The first time I stumbled upon the term peaceful co-existence, it was buried in the pages of a civics textbook, in the Panchsheel principles.

 I was a child then, too young to truly grasp its weight. Decades have passed since that classroom moment, and yet, the term clung to the corners of my memory, surfacing now and then, especially when the world seemed anything but peaceful.

Our grandparents, those steadfast carriers of tradition, coined this mantra and handed it down to our parents like a sacred heirloom.

They accepted it unquestioningly, weaving it into the fabric of their lives. But for us?

We were the rebels. We were the ones who shook the jar, refusing to let the sediment settle.

I’ll confess—peaceful co-existence wasn’t my strong suit either. Life, for me, was a race. Victory wasn’t just sweet; it was intoxicating.

But the thrill wasn’t complete until the rival stumbled. Professional milestones, personal triumphs, even something as mundane as planning a vacation—everything was a comparison.

The destination didn’t matter; what mattered was how it stacked up against someone else’s.

A weekend getaway felt worthwhile only when it garnered enough likes on social media. The toxic elation of one-upping someone was undeniable.

But then came the teenagers. The ones who are now old enough to vote and remind us of our own lost wisdom.

My interactions with them were meant to be casual, yet they became transformative.

"How does another person’s success bother me?" one of them asked casually during a discussion. The question wasn’t accusatory; it was genuine. It left me speechless. How indeed?

Their outlook was startlingly simple yet profound. They had no time to nurse grudges over secondhand grievances. “Why should I hate someone just because they’ve upset someone I know?

They’ve done nothing to me.” Such clarity of thought! They didn’t see the need to sever ties just because someone’s personality didn’t align with theirs.

“They’re distant because they want to be,” another added. “Why let it disturb my peace?”

Their approach wasn’t aloofness; it was wisdom. They had mastered the art of compartmentalizing relationships, staying connected where necessary, and letting go where it served no purpose.

At first, I found their indifference unnerving. How could they be so unaffected by things that would’ve had me seething at their age?

But then, it dawned on me—they weren’t indifferent; they were free. Free from the chains of jealousy, comparison, and pettiness.

In them, I saw the teachings of the Buddha and the essence of the Bhagavad Gita come alive: Live and let live.

They tread their own paths without glancing over their shoulders, without turning others’ journeys into their yardsticks. They had achieved a sense of peace that had eluded us for decades—a nirvana in their infancy.

I left that interaction not just surprised but inspired. If peaceful co-existence was a lesson from the past, then this generation had not only learned it but had refined it into an art form.

Perhaps the wisdom of our ancestors had merely skipped a generation, waiting for these teenagers to revive it.

And here I am, a humbled student of the young, learning how to tread my path with grace and let others tread theirs. To live. And let live.