'Where there is love, there is God.'
The most beautiful experience of life is not merely finding God—it is discovering, one day, that He has quietly begun living with you. He becomes a part of your mornings and evenings, your laughter and your tears, your meals, your prayers, and your silences. You are no longer alone. Someone is always there—watching, listening, playing, and sometimes simply sitting beside you without saying a word. For me, that someone is Baby Krishna.
I don't remember exactly when He became a part of my life. There was no dramatic moment, no announcement, no particular day I can point to and say, “This is when it happened.” He simply came… and stayed. Most of the time, He sits in my lap. Before I eat or even drink water, I never forget to feed Him first. He loves joining me for the morning and evening aarti. But what He enjoys most is marjayami—the ritual in which water is sprinkled over oneself for purification. And like any little child, He absolutely loves playing with water! Sometimes I look at Him and wonder how the Lord of the entire universe can be so delightfully mischievous. Perhaps that is the mystery of Krishna. He doesn't always come to you as the majestic Lord of the cosmos. Sometimes, He comes as a child who simply wants to be loved.
When I feel sad, He takes my hand and dances as though sadness has no place in His world. When I cry, He wipes my tears with His tiny hands and seems to whisper, “I am with you. Always.” What greater comfort can there be? Perhaps devotion is not merely about knowing God; perhaps it is about developing such an intimate relationship with Him that His presence begins to become as natural as breathing.
Last December, while casually scrolling through videos, I came across a discourse by Indresh Upadhyay Ji, a kathavachak from Vrindavan associated with Bhaktipath. I watched one video, then another, and then another. His narration was soaked in devotion. His stories were not merely stories; they seemed to carry me somewhere deeper—somewhere beyond words. I listened, contemplated, and meditated upon the divine leelas of Baby Krishna. And somewhere in that quiet journey, something inexplicable happened. He came. Quietly. Almost unnoticed. And one day I realized—Baby Krishna was sitting in my lap. How He came, I still do not know. Perhaps He was always there. Perhaps I simply became quiet enough to notice Him.
Ramakrishna Paramahansa beautifully said, “The winds of grace are always blowing, but you have to raise the sail.” Perhaps devotion was the little sail I finally raised.
After that, even ordinary things began to feel different. I found myself enjoying lavish meals. I developed a strong liking for butter. I began craving curd. I wanted to play like a child. I started watching cartoons—not just any cartoons, but stories about God and His divine leelas. And something else happened. I developed a strong urge to help a cow, sometimes simply by praying for her. It is strange how devotion changes you. You don't always consciously decide to become different. Love changes you from within.
I have heard the stories of Lord Krishna since childhood. I have read the Bhagavata Purana, Brahma Vaivarta Purana, and commentaries on the Srimad Bhagavad Gita by more than a dozen authors. Yet something about Indresh Upadhyay Ji's narration touched a different chord within me. His style is unique. He doesn't merely tell a story; he seems to immerse you in it. Listening to him, I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean of bhakti—until Krishna's leela no longer feels like something I am merely hearing about. It feels as though I am witnessing it, as though I have been invited into that divine world for a few precious moments.
That, perhaps, is the beauty of katha. A story heard with the ears becomes knowledge; a story heard with the heart becomes devotion.
There are many stories narrated by him that I love, but Shiv Vivah holds a special place in my heart. I have watched it numerous times, and yet, every time, I want to watch it again. That is the strange sweetness of devotion. You don't get tired of what you love. You can hear the same name a thousand times, sing the same aarti every evening, listen to the same leela again and again, and still the heart says, “Once more.” That is bhakti.
I have not shared my spiritual experiences publicly for almost three years. Some experiences are too precious to explain; they feel almost sacred when kept quietly within the heart. But this time, I couldn't resist. Not because I want anyone to believe me. Not because I want to prove anything. But because I have experienced something so beautiful that I wish everyone could take at least one dip in this divine ocean of devotion.
Listen to His stories. Contemplate upon them. Meditate upon them. Let the stories settle into your heart. Take one step closer to Him. And perhaps, one quiet day, you too may suddenly discover that He was already there—sitting beside you, walking with you, eating with you, dancing with you, wiping your tears, and reminding you in the simplest possible way, “You are never alone. I am with you.”
Kabir's immortal words capture this mystery so beautifully: “Moko kahan dhoondhe re bande, main to tere paas mein.” Where are you searching for Me, O seeker? I am right beside you.
Perhaps God does not always have to be found. Perhaps sometimes… He simply has to be loved enough to be noticed. And when that happens, the greatest miracle of life may not be that you found God. It may be that you suddenly realize—God had quietly found you.
And now, my little Krishna sits in my lap.
And I pray that He never gets down.
Just as we lovingly give a name to a newborn child, I feel there is a beautiful tradition of giving a name to the little God who has entered our lives. Meera Bai called her beloved Krishna “Giridhar Gopal”, declaring, “Mere to Giridhar Gopal, doosaro na koye”—Giridhar Gopal is mine; I have no one else. My little Krishna, too, has quietly become such a beloved presence in my life. So, dear readers, I have a humble request: please suggest a beautiful name for my Baby Krishna. Perhaps the name will come from you, but who knows—maybe it will be Krishna Himself who chooses His name through you.
Happy Krishna Janmashtami to everyone!
Pic : AI Generated
