When the Waiting Ends

A long-held dream, a quiet moment of grace

It was raining that morning in McLeodganj. Soft, steady rain. The kind that makes everything quieter. The air felt fresh and cool. I sat in the front row of a simple waiting hall. Just a few feet away was an empty chair. It was the one where His Holiness the Dalai Lama would soon sit.

The room was full. Almost a hundred people were there, but no one talked much. It felt like we were all holding our breath. We were waiting for someone very special.

I had been waiting for this moment for over twenty years.

It started around 2001. Back then, I was reading every story I could find about His Holiness. He was often in the news because of politics, but what touched me most were his words. Simple, loving, honest words. He always spoke of compassion. He believed in kindness, even in hard times. I felt something shift in me. I started to admire him deeply.

Not just as a spiritual teacher. But as a leader. A man who led without anger. A man who stayed calm even when he lost everything. A man who lived in truth.

He became a model for the kind of leader I wanted to be someday. The kind of person I wanted to be, as a husband, a father, a friend.

Over the years, I hoped I would meet him. I visited India many times. I tried to get an appointment, but it never worked out. I let go of the idea a little. Maybe it would never happen. And that was okay. Some dreams are like that.

But then, something changed. This time, my brother helped make it happen. We were going to McLeodganj. We had a chance to see him. I didn’t expect much. I just wanted to be in the room. That alone would be enough.

When we arrived, the rain was still falling. It made everything feel more still. My wife, brother, and sister-in-law were with me. That made it more special. We were shown to the front row. I couldn’t believe how close we were to his chair.

The room was full of quiet energy. People waited with gentle smiles. No one pushed or asked questions. We were just there. Together. Waiting.

Then he walked in.

His Holiness moved slowly. He is 89 now. But he glowed. His face was calm. His eyes were clear. As soon as he entered, the room changed. Not with noise. Not with cheers. But with something deeper. Peace. It felt like light had entered the room.

I watched him walk to his chair. I didn’t need anything else. Just seeing him was already a gift. But then, something more happened.

One by one, people went up to him. When it was my turn, I walked slowly. My heart was full. I reached out. He took my hands. He touched my face.

He looked into my eyes.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. In that short moment, no more than 25 or 30 seconds, I felt more seen than I had in years. There was no judgment. No rush. Just warmth. Just presence. It felt like he understood something about me, even though we had never met.

Tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t cry. I just stood there, breathing. Taking it in.

He gave me a blessing. Then it was time to go. I stepped away, quietly. I didn’t want the moment to end, but I also felt complete.

People will ask me what changed in me after that.

I didn’t come away with a big new idea. I didn’t feel different on the outside. But something inside me felt stronger. I felt more sure. I felt calm. I felt clear.

Not about what to do next. But about who I am.

The Dalai Lama didn’t give me answers. But he gave me something just as important: a deep, quiet kind of confidence. It was like he reminded me that I am enough. That seeking is okay. That being open is good.

That short moment reminded me of the kind of leader I want to be. One who listens more than talks. One who stays steady in hard times. One who leads with kindness, not fear.

Being with him didn’t teach me something new. It confirmed what I already believed. That real leadership is gentle. That strength can be soft. That love matters more than anything else.

One moment stands out the most. When he looked into my eyes and gently touched my face. In that small act, I felt something large. I felt seen. Fully. Without words.

It reminded me that the best gifts are often simple. And that the best leaders don’t need to say much. They just need to be present.

As I return to my family, friends and work, I will carry this feeling with me.

I don’t want to tell many people about this. It feels too personal. Too quiet. But it will change how I show up. It has helped me remember why I do what I do.

And so I choose to share.

In my work, I help leaders find clarity. I help them lead with heart. I try to live what I teach. Now, I carry this moment with me as part of that.

The rain had slowed down when we left that day. The ground was wet. The sky was soft.

When the waiting ends, it doesn’t always end with something big. Sometimes, it ends with a quiet moment. A steady hand. A calm gaze. A gentle touch.

And that’s enough.

I am traveling the next several weeks and will try to keep appearing in your Sundays.

I hope you had a wonderful Sunday.

With my warmest regards,

Adi