The world I knew as a child was not one of light and laughter, but of shadows and struggle. The year was 1995, and our family—my parents my elder brother. We were trapped in a daily battle for survival. We were so poor that even the most basic necessity, food, was a luxury we could hardly afford. My father’s work at the local courts provided a meager and inconsistent income, never enough to feed our family, let alone support our education.
The house we called home was a fragile structure of mud, barely able to withstand the heavy monsoon rains. We lived on disputed land, and the constant threat of being forced out hung over us like a dark cloud. My mother, a woman of unyielding spirit and remarkable optimism, stood as our only shield. She fought fiercely and alone against the local “Baahubali” who wanted to take our home, filing complaints with the police, but her pleas for help were met with indifference. Every day my brother and my mother would walk long distances just to bring home drinking water, a simple act that was a constant reminder of our hardships.
My mother’s greatest weapon, however, was her faith in education. “Only through education will our fate change,” she would tell a young brother. Despite not having a hundred rupees to spare for school fees, she would humbly plead with tutors to lower their costs. My brother was her greatest hope. He was a beacon of intelligence in our dark world, a brilliant student in his government school who consistently scored perfect marks. His teachers often praised his exceptional mind, and his report cards, filled with 100 out of 100, were a source of immeasurable pride and a testament to my mother’s belief.
But life had one more cruel blow in store for us. It was 1997, a day that remains etched in my memory. I was just six years old, and he was eleven. My mother was not home, and those men came. They attacked our fragile home, tearing it down and throwing us onto the street. In that moment of utter helplessness, no one came to our aid—not our neighbors, not even our relatives. We were alone, a family of four children and our father, left on the road with nothing but the clothes on our backs.
That day was not the end, but a terrifying turning point. It marked the moment our family’s story became one of true resilience. We packed what little we had left and moved to Patna in search of a better life. In this new city, a flicker of hope appeared when he learned from friends about the IIT entrance exam. He was told that clearing it could change our family’s fate forever. With this new dream, he knew he had to get coaching, but we still had no money. It was then that my mother showed her immense sacrifice. She took her gold chain, her last valuable possession, and put it on loan to pay for his coaching.
He did not disappoint. His brilliance shone even brighter under pressure. His teachers at the coaching center were so impressed that they, too, predicted he would clear the IIT exam on his very first attempt. In the year 2000, he did exactly that, securing an All India Rank of 363. That was the day our lives truly changed.
His success was not just his own; it was the triumph of our entire family. He went on to join DRDO, then worked in the oil sector with assignments in Egypt and Dubai, and later, he earned an MBA from IIM Ahmedabad. Through it all, the foundation of his success was the unwavering support of our mother. She was the one who nurtured his talent, sacrificed everything for his dream, and guided him with a belief that never faltered.
He was the hero of our story, the one who pulled us from the brink of poverty. But it was my mother, the silent and stoic warrior, who was the very ground he stood on. Together, they forged a path out of the darkness and into a future filled with light, proving that with enough courage and love, anything is possible.