You are under my watch

I vividly remember my mother's outburst in the summer of 2013 when I ran away from a Bangalore internship within five days of joining. She was angry at my incompetency to stick to a job. She compared me to neighbours who settled in soulless jobs. Her disbelief in my post-graduate design education fueled my own anger. I promised myself that as soon as I started earning, I wouldn't step foot in that house again. I wanted nothing to do with her money.

Years passed, she grew old, and so did I. She was my mother, yet she was not the mother I knew. Now her mind works faster than her body, but her soul refuses to believe it. I indulged deeply in my work. I learnt design at the cost of health and relationships. I felt a strong urge to prove myself to the world, and it felt like a race.

My mother visited me for the first time in a long while. It was the first time I had spent much time talking to her in many years. My mother asked me what I wanted in life, and I said I wanted 8 crore rupees. She laughed and asked why. I told her it was so I could retire early. She laughed even harder and asked what I would do after that. I didn't have a response.

She continued, 'My struggle for money was a necessity; your struggle for money is stupidity. What's the point of money in the bank with no able body to enjoy it? And what meaning does my struggle get if you have to do it all over again?'

It felt like someone pressed the big red button on the treadmill. I think about that moment sometimes, and I'm thinking about it right now.