Life woven with pain and patience
“A Life Woven with Pain and Patience”
At 75, when most seek peace, I live in the shadow of a storm that never fully passes. My life—disciplined, determined, and built with the grit of a self-made man—is now quietly overwhelmed by a pain no wealth or wisdom can soothe.
Born with a physical disability in my left leg due to polio, I never let fate define me. I fought for every opportunity—wrote exams, took rejections in stride, and rose with sheer willpower. I served in a public sector bank, climbed the ladder without shortcuts, lived within my means, and retired with dignity. I built my life brick by brick, saving every rupee, staying away from extravagance, and never asking for more than I needed.
But life, cruel in its irony, reserved its most brutal challenge for my twilight years—my daughter’s long, relentless battle with bipolar disorder. A condition so unpredictable, it tears through our days with sudden panic episodes, emotional avalanches, and long hours of mental anguish. I watch her suffer helplessly. I sit beside her, trying to calm storms only she can feel, praying she returns to a moment of calm. Each day begins with hope and ends in silent exhaustion.
People see me as a man of strength, but inside I am tired—tired from decades of silent suffering, of wiping tears no one sees, of bearing the invisible weight of a father’s broken heart. Parents of bipolar children carry a unique grief: we live on the edge, never knowing what the next moment will bring. My wife and I survive each day with courage borrowed from love and devotion, not because we are strong—but because we have no other choice.
And so, this is my truth:
A man who fought lifge’s battles and won them all—except the one that matters most.
Peace remains a distant dream, even though I have earned it a thousand times over.
Still, I wake up. I carry on. I look at her face and whisper, “We’ll get through this, somehow.” Because love, even in the depths of despair, refuses to give up.