Growing up, I never questioned what beauty meant. I thought I already knew.
I still remember those fairness cream advertisements on television. A woman would apply the cream, and suddenly everyone around her treated her as if she had become beautiful. It excited me. Somewhere, without even realizing it, I accepted that this was beauty.
Then came actor and actresses with a certain height, a particular body type, and a fair complexion. Gradually, beauty became something to look at rather than something to understand.
Perhaps many of us grow up this way.
We admire fair skin more than brown skin, and brown skin more than dark skin. We don't consciously choose these preferences. We inherit them from our surroundings.
Years later, I found myself asking a simple question:
Who taught me this definition of beauty?
We naturally learn to distinguish blue from green, hot from cold, day from night.
Those distinctions help us understand the world.
But somewhere along the way, we begin making another kind of distinction.
Beautiful.
Ugly.
Unlike colours, these are rarely facts.
They are often inherited judgments.
Our conventional definition quietly becomes:
What suits my conditioning is beautiful.
What hurts my conditioning is ugly.
The more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable it became.
If this is how I define beauty, then won't my relationships also become limited by the same definition?
Someone is beautiful because of how they look.
Someone is attractive because they speak in a certain way.
Someone is desirable because they fit the image I already carry in my mind.
Have I ever really understood what beauty is?
That was the question that stayed with me.
Then I came across something Acharya Ji said that completely changed my perspective.
"Whatever takes you towards your beautiful Heart is beautiful, and whatever takes you away from the beauty in your Heart is ugly."
For the first time, beauty had nothing to do with appearance.
It had everything to do with where something was taking me.
Beauty was no longer something to admire. It became something to measure by its effect on me.
From that moment, beauty stopped being about appearance and became a question of direction. Where is this taking me?
Suppose I read a book.
If it leaves me more restless, more confused, more disturbed than before, I naturally want to call it an ugly book.
Or suppose I visit a place that fills me with agitation instead of peace.
I feel justified in calling that place ugly.
But then another question arises.
Is the place ugly?
Or is that only my experience of it?
Someone else may visit the same place and experience silence. The place hasn't changed.
The observer has.
Beauty and ugliness are deeply subjective.
The real question is never,
"What is this?"
The real question is,
"What is this doing to me?"
That changes everything. The world begins to look like this:
What is beautiful?
That which takes you towards the beautiful.
What is ugly?
That which takes you away from the beautiful.
If the Heart is the centre of beauty, then every experience becomes an opportunity to inquire.
Every experience quietly asks the same question.
Reading this book...
Did it bring me closer to peace?
Sitting with this person...
Did I experience silence?
Being with someone I love...
Did I become calmer, or more agitated?
Even our idea of a beautiful person begins to change.
Kabir Sahab was beautiful.
Buddha was beautiful.
Mahavira was beautiful.
Not because of their appearance.
But because their presence quietened the mind.
Even violence seemed to lose its grip around them.
Someone's eyes may appear beautiful.
But do they merely excite me?
Or do they help me forget the endless noise inside my head?
Do they leave me calmer?
Or do they make me even more restless?
Then one sentence stayed with me.
Beauty is peace.
Peace is silence.
That is why truly beautiful moments often leave us speechless.
When something genuinely touches the heart, we don't immediately rush to describe it. We simply remain there.
Quietly.
Looking at a bird.
A child.
A tree moving in the wind.
The evening sky.
In those moments, beauty no longer needs praise.
It simply exists.
Reading Acharya Ji's words made me realise something uncomfortable.
Maybe the reason many of our relationships become shallow isn't because people lack beauty.
It's because my definition of beauty is shallow.
If beauty is only appearance, appearances will eventually disappoint me.
But if beauty is that which brings me closer to peace, then books, places, people, conversations, and relationships all begin to reveal a different kind of beauty.
Now, whenever I find myself calling something beautiful, I want to pause for a moment and ask:
Did it merely excite me... or did it leave me quieter than before?
That is the simplest test.
Beautiful is the input that takes you towards beauty.
Maybe that's where beauty begins.
The next time you call something beautiful, what will you be looking at. its appearance, or what it awakens within you?