bakchodi in room “The only thing you are pre-approved for in this life, the moment you are born, is death.” I remember hearing someone quote Kanye at a party a few years ago. Morbid, I know. But lately, that realization has been a strange source of comfort. It simplifies things—makes you focus on what really matters.

I’m sitting at this desk, in this same room, reflecting on 2024—a year that broke me into pieces and forced me to rebuild myself again and again. Funny how life works. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, it reminds you that you don’t.

Right now, I should be in my last semester, gearing up to graduate. Instead, I’m doing a co-op, back to the grind of a 9-to-5 after 1.5 years as a full-time student. But here’s the catch—nothing’s really changed. My days still stretch from 9:00 AM to 10:30 PM, and the hustle never seems to stop.

I’m not complaining—just reflecting. Maybe even ranting a little. The past year and a half has been relentless. I left behind my family, my friends, and a life of comfort to chase this dream. A dream that, as I’ve learned, comes with its own set of sacrifices.

When I first landed in Boston, it felt like I was stepping into a movie set. The “American Dream” was everywhere—fast-paced life, skyscrapers, and that unmistakable buzz of opportunity. I pictured my grad school life as a whirlwind of American friends, wild parties, assistantships, and all the things the movies had promised.

Reality? Not even close.

Northeastern turned out to be… very Indian. Everywhere I went, it felt like a desi bubble. Same conversations, same struggles, and, initially, the same comforting sense of familiarity. But over time, it became suffocating. I felt like I’d swapped one version of India for another—except now, I was paying rent in dollars and stressing about every penny.

The financial shift was brutal. Back home, I had a steady paycheck—the comfort of a fixed salary. I didn’t realize how much I depended on it until it was gone. Suddenly, I was a broke student, figuring out how to stretch every dollar.

And then there was the timing. My first month in the U.S., I missed my mom’s birthday, my birthday, and Ganesh Chaturthi. On my birthday, I cried on the T, heading home, surrounded by strangers who didn’t know or care what I was going through.

It’s been years since I’ve had a good birthday. The last one I truly celebrated was in 2019. Since then, every year has been marked by tears, self-doubt, and this hollow feeling of emptiness. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe real strength lies in admitting when you’re weak.

Over time, I’ve learned a lot about myself—where I fall short, what I value, and how much I let others’ opinions affect me. It’s a work in progress, but I’m learning to care less about what people think.

bakchodi in room

Spirituality has been my anchor. I’ve been visiting the Shiva temple in Medford often. There’s something grounding about the rituals—the walk to the temple, the offerings, the prayers. I make sure my offerings are proportional to what I can afford, as a reminder that gratitude should match my means. The walk itself, through snow or rain, reminds me that the path to grace is never easy.

To cope with the isolation, I started exploring Boston on my own. One of my most memorable trips was to Spectacle Island. I went alone, unsure of how I’d feel. But as I wandered the island, taking in the breathtaking views of Logan Airport, the Boston skyline, and the coast, I found a strange sense of peace. It was perfect—a rare moment of solace amidst the chaos.

The co-op search, though, was a beast of its own. Before landing my current role, I worked part-time gigs at early-stage startups, juggling fear, frustration, and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. But here’s the thing: I survived. And I came out stronger.

They say God tests His strongest soldiers the hardest. I believe that now. Every setback, every tear-filled night, every moment of doubt—it was all part of a plan. A plan to break me down and rebuild me into someone better.

bakchodi in room

Looking back, I can see the silver linings. Reconnecting with old friends, sharing deep conversations, rebuilding bonds I thought were lost forever. Life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.

There’s a saying: A man lives two lives. The second begins when he realizes he only has one. That realization hit me hard this year. Breaking apart and piecing yourself back together isn’t a curse—it’s a blessing. It’s life’s way of teaching you resilience, perspective, and gratitude.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my thoughts. I don’t know if they resonate with you, but I hope they do.

And if they don’t, let me leave you with this: Take that leap of faith. Go the extra mile. Ask yourself what you truly want from life. The answers might scare you, or maybe they’ll inspire you. Either way, don’t stop. Keep moving forward. Because on the other side of fear, uncertainty, and pain lies growth. And that’s where life truly begins.

bakchodi in room