The day we laid that cold crust of earth over your body, something in me went missing. I watched the people crying around the grave and couldn’t understand why they mourned someone they saw perhaps once a year. Then I looked at my mother. Silent, glittering in her overdressed elegance, as if she wanted you to envy her for still being alive. Perhaps it was her revenge for all those years spent chasing your approval and failing. After she divorced you, she drifted away from me too. I only wish it had happened sooner; her presence or absence never changed much.
Back home, the smell of grass and that fog-soaked cemetery settled in my mind. Objects lost themselves in that inner fog. I hunted for keys already in my pocket. In the narrow hallway between our two rooms, tasks slipped from my memory, and every cup of coffee went cold. Food tasted dull. I checked the stove, the doors, the water taps over and over. I fought life so hard that numbness wrapped itself around me. I went to bed exhausted and woke even more worn, my body nothing but bruised fatigue.
When the routine finally defeated me, the real battle began: the one inside. First came denial, the refusal to admit the weight of your absence. Then collapse. I cried, but the wound in my soul stayed hollow. And so, I began to write. The very work you never wanted for me. Not for you, who are gone and will remain gone, but for the version of you still living inside me.
I built stories about you, replayed memories. Then I realized the one inside me was not you at all. He was the father I had wanted. His face resembled yours through a softening veil of mist, but he was kind. He didn’t wait for me to fail. He didn’t frown or correct or sigh in disappointment. His small, cutting smiles were gone. I found memories that had never existed. In one, I had made a mistake, and the imagined you placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. You consoled me. Praised me. Forgave me. Touched me with a tenderness I had never known. Father.
Then, as if waking abruptly, another battle began. The first fight was with you. I pictured your aged body in the garden, the small red trowel in your hand. I sat you across from me on a chair, just as you used to sit in silence tending your flowers. No words, no criticism, no energy for long arguments.
I asked the image of you whether you had ever loved me. I cast you as guilty, myself as righteous. Your head was bowed while I hurled my anger and sorrow at your face. Why had you never praised me, even when I was promoted in the job you had insisted, I pursue? I showed you every wound. The day you left home. My mother clutching the phone, crying as she whispered about your selfishness. Her words sank into me, the same way they had sunk into her years before. And the night someone burned all my childhood photos. I always thought it was you. But no. It was her.
I stared at the cup of cold coffee in my shaking hand. My dry mouth. My reflection glaring back at me from the porcelain. That face was terrifyingly familiar. Yours. You had lived inside me all along. Fear seized the cup and shattered it against the floor. For a moment, time perched on the broken shards. The sound cracked something in me. Shame replaced anger. I felt a sudden tenderness for the old, silent man in my memories. He wasn’t the one who had hurt me. The face that had wounded me was right there in the fragments: the knotted brows, the thin white strands at the temples, that smug, dismissive curl of the lips. It was me. I was you, and you were the small boy who kept his eyes on the ground.
When I could breathe again, the second battle began. The one with myself. Had I ever loved you? Ever understood you? Had I ever been brave enough to ask to be touched, even once?
There was only one way to find an answer. I went through the old photo albums, damp with the smell of mold. Each page a tether to the past. My ninth birthday: my mother cooking your favorite dish, not mine. I still don’t know whether she feared you or wanted to force her way into your heart. My graduation photos from the field you had chosen for me. The New Year’s pictures smiling over a buried argument.
Anger. Then grief. Then contempt. Then something softer. Until I reached thirty-five years back. The winter day I slipped on the ice. My cheeks numb, my hands cracked and burning from the cold. You lifted me up, brushed me off. I searched your eyes for disapproval. Instead, you knelt so I could climb onto your back. I still feel the warmth of your shoulders on my frozen skin. You put a bandage on my scraped palms. You told me growing up always hurts.
I framed that photo of my bandaged hand and placed it where the missing piece of me used to be. The hollow in my chest began to fill, building a fragile bridge of memories and faint smiles. I turned the pages again and looked at the child in those pictures. Why had I never seen all those small smiles before?
Father, I wish you could have freed yourself from the stern man you had chained yourself to.
Achieving Success in Professional Communication – A Core Competency of the Modern Individual
Today’s globalized world demands not only rapid technological development but also clear, effective, and meaningful communication between people. No matter the profession — whether a teacher, doctor, entrepreneur, or an aspiring specialist — one cannot reach their full potential without mastering professional communication. In many cases, success begins not with knowledge itself, but with the ability to express that knowledge correctly.
Communication – A Reflection of Professionalism
How a specialist speaks, their tone, and the clarity with which they present their thoughts all define their level of professionalism. Very often, a successful negotiation, a solved problem, or gained trust is the direct result of skillful communication. Modern work culture requires every employee not only to perform their tasks but also to cooperate effectively within a team and build constructive dialogue with clients.
Key Principles of Professional Communication
1. Clarity and Conciseness
Unnecessary expressions and deviations from the topic prolong conversations and weaken the outcome. The best speech is purposeful, brief, and meaningful.
2. The Culture of Listening
Many rush to express their own views, yet true success lies in the ability to listen. Hearing the other person fully and demonstrating understanding builds strong trust.
3. Ethics and Respect
Tone of voice, body language, and forms of address are important in professional interactions. Communication built on respect eases even the toughest situations.
4. Conflict Management
A professional does not escalate tension when problems arise. Instead, they analyze the situation and guide the discussion toward constructive solutions.
5. Adhering to Digital Communication Etiquette
Emails, messaging apps, and online meetings have become an inseparable part of work life. Writing professional emails, giving clear responses, and following online etiquette are all signs of true professionalism.
Why Is Professional Communication So Important Today?
Because in a rapidly changing labor market, the main factor that distinguishes individuals is how they present themselves. Strong communication skills:
provide a competitive advantage during job applications,
strengthen respect within teams,
enhance leadership potential,
help in making correct decisions during complex situations.
Conclusion
Professional communication is not just “speaking beautifully” — it is the foundation of every decision, partnership, and achievement. A person who can express their thoughts clearly, listen respectfully, and engage in cultured dialogue will succeed not only at work but in all aspects of life.
Improving communication skills is an important investment in ourselves, for those who know how to work with people are never deprived of opportunities.
Termez State University, Faculty of Uzbek Philology, Group 124, Journalism Department, Kucharov Bakhodir
Help me understand why nothing matters. Repeatedly, I listen to a joke that is not funny. Maybe my ears do not work. Maybe I am drunk, too drunk, and my mind, my poor mind is gone. I could barely hear my own thoughts. In my head I hear dogs barking and a tarantula dancing and time beating backward. I grow tired of sound. If a tree falls, I cannot hear it when I see it drop in front of me. In my head an orange sunset swallows a burning plane whole. I hear my heart racing. I pretend my heart has stopped. Believe me that nothing matters. When I think back, I could never find my footing. The ground broke my fall. Above the sky stood witness all day and all of the night.
Kicking Stones
I will not go along the road without kicking stones that are in the way. I kicked one so far that it was not seen again. I believe it went up to the clouds. I think it put a hole in the sun. I believe it brought down a satellite. The others only exploded right after I kicked them, too brittle for this world.
Go Nowhere
If I could anywhere, I want to go nowhere. With these eyes as my windows, I could see far and wide. I could see inside myself. I could hear everything I have ever forgotten. I can see the truth which is basically nothing depending on what you believe. I can see nowhere. It is where I want to go.
See the Mountains
I was born where I could not see the mountains from the street I grew up from birth to seven years of age. When I moved across the border, I saw rivers, places named after words I did not understand, and I saw the mountains from the street where I lived. I had to relearn the alphabet, to learn the new words, the new language I would use to fit in, to get by, to make a life, a living in this country. On a bright early morning I saw people who came to this country like me, people who worked hard to make a living, to feed their family, being taken away by masked goons. I could see the mountains where I stood. I wondered if I went there, if I would be safer than living in suburban or the urban streets.
My Suits
My suits have not been used for years. They hang in the closet worn by a man who was more slender in those times the suit came off the hangar. My body has transformed over the years, been on the operating table, cut into to get the cancer out to allow me to live one more decade if the fates will allow. In this daily existence I have measured my steps, counted the minutes, and worked at a mind-drudging job to pay the bills, care for my family, and help those less fortunate than me. My suits gather dust, speechless, non-judgmental in the same place I left them. I would need to shed twenty, thirty, fifty pounds to wear them well, to button at least one button, or maybe two. My ties have suffered from the same neglect.
When nature’s patience is tested beyond the tolerance level, the cosmic forces burst upon humanity in vengeance. The divine forces which love peace, are not known to forgive their betrayers. -Anand
The cosmos is governed by harmony and order, while the human world is characterized by chaos. As soon as a man is born, it is like a bubble which is created by trapping wind in the thin layers of water, and so long as it stays on the body of the water, it causes ripples and disruptions, and finally loses itself to the flowing waters. Thus, the essential feature of the cosmos is harmony and human beings and their passions create ripples and cause disturbance in this reign of peace.
Harmony, the Essential Feature
There is something which likes harmony, peace, and flow and this ‘something’ does not like disruption. There are men, who by their very nature, believe in the cosmic flow. But there are men who have the audacity to prick the cosmic forces with their smartness and annoy nature’s wisdom. All the overtures of man which conflict with nature are judged on merit. This process takes time and it is during this period that men who violate harmony think that, as there is no one to cry foul, there is nothing wrong in it.
The Calculated Dog-Bark
In fact, to understand the nature of cosmic forces, let us take the example of a dog who is lying in its trance on the road. If you are passing by like a gentleman, it will ignore your presence. But if you try to assume some airs, and pass causing unnecessary disruptions and speaking loudly, the dog may take offence at your inordinate actions which disturb his peace. It will issue a calculated bark. But if he finds you are consistent in your non-sensical behaviour, and do not walk like a natural human being, the bark would become a bit shrill and fierce too. That is why there is a proverb: let sleeping dogs lie.
Now apply this logic to the cosmic forces. They are busy in their daily spin. Everything is at the right angle. If there are disruptions, it is only because men create a mess. There are no natural disasters. Every disaster has a human connection. Tempests, earthquakes, whirlwinds, storms, cloudbursts – there are natural activities, but nature is peace loving, not quarrelsome by nature. When nature’s patience is tested beyond the tolerance level, the cosmic forces burst upon humanity in vengeance.
The Dynamics of Peaceful Living
Peace is the result of leading a life which is based on faith in the cosmic wisdom. Men work hard to earn their livelihood without flirting with nature’s order. But men are ancestored by apes, and they believe in smartness, which is not to the liking of cosmic forces. All those who assert their selfish wisdom come to grief. This world is full of people who go on playing foul with nature’s rhythm, and keep building fortunes. But nature quietly registers their pranks, and in time brings them down. The divine forces which love peace, are not known to forgive their betrayers. The pain and suffering that we see in the world is the result of men trying to wage a war with nature’s order, trying to get more than is permitted, finally coming to grief. They are all over-reachers who do not believe patience, and disrupt the cosmic flow.
Everything evolves in time. But those who forced the cart in a particular direction have caused bloodshed on this earth. Gods know in which direction they want to take men. And it is best to attune ourselves to the rhythm of nature and live accordingly. The first thing is to click the ‘forget’ button. And then to unlearn what we have learnt so far and return to that pristine stage of innocence – this is what gods want and this is what we resist so powerfully, leading to pain and suffering in life and the punishment which is waiting for us, in this very world, when we over-reach ourselves.
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, with an opus of 180 plus books, is Laureate of the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky awards. His name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. Anand is a towering literary figure whose work embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision. He is not only lone of the most influential voices in contemporary Indian poetry, but a global voice, challenging readers to confront the complexities of existence while offering hope through art and ethics.
