Skip to main content

Cost of obscurity

Searching Through the Fog

Stratification is essential, I know that. But to separate yourself from the crowd, to rise from the bulk, comes with a cost — and right now, I’m feeling the weight of that toll.

There are moments when I feel most alive — a drink in hand, the company of friends, a shared laugh with women I admire, the rush of a bungee jump, diving deep into the waters of Fateh Sagar Lake, wandering the hills with my people under cloudy skies and a cool mist. But even in those moments, when everything seems perfect, I find myself searching. For what, I still don’t know.

I’ve spent 24 years on this earth — a life mostly carefree, bending rules, writing my own script without hurting anyone. I’ve walked alongside some incredible people. And yet, I carry with me a strange, obscure vision — one that once seemed like a spark but now feels like a fog blurring my direction.

It’s this lack of clarity that’s quietly costing me. I’m in a phase where on the outside, everything might seem fine — eligible, energetic, capable — but inside, I’m navigating without a compass. Still, I haven’t lost hope. I’ve always believed in learning through doing. I’m open to experimenting, unafraid of starting over. I’m still at the rudimentary stage, yes, but I have faith I’ll rise — I have, before.

Sometimes, I drift into deep thought even during crucial conversations — not over lost love or regret, but in pursuit of the road I’m meant to walk. And maybe that’s the problem — I’m trying to chart a path without knowing the destination. Is there even someone wise enough to help shape that vision? Or is it my own prejudice — my assumptions, fears, or past — that’s blurring it?

Maybe that’s what I need to explore next.

To move forward, perhaps I need to look back. Figure out where I lost that clarity. Growing up under layers of expectations — from family, society, myself — did I take a wrong turn? Did I commit the sin of losing myself in others’ ideas of who I should be? And is this persistent confusion my punishment?

I remember my university days. While friends worried about jobs and economic uncertainty, I was chasing freedom — riding my bike at 100 kmph just to glimpse the Taj Mahal. It was my escape. Around that time, the world was shifting — 9/11 had just happened. The world was redefined, and perhaps my future with it.


And now, I find myself among ordinary people, doing ordinary work — but searching for something extraordinary within it. Once I find clarity — once I strike gold — I know things will fall into place. Until then, I’ll keep moving forward, step by step, even as the burden grows heavier.

Because I believe — when the fog lifts, I’ll finally see where I was meant to go all along.

(Some thoughts when i was working at HZL)

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My First Job at Hindustan Zinc Limited: The Day I Fought a Battle That Wasn’t in the Job Description

Hindustan Zinc Limited, 2004 There are first jobs — and then there was HZL. Hindustan Zinc Limited was a giant in mining and metals: structured, hierarchical, and system-driven. And there I was — a freshly minted IIT graduate, quietly waiting for my University of Waterloo call letter, treating HZL as nothing more than a temporary stopgap. It didn’t take long to sense the mismatch. Instinctively, I knew this wasn’t an environment where I would stay long. But life, as it often does, had other plans. The Unexpected Reunion On the very first day of induction, I noticed a familiar name on the HR list: Surbhi Shrivastava. The same Surbhi from my school days — admired, visible, graceful, socially confident. Back then, we had never really spoken. I was the quiet topper, known more through exaggerated stories told by teachers and backbenchers than through actual presence. So when I introduced myself that day, her response was simple: Professional courtesy. Polite indifference. No recognition. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Year Friends Changed My Life

There was a time at Don Bosco's, Patna when I was completely bored with my classmates. They were decent people, but not adventurous enough for the restless energy I carried inside. Somewhere deep within, I felt there had to be more interesting people in the world — people who questioned things, laughed loudly, and carried a little rebellion in their spirit. By Class 7, I had almost given up on school and, in some strange way, on life itself. To make matters worse, I fractured my hand that year. What should have been a temporary inconvenience became a convenient excuse. I stopped going to school regularly, hiding behind the bandage and my boredom. Still, one thing about me was constant — somehow I would pass my exams even if the world was about to end. So Class 7 passed by quietly. Then came Class 8, and something unusual happened. That year the school failed almost 20% of the students in each class. At the time it felt harsh, but looking back, it felt as if the universe had qui...
Post a Comment
Read more

Under the Tree: The Story of Munna and a Friendship That Refuses to Fade

 Some friendships begin in classrooms, some in playgrounds, and some over shared interests. Ours began under a tree. My first school had no building, no corridors, and no polished floors. It was simply a primary school under a large tree , meant for children from poor families like mine. In those days I was growing up in what felt like the poorest corner of the poorest state of a poor country. Life was simple, and resources were scarce. School, for me, was not exciting. I disliked the discipline — the idea of sitting in one place, listening, repeating lessons. Even a school under a tree felt restrictive to a restless child. I would have happily wandered in fields or played by the river instead. But that was where I met Munna . Munna was one year older than me. In that early chaos of childhood, he became the first person outside my family who mattered deeply. At that age we didn’t know words like friendship , loyalty , or bond . But somehow we already understood them. Soon Mun...
Post a Comment
Read more