Temples of Thought or Theatres of Ego?

There’s a certain reverence with which we grow up hearing the word academia. It evokes visions of lamp-lit desks, devoted teachers, and the quiet hum of intellectual pursuit — a sanctuary where ideas bloom and minds evolve. For years, I too believed that academic spaces were temples of thought, where love for knowledge triumphed over everything else. But when you step beyond the classroom into the corridors of power, politics, and fragile egos, that sacred illusion begins to crumble. You begin to see that academia, like life itself, is not a pure realm of enlightenment but a theatre of light and shadow — where brilliance coexists with bitterness, and inspiration often rubs shoulders with insecurity. But just when you think the system has consumed every shred of meaning, something inexplicable — call it grace, fate, or divine mischief — steps in, rearranging the chaos into clarity and restoring your faith in the unseen order of things.

There was a time when I believed that institutions of learning were sacred spaces built upon love for knowledge, encouragement of curiosity, and celebration of ideas. I imagined classrooms filled with warmth and respect, teachers who inspired rather than intimidated, and colleagues who cherished collaboration over competition. Perhaps it was the ideal world my father painted for me through his stories — his unwavering reverence for teachers and the world of learning shaped my earliest dreams of academia.

As a student, you rarely see the inner workings of these spaces. You live on the surface — taking notes, writing exams, participating in seminars — without sensing the currents beneath. But once you step inside the system as a teacher or researcher, you begin to see the other face of the institution. You realize that academia, too, is a microcosm of the world — at once inspiring and nurturing, yet also dark, wild, ego-driven, and occasionally venomous.

My younger self was genuinely shaken by this revelation. The very places I believed were temples of intellect could also host jealousies, insecurities, and subtle cruelties. Yes, I have met extraordinary people — colleagues, mentors, and students — who embody generosity and ethics, who ignite your spirit and restore your faith in scholarship. But alongside them, there are others who thrive on gossip, pettiness, and character assassination — people whose energies are spent not in building knowledge but in dismantling confidence.

There are moments in academic life when you feel crushed, trampled upon, and compelled to disappear into invisibility just to protect your peace. You learn to live quietly, to withdraw, to let survival replace ambition. Your instincts tell you to retreat —to exist, rather than to shine.

But something changes when you cross 40. With time and scars, you start seeing people through a clearer lens. You realize that their malice often masks fear — the fear that someone younger, more passionate, or more creative might outshine them. Their sly moves, their whispered campaigns, their desperate attempts to stunt another’s growth all reveal one thing: insecurity disguised as superiority. Their venom is merely the echo of their own anxiety.

When academicians begin to see danger in another’s brilliance, when confidence or originality becomes a red flag in their eyes, that is when the death knell of academic excellence rings. For in rejecting others, they also suffocate their own potential.

Ironically, academia can also be unintentionally comic. There are those who interpret every event in someone else’s life as somehow revolving around them — people who find shadows even in light, who mistake another’s silence for conspiracy. Perhaps it’s the universe’s way of amusing itself — granting them fleeting satisfaction in the illusion that someone else’s misfortune confirms their superiority.

But I’ve reached a place in life where resentment has lost its sting. I’ve learned that who I am is not defined by others’ narratives — not by medals bestowed through patronage, nor by the stories whispered behind my back. I am defined by the meaning I give to my journey, by the lessons that cosmic forces lead me through, however painful or unpredictable they may be.

And here lies the most profound truth: what seems like the darkest, most terrifying blow — for you and your “well-wishers” alike — can often become the most beautiful and transformative turning point of your life. Life, in its strange generosity, has a way of finding you even when you’ve been buried under the debris of envy and malice. The universe opens doors you didn’t know existed — doors leading to quiet spaces of renewal and peace, far away from the clutter where others once tried to trap you.

So if you ever feel suffocated, trampled upon, or unseen, remember this: the universe never loses track of you. The light will find its way through, and when it does, it will not just illuminate your path — it will cleanse the shadows that others left behind.