Rahul was a mechanical engineer, working a steady nine-to-five job at a reputable firm. The salary was good, the benefits comfortable, yet every evening, he returned home with a gnawing emptiness. Life felt mechanical—wake, work, return, sleep, repeat. The glow of his computer screen, the hum of machinery, the endless reports—it all left him drained, questioning whether this was truly living.
In stark contrast was his wife, Meera. Uneducated by formal standards, yet profoundly wise in the art of existence. She rose at five each morning, bathing in the crisp dawn air before beginning her day with a quiet folk song on her lips. Breakfast for Rahul, his ageing parents, and his younger siblings. Lunch packed for him. The house swept, laundry scrubbed, cows milked, hay gathered, dishes washed—all before midday. And yet, she never grumbled. On sweltering summer afternoons, she might steal a brief nap, but her hands were never still for long.
One evening, as Rahul slumped onto the veranda, head in his hands, he sighed. “Meera, I can’t carry on like this. This job is suffocating me.”
She paused her sweeping, tilting her head. “What would you do instead?”
“I don’t know. Something where I speak to people, not machines. Perhaps… I should have studied literature or philosophy. Become a lecturer, inspired young minds.”
Meera smiled. “But you didn’t. So why not teach what you already know? Couldn’t you instruct engineering students?”
Rahul’s eyes brightened. Within weeks, he left his corporate role and became a lecturer at a local polytechnic. The first days were exhilarating—engaging with students, debating concepts, feeling alive. But soon, reality set in. Lesson plans, marking papers, student complaints. By the time he returned home, he was buried in work again.
Frustrated, he turned to Meera once more. “This is worse than before! I’m still chained to a schedule, to responsibilities. Maybe… maybe we should open a café. You cook so well—would you help me?”
Meera wiped her hands on her sari and sat beside him. “As your wife, I’ll stand by you in anything. But think carefully—a café means longer hours, no certainty of success. Rahul, we cannot outrun duty. It follows us everywhere.” She placed a hand on her belly—she was expecting their first child. “Soon, I’ll carry our baby, endure pain, yet I’ll cherish it because it’s part of life’s fabric. We needn’t change what we do. We must learn to love what we do.”
Rahul frowned. “Why not just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”
Meera chuckled softly. “Because life isn’t about leaping from one path to another. It’s about walking your own with joy. You keep searching for happiness in a different job, a different life. But happiness isn’t in the work—it’s in the way you work.”
Rahul stared at her, the truth settling over him. His wife, who had never set foot in a university, had just imparted its greatest lesson.
From that day, he stopped chasing illusions. He returned to his lectures with renewed vigour, finding delight in his students’ curiosity. And Meera? She continued her endless chores, her songs weaving warmth through their home.
For life wasn’t about escaping labour—it was about embracing it, loving it, and in doing so, discovering its hidden poetry.
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