One of the biggest lessons I've learnt is patience. It's

Hear, O listener, the words of Rahul Dev, who speaks not only as an actor upon the stage of cinema, but as a father upon the stage of life: “One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt is patience. It’s critical when raising a child.” In these words lies the distilled wisdom of countless generations, for though tools and kingdoms may change, the art of raising the young has ever required the long endurance of the heart. What Dev utters is not merely a personal reflection but a truth carved deep into the marrow of humanity’s story.

For a child is not clay to be molded swiftly, nor a crop that grows in a single season. A child is like a tree, rooted in mystery, needing years of nurture, of storms endured, of seasons patiently borne. To rush the growth of a tree is to break it; to demand of a child what they are not yet ready to give is to wound the very soul entrusted to you. Hence, Dev names patience not as an accessory, but as the very core of parenthood. Without it, love falters; with it, love endures.

The ancients knew this truth. In the tales of Sparta, young boys were trained harshly from early years, their childhood stolen in the name of strength. Yet even their might could not outlast the patience of Rome, whose legions waited, planned, and endured across centuries. And in another story, more tender, we find Confucius teaching his disciples the way of respect and cultivation: that children must be guided as one guides the water in a stream—gently channeled, never forced. Through patience, the wild becomes ordered, the weak becomes strong, and the tender grows into wisdom.

Patience is no passive waiting. It is an active, living force. It is the strength to endure tantrums without anger, to answer questions without weariness, to repeat the same lesson a hundred times until it takes root. It is the courage to watch mistakes unfold without rushing to erase them, knowing that in failure a child learns resilience. Patience is the shield that guards love against frustration, and the sword that cuts away the pride of parents who demand perfection.

History offers countless examples. Consider the mother of Thomas Edison, whose teachers called him slow, unfit for learning. But she, with patience, guided him at home, nurturing his curiosity, bearing his endless experiments. In time, the boy who had been dismissed became the man who lit the world. Without her patience, his flame might never have burned. So it is with every child: their genius, their kindness, their destiny is not unlocked in haste, but in the slow unfolding of years.

Thus, O guardians of the young, let Dev’s lesson be your compass. Do not measure your child by the swiftness of their steps, but by the steadiness of their journey. When anger rises in you, breathe and remember: this moment of trial is not eternal, but your response to it may shape eternity. When impatience whispers to hurry, to force, to scold, remember that the seed cannot be pulled from the soil to grow faster. Trust time, trust love, trust the slow miracle of becoming.

The practical path is this: each day, set aside your urgency. Speak slowly, listen deeply, correct gently. Celebrate progress, however small, and let mistakes be teachers rather than enemies. Teach by example, for patience begets patience. And above all, do not forget that the child is not only learning from you—you are also being shaped by them, refined in the crucible of waiting, tested in the fire of daily endurance.

So let it be remembered: “One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt is patience. It’s critical when raising a child.” For in this lesson lies the power to raise not just sons and daughters, but a generation of souls tempered by love, steadied by guidance, and strengthened by time. And those who master this art will leave behind not monuments of stone, but living legacies written in the hearts of their children.