I find I am growing fonder of gardening, listening to music and

The words “I find I am growing fonder of gardening, listening to music and reading” were spoken by Sharmila Tagore, one of India’s most graceful and enduring figures of art and cinema — a woman whose life has been lived amid both the light of fame and the quiet of reflection. In these gentle words lies a truth that has guided sages and poets across centuries: that as one matures, the heart turns from noise to stillness, from pursuit to peace, from outward splendor to inner harmony. What she expresses is not mere preference but the awakening of the soul — the discovery that beauty and meaning are most deeply found in simplicity, in the calm rhythms of life that nurture both the spirit and the mind.

To say she is “growing fonder” is to confess a transformation — a gradual ripening of the soul that comes only with experience. In youth, our hearts burn for conquest: for ambition, recognition, and the applause of the world. But as time softens us, we begin to see that joy is not found in what we chase, but in what we tend. Thus, gardening, music, and reading become sacred acts of communion — with earth, with spirit, and with wisdom. In the garden, one learns patience and reverence; in music, one finds rhythm and transcendence; and in reading, one converses with the eternal thoughts of humankind. These are not pastimes — they are the ways by which the soul returns home.

Throughout history, those who have walked far in life have arrived at the same realization. Consider Rabindranath Tagore, the poet and philosopher — and Sharmila Tagore’s own ancestor — who after achieving global fame, spent his later years in the serenity of Shantiniketan, surrounded by trees, students, and silence. He wrote that “the butterfly counts not months but moments,” a reminder that the fullness of life is found not in its length but in the depth with which it is lived. Like him, Sharmila’s affection for simple pleasures reflects the ancient truth that the outer world fades, but the inner world deepens. The wise do not fear this change — they embrace it as the flowering of peace.

Each of the three loves she names — gardening, music, and reading — represents a facet of harmony between the human and the divine. In the tending of plants, one participates in creation itself, learning humility before the mysterious power that turns seed into bloom. In music, one hears the invisible mathematics of heaven — the order behind chaos, the melody that unites all hearts. And in reading, one travels across time and mind, partaking in the shared wisdom of humanity. These pursuits, though quiet, are profoundly creative. They remind us that restfulness is not idleness, and that contemplation can be as noble as action.

The emotional undercurrent of this quote speaks to the season of life — the time when one no longer measures worth by achievement, but by serenity. Sharmila’s reflection echoes the journey of countless souls who, after the thunder of youth and the toil of labor, come to cherish stillness. It is the same stillness that the Buddha found beneath the Bodhi tree, the same that Leonardo da Vinci sought in his notebooks, the same that saints and poets have found in gardens, libraries, and songs. To grow fonder of such things is not withdrawal, but wisdom — the maturity that comes when one no longer needs to prove, but only to be.

In this sense, her words are not only personal but universal. They are a gentle counsel to every heart restless with striving: slow down, and rediscover what truly feeds the spirit. The world may tell you to accumulate, to perform, to race — but the soul whispers otherwise. It asks for soil under your fingers, music in your ears, and words that awaken your mind. It asks you to dwell where life breathes quietly.

The lesson, then, is this: as you walk through the stages of life, seek not only success but balance. Let your passions be tempered by reflection. Tend your garden — literal or metaphorical — with love. Listen to music not for distraction, but for communion. Read not merely for knowledge, but for the shaping of the heart.

Practical actions: Set aside time each day for stillness — a walk among growing things, a piece of music that opens the soul, a page of wisdom that speaks to the eternal. Protect these small rituals as sacred. For it is in these quiet, deliberate acts that the noise of the world falls away and the voice of peace — the voice of God within — can at last be heard.