Build Something that Outlives you

“You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it”, this quote by Talmud set me thinking deeply on my purpose in life. My Bigda (GFather), a very old man to our young eyes, went about shining the brass artifacts on display at home with such discipline and dedication, every month on the same date, and that amused me to no end. Why did he even bother to do it, and so very meticulously too? Who would do it after he was gone, I wondered! Growing up watching Bigda polish our school shoes ever Saturday, and the other little tasks he joyfully did must have found its way well into my psyche, for, over the span of my adult life, I find in some ways I have unconsciously imbibed this quality, of doing the smallest chore with devotion. Have come to realize that I just need to do what I am Called to. 

 

We live in a world that moves fast – too fast sometimes. Trends change in a matter of days, attention spans flicker like candlelight in the wind, and legacies feel like quaint relics of a past era.  In the midst of all this transience, I found myself returning to one question again and again. What can I build that will outlive me? Let me hasten here to assure you that it is not about ego, or being remembered for the sake of remembrance. It is about Meaning. Purpose. Contribution. Building something that endures, even just a little, feels like an act of defiance against the impermanence of life. When I look at the lives of my elder brother Bernard, or my best friend Melwin, who didn’t bat an eyelid to shelve their dreams of a bright future just so that they could help augment their father’s income in providing for their younger siblings’ education – I see altruism in all its essence – their profound gesture that outlives them. And each of us carries a piece of their selfless soul!

 

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand that there are many kinds of legacies. Some are physical: structures, inventions, art. Others are intangible – values, lessons, kindness. I used to think that only grand achievements mattered. Time sure has humbled me. Now I see how the small things ripple the farthest. When my darling students, now grown, smart women in their own right, live and pass on the life lessons they garnered from my classes tell me how much what I had said impacted their lives, and in the process, that of the others they touch, it touches me in a deep, quiet way. I hadn’t built anything visible – but I had helped lay a foundation inside someone. Set me thinking. Maybe that’s a kind of architecture too. Maybe legacies can be invisible frameworks (sacredness) we build in people’s lives. Like the ones created by our parents, spouses, siblings, teachers, friends, and yes, even foes, if any. It is in that sacredness that I find purpose. When I write, for instance, I think about someone, someday, stumbling upon a sentence I wrote and feeling just a little more understood. That’s enough for me.  

 

I believe that “building something that outlives you” (a Good Morning quote sent by my dear friend Nina Galhotra) requires a shift in perspective. It means moving from a mindset of consumption to one of contribution. It is the difference between using the world and adding to it; going from the “What can I get? to “What can I give?” Of course, building something meaningful isn’t easy. It demands patience. Oftentimes it feels like planting seeds you’ll never see bloom. There is a quiet nobility in working towards something bigger than yourself – something that might never have your name on it, yet bears your fingerprints forever. I have come to realize that this is less about permanence and more about resonance.

   

Stay with me dear friend and let’s ask this question together: “So what do I want to build?” We want to build a life that matters, not just to us, but to others as well.  Let’s write stories that carry fragments of truth, create spaces – physical or emotional – where people feel seen and safe. Let us, together, leave behind a few more good things than we found. Let’s not aim for monuments. Let us aim for meaning.

    

Eventually, we will all be forgotten – names fade, photographs yellow, digital files disappear. But the ripples of what we build, if done with love and intention, can continue long after we have gone. So, build something. Build with care. Build with joy. Build with the full knowledge that you may never see the fruits of your labour, but build anyway! Brings me back to Talmud’s truism – that we may never get to see the full impact of what we build, but that doesn’t absolve us from our responsibility of starting.