Five Acts of Kindness. It sounds small — almost shy. What can five random gestures really do? But think of it like that famous “ek chutki sindoor” — one tiny pinch that changes everything. Just like how Ramesh babu didn’t know the power of ek chutki sindoor, we are unaware of the impact, these random acts of kindness can have. Those five little acts hold more power than they look.
So yes, these acts of kindness — even though we think they won’t have an impact — every action ripples outward like stones dropped into still water. These are acts, and when you add kindness to your actions, they leave only positive imprints. They don’t go to waste; they don’t dissolve into nothingness. They stay there with their positive impact, weaving themselves into the fabric of someone’s day, someone’s memory, someone’s heart.
Here I am to write about the five acts of kindness, because even when we think we can’t help or give each other anything substantial, the least we can do for one another — for everybody around us — is to act with kindness. Today I practiced these five acts of kindness. In the last twenty-four hours, I discovered something beautiful: even while writing about them, I can feel the impact they left not only on the people on the receiving end but on me as well.
Just like how when a bullet is fired, the recoiling effect moves you backward, when I performed these acts of kindness, they left something positively blossoming within me as well. It’s Newton’s third law applied to the heart — for every act of kindness, there’s an equal and opposite reaction of joy, purpose, and connection flowing back into your soul.
These were the five acts of kindness I performed, each one a small revolution in its own right:
1. Made Dalia for My Mother
My mother was not feeling well, and I found it the perfect time to connect with her. I made her ‘Dalia’ — just that simple.
There’s something profoundly intimate about cooking for someone you love when they’re unwell. In that moment, the roles reversed beautifully.
We sat together as she ate, talking about small things and big dreams, and I realized that cooking for someone isn’t just about feeding their body — it’s about feeding their soul with the knowledge that they matter, that someone cares enough to create something warm and healing just for them.
2. Truce with My Brother
My brother and I have a special bond, I think, and we do love fighting with each other in this strange, beautiful way of sibling connection. Where other people usually express love through beautiful words and gentle gestures, we often pull each other’s legs in fun banters, engage in mock battles, and show affection through playful antagonism. It’s our language of love, written in sarcasm and sealed with laughter.
Yesterday, in one such banter, I ended up not talking to him. You see, if you want a favor from a sibling, you have to use such tactics in sibling relationships — in fact, this is the only way to get money out of his pocket, especially when there’s a perfect opportunity for pizza involved. But this time, the silence stretched longer than intended, creating an awkward space between us that felt heavier than our usual dramatic standoffs.
So I decided to call a truce. Not because I needed that pizza money (though I definitely still wanted it), but because I realized that kindness sometimes means swallowing your pride, even when you’re not entirely wrong.
Without any grand apologies or explanations, we just started talking again, falling back into our natural rhythm of jokes and gentle teasing.
The beautiful thing about sibling relationships is that they teach you unconditional love disguised as conditional annoyance. We fight because we’re comfortable enough to disagree, and we make up because we can’t imagine life without each other’s chaotic presence.
3. Cleaned My Room
My mother is always working, always moving, always doing all the chores that keep our household running like a well-oiled machine. Her hands are perpetually busy — cooking, cleaning, organizing, managing — and rarely does she sit down without finding something else that needs her attention. She’s the invisible force that makes our home feel like home, and yet her efforts often go unnoticed until they’re absent.
I looked around my room and saw it through her eyes: clothes scattered like fallen leaves, books stacked in precarious towers, papers spread across every surface like evidence of a creative explosion. This wasn’t just my mess — it was another task on her endless mental list, another burden on shoulders that already carry so much.
So I rolled up my sleeves and began the transformation. But cleaning my room became more than just organizing objects — it became a meditation on gratitude. With every item I put in its place, I thought about how much my mother does without being asked, how she creates order from chaos daily, how she transforms a house into a sanctuary through her countless small acts of care.
It wasn’t just about the clean space — it was about me finally seeing her labor and choosing to share it, about recognizing that kindness sometimes means doing things before you’re asked, about understanding that a clean room is really a gift of time and peace to someone who gives so much of both to others.
The room stayed clean longer than usual, not just because everything had its place, but because I had finally understood the true cost of cleanliness — and the true gift of maintaining it.
4. Feeding the Cats
There are new cats in the under-construction house just across the road. I first noticed them a few weeks ago — a small family of strays who had claimed the empty structure as their temporary home. The mother, and her three kittens, all fluff and curiosity, who tumbled over each other in play while she watched with patient vigilance.
Yesterday, I decided to bridge that gap. I gathered some bread and rice from our dinner, mixed it with a little milk, and walked across the road with a small bowl. The construction site was quiet, scattered with building materials and dreams of future homes, but for now, it belonged to these small creatures who asked for nothing but survival.
The mother cat approached first, cautious but curious, her maternal instincts weighing hunger against potential danger. I set the bowl down and stepped back, giving her space to decide. Soon, the kittens followed, tiny faces buried in the bowl.
Watching them eat, I felt something profound shift inside me. These cats didn’t need my help to survive — they were resourceful, strong, adapted to their circumstances.
Sometimes it’s just recognizing another living being’s hunger and choosing to do something about it.
5. Being Kind to Myself
I think we always talk about kindness for others, but sometimes we don’t realize how harsh we are with ourselves. We become our own worst critics, our own cruelest judges, our own most unforgiving adversaries. We hold ourselves to standards we would never impose on others, and punish ourselves for human imperfections that we readily forgive in everyone else.
As Waymond from “Everything Everywhere All at Once” said: “We have to be kind, especially when we don’t know what’s going on.” And isn’t that the truth of our existence? Most of the time, we don’t know what’s happening. We’re all just making our way through an incomprehensible universe, doing our best with limited information, carrying invisible wounds and secret fears that we rarely share with anyone.
So I became kind to myself yesterday, and it felt revolutionary. I gave myself permission to rest without guilt, to exist without constantly proving my worth through productivity. I made myself a cup of tea — not because I was thirsty, but because the ritual itself was a form of self-care, a small ceremony of attention to my own needs.
I read the book I’ve been wanting to finish for a long, long time: “Why Nations Fail”. Not because it was on some self-improvement list or because it would make me more knowledgeable or impressive, but simply I wanted to.
There were no apologies for the time spent reading instead of being “productive.” No guilt for choosing pleasure over obligation. No harsh internal monologue about all the things I should be doing instead. Just the quiet joy of turning pages, of following characters through their journeys, of feeling my mind expand and my heart connect with experiences different from my own.
I also forgave myself for the mistakes I made yesterday, last week, last year. I spoke to my reflection with the same gentleness I would offer a dear friend going through a difficult time. I acknowledged my efforts, celebrated my small victories, and accepted my imperfections as part of what makes me beautifully human.
The most surprising thing about being kind to myself was how it affected everything else. When I stopped being my own enemy, I had more energy to be present for others. When I stopped criticizing every thought and action, I became more creative, more generous, more alive. Self-kindness isn’t selfish — it’s the foundation that makes all other kindness possible.
These five acts of kindness taught me something profound: kindness is not a finite resource that diminishes when shared. Instead, it multiplies, creating ripples that extend far beyond our ability to track or measure. Each act was small, simple, easily overlooked by the busy world around us. But together, they created something larger — a day marked not by what I accomplished or acquired, but by how I chose to move through the world.
Today is over, but tomorrow offers five new opportunities. Five new chances to choose kindness over indifference, connection over isolation, love over fear. And in making those choices, we discover that we’re not just performing acts of kindness — we’re becoming kinder people, creating a kinder world, one small gesture at a time.
