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The Architecture of Resilience: Gita Lessons from IIM Bangalore
In the high-pressure corridors of IIM Bangalore, where ambition meets rigorous academic demand, resilience isn’t just a soft skill, it is a necessity for survival and leadership. While a schedule clash kept me from enrolling in the formal elective on the Srimad Bhagavad Gita, I found a profound “classroom” in an intermittent session led by Suvarna GauraHari Das.
We delved into the cornerstone of emotional intelligence: Chapter 2, Verse 38.
sukha-duhkhe same krtva labhalabhau jayajayau
tato yuddhaya yujyasva naivam papam avapsyasi“Treating alike happiness and distress, loss and gain, victory and defeat—fight for the sake of duty; thus you shall never incur sin.”
Deepening the Pillars of Internal Strength
To “treat alike” does not mean to become indifferent or robotic. Rather, it is about building an internal architecture that can withstand the external weather.
1. The Dialectics of Pressure
In physics, tension is required to create structural integrity; in life, it is required for growth. We need the “push” of deadlines and goals to evolve. However, the wisdom of the Gita suggests a limit. Resilience is knowing when the pressure is sculpting you and when it is beginning to extinguish your vitality. True power lies in maintaining your “life force” even while the heat of the world increases.
2. The “Weal” in the Pivot
Mindfulness is the tool that allows us to reframe our narrative. It shifts us from a victim mindset (“Why is this happening to me?”) to a growth mindset (“Why is this happening FOR me?”). There is a hidden “weal”, an old English term for wealth or well-being, tucked inside every setback. By observing our life through a lens of purposeful goodness, we realize that every detour is actually a redirection toward a more refined version of ourselves.
3. Equanimity: The Equal Teacher
True resilience is the ability to welcome success and setbacks with the same steady heart. In the corporate world, we are taught to celebrate the “win” and mourn the “loss.” The Gita teaches us to treat them as equal teachers. If victory makes you arrogant and defeat makes you depressed, you are a slave to circumstances. If you remain stable in both, you are a master of yourself.
The Yaksha Prashna: Ethics as the Ultimate Resilience
This philosophy of balance is perfectly mirrored in the Yaksha Prashna from the Mahabharata. When Yudhishthira’s brothers lay dead by the enchanted pool, his resilience was tested not just by overwhelming grief, but by the clarity of his choices under fire.
The Yaksha challenged him with questions that mirror our own modern anxieties:
- “What is faster than the wind?” Yudhishthira answered: “The Mind.” (A reminder of how quickly our thoughts can spiral into the future or the past).
- “What is more numerous than grass?” He answered: “The Thoughts in the mind.” (Highlighting the mental clutter we must learn to navigate).
- “What is the most wonderful thing in the world?” He answered: “That although every day people die, those who remain live as if they are immortal.” (A call to remember the transience of our current stressors).
The ultimate test of his equanimity came when the Yaksha offered to revive only one brother. Yudhishthira did not choose Bhima or Arjuna, his strongest warriors. He chose Nakula.
His reasoning was a masterclass in Dharma: Since he, the son of Kunti, was alive, justice demanded that a son of Madri should also live. Even in the depths of a personal crisis, his ethics remained unshaken. He chose balance over personal advantage.
Closing Thoughts
At IIMB, we are trained to be “impactful.” But the Gita and the Yaksha Prashna remind us that the greatest impact we can have is staying anchored in our values when the world around us is in chaos.
Success is fleeting and setbacks are temporary, but a mind anchored in Dharma is the ultimate victory. May we all find the power to remain whole, regardless of the tide.
May Shree Krishna bless us all with that inner power.
Sarvamshreekrishnarpanamasthu
Radhe Radhe
– Shrestha S Bharadwaj
PGP 2024-26
Echoes in Silence
It began with a mistake. Or perhaps with fate, though fate rarely announces itself so gently.
For three weeks, he had sat on the same park bench every morning. Aiden was quiet and observant, wrapped in a solitude that felt intentional. He wore the world like a familiar coat, well fitted, worn thin, and entirely black. Born blind, he had learned early that silence spoke volumes. Footsteps carried moods. Breaths held secrets.
She walked differently.
Lila did not simply move across the earth, she seemed to dance with it, even when she was not trying. There was rhythm in her presence, poetry in the way her hands shaped thoughts into the air as she signed. To her, the world was quiet, not peaceful, but still.
They met because she chose the wrong bench.
She had not noticed the white cane resting against its side. She had not heard the soft hum of music pulsing through his bone conduction headphones. But he felt it, the subtle shift in the air when she sat beside him. A faint scent drifted toward him, jasmine touched with something citrusy.
He turned slightly. “Hello?”
There was no response.
He tried again, softer. “Hi?”
She looked at him then and smiled. Her hands lifted, fingers moving gracefully through a language he could not see.
He hesitated. “Are you deaf?”
She tilted her head, carefully reading his lips, then nodded. A small, almost apologetic smile curved her mouth.
A low chuckle escaped him, not mocking, just amused. “Well,” he said lightly, “aren’t we something? A blind guy and a deaf girl. The universe really does have a sense of humor”
After that, they met every morning.
At first, their time together was tentative, filled with pauses, trial, and quiet learning. He traced words onto her palm, letter by letter, as if committing both language and her touch to memory. She laughed when he misspelled something. He loved her laughter, not for its sound, but for the way it moved the air, brushing against his skin like a soft breeze.
She taught him in return. She guided his hands to her face, slowing her signs so he could understand them through touch. He traced the shape of her smiles and memorized the warmth of her cheeks when she blushed.
They did not need sight or sound. They had patience, presence, and touch.
One morning, he wrote on her palm, “How do you hear music?”
She smiled and placed his hand against her chest. Her heartbeat, steady and alive, answered before words could. Then she drew him closer, guiding his palm to her throat, where gentle vibrations shimmered beneath her skin.
“This is how I hear it,” she signed into his hands, guiding his fingers with care.
“That’s beautiful,” he said softly.
They never spoke of forever. Not because it did not matter, but because it did not need naming. Each day felt complete on its own. For once, the world was not loud or blurry. It was tactile, honest, and real.
When it rained, they shared an umbrella. Their fingers intertwined. Her hand rested over his pulse. His ear pressed against her chest, listening not to the thunder in the sky, but to the quiet strength of her heartbeat.
It was not perfect.
There were moments of frustration, misunderstandings, and silences that stretched too long. But there was also laughter, messy and unrestrained. And tears, shared through trembling words traced on skin and held close in wordless embraces.
He once wrote, “You make me see things I never knew existed.”
She replied by guiding his hands, signing, “You make me hear the world in ways I never imagined.”
And maybe that is what love truly is. Not what we see or hear,
But what we understand, even in the silence.
– Banda Sreenivas Prasad
PGP 2025–27
