There is a precise moment when art stops being mere entertainment and becomes a mirror. For me, that moment arrived with a track titled "Aavagaman" from the project Hanuman Ansh. On the surface, it carries the rhythmic framework of a traditional chant. But if you listen closely—if you read between the lines—it functions as a profound philosophical treatise on human existence, designed to pull the listener out of daily autopilot and drop them squarely into a deeper consciousness.
The word Aavagaman translates to "the coming and going." In a world obsessed with constant forward momentum, this song asks a radical question: What happens when you stop running?
Shattering the Mirage
The lyrics paint the world as a Chhalawa—a brilliant, deceptive mirage. It captures our tendency to treat temporary setups like permanent destinations. The song relies on a striking metaphor, comparing our existence to a bustling marketplace (Bajariya) where we act as cash-strapped buyers (Lendaar) bargaining with a master merchant (Seth).
Philosophically, this speaks to the exhaustion of modern life. We spend our lives transacting—exchanging our time for status, our peace for security, accumulating emotional debts and credits. The track hits a raw nerve because it strips away these distractions, forcing us to confront the quiet space we spend so much time avoiding. It doesn't offer a complicated theological argument; instead, it triggers a primal desire for a "true refuge" (Saancha Thaur)—a permanent anchor in a world made of shifting sand.
A Personal Echo
This philosophy isn't just an abstract theory to me; it feels like the syllabus of my last eighteen years. Since June 2008, my life has been an epic poem of constant transition. I left my hometown for Kolkata and left Kolkata for Bangalore for my higher education, beginning a massive loop of geographic exploration. That path eventually led me across continents to Nigeria, navigating the distinct energies of Benin City, Kaduna, Kano, and Lagos. I transitioned from a bachelor to a married man, and alongside my spouse, moved to Vancouver, Canada.
For three years, the deep woods and towering peaks of British Columbia became our sanctuary. My love affair with nature grew into something fierce and non-negotiable. But mid-transit between those continents, the ground collapsed beneath me. I lost my grandmother.
Grief has a terrifying way of making the world look completely transparent. Suddenly, the cities, the career milestones, and the endless packing lists felt like background noise. I found myself looking radically inward, turning to the timeless frameworks of the Bhagavad Gita and rewatching the epics of the Ramayana and Mahabharata not for nostalgia, but for a survival manual. I was looking for a way to process a profound emptiness.
The Sound of Surrender
When the vocals in "Aavagaman" reach their peak, crying out to dissolve the cycle of wandering, it doesn't sound religious to me. It sounds like the collective sigh of anyone who has ever been exhausted by change. It brings an intense, immediate wave of peace because it validates the desire to simply drop the baggage.
Today, my personal compass is pointing firmly toward the ultimate geographic symbol of that stillness: the Himalayas. The woods of Canada taught me to love the quiet, but it is the timeless stillness of those eastern peaks where I am looking to build a future and finally call a place home.
We are all wandering through our own versions of a labyrinth, collecting miles, memories, and losses. But as this song reminds us, the ultimate destination isn't the next city on the map. It's the unshakeable stillness we cultivate within ourselves when the coming and going finally stops.
#itsabtme # lifelessons #myroamingspirit #roamfree
Song Details and Credits
Song: Aavagaman
Movie: Hanuman Ansh
Singer: Sadhu Tiwari
Music / Composition: Shobhinaw Satyaa