This comes from the heart of India –Purani Delhi. Rajvir grew up amidst the hustle-bustle of the screeching Chandni Chowk, undoubtedly the most chaotic part of north India. Being the only son of the eldest brother amongst his father’s siblings, responsibilities and abiding by them had been an inherited trait for Rajvir. Rajvir’s life had been all about books, household chores and a seldom game of cricket in the inaccessible galis of Ballimaran.
Rajvir’s father accumulated money for his only son to ensure he received the best education and a satisfying career. Rajvir went to an international school where his classmates would be offspring of the wealthiest and most influential personalities of Delhi and NCR. He always saw them happy, carefree and ignorant about the problems that existed in a poor man’s household. His family could barely pull out his tuition and he was proud of the sacrifices that his parents did for him. Wherein he saw his schoolmates being driven to school in elegant cars, he would feel elated to board the school bus having seen his father riding a bicycle all throughout his life. But he would always dream about driving a bigger car for his parents one day.
High school followed by IIT and a graduate degree from Stanford, Rajvir had come a long way from the unassembled life of Chandni Chowk. His parents had moved out to live in a magnanimous house in Babar Road while he had settled in New York managing his own company. He ensured his family were comforted and had all the luxurious of the modern day life; meanwhile he continued to live upon his aspirations and get more done for his family. Rajvir could gaze the pride in his parents’ eyes following his achievements and it encouraged him to extract more out of life.
Rajvir was happily married to Tracy and was blessed with a baby boy. He, like his parents, wanted to ensure that his son received all the attention, education and comforts. He had proven to be the best son, now it was time to render his responsibilities as a parent. He would regularly wire funds to India and talk to his parents to ensure nothing was missing from their life.
In some time, Rajvir wanted to establish an offshore center in NCR to outsource some of his business to India and maximize profits. It had been 5 years since his last trip to homeland and this meeting was a good opportunity to visit his parents and spend some time with them. During his extended stay, he could notice some astonishing facts. In spite of having a chauffeur driven car, his father would still prefer to walk down the Bangla Sahib Gurudwara each morning, his mother would still cook the lonely daal for dinner and serve it with hot rotis and achaar, she would still sew clothes for herself and kurta pyjamas for his father. Rajvir soon realized that all the funds he transferred had been piling in the account without a penny withdrawn and his parents were still living on his father’s pension from the post office job.
Rajvir was broken to see that all his effort had gone in vein, his motive of life for which he had exhausted his youth was not being fulfilled. He comprehended that luxurious comforts were not something that his parents had yearned; instead they would have been better off to settle in a small house with their son and grandchildren, to be able to babysit for them and exchange stories. But Rajvir had surpassed the point in life from where he could turn back and return to his parents. His labor would not have turned fertile if he had rightly gauged his parents’ expectations. Too involved and devoted towards their happiness, he neglected the ingredients of proximity and togetherness that could have churned along the love for his family to make that perfect blissful curry. Shattered with the outcome of his dedication, he returned back to his wife and son, learning a lesson in life that happiness is always relative and he shouldn’t have tried to replicate other’s perception of it.
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