The Sower’s Way

On the Coimbatore-Kerala border, nestled in the shadow of the Western Ghats, lies Kalaalayam Farm—a patchwork of red soil, budding trees, and experiments in self-sufficiency. It belonged to K.P. Senthilkumar, lovingly called KPS by his friends, who had once spoken the language of computer codes but now spoke only the quiet dialect of the sky, earth, sun, wind and water.

He had abandoned a his tech job just before the pandemic and bought a barren land that no one wanted. While friends invested in stocks and startups, KPS invested in shade, compost, and silence. He never checked yield reports or market rates. Instead, he sowed what little the land gave back in terms of seeds, over and over again. Some called it naive, others spiritual madness. His family watched with worry as years passed without profit.

But KPS was never anxious. The well he dug gave sweet water. The birds returned. A few trees stood tall now, some gave some fruits some time when he was hungry. Wild creatures around his farm house made him feel home but obviously stopped many of his friends visiting him these days. Every now and then, during the monsoons, Daniel Achaayan—an old soul disguised as a farmhand—would show up. Achaayan helped build the well, raise a thatched shed, plant tapioca. But mostly, they sat under trees, talking spiritual stuff.

This year, Achaayan arrived in his usual lungi and rubber chappals. As the rain pattered on the palm leaves above, he looked at the young saplings dancing in the wind and quoted the following:

"Keep sowing. If it sprouts, it's a tree, if not, it's fertilizer."

KPS smiled. That was all he needed to hear. The trees would grow, or they wouldn’t. But either way, the soil would remember him.

Moral:

Success isn’t always measured in yield or returns. Sometimes, the act of sowing—of trying with pure intent—is the real success.