The Planet We wanna Leave Is Still Calling us

The sky burned faint orange as Acharya traced escape routes with trembling fingers. Night after night, he mapped humanity’s escape to Mars, the new promised land. To him, Earth was a memory in decay.

His daughter, Sita, had other memories. She remembered 

🥭mangoes warmed by the sun, 

💨the smell of monsoon soil, 

💜the rhythm of wind through sugarcane. 

One night, as her father calculated the trajectory of salvation, she placed a raw potato sprouting, alive on his blueprint.

"Take this with you,dad " she whispered.

Acharya’s eyes narrowed. “We can’t survive here.”

“And can we survive there?” she asked. 

“ Your body is this soil, Papa. Mars doesn’t know you naturally ”

That night, he didn’t sleep. He stared at the potato, a rebellion in silence. The next morning, the blueprint remained on the table, untouched.

Acharya followed Sita outside. She dug her hands into the earth 

👉dirt under her nails, 

😀laughter in her lungs. 

Together, they planted the potato.

It was not a technological marvel. No countdown, no liftoff. Just two hands returning to what made them. In that quiet gesture, he surrendered not to despair, but to belonging.

The rockets still flew. But Acharya stayed.

He now had found his mission.

Morals:

1. We are the Earth, not passengers, but parts of it.

2. Escape is illusion; participation is redemption.

3. The Greatest revolution is planting, not launching.

4. True survival isn't relocation - it's reconnection.

5. Duty to Earth is sacred  so act without desire or expectations for some profit