bhaskar saikia

When you sit down to eat a meal, your eyes catch the colors—the greens, the reds, the golden crispness. Your senses are drawn to the aroma, the texture, the arrangement on the plate. You notice the garnish, the richness, the flame-grilled shine.

But no one ever pauses to appreciate the salt.

And yet, take it away—and everything collapses. The vibrant dish becomes flat, tasteless, unfinished. That one pinch of salt—often invisible, easily forgotten—is what ties it all together.

Some people are like that.

They don’t walk into a room and demand attention. They don’t post their accomplishments. They’re not the loudest voice or the most dramatic presence. But when they’re not around, you feel it. Conversations lack warmth. Plans fall apart. Work feels heavier.

They are the salt.

In families, they’re the ones who remember birthdays, cook quietly, listen when no one else does. In teams, they hold things together behind the scenes, making sure others shine. In friendships, they’re the ones checking in with a quiet “just thought of you” when the world forgets to notice.

But like salt, they’re often overlooked—until they’re not there.

In a world that celebrates spotlight, it takes maturity to see value in the invisible. To notice the care behind the curtain. To thank someone not for the show they put on, but for the balance they bring.

The funny thing is: salt never complains. It never begs to be noticed. It just does what it does—steadily, selflessly, essential.

And maybe that’s what makes these people even more beautiful. Their worth is not in applause, but in presence. Not in recognition, but in quiet reliability.

So the next time something feels right—be it a meal, a moment, or a team—pause and ask yourself: who’s the salt here?

And if you are the salt—never doubt your importance.

Even if unseen, you are irreplaceable.