How do we respond when reality falls short of our expectations and things don’t turn out the way we wanted them to? Do we crumble in despair, or do we remain calm and chart our next course of action? The truth is, our responses are rarely simple. They spill across a wide and shifting spectrum, shaped by the soil of our past— our childhood echoes, our inner weather, the scaffolding of our culture, how we’ve weathered our private wars, the gravity of our unmet expectations, and the coping tools at our disposal.
The Sting of Unmet Expectations
When things don’t unfold as we hoped, we may feel cheated by the universe. We rage at fate’s cruel hand—the universe forgot we tried so hard. Our efforts feel wasted, as our dreams collapse and plans fall like dominoes. If the stakes are high, the disappointment cuts even deeper, leaving us disheartened, sometimes devastated. Destructive and pessimistic thinking may take over, amplifying our distress. Blame may rise, sometimes directed at the world, sometimes turned inwards, scorching us with self-reproach, leaving behind the ash of what-ifs.
Uncertainty about the road ahead can breed anxiety, fear, or even paralysis. Some of us might seek escape through substances, overeating, or oversleeping—anything to numb the ache. Others may withdraw, shutting down emotionally or physically, avoiding people, responsibilities, or any reminder of what went wrong.
The Path of Resilience
Yet, the pragmatic among us respond with clarity and adaptability. They see nothing catastrophic about the seeming setback, acknowledging the new reality with calm. They accept that everything cannot be controlled. Rather than dwelling on what went wrong, they swiftly switch to “what can I do now?” They view failure not as a curse, but as feedback from the universe, a springboard for forward movement.
Some—the wise, the weathered—allow themselves to feel sadness, anger, or frustration without judgment. They hold these emotions tenderly, not as a burden, but as a teacher. Grounded in the belief that this too shall pass, they turn to their friends, mentors, or therapists, opting for healing rather than building walls around themselves. A new steadiness emerges, not from escaping the storm, but from having stood in it. They display the grace of having felt, faltered, and still found their way forward.
Voice of Wisdom 1: Harivansh Rai Bachchan
The renowned Hindi poet Harivansh Rai Bachchan offers this gem of wisdom: “Man ka ho to achha, na ho to aur bhi achha.” It translates to: “If things go our way, it’s good; if they don’t, it’s even better.”
At first glance, this may seem paradoxical. However, it points to a deeper truth that everything happens for a reason as part of a larger cosmic design. Perhaps the universe whispers, “Not this, but something worthier.” In this spirit, life is not divided into good or bad outcomes but simply unfolds as it must. Labelling something as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ is just a subjective construct.
When we accept whatever life presents, we step into a space of deeper peace. We loosen our grip on what should have been and begin to see grace in what is. To embrace what comes, without resistance, is to touch the stillness beneath the swirl. We tap into a calmness that lies beneath the chaos. We experience freedom from needless suffering.
Voice of Wisdom 2: Sahir Ludhianvi
In a tender song from the classic film Funtoosh, Urdu poet Sahir Ludhianvi writes: “Woh dekhen to unki inayat, na dekhen to rona kya?” It translates to: “If our beloved looks our way, it is her kindness; if not, why cry?”
This is love without chains, grace without grievance. To live this way is to hold life like a bird in an open palm—not to clutch, but to cherish. It is a quiet strength, a poised acceptance that reflects emotional maturity. There is dignity in letting go of what was never ours to hold and move forward. This serene attitude cushions us from needless suffering, suggesting that our inner stability need not depend on external validation.
No emotion is too much. No reaction is too little. There is no hierarchy of feelings. What matters is not how we respond, but that we are true when we do. There is no ‘correct’ way to grieve or to live. There is only our way, in our moment.
Voice of Wisdom 3: Mirza Ghalib
The legendary Mirza Ghalib writes with trembling pen and fierce honesty: “Dil hi to hai na sang-o-khisht, dard se bhar na aaye kyon. Roenge hum hazar baar, koi humein sataaye kyon?” It translates to: “This is my heart, not stone or brick, why shouldn’t it fill with pain? I will cry a thousand times, why should anyone torment me?”
Ghalib, the eternal romantic of pain, refuses to wear armor over his heart. He makes space for raw emotion, arguing that a heart, when wounded, must feel, must break, must cry. Vulnerability is beautiful. Grief needs space!
This is the poetry of defiance, a rebellious response to those who demand stoicism in the face of adversity. In a world that prizes stoic facades, he does not apologize for his tears; he honors them. He reminds us that sorrow is not something to “get over.” It is something to “go through,” and perhaps, be deepened by.
Three Mirrors, One Truth
These poetic voices remind us that there is no single script for responding to adversity. No single melody plays through all hearts. Some meet suffering with surrender, others with stoic grace, some with the raw crying of a wounded soul. If you are the mystic who sees meaning in all events, you’ll walk with Bachchan’s tranquil trust. If you are the astute realist who prioritizes emotional balance, Sahir’s calm will steady you. If you are human to the bone with a sensitive heart, Ghalib’s ache will echo yours.
None is more “right” than the other—they simply reflect different paths through the same storm. Each path reflects each one’s deeply personal journey.
A Zen Glimpse
Consider the story of two monks reacting to their master’s sudden death. One wails uncontrollably. The other remains calm and meditative. Now, imagine a third hypothetical monk who breaks into uncontrollable laughter.
Each response rises from a different place in the soul. The wailing monk honors his sorrow; the calm one, his detachment; the laughing one, his transcendence. One grieves the loss; one bows to impermanence; one sees the great joke of it all. The three responses are simply different ways of experiencing and processing loss. Each response is valid—none superior, none inferior.
Zen tells us: Let the moment be what it is. Let grief arrive like rain, or stillness settle like snow, or laughter erupt like spring. No emotion is too much. No reaction is too little. There is no hierarchy of feelings. What matters is not how we respond, but that we are true when we do. There is no “correct” way to grieve or to live. There is only our way, in our moment.
The Cosmic Theatre
Ultimately, the range of human responses to pain is as vast as the sky. Whether we break, bend, burn, or bloom, it is all part of being human. No heart grieves wrong, not one. Each heart plays its cadence, responding in its own inner wisdom. The key isn’t to force ourselves into prescribed patterns, but to honor our own ways of dealing with life’s inevitable disappointments.
Life doesn’t deal in black and white. It speaks in hues and half-tones. We cry, we cope, we carry on. We break open, bloom again. We forget, we remember. We stumble, we soar. We each play our part in the grand theatre of existence with the truth we dare to feel—the truth that is wholly and beautifully our own.
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