From Parish Priests to Purpose Coaches

Back in the day, self-improvement didn’t come from a 90-minute motivational chat, or someone in yoga pants saying “Just breathe.” It came in two simple forms: the grumpy parish priest in the confessional box, and your mother’s flying chappal (slipper) 

One threatened you with hellfire. The other delivered a sting across the cheek so accurate it could realign your chakras before anyone had heard of chakras.

And somehow, it worked.

These days, though, we’ve evolved. We’ve gone from good old-fashioned Catholic guilt (or its Hindu, Muslim, and atheist equivalents) to the gleaming world of professional coaching. Everyone has a coach now. Most people have three. Some have a coach to help them choose other coaches.

It starts innocently. You're a little lost? Life coach.
Can’t focus? Mindfulness coach.
Too focused and now exhausted? Wellness coach.
Trying for a baby? Fertility coach.
Baby arrives? Parenting coach.
Baby turns into a teenager? Therapy. And maybe a punching bag.
Stuck in a dead-end job? Career coach.
Quit that job to chase passion? Startup coach.
Startup fails? Spiritual coach.
Still can’t let go? Grief coach.
Still talking about your ex? Relationship coach.
Still confused? Purpose coach.

Need to skip between the right and left brain? Mental Agility coach

Truth be told: many of these coaches are doing good work. India has a growing mental health crisis, a stressed-out workforce, and a culture that doesn’t always allow space for vulnerability. In a noisy distracted world, coaches often step in where families, managers, or friends fall short. They offer listening, structure, clarity: things our neighbours are very bad at giving. 

But there’s also a point where the coaching universe begins to resemble a MLM scheme.

There’s now a Decluttering Coach who’ll help you emotionally detach from your college T-shirts.
A Sleep Coach for babies.
A Creativity Coach for adults who haven’t painted since 1997.
And yes, a Meta Coach who coaches coaches who want to coach other coaches.
It’s not a joke. It’s a full-time profession.

In contrast, the average Indian upbringing came with no such subtlety.

Your mother never asked, “Are you feeling aligned with your inner purpose?” She asked, “Why are you crying like a useless boy?”
She didn’t say, “Let’s reflect on your self-limiting beliefs.” She said, “Don’t act smart.”
And if you said the wrong thing? One tight slap. And suddenly—miraculously—clarity returned.

Even the parish priest didn’t offer any 'safe space.' He looked at you like YOU were the reason Jesus was crucified, grunted something in Latin, and sent you off with a prayer and one-rosary-right-now-and-say-it-loudly penance. You emerged shaken, a little holier, and more importantly—quiet.

That was our coaching session. 

Yet, maybe we’ve overcorrected a ourselves a bit. Not every problem requires a coach. Some things need sleep. Or a phone call to that no-nonsense friend who calls out your nonsense before you finish your sentence. Or your father’s trademark line: “Paise kaun de raha hai isko? Tera baap? ” (Who’s paying for this? Your father?)

Coaches can guide us. But growth, real messy growth, still comes from falling flat on your face, sulking in your room, having panic pohe (flattened rice) and slowly figuring it out.

And once in a while, it comes from one honest metaphorical slap from someone who loves you enough to say, “Enough drama. Now get up and move on.