The Acceptance

It all started in my thirties.

It is hard to recollect when I saw my first gray hair popping out of my silky bunch of black hair—something that had been my identity, a reason for praise and appreciation, for over three decades. Days passed, and so did years, and I indulged in what most people racing towards their forties do: dyeing hair to make that futile attempt to look young.

I was not ready either.

The urge to color them grew stronger each time I saw my reflection in the mirror. The mirror—what a wonderful piece of invention it is. It shows you exactly how you look. Over the years, watching yourself in the mirror becomes an obsession—to look good and to seem young. Unfortunately, seeming young is closely associated with black hair, and gray hair is inappropriately taken as a sign of being mature, aged, or old.

Deep in my heart, I knew that someday I must accept the fact that my hair is graying and I am getting old. I have crossed forty. Am I in a mid-life crisis? Everyone goes through this phase. Even the Gen-Zers of today will. What is the modern life expectancy? How many more years do I have to live? Gray hair brings all such thoughts to your mind. Certainly, one is not ready for this phase, at least not instantly. For some, this non-readiness may take decades. For me, it was no different.

In a nutshell, a bold gray look is not easy to accept. I was hoping to carry this look after my fifties—it seemed obvious to own such a look after living on the planet for half a century. These were my thoughts to pacify myself.

“Your gray hair does not bother me at all,” said Priya one fine Saturday morning. “Why don’t you stop applying the black poison on your head?” she advised.

I knew this was not the first time she had given me this advice. This time, I was serious about it.

“You are the only reason why I comb my hair. Let’s accept this!” I declared as I hugged her tight.

It is important to be presentable, but at the same time, it is important to be original. Wearing filters and not revealing your true colors is unfair, and realizing this is maturity.

The Guest and the "Parasite"

My son sometimes dislikes my authoritative remarks to him when he truly loses his mind over petty behavioral aspects. Remarks such as, "Do not keep your feet on the sofa!" OR "Do not shout when someone is speaking on a phone call!" OR "Do not walk on the wet floor when someone is mopping!"—and the list goes on.

Last weekend, we invited a friend and his family over for a small get-together. The friend and his wife already seemed concerned about their three-year-old’s behavior, as he was a bit too excited to visit us. While we adults were busy talking about various topics, the three-year-old started jumping on the sofa. Next, he rolled over the beds in all the bedrooms—turn by turn.

Sarthak, our ten-year-old son, watched him profoundly. And then, he watched me. He watched my ignorance. My smile—which did not suit me in such a situation, Sarthak kept thinking.

The fun continued until the rendezvous ended with a delicious ice cream party. Finally, the guests were gone. Minutes later, we heard Sarthak speak.

"I did not like the way their son behaved. Why didn't you say anything to him?" Sarthak asked me in dismay.

"If it was me, you would have thrashed me by now," he continued, reading my face while waiting for an explanation.

"We were their hosts, son! It would have been rude to scold someone who came to visit us," I said, trying to control the situation.

"Were we the hosts? Because he was behaving like a parasite!" Sarthak burst out laughing, and his elder sister joined right in.

I was flabbergasted, utterly unable to speak further.

I Thought…

You are never alone. Thoughts are always with you. They are present every moment. They can take you light years away. A ticket-less travel into the past and the future.

Over years, what I have realised is that thoughts ruin your present.

It sounds strange at first. After all, thoughts feel natural. They feel like you. But if you observe closely, they are constantly pulling you away—from what is happening right now—into what has already happened or what might happen.

“Can you sit down at a place for 5 minutes completely without thoughts?”, I usually ask.

Many can’t.

“Why? It’s such an easy task, isn’t it?”, they think.

But that itself is a thought.

That is where it becomes interesting. The very attempt to stop thinking turns into thinking. The mind doesn’t stop—it simply changes direction.

Regrets, memories, fears, pride, jealousy, disgust, cravings, aspirations—the mind just cannot be empty.

We often believe we are in control of our thoughts. But try this simple exercise—sit still for five minutes and do nothing. No phone, no music, no distractions.

Just sit.

And watch.

Within seconds, something will appear. A memory. A worry. A random idea. A plan. Something you forgot to do. Something you wish you had done differently.

The flow doesn’t stop.

And that is when you realise—thoughts are always there. Not invited, not controlled, just present.

They travel freely. They take you from past to future without effort. But in doing so, they quietly take away your present.

So what do we do?

Do we fight thoughts? Do we try to shut them down?

That doesn’t work.

Cultivating the mind to empty it is meditation.

Why I Rejected H1B Visa 3 Times?

In my 22-year long IT career, I was offered the chance to file a US work visa three times — three opportunities to move abroad, build a different life, experience something new. And every single time, I lacked the courage to go for it. I asked myself again and again, Was I homesick? Was I too attached to my parents? Was I just not interested in adopting a new part of the earth — the culture, the lifestyle, the environment? I introspected a lot. I tried to convince myself, rationalize the reasons, and for many years I stumbled through explanations that now feel irrelevant to me today.

One day at work, I unexpectedly met my own self in someone else. I met a colleague named Ashish, whom I worked with at Zensar in 2015. He was the one who had opted for the H-1B visa and lived in the United States for a few years. He lived the life I had always hesitated over. He shared stories of the Grand Canyon, trips to National Parks, snow with his wife and kids — experiences most people dream of. But when I asked him about regrets in moving to the US, he fell silent for a moment. 

Then he said, “It was the biggest mistake of my life, Neeraj!”. I was taken aback. 

I responded with a smirk, “You lucky chap!”, but his next words made me pause. 

“I was unable to attend my father’s funeral,” he said, his voice heavy, a tear leaving his eyes. That was just the beginning of his story. I began to understand what he had missed — not the places, not the experiences, but the moments that truly mattered, the moments no visa could bring back.

Meeting Ashish gave me clarity. In his experiences, I found the answer I had been seeking. I realized that every time I declined the visa, I wasn’t running away from opportunity — I was staying rooted in something deep, something real. During my career, I did have a few short business trips to Chicago and San Francisco, but those visits didn’t make me feel like I was missing out. Instead, they affirmed my decision. I found myself asking a different question: What is it that we don’t have in the USA that we have here in India? And the answer was simple. Material things — lifestyle, international cuisines, malls, brands, cars — we already have them in Indian cities. But what truly matters isn’t material. Here, you are not a migrant. You can smell the earth when the monsoon begins with the same old nostalgia. You have relationships deeply connected to your heart, bonds that transcend time and distance, your land, your soil, and even your problems.

Those were the things that kept me from obtaining a US visa. But now, in 2026, I don’t feel the same way I did before. Times have changed, and I realize that relationships aren’t something that should stop someone from settling abroad. Parents visit rarely, life becomes focused on your own family — your wife and kids. How different is that from being in the USA? Relatives do not keep in touch; everyone is self-centered. The death of a close relative now makes you wonder whether you should take a day off from work or not. Many times, the news isn’t even conveyed personally — the ambulance does the task. Weekends are spent watching social media reels, movies, some road trips and most of the times being lost in our own worlds. 

The world isn’t changing — it is deteriorating. Life here isn’t different in essence; even in your motherland, life carries its own weight of struggles.

And life in India is far from perfect. We deal with infrastructure issues, lack of civic sense, poor roads, deadly air pollution, and a sense that human life is often undervalued and risky. Yet even with all these problems, I still feel connected here in a way I couldn’t imagine leaving behind. Maybe moving abroad isn’t wrong, maybe staying here isn’t inferior. But for me, understanding why I chose the life I did — and not choosing something else — brought a kind of peace. 

I didn’t abandon opportunities; I chose meaning. I chose presence over absence, connection over distance, soil over separation. And when I look back now, I know that was never a regret — it was the right decision for me.