What Is Shukar?
Is it more than just saying thank you?
Now I finally understand why my father used to get angry. He loved everyone the same way he loved his own family. His love was never “more for some, less for others.” It was just… equal. Open. Full.
But when people would show him that “We never really considered you our own,” something in him would snap. He’d get angry - at the ingratitude.
…..
Shukar.
What even is shukar?
Gratitude.
A verb.
An action.
How does one perform this action?
just saying “thank you” once - is that shukar?
Is it repeating the word over and over “shukar, shukar, shukar” - is that shukar?
Or is shukar something you carry in your body - in the way you act, in the way you show up when it’s time?
The person who taught me how to write, and now that writing has turned into my destination, my purpose, my life -
How do I do shukar for that person?
The one who kept giving me the courage to keep going, to keep dreaming -
How do I thank that person?
And what about the creator who gave me this life, this soul, this mind and body -
How do I thank them?
Shukar is such a tiny word in Gurmukhi.
But the weight of it? I still don’t quite understand.
How do I do shukar?
I still don’t know.
What is shukar, really?
How do you repay a love that never asked for repayment in the first place?
This is beautifully written, Arsh.
I like how you started with the "Shukar" you offered your dad. Perhaps true Shukar is not something we can fully repay with words. Maybe it is something we live.
In the way we carry forward the love we received.
In the way we honor those who shaped us.
In the way we remain humble before the gifts we did not earn, yet were given anyway.
And perhaps that is why “shukar” feels so vast despite being such a small word. Good luck with your writings. Keep it going.
Arsh, "New Beginnings" feels like a quiet companion for those learning to return to themselves gently.
What I appreciate most in your writing is the softness with which you approach growth and reflection. There is no pressure to become something else overnight. Only an invitation to pause, notice, and begin again with awareness.
Your words create space for both stillness and unfolding, and that is a rare gift.