There I was, lying on the couch on yet another lazy Sunday,
listening to a song on repeat. Same track, over and over. The kind of thing
that would make neighbors wonder if my Spotify had crashed or I had joined a
cult.
My mother, with her classic Indian mom radar for "my
child is spoiling his brain," stormed in and said,
“Can you stop listening to this crappy English song? Such songs are the reason
you feel anxious these days.”
Now, if you’ve grown up in an Indian household, you know
this drill:
- Your
mom hears any English music = sudden diagnosis of
depression.
- Your
dad hears it = "Oh, Western influence ruined this generation."
But this time, I didn’t argue. I just looked at her and
replied,
“You have no idea what it does to me. It’s not just a song to me.”
And of course, she gave me that mom eyebrow raise,
the one that silently screams, “Oh, really? Then what is it? Another
sad love story you’re hiding from me?”
Well, she wasn’t completely wrong.
Although, not entirely wrong, she mis-read the situation. I
was not anxious, but just in pain. First things first, let me tell you all the
words that are shouting through my head. I was broken from inside, and I was
tired of the way things have been going and it was affecting me.
When Pain Becomes a Teacher
See, I wasn’t anxious. I was just… in pain. Not the "stubbed-my-toe-on-furniture"
pain. The deep, life-cracking kind. The kind that shifts you from being a “happy-go-lucky
chai-biscuit philosopher” into someone staring at the ceiling at 2 AM
questioning everything.
I used to believe everything happened for a reason. But life
had tested that theory so hard, even my optimism asked for a
vacation. I was broken from a very young age. My childhood was not
as normal as it looked to my friends. Not complaining though, I had a fair
share of joy and happiness. I learnt it from a very young age that alcohol
changed people. Even the once which were funny could do and say things that
could break you from inside. Pain, when it came from people you cared the most,
that's when it hurts you the most. I realized very quickly that you could deal
it in two ways. Take the sulking to the masses and cry. Two, turn to writing
and write the fuck out of your pain.
Clearly, you know which one I picked. Because here I am
again, writing — not letting pain dictate me but using it as wind in my sails.
Captain of my story. Master of my sea.
Five Years Ago: Marriage, or Why Honeymoons Should
Come With Lifejackets
Five years ago, I got married and for sure it was not an
easy sailing. Freshly married. My boat (yes, metaphorical boat) had barely
left the shore when a wave hit me straight in the face. My wife and I — two
faces of the same coin, except she liked drama and I craved peace.
One night, on our honeymoon abroad, she
left me a note. Not sweet, not flirty. Nope. It was more of, 'It's not working.
I had huge expectations from this like any other girl.' (She is a girl and so,
I can assure you she wrote whatever she could fit in two sides of the note. She
probably didn't want to waste a lot of papers so must have stuck to one note. I
have compressed it to what she meant.) and she left without saying a word. I
was holding the note in my hand and stood there not knowing what to do next. I
tried calling my in-laws and no answer from them. Fluttered and tensed, I
rushed out in search for her. It was late at night, and we were abroad. I was
worried that if she knew the places well enough to know her way back if she
goes too far.
Now imagine me, stranded in a foreign country, holding a
note, running through possibilities at lightning speed:
- Call
her in-laws? They didn’t answer.
- Call
the police? But what would I say? “Excuse me, officer. My wife
left me a handwritten breakup letter in the middle of our honeymoon. Is
this… a crime? Or just my bad karma?”
- Or
just wait for her to comeback
I was angry, scared, hurt — basically, the entire
Bollywood hero emotional spectrum in five minutes. I really had never been
in such a situation before. I don't exactly remember what I was feeling. Anger,
scared, pain, hurt, worry for her, might be all of them together. And there
came a moment when it all disappeared, and I started to sing from the
heartache, through the pain. Taking the message from my veins. By now you must
have realized what I was singing.
She did show up after an hour or two and said, "I
thought you will be worried. You didn't even check on me. That tells me how
much you care about me."
I replied, "You left a note and left. Did you even care
about me? What for? For a small fight we had."
"I was angry, so I just left and ate in a good
restaurant. I was anyways not going for real."
It felt like an emotional torture and the worst part is she
didn't even realize what she had put me through. Why is it all about her
expectations from marriage? Didn't I have any expectations?
Back to Mom
Snapping out of memory lane, my mom was still looking at me.
“Beta, these songs are messing with your head. Singing about pain, veins, inner
flames… Of course you’re always brooding.”
I smiled.
“Ma, you don’t understand. It’s life for me. Every line is stitched with a
memory of what I’ve lived through. Music didn’t trigger my pain, it taught me
to live with it.”
She rolled her eyes, but I meant it.
You must be saying it's just one incident. If my ex-wife
could do that in her honeymoon, believe me what followed is a tsunami. Right
now,
Yes — my wife and I are now in a legal battle. Yes — I could
lose half of everything I built by myself. Yes — life hit me with storms that
would sink a weaker boat.
But here’s what pain taught me:
Pain can break you down.
Pain can build you up.
Pain chooses whether you sink or rise.
And me? I chose to rise. To believe again.
Pain: My Unexpected Life Guru
If you’ve ever been truly hurt, you’ll get it. Pain isn’t
some villain lurking in the corner. It’s the tough-love teacher nobody asked
for. My love, my drive, my second chances — they all sprouted from pain.
My marriage turned into a chess game where love was
sacrificed, but I refuse to let bitterness be my final checkmate. Instead, I
pray she finds happiness — while I find mine.
Because pain, oddly enough, freed me. It drowned
old illusions and washed up new determination. And somewhere along the way, it
gave me faith. Not in people. Not in perfect marriages. Not even in happy
endings.
But in myself.
So, Ma, Here’s the Answer
When you ask me why I’m replaying this song until every wall
of the house memorizes it — Here’s why:
Because it isn’t just a song.
It’s me.
It’s my story of breaking, rebuilding, and believing.
And every time the chorus hits, I’m reminded:
Pain didn’t destroy me.
Pain made me a believer.
✍️ Note to Reader
If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve had your boat rocked, too. Maybe your
waves looked different than mine. But here’s my little piece of advice: Don’t
let pain just break you down. Let it rebuild you. Make it your fuel. Because
yes, pain hurts like hell. But it also whispers the most powerful truth — you
can survive this.
