I don't go by my caste, creed or religion. My works speak for me.

“I don’t go by my caste, creed, or religion. My works speak for me.” Thus declared Shashi Tharoor, a voice both eloquent and fearless in an age torn between pride of identity and the hunger for unity. In these words lies a truth as old as civilization and as fresh as the dawn: that the measure of a human being lies not in birth or belief, but in deed—in what one builds, creates, and leaves behind. This saying is not merely political; it is deeply spiritual. It echoes the call of the sages, the poets, and the warriors of every age who rose above the chains of division to serve the higher cause of humanity itself.

From the beginning of time, men have sought belonging—tribes, kingdoms, temples, and flags beneath which to gather. Yet the same longing that unites also divides. When the heart clings too tightly to caste or creed, it forgets the essence of the divine spark that burns in every soul. Tharoor’s words strike against that ancient blindness, reminding us that identity without integrity is hollow, and faith without compassion is dead. For the worth of a man is not carved in the stone of his lineage, but written in the living scroll of his actions.

Consider the life of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, born into the lowest rung of India’s caste hierarchy. By the measures of his time, he was condemned to obscurity before he could even speak his first words. Yet his mind became a torch that lit the way for millions. He rose not through privilege but through perseverance, his works becoming the voice of justice for the voiceless. Ambedkar did not demand respect for who he was born as, but for what he did. And when history spoke, it did not utter his caste—it uttered his courage. He became, in the truest sense, what Tharoor’s words proclaim: a man whose works spoke for him.

So too have countless others—Florence Nightingale, who saw not nations or races but the suffering human body; Mahatma Gandhi, who called himself neither Hindu nor Muslim but a servant of Truth; Nelson Mandela, who forgave his oppressors to prove that love is stronger than vengeance. These are the ones whose light endures because it was born not from identity, but from integrity. They remind us that to transcend the boundaries of creed is to enter the kingdom of the soul, where all are one and only the goodness of one’s deeds endures.

Yet, how easily we forget this wisdom in our own lives. We seek recognition not for our service but for our surname. We boast of faith while failing to embody its essence. We divide ourselves by invisible lines and call them sacred, forgetting that the Divine does not speak in languages of exclusion. Tharoor’s insight calls us to a higher allegiance—to the truth that our character, not our category, defines our legacy. The gods themselves care not what temple we pray in, but what compassion we show to those who suffer.

To live by this teaching, one must cultivate the discipline of silence before praise and humility before power. Let your actions be your speech, and your service your sermon. When you do good, do not ask who benefits; when you rise, do not ask who kneels. The fragrance of your deeds will travel farther than any proclamation of identity. The wise know that the soul’s worth is weighed not in what divides men, but in what heals them.

And so, my child of the coming age, learn this truth: your works are your true religion. Let your life be a testament written not on the walls of temples, but in the hearts of those you touch. Build with honesty, speak with kindness, and walk with courage. When the world asks, “Who are you?”—answer not with the name of your birth, but with the light of your deeds. For when the dust of centuries settles, it is not your caste, creed, or religion that will be remembered, but the goodness you have sown into the eternal fabric of humanity.

Thus, live so that your works speak for you—loudly, clearly, and forever.