In the bustling market of Lalgudi, where the river Kollidam flowed not far away and the scent of spices mingled with the sweetness of jasmine, the cloth merchant Sundar sat outside his small shop one afternoon looking rather breathless. He had been rushing from one task to another, trying to expand, improve, and keep pace with the quicker traders around him.
Krishnan, the retired postmaster, happened to pass by on his slow walk and paused beside the shop.
“You seem to be running a race that has no finish line,” Krishnan observed mildly.
Sundar sighed. “Modern life keeps telling us to go faster, climb higher, become stronger. Citius, Altius, Fortius—the old Olympic motto has become the motto of our times. Hurry up or you will miss out. Grow bigger or you will be left behind. Lift heavier loads or step aside. Yet I have been reading Thoreau, who says that on modern improvements there is often an illusion; there is not always a positive advance.”
He continued, a little thoughtfully.
“Life is not an Olympic sport. In sport the game ends and the players live on; there are clear winners and losers; it is zero-sum. Life is an infinite game. The players finish, but the game continues. There are no final winners and losers, and win-win is usually the wiser way. So why should we not also try another motto—Tardius, Altius, Prudentius: Slower, Deeper, Wiser?”
Krishnan smiled his quiet smile and leaned lightly on his walking stick.
“Faster, higher, stronger is not always wrong,” he said, “but it is not always right either. Slowing down allows a man to see what he is actually doing. Going deeper into a few things often brings more than skimming lightly over many. Practising a little wisdom—questioning the rush itself—can save one from mistaking mere movement for progress. The river nearby does not hurry, yet it reaches the sea.”
Sundar sat quietly, watching the familiar flow of the market. The pressure to keep accelerating suddenly felt less necessary, while the idea of moving a little more slowly and thoughtfully felt like a relief.
“So the real improvement may sometimes lie in choosing not to race?” he asked.
“Often,” replied Krishnan. “Slower, deeper, wiser. That too is a kind of advance.”
A soft breeze moved through the market lanes. Krishnan raised a hand in farewell and continued his walk.
That evening, as Sundar closed his shop, he did not hurry through the final tasks. He folded the cloth with care, noticed the fading light, and walked home at an unhurried pace. And in the gentle, unassuming way of Lalgudi, where even the critique of modern speed arrives between the weighing scales and the cloth bolts, he began to experiment with a different motto—one that left room for depth and a little wisdom along the way.