The Deshmukh home in Pune had slowly turned into a pressure cooker.

Not because of money.

Not because of chores.

But because of opinions.

Every evening, the living room became a battlefield of loud voices and louder judgments.

Baba and Ma argued about policies that neither fully understood.

Rhea, home from college, dismissed everything as “propaganda.”

Kabir repeated whatever he heard at school.

Even Ajji, who once mediated every fight with humour, now sighed more than she spoke.

It wasn’t hatred.

Just exhaustion.

The kind that creeps in when everyone wants to be right and no one wants to be kind.

One Sunday, the tension snapped.

Kabir’s “Unity in Diversity” school poster was torn during a shouting match.

He ran to the balcony, eyes burning.

Ajji followed him quietly.

“Why does everyone fight so much?” he asked, voice trembling. “Even at school, even on TV… even here.”

Ajji sat beside him. “Because everyone is scared, beta. And scared people shout.”

Kabir frowned. “But shouting doesn’t fix anything.”

“No,” Ajji said. “It never has. Not even in Gandhi’s time.”

Kabir stiffened. “Some people in my class say Gandhi was overrated.”

Ajji didn’t flinch. “Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. But he understood one thing better than most…. people don’t change when you win arguments. They change when you understand their fear.”

Kabir blinked. “Fear?”

Ajji nodded. “Every opinion hides a fear. Gandhi listened for the fear, not the opinion.”

Kabir thought for a long moment. “Can we try that at home?”

Ajji smiled. “Let’s.”

The family gathered reluctantly in the living room.

Kabir stood in front of them, clutching his torn poster like a peace treaty.

“I want to try something,” he said. “No arguing. Just… telling the truth behind our opinions.”

Baba raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Your fear,” Kabir said softly. “Not your view. Your fear.”

The room fell still.

Baba went first, surprising even himself.

“I’m scared the world is changing faster than I can understand. And I don’t know if I can protect my family.”

Ma’s eyes softened.

Ma spoke next.

“I’m scared my voice doesn’t matter. At home. At work. Anywhere.”

Rhea swallowed hard.

“I’m scared of disappointing everyone. So I pretend I don’t care.”

Ajji’s voice cracked.

“I’m scared this house will forget how to love.”

Silence.

But a different kind…. gentle, not sharp.

Kabir lifted his poster.

“I fear that we’ll stop being a family.”

Something shifted.

Not dramatically.

Not magically.

But undeniably.

Baba reached for Ma’s hand.

Rhea hugged Kabir.

Ajji wiped her eyes.

No one mentioned Gandhi again.

They didn’t need to.

Because the lesson wasn’t about the man.

It was about the method.

Listening.

Not to win.

But to understand.

That night, the Deshmukh home felt lighter.

Dinner still had debates…. but now they were curious, not cruel.

No one converted anyone.

No one surrendered their beliefs.

But everyone softened.

And sometimes, that is enough.

A small, quiet revolution.

The kind that doesn’t need a statue.

Just a little courage to listen.