I must have been eight or nine years old, enjoying the lovely autumn break (Dussehra holidays). One day, as I was returning from the park — after chasing dragonflies with a happy buzz in my head — I spotted a coin of twenty-five paise. This was far higher than my usual pocket money of ten paise.

Mummy had often told me that if I ever found money, I should either give it to someone in need or offer it at the temple. The temple was nearby, but at that moment the only needy person I could see was…me!

So I turned back to the park and bought some churan (junk food) with my unexpected fortune. Running late for lunch, I ate it in a rush and headed home.

By the time I reached, I was nauseous and feeling sick — whether from guilt or the churan, I couldn’t tell. As I climbed the stairs, each step felt heavier. Mummy took one look at me and knew something was wrong. When she asked, I came clean.

She spoke of greed — using what wasn’t mine.

Of disobedience — ignoring her guidance.

Of consequence — the sickness I now felt.

But beyond all that, she spoke of something deeper: conscience. That inner whisper that tells us right from wrong, even when no one is watching.

That day, I began to understand the meaning of a moral compass, and why it’s important to follow it even in the face of temptation.