Life’s Balancing Act: Rethinking Fairness in the World

This essay revisits the timeless question of fairness: Do we get what we deserve? While equality is an objective concept, fairness is inherently subjective, shaped by personal perspectives, incomplete knowledge, and cultural context. Absolute equality in life is unattainable, and the claim that the world is definitively fair or unfair cannot be proven. Instead of framing life through the binary of fairness versus unfairness, this essay proposes shifting the narrative toward recognizing the role of life’s balancing acts; subtle forces that mitigate inequality, soften the impact of injustice, and restore meaning in an imperfect world. Belief in such balancing principles does not imply that the world is inherently fair, but it provides a psychological framework that reduces resentment, fosters resilience, and enhances happiness, particularly among the vulnerable and disadvantaged. In this sense, fairness is less about strict reciprocity and more about the dynamic equilibrium of life. By moving from passive spectatorship to active recognition of these balancing forces, individuals may find greater contentment and view life as not absurd, but ultimately worth living.

The Race of Life: Fairness Beyond the Finish Line

This essay explores life as a metaphorical race, not of competition or outward triumph, but of deeper principles that redefine effort, victory, and fairness. Beginning with a dream in which the finish line recedes endlessly, it argues that life’s race is governed by laws beyond speed and success. Effort, grounded in causality, becomes both the path and the proof of progress. Yet true victory does not lie in possessions themselves but in the happiness they generate—an inner prize that remains possible even without possession. Finish lines may be visible to spectators, but the true finish lines are determined by personal perception rather than external applause. Fairness emerges in the ability of each individual to define success and to discover their own “happy medium.” The essay further emphasizes the interdependence of collective joy, the impartial role of chance, and the inevitability of death as the ultimate equalizer—spreading fairness in a life often judged unfair by those who measure it only through inequality. Together, these dimensions reveal that life’s fairness does not rest in equal outcomes, but in universal principles that make happiness both the prize and the measure of the race—the true currency that offsets inequality and creates a level field for everyone to harvest the fruits of effort and resilience.

If you were God and wanted to create a fair world, what could you have done differently?

Existentialist philosophers like Camus argue that life is absurd and inherently meaningless, implying a lack of fairness. Nietzsche suggests that fairness is a human construct imposed on an indifferent world. Similarly, Tolstoy viewed the world as absurd, citing glaring inequalities and a lack of justice. He believed that the absence of meaning in existence, compounded by the inevitability of death, underscored life’s absurdity. According to Tolstoy, people respond to this absurdity in three primary ways:

1.     Ignoring the Absurd
2.    Seeking Pleasure
3.    Relying on Faith

If you believe this world is not a fair place, you are in good company. In our study conducted across California, Panama, and Iran, nearly 80% of participants expressed the belief that the world is inherently unfair. This essay explores whether the structure of the world might support the possibility of inherent fairness and examines how contemplating fairness through the lens of happiness could offer new insights. It does not aim to prove that the world is fair but rather considers whether fairness might exist in subtle or overlooked forms. Moreover, the idea of fairness as synonymous with the notion that "we get what we deserve" remains open to interpretation.

Whispers of India

New Delhi—An Old Bride

New Delhi
an old bride
that still boasts
to the ancient town.

A city vibrant with life,
wrapped in a veil of dust and smog,
filled with the ceaseless hum of traffic,
the sharp cries of honking horns.

March marks the end of the tourist season,
yet the city extends its invitation—
vast, with its millions upon millions of lives,
resilient, relentless, unyielding.

Staying in a five-star hotel,
wrapped in the trappings of luxury,
we dare to step beyond
its polished Western disguise.

The real city lurks just outside,
its face raw and unfiltered.
Life flows in waves—
harsh, ruthless, unapologetic.
Haunting eyes stare,
challenging us to look back,
yet we hesitate.

The shame of being an outsider,
the fear of facing their scarcity,
makes us drift through them—
unseen, unseeing.

A beggar or two on a street—one can numb oneself to that.
But here, numbing takes more.
It demands surrendering a piece of your sanity
until you retreat to the refuge of your hotel.

Smiles greet us—
warm, practiced, uncertain.
Are they genuine?
Or do they wait for a tip
that may or may not reach their hands?

The sensory overload is inevitable.
Two glasses of cheap wine,
smuggled into the hotel from a nearby shop,
help dull the edges.
A cigarette by the pool
completes the illusion.

For a moment, we pretend we are home.
That life, as we know it, can go on.

We are here for a wedding.
Six events over three days—
an escape into rituals and spectacle,
a showcase of how life could be different.

Dressed in local attire,
we admire our reflection,
though the fabric screams, “borrowed.”
Still, it makes a good selfie.

Are these people happy?
Hard to tell.

Are they living the life they deserve?

The questions linger,
floating in the mind,
unanswered.

The Tale of Two Nations

A glimpse
of the Taj Mahal
through its grand gate
took our breath away.

A sense of pride
struck my heart—
Momtaz, who rests in peace,
was Persian.

A great Mughal emperor,
a devoted lover,
ordered a monument—
to remember and to be remembered.

But wait—
how could a Mughal emperor
create something
so exquisite?

Our memory of the Mongols
is one of ashes—
burning, slaughtering,
razing civilizations to the ground.

They conquered and ruled Persia.
All books were burned,
mosques torn down,
cities flattened.

And yet, in India, they saw a hero.
They unified a fractured land,
built mosques,
wove Persian culture into its fabric.

Here, they are remembered
as emperors who ruled a vast empire,
the ones who rebuilt
a broken nation of a hundred kings.

But in Iran, they remain invaders
the ones who demolished
what little remained
from past conquerors.

Two nations, one tribe.
A legacy divided—
a story told
by ruins and monuments.

The Union

A cheerful glow in yellow,
under the midday sun,
bathed in light, colors, and petals,
dancing, swaying in the joy of union.

Laughter rises, weaving bliss into the sky,
the sun envies the golden hues of their robes.
A ritual interwoven with songs and melodies,
the bride’s joy—pure, unguarded.

A feast of abundance, lavish and rich,
flavors lined up in eager invitation,
plates overflowing with fulfillment,
a table untouched by sacrifice.

A spectacle of light,
dancers twirling, voices soaring,
heralding the joy of union
in every breath, in every moment.

The celebration of union,
a beautiful translation of love,
the tale of two becoming one,
a new chapter in an ancient book.

Solace in Chaos

Unsettled in a car,
unnerving traffic.
Yielding is not part of the plan—
whoever gets the way first, wins the battle.
Yet the war of wheels looms on.

Ceaseless honking.
Small bikes with truck horns,
a symphony of sound—
nonstop, unapologetic, unorchestrated.

I retreat into my mind,
seeking some order.
I reach into my bag for a pill—
to tolerate the chaos.

Motorbikes, tricycles,
a pedestrian darting across,
a slow horse cart in the speed lane—
unbothered, unhurried.

A jeep stuffed with twenty passengers.
A truck barreling the wrong way.
Yet everyone is purposeful, determined—
men with missions.

But the driver—he is calm.
He cuts others off—calm.
They cut him off—calm.
No cursing. No anger.
No honking in rage.
No honking in protest.
No honking in insult.
Just playing his part
in the symphony.

The sun is setting on the horizon,
clearly tired of its day job.
A half-orange cloud
roving gently with the breeze—
unbothered by the honking,
unmoved by the traffic and crowd.

In a colorful play,
it dances softly with the last rays of the sun.

And yet—how alike they are.
Incontrovertible.
A solace in the sky,
and a solace in the driver’s seat.

A divine solace,
not cut from the cloth of mere tolerance.
This is acceptance.

A land of many kings, many gods—
yet India remains one nation.
More than a miracle.
The magic of acceptance.

If the world seeks to unite,
if it hopes to move beyond its divisions,
there remains one recipe:
Acceptance.