Chandigarh, Nov 13: There is a peculiar calm in believing that the universe has its own rhythm, a quiet force that hums beneath the surface of our chaotic lives. Some call it fate; others, destiny. Yet, at its heart, it is simply the unfolding of what will be. Humans, in their endless striving, often imagine themselves as architects of their own lives, plotting and maneuvering as though every step is theirs to command. But sometimes, the steps have already been laid, invisible threads pulling us toward encounters, losses, and victories we could never have scripted.
This is not to suggest that we are powerless. Free will exists in the spaces between the currents, in the choices we make, the courage we summon, the kindness we extend. It is the music we play along the edges of the cosmic score. Yet, even the most deliberate action may ultimately serve a path already written in the language of time. Like a river carving its way through rock, our will shapes our journey, but the river’s course—the valley it follows—is often predetermined by forces beyond our comprehension.
There is a strange liberation in this thought. To wrestle endlessly against what is inevitable is exhausting; to resist the tide in every moment, futile. Yet, to acknowledge it is not surrender but clarity. Fate is not a chain; it is the framework within which our choices gain meaning. Each decision becomes a brushstroke on a canvas already prepared, each action a note in a song that is at once ours and not ours.
Consider the encounters we cannot explain: the stranger who appears at the right moment, the opportunity that seems to fall from nowhere, the heartbreak that opens a door we did not see before. It is tempting to call these coincidences, yet perhaps they are the subtle voice of the universe, guiding, nudging, or sometimes insisting. The friction between what is written and what we choose forms the tension that gives life its depth.
And so, we move forward, a blend of intention and inevitability. We plan, we dream, we falter, but always we arrive where we were meant to be—not despite our efforts, but often through them. There is a strange poetry in recognizing that what unfolds is neither wholly ours nor wholly foreign. In this understanding, life is less a puzzle to solve and more a story to witness, in which we are both author and audience, both dancer and music, both question and answer.
Fate does not strip us of meaning. Instead, it asks us to live fully within the moment, to make choices that matter, to feel, to err, to hope, knowing that the universe’s quiet hand moves through it all. And in that knowledge—neither cynical nor naive—we find freedom of a subtle, profound kind: the freedom to act, to love, to dream, while surrendering to the truth that some things were always going to happen, no matter what we thought.
Life, after all, is the delicate dance between the inevitable and the chosen, and perhaps, in that dance, we discover the closest thing there is to grace.
