of Hindu scriptures, the Gītā doesn't belong to any single religion, nor does it advocate for a specific God or way of worship. In fact, it rejects popular religious ideas. The situation itself is very symbolic: a king talking to a prince in the middle of a war. There were no long-bearded monks present. This discourse did not take place in a Himalayan cave. In fact, it wasn't even a discourse; it was a one-on-one conversation. And the outcome of this conversation was the greatest bloodshed known to mankind—at least, up to the time of its writing. There is surely nothing religious about it.

• It came as a breath of fresh air after my thirty years of goal-oriented climbing of the corporate ladder. Not everything should be a calculation. I should be able to do things for my own (inner) sake. In fact, the Gītā simplifies this conundrum: "What to do?" Should I indulge in activities that give me pleasure, or should I invest myself in what my mind deems "righteous"? And many times, the "righteous" path appears difficult. The Gītā says that if you weed out desires, what remains is "righteous." This is because "actions" are driven either by our "inner self" or by "desires." There is no other source of "actions." And it is a myth that "righteousness" can't be fun-filled. The careful removal of desires also reveals that engaging in righteous actions is the greatest source of divine pleasure. The Gītā says that people who act under the influence of desires actually work very hard. They burn themselves in the fire of their desires. But such hard work leads them to greater bondage and thus even bigger waves of joy and grief.

• Being attached to "Actions" made me more effective at my chores. I got better at fitness. Once I stopped chasing a number for "Financial Independence" and started focusing on right investment actions, the number automatically came through.

All of the above were good enough reasons to engage, but the thing that really won me over was...

The third option!

When we start a game, a common perception is that there are two possible outcomes: we win, or we lose. Winning means we are happy; losing means life sucks. In a normal game, if we keep losing, we ultimately run out of chips, or the casino closes (assuming we are not in 24/7 Las Vegas!). So, the third possible outcome is that the game ends. What if we are in a game that can never be stopped?

Isn't life one such game? Leaving the concept of reincarnation at bay (for the time being), I asked myself: is it possible to be alive but not play the game?

The obvious answer was to achieve sustainable financial independence (FI), resign from my regular job, and try to live within my means. I did all that. But many of you who have reached FI would vouch that the game doesn't stop. Portfolios, pandemics, and politics never stop. And, of course, the body itself needs us to go on. It goes on and on. Only the events change—the cycles don't. Desires, happiness, and pain are built into us. No matter where we go or what we do, our mind can't get over the game.

There seems to be no option to pack the cards, sit at the casino bar, and just enjoy a drink—no game.

Even if I don't "use" the exit, there must be one. Where is my third option? To just "be"—at peace. I thought "doing nothing" might work. It doesn't. In fact, being able to do nothing is very difficult. It is freedom. Freedom is actually tied to actions. Anyone can think or imagine whatever they want, but that is not the case when it comes to actions. For actions, we need permission. We need to seek permission at the workplace, at home, and even from our own bodies. Our ability to do what we want is freedom. And if we want to do "nothing," then being able to do that is freedom. Turns out, this ultimate freedom isn't possible. No matter what we do, we still need to breathe, drink, eat, and perform millions of other chores to run this body. With every layer of sophistication or automation, we add another layer of chores that must be done. Charging our cell phone is now as important as drinking water!

It just seemed unfair that I was neither asked if I wanted to play in the first place, nor do I have permission to leave. No doubt, this is a beautiful physical reality, but it feels like a beautiful jail if we don't have permission to see past it. Or do whatever we want. On top of that, the reincarnation thing (if true) sounds as if I am stuck here for eternity, playing these Squid Games! Isn't it?

Nirvana

The Gītā says that while the world looks at only two outcomes—heaven or hell, both of which are here in this physical reality—a third option exists: Nirvana, which is to exit this game. It suggests a simple approach to accomplish this third stage: indulge in actions wholeheartedly but give up all expectations. That seems counter-intuitive because desires (or passions) are the very reason we indulge in actions. The good news is that the Gītā doesn't just offer a dictum; it also offers a road map. A definitive, one-stop solution!

Krishna says that Nirvana is the real victory and the real goal. And he proposes Karm Yoga as the only path. In essence, the Gītā gives a new destination and paves the singular path to it. Why singular? Why the only path? Because, it says, all other paths ultimately lead to Karm Yoga.

In a nutshell, it says that pain and happiness are attached to "expectations versus outcomes." If the outcome is favorable, we are happy; otherwise, we are not. Actions performed without the influence of desires, on the other hand, have two different properties: peace and knowledge. If we focus on actions (and perform them as a ritual, free from desires—Nishkaam Yajna), we shall attain peace and decrypt knowledge. And finally, this knowledge automatically solves the puzzle and thus provides the exit: Nirvana. Another way to understand this concept is to think about the wave-like nature of our cyclic reality. If we were to maximize the cycle of happiness, that means we must also maximize the cycle of pain. While most religious, medicinal, or even scientific approaches sell us the idea of enhancing happiness (or reducing pain), the Gītā suggests that such approaches defy the basic principle that every success must meet its failure. The higher the rise, the bigger the fall. Thus, the idea of increasing happiness is a personal choice that must account for imminent sorrow. It should be a conscious decision whether we want to sink in cycles or ride the wave. This, however, doesn't mean we become action-less. In fact, becoming action-less is impossible. The Gītā says we can't live without actions even for a moment. Actions driven by desires lead to cycles of happiness and pain. Actions done without desires decrypt knowledge and thus lead to lasting peace. Such a state of peace is called Nirvana.

And here is the kicker: it says we don't need to perform any special drills. All we need to do is change our approach to "actions." From "influenced by desires" to "free from desires." In a way, we are only shifting our focus from desires to actions.

If all I need to do is change my approach to the things I do anyway—invest in stocks, love my dogs, run, chat with friends, take care of my family, drink some good wine, and come up with occasional tweets—then obviously, there is no downside to trying the Nirvana route! It's a "no-brainer."

Alexa, put me in Nirvana mode!

Unfortunately, technology still doesn't have the Nirvana skill! So the journey is really to learn (and experiment) how to focus solely on "actions" without any consideration of "outcomes."

Turns out it is harder than what I thought. Desires creep into everything we do. Thus, Karm Yoga is a skill, just like playing the violin. The good news is that the Gītā has all the information. We still need to practice, though, because information alone is not sufficient. The Gītā is experiential.

The somewhat better news is that the work done on this path is never wasted. This assurance comes from the "auto-save mode"! Krishna knows we will wander off track and get swayed by desires. Thus, the assurance that once we start on Karm Yoga, just like swimming, we will never forget it. We can always come back at any point, a reset of our password (if forgotten), and get started from where we left off.

Isn't Nirvana a desire?

Yes, it is. Aspiring to exit is also a desire, a desired outcome—what a catch! I thought to myself.

The Gītā says, only until we are learning. Once we attain Karm Yoga, even the desire to exit vanishes, thus bringing eternal peace. In fact, Karm Yoga is not about exiting life. It is about riding the wave above the cycles of happiness and pain. The exit happens whenever it needs to happen. At this stage, we are not even a Karm Yogi. We are simply a Yogi—which means connected.

This writing work

It is hard to label the Gītā as spiritual or scientific. It offers an experiential method that is as testable as science. At the same time, it warrants a dedication, commitment, and rigor common to any "problem-solving" apparatus. A new reader might see the latter as a "call for faith." The best approach is to treat it beyond labels. Walk the line and determine for yourself if it works. If it does, take on the next iteration.

As we start invoking the Gītā into our lives, we are at first curious to see if it works. Later, as the path pulls us in, we realize the Gītā is based on pure logic. It may not be grounded in mathematical equations, but a slightly deeper experience opens the door to its superlative rationale, which is, above all, baked into common sense. In a way, it could act as a unifier between two conflicting ideologies of our time: science and religion. And that is exactly what this text is about. One of my motives is to bridge this gap, or at least make a start.

The name—Arjun Uvāch

It simply means "Arjuna Said." As we know, the Gītā is a conversation in which Arjuna asked the questions, and Krishna answered them with love and respect. Think of this work as Arjuna of this time, explaining back what he understood. A loop-back mechanism to ensure the intact delivery of the communication and its intent. And also using his own language, metaphors, and analogies.

My goal is to say it in the most accessible way. My hope is that in the process, I will be able to boil it down to a modern document that is beyond blind faith and is logically appealing.