By Divya Munjal

There was a phase in my life when I was constantly busy. Busy at work, busy meeting deadlines, busy juggling responsibilities. Whenever friends or family members called, I would say the same thing every time—I am busy. Sometimes I genuinely was. Other times, I just did not have the mental space to talk. Conversations felt like interruptions. Messages piled up unanswered. I told myself I would call back later.

At work, however, things were going well. In fact, they were going very well. I was achieving, delivering, being recognised. Yet even as one milestone was crossed, my mind immediately shifted to the next one. There was always something more to chase, something bigger to accomplish. The juggling never stopped.

And somewhere between these two worlds—professional success and personal absence—Chhoti si aashaa was born.

The habit of wanting bigger things

Isn’t it strange how our minds are programmed to think this way? We rarely pause to enjoy what we have achieved. The moment we acquire one thing, we start thinking about another, then another, and then yet another. The cycle feels endless.

These “bigger things” are often measurable and visible—promotions, pay hikes, titles, possessions. They can be bought, earned, or displayed. And yet, even after achieving them, the emptiness refuses to leave.

I experienced this first-hand. Despite professional growth, there was a quiet dissatisfaction simmering underneath. The achievements were real, but the contentment was temporary. The momentary state of happiness faded quickly, replaced by the urge to aim higher again.

Priceless possessions money cannot buy

Ironically, the things that truly matter in life cannot be purchased:

• Good health
• Family
• Friends
• Peace of mind
• Love

These are our priceless possessions. They do not come with price tags, yet they shape the quality of our lives more than anything else ever could. We all know this truth. We acknowledge it in conversations, quote it in speeches, and nod in agreement when others say it.

And yet, when it comes to daily choices, we often behave otherwise.

In my case, I did not consciously decide to ignore people or relationships. It happened gradually. Work took priority. Time became scarce. Emotional availability reduced. Calls were postponed. Messages went unanswered. Slowly, priceless possessions were being traded for productivity and performance.

It sounds harsh, but it is an uncomfortable truth.

Why do we keep doing this?

At some point, I started asking myself why.

Why was earning more becoming so important? Why did the urge to achieve more never lessen? Why was I so busy earning a life that I had no time to live?

The answer, I realised, lay in one simple gap—we often do not define why we want what we want.

Are we earning money just to earn money?

Or are we earning money to create comfort, stability, and happiness for ourselves and others?

This distinction matters more than we realise.

When the process becomes the purpose

When we do not have clarity about the purpose, the process itself becomes the goal. Earning money turns into an end rather than a means. Work stops being a part of life and slowly starts consuming it.

In such a scenario, success becomes addictive. There is always more to do, more to prove, more to achieve. Rest feels undeserved. Pausing feels irresponsible. Relationships are postponed with the promise of “later.”

By the time we realise what we have been sacrificing, the cost feels unbearable. Sometimes it is lost time, sometimes strained relationships, Sometimes declining health. And sometimes, it is a deep sense of emptiness that success alone cannot fill.

Keeping an eye on purpose

On the other hand, when we earn with intention, life unfolds differently. Money still matters—it pays bills, provides security, and creates opportunities—but it does not overshadow everything else.

Purpose acts like a compass. It reminds us why we are working hard in the first place. It nudges us to protect what truly matters while we pursue what is necessary.

This does not mean living a perfectly balanced life. It simply means living a conscious one.

Is partial satisfaction really a problem?

Even then, a question remains—is a comparatively satisfactory life enough for us?

We often expect complete fulfillment, permanent happiness, and absolute certainty. But life rarely works in extremes. Perhaps the problem is not partial satisfaction, but our inability to recognise it when it exists.

Small moments of peace often go unnoticed because they do not look grand—a meaningful conversation, a quiet evening, a shared laugh, a sense of being present. These moments do not announce themselves as “success,” yet they quietly nourish us.

This is where Chhoti si aashaa finds its place.

The quiet strength of small hopes

Small hopes do not demand attention. They simply ask to be acknowledged.

The hope of staying connected.
The hope of being healthy.
The hope of having time—for people, for oneself, for stillness.

These hopes may appear insignificant compared to big ambitions, but they carry depth. They remind us that life is not meant to be postponed indefinitely in the pursuit of more.

A personal realisation

I will say this honestly—I still do not have all the answers. Like most people, I am still figuring out my purpose. I still get caught up in responsibilities and expectations. I am still learning when to pause.

But writing Chhoti si aashaa was a moment of clarity. It helped me see that achievement without connection feels incomplete. That success without peace feels hollow. And that life, when reduced only to numbers and milestones, loses its warmth.

Choosing awareness, one step at a time

Maybe the solution is not drastic change, but gentle awareness.

Awareness of what we are chasing.
Awareness of what we are neglecting.
Awareness of the small hopes quietly waiting for us to notice them.

When we start valuing Chhoti si aashaa, we do not abandon our dreams—we humanise them. We allow life to feel fuller, softer, and more real.

And sometimes, that small shift is enough to bring us back to ourselves.

If this resonated with you, pause for a moment and ask yourself: What is your Chhoti si aashaa today? I would love to hear your thoughts.