I’ve Been Teaching Evaan a 5,000-Year-Old Lesson. He Finally Gets It.

My son Evaan has been running, kicking, and competing for almost three years now. Soccer and Cricket games on weekends. Chess, Athletics, Cricket, Soccer and Martial Arts during the week. School every day in between. And for most of that time, the car ride home after a loss was the quietest, heaviest place on earth.

Not because he was dramatic. Because he cared. And he hadn’t yet learned the difference between caring about the work — and needing to own the outcome.

That difference is the entire Bhagavad Gita. In one verse. Written 5,000 years ago on a battlefield, to a warrior who had dropped his bow.

Arjuna’s Paralysis Looks a Lot Like an 7-Year-Old’s.

Before the greatest war in history began, the finest archer who ever lived — Arjuna — put down his weapon. Not because he was afraid of the enemy. Because he was terrified of the outcome. What if I lose? What if I win but lose what matters? What’s the point of acting when results aren’t guaranteed?

And Krishna said, in the simplest possible terms: Do the work anyway. Release what comes next. That steadiness of mind — that is the practice.

I’ve been trying to teach this to an seven-year-old. Not through scripture. Not through philosophy. Through repeated, lived, specific moments — on the field, in the car, at the dinner table — over three years.

⚽ Year 1 Show Up Even when you don’t want to. Even when it’s cold. Even when you’re tired.

🏃 Year 2 Do Your Duty Run your race. Take your shot. Bring your full self — every time.

🧘 Year 3 Equanimity Win or lose — same walk off the field. Same head height. Same kid.

100 Prompts. One Concept. It Takes That Long.

I’ve written about this before — kids need 100 to 300 touchpoints to genuinely internalise a skill or value. Not to hear it. Not to understand it intellectually. To own it. To have it fire automatically without you needing to prompt them.

That’s not a lecture. That’s a pattern. The same lesson delivered across wildly different contexts until the brain stops needing to think about it — it just knows.

Show up to training even when you don’t want to. Walk off the field with your head level. Don’t need me to explain the loss. Don’t need me to celebrate the win as if it defines you.

One hundred versions of the same idea. In the car. On the sideline. At breakfast. In quiet moments before bed. That is how values get installed — not announced.

The Gita Wasn’t Written for Warriors. It Was Written for Everyone Who Ever Dropped Their Bow.

We live in a world that teaches the opposite of this. We are told to chase results obsessively. To tie our identity to outcomes. To measure our worth in wins. And so we pour our peace into things we cannot fully control — and when life inevitably diverges from the plan, we shatter.

Krishna’s answer isn’t apathy. It isn’t “don’t try.” It is the exact opposite: try with everything you have, and release everything that follows.

That is not weakness. That is the most sophisticated thing a human being can do. It is what allows you to take risks without being destroyed by failure. To celebrate wins without becoming addicted to them. To keep moving when the world gives you no guarantee of reward.

I want Evaan to grow up knowing that. Not as a quote. As a reflex. As the way he walks off every field, for the rest of his life.

And I’m also learning it alongside him — in the apps I’m building, the content I’m putting out, the work I’m doing at midnight when nobody is watching. Same lesson. Same practice. 5,000 years old. Still not easy.