From my earliest childhood, prayer came to me as naturally as breathing. Whenever I was sick, anxious, or dreading an exam, I instinctively folded my hands and turned to God. At the time, I did not understand why it felt so spontaneous. Now I do. The Bhagavad-Gita explains: “The living entities in this conditioned world are My eternal, fragmental parts” (15.7).
Just as a child instinctively seeks a parent’s embrace, the soul naturally turns to God. Prayer is not a ritual — it is the soul’s most natural response. As I grew older, I began to recognise the immense benefits of prayer. The first is its immediacy. Prayer connects us to God instantly — no waiting, no intermediaries. Krishna Himself says: “Four kinds of virtuous people worship Me — the distressed, the inquisitive, the seeker of wealth, and the wise” (7.16). In other words, prayer belongs to all, in all situations. But this raised a question for me: does God always grant what we pray for? I often recall the example of a jobseeker. He may approach a businessman, but unless he is qualified, no job is given. Similarly, God listens to every prayer, but His help comes in proportion to our deservingness. When I prayed before exams, I often wondered — had I truly earned His help? Did I nurture a relationship with Him daily, or did I only remember Him in fear? Thankfully, my grandmother’s poojaghar gave me a rhythm of daily prayer. Alongside, I worked sincerely on my studies. This balance of effort and devotion often bore fruit. Prayer alone would not have sufficed; effort without prayer would have lacked grace.
When youth arrived, life demanded more. I needed to stand on my own feet. Once again, God’s mercy revealed itself. I found myself in the United States, guided to a professor who became my mentor, even though I had gone for a different specialisation. My intuition urged me to accept, and that choice shaped my career. Education, work, and livelihood unfolded in ways that felt nothing short of miraculous. Here I learned that sincere prayer attracts divine mercy, but blessings flow through timing, deservingness, and dharma. Material success, however, did not guarantee peace. There was achievement, but not sukha — true happiness. At that point, I turned to prayer more deeply, not for external gains but for inner guidance. Slowly, my dependence shifted from self to God. Worries and fears began to fade. Ego softened. Humility and faith grew roots. Over time, I began to experience something extraordinary: God guiding the details of my life. Intuitions arose, decisions unfolded effortlessly, and I felt secure. Yet I realised one truth — God never breaks dharma. Prayer does not excuse us from responsibility; rather, it aligns us with the higher order. Today, when I see people endlessly worrying about their future, I remember my own restless mind. Prayer has shown me that peace does not come from overthinking but from surrender. Prayer is universal. Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Sikhs, Jains — all uphold it as the soul’s lifeline. It may be spoken, written, sung, or silent; in a temple, mosque, church, or simply in the heart. No qualification is needed — only sincerity.
My counsel to all is simple: pray. Pray for strength, clarity, and guidance. God is eager to respond. As the saying goes: “Take one step toward God, and He will take ninety-nine toward you.” That one step is prayer. Taken earnestly, it opens the door to peace, hope, and joy.
The writer is a spiritual teacher
