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.

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.

I visited the West Coast for the very first time in 2014. I was staying at a hotel near Cocarane Plaza in Morgan Hill — a serene little village, a bit away from San Francisco. My office was at a walkable distance from the hotel, so I avoided taking an Uber most of the time.

With Kirk - Our Goodbye Moment in 2014

 It was during one of my morning walks that I first noticed a man outside Walmart. His name was Kirk. I remember the day we shared a smile for the first time. He spent most of his day in the plaza outside Walmart, usually seated on the same bench. After a few days of passing by and exchanging glances, I finally initiated some casual conversation with him.

“Where do you stay?” I asked.

“This place is my home,” Kirk replied, pointing to the bench outside Walmart.

That’s when I understood — he had no home technically. At night, he slept somewhere near the freeway 101. That was his routine.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, with no particular plans, I decided to explore the shops around. I saw Kirk sleeping on his usual bench. I tried not to disturb him.

“Why don’t you buy a bicycle, Neeraj?” he asked as I passed by. I realized he wasn’t really asleep. I was impressed by his attentiveness. I smiled.

“Well Kirk, I’m here for just a month. I don’t want to buy any asset here,” the thoughtful finance guy within me responded instantly.

“You can donate it when you leave,” he said. “Donating is good for you. Don’t they practice giving there in India?” Kirk added.

I nodded and gave it some thought. Maybe he is expecting me to donate it to him, I thought. That day, I felt a bit disconnected from Kirk and avoided further conversation.

The next day, he met me again. He had just finished his breakfast. It was a Sunday and I had a whole day of free time. Kirk offered to take me hiking around.

“The fact is, I will be leaving for India on Thursday,” I said.

“Well, that’s it?” he responded, in a choked voice.

I offered him lunch that day, and he happily accepted.

“Why are you homeless, Kirk?” I asked, after gauging that I wasn’t intruding too much into his personal life.

“I was at a crossroads in my life,” he began. “There came a moment when I had to choose — settle a wrong marriage, continue the battle in court, or donate my wealth to her.”

Kirk paused, the chopsticks in his hands motionless.

“And you know, I chose the latter. I bought my freedom,” he said.

His eyes showed no faith in the judiciary. It had clearly been a tough decision — to keep fighting and ruin the rest of his life, or to walk away and live like a free bird, managing with the little finances he had left.

I remembered his advice about buying a bicycle, and my assumption that he wanted it for himself. I was wrong. Completely. I had doubted a man who had the courage to donate his life’s savings to a selfish woman, and chose to live on the streets instead of living tied to bitterness.

The last time I saw him