A young and wise guru was giving this talk on manifesting abundance at my dear friend Meeta’s place.
With recession looming, I needed a head start. Manifesting wealth is sought after in Singapore, so attendance was full.
I went in thinking I am ready to spiritually manipulate the universe to swing things my way. The guru fired the first salvo.
We don’t need to pray for abundance in the future tense, he said. If you do, you are admitting to an absence of wealth. Pray for abundance in the present like you already have it. And it will come!
Hmm… I do get confused when wise men preach but I think there’s a method in there somewhere.
Contemplating this, I joined the buffet line. They had laid out a delicious spread that could feed an army, including mango ras, my favourite, that wasn’t even in season. That, I thought, must surely count as a manifestation of abundance for the evening.
As it turns out, the universe wasn’t done with me. That week, I found myself attending not one, but two milestone birthday parties of friends – one turning 84, and another a magnificent 87.
How did they get there? An abundance of good genes that you can’t manifest for the price of gold. True but there’s more to it than that.
The gentleman who turned 84 is a dignified Malayalee I’ve known for years – soft-spoken, witty, well-read and a committed Rotarian.
His birthday party wasn’t any old birthday party. Oh no! The invitation said: “In Kerala culture, this milestone is known as Satabhishekham and marks a person having witnessed 1008 moons.”
That’s a lot of moons to conduct some serious abundance manifestation!
So how did my friend score on that front? Five speeches by old friends and family sorted that out.
Turns out he used a cunning plan to game the manifestation system – he GAVE abundantly in money, in time, in friendship, in partnership and in dad jokes!
He did this consistently through his entire life as appropriate to each of his ashrams, through the Brahmacharya (bachelor), Grihasta (family man) and in Vanaprastha (retirement), and boy did he get paid back in spades.
He can safely slip into Sanyasa knowing that his abundance chickens have come home to roost in the form of respect, love and jingle in his pocket.
The other party I attended was as colourful, with good food and wine flowing (got to watch out for fatty liver!)
As I muah muahed my way around the tables, I noticed that there were four generations of guests excited enough about the birthday boy to be doing slide presentations, making TikTok videos and creating a happy chaos.
Everyone was involved, smiling, helping out in little ways. They weren’t here out of an obligation – they wanted to be here!
And in that moment I thought, is this abundance? Not an Ardmore penthouse, not a Bentley, not a Patek Phillipe, but a room full of people who love you enough to rehearse speeches, and even roast you in front of your friends to huge laughter and applause.
And then, just when I thought the evening couldn’t get more poetic, they introduced “The Terrible Four”.
Apparently, these were the birthday boy’s closest friends since his school days – a formidable group of mischief-makers who’d survived college, heartbreaks, promotions, children, cholesterol and (just barely) technology.
They were called the “Terrible Four” – a nickname the birthday boy had apparently coined in the 1960s when they wore bell-bottoms and chased girls who wanted nothing to do with them.
Now well into their late 80s they were reunited for this special day. One was wheeled in, another arrived with a walking stick, one still drove himself (to the horror of his family) and the fourth was late as usual, because, as his wife announced loudly: “He forgot to wear his hearing aid.”
There they sat. The Terrible Four, glasses of whisky in hand, not a single word spoken. Not out of awkwardness – but comfort.
They didn’t need words. These were friends who had been through weddings, funerals, promotions, children’s heartbreaks, cholesterol checkups, political arguments and long WhatsApp forwards. They’d said all they needed to say in the past sixty years. Now, they just needed to be.
I watched them and thought again: Is this abundance?
Is it the peace of having nothing to prove? The joy of just being with people who have seen you at your worst and loved you through it? Is it this unspoken understanding that no matter how long the silence, the friendship will never fade?
Some say abundance is about having more. More money. More stuff. But maybe it’s also about having enough.
Enough people who remember your stories.
Enough friends who still call you “idiot” with affection.
Enough memories to fill a room.
The kind of abundance I witnessed at those birthday parties wasn’t loud or luxurious. It was gentle, warm, sweet, pretty much like the gajar halwa served for dessert.
It was in the laughter of an 87-year-old man surrounded by his stories. In the quiet satisfaction of his wife. In the youthful exuberant love of his progeny. In the nods and clinks of whisky glasses between the Terrible Four. In sneakily whacking a second slice of birthday cake after everyone’s been fed.
Abundance, I realised, is not always about acquiring more. It’s about recognising the riches that are already around you – and within you.
I may never fully manifest abundance the way the guru explained. But if I can laugh with old friends, celebrate one more birthday, and sit in quiet joy with the ones I love over 1008 moons, then that my dear friends would be abundance!
