Everyone has a purpose in life and a unique talent to give to

Host: The sunrise stretched slowly over the valley, spilling gold and rose into the mist like the world itself was being reborn. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet soil and jasmine from a nearby grove.

On the edge of a small hilltop, two figures stood facing the awakening world. Jack — tall, lean, with that perpetual furrow of thought in his brow — held a mug of coffee, steam curling like unanswered questions. Beside him, Jeeny leaned on the wooden railing of the overlook, the morning light painting her dark hair in quiet fire.

Below them, a village was stirring — temple bells, bicycle wheels, children’s laughter carried faintly on the dawn wind. It was the sound of life resuming — humble, rhythmic, profoundly alive.

Jeeny: (softly) “Kallam Anji Reddy once said — ‘Everyone has a purpose in life and a unique talent to give to others. And when we blend this unique talent with service to others, we experience the ecstasy and exultation of our own spirit, which is the ultimate goal of all goals.’”

Jack: (half-smiling) “That’s… poetic. And almost dangerous.”

Jeeny: (turning toward him) “Dangerous?”

Jack: “Yeah. Purpose is intoxicating. Once people start believing they have one, they’ll burn the world to prove it.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “You always see the fire before the light.”

Jack: “And you always see the halo before the flame.”

Host: The wind stirred, catching the edges of their clothes, the sound of distant chants drifting up from the valley. The light grew brighter — not harsh, but certain — carving gold out of every shadow.

Jeeny: “Maybe purpose isn’t about ambition, Jack. It’s about alignment. Reddy wasn’t talking about power. He was talking about contribution — blending what you are with what the world needs.”

Jack: “That sounds neat on paper. But life’s not an equation. What if your talent doesn’t fit the world’s demand? What if your purpose doesn’t pay the rent?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe your purpose isn’t your job. Maybe it’s how you do the job.”

Host: The camera drifted slowly around them, circling the edge of the hill — two figures framed against the horizon, symbols of conflict and clarity in equal measure.

Jack: “You know, I’ve always hated the word ‘purpose.’ It’s like this invisible burden people carry — this pressure to be meaningful. Sometimes survival is the only purpose people can afford.”

Jeeny: “And yet survival is the seed of service. Even those who have little can give something — time, kindness, compassion. The smallest act can align with the biggest purpose.”

Jack: “So you’re saying we’re all here to serve?”

Jeeny: “To serve through what we are, not what we’re told to be. Reddy built medicines to heal others — that was his talent. But the healing wasn’t in the drug; it was in the devotion.”

Jack: “Devotion gets people hurt, Jeeny. Especially when the world doesn’t care.”

Jeeny: “But the world changes because of those who care despite that.”

Host: The sun finally broke above the ridge, spilling full light across their faces — a cinematic baptism of color. Jeeny’s expression softened; Jack’s remained guarded, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a faint recognition.

Jack: “You think everyone really has a purpose?”

Jeeny: “Yes. But not everyone finds it, because they’re too busy chasing recognition instead of resonance.”

Jack: “Resonance?”

Jeeny: “The moment when what you do for others feeds what you are. That’s the ecstasy Reddy was talking about.”

Jack: “Sounds spiritual.”

Jeeny: “It’s biological. We’re wired to connect. Service releases serotonin, empathy fires the brain’s reward centers. Science has finally caught up with spirituality.”

Host: The camera tightened on Jack’s face — the furrow fading slightly, replaced by thought, by something like quiet awe.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I thought success was independence — proving I didn’t need anyone. Now… I wonder if real success is the opposite — realizing you’re part of something bigger.”

Jeeny: “That’s not weakness, Jack. That’s wisdom.”

Jack: “So the ultimate goal of all goals is… belonging?”

Jeeny: “Belonging through giving. Connection through purpose.”

Host: The wind calmed, the sound of morning life below now vibrant and whole. A farmer’s voice called out in the distance, followed by the clatter of pots, the hum of the waking earth.

Jack: “You know, I used to think I’d find purpose in winning. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s in usefulness.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Usefulness is love translated into action.”

Jack: “And what if you give everything and the world doesn’t notice?”

Jeeny: “Then you’ve already won — because the giving changed you.”

Host: She said it quietly, like prayer. Jack looked at her, the edges of his expression softening into something unguarded.

Jack: “You really believe that, don’t you? That purpose isn’t something you chase, but something you share.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because the world doesn’t need more greatness. It needs more grace.”

Host: A flock of birds lifted suddenly from the trees below — a flurry of wings catching the first full light. Jack watched them rise, their movement effortless, almost choreographed by the wind.

Jack: (whispering) “Maybe that’s it — purpose is flight, not ownership. You rise by lifting others.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. You see? You’re starting to sound like a believer.”

Jack: (smiling) “Or a fool.”

Jeeny: “They’re often the same at first.”

Host: The camera pulled back, showing the vast sweep of the landscape — the valley alive, the sky expanding, the two of them small but centered within the endless design.

The morning light wrapped them both — not as reward, but as revelation.

And as the world brightened, Kallam Anji Reddy’s truth seemed to hum through the air — not in words, but in resonance:

That purpose is not found,
but remembered.

That every soul carries a gift,
and the moment it is given,
it becomes grace.

That service is not sacrifice,
but symphony —
the blending of what we are
with what the world still needs.

And that the ultimate goal of all goals
is not glory,
but the quiet, ecstatic realization
that by helping others rise,
we finally learn
how to fly.