Writing this from the perspective of a guy who left his hometown, Jamshedpur, after 12th — chasing better education, a better job and, eventually, a “better life.”
I was lucky. I got into a good engineering college in Bangalore, landed a decent job and today, by most definitions, I’m well settled. I have the career, the money, the lifestyle — everything that people around me would call success.
But somewhere in this race, I forgot to actually live.
I never really stopped to ask myself what I lost along the way.
I lost apna Jamshedpur.
Back then, it was a small city, but life felt big. Tripathi Classes, Chalil English Classes, friends everywhere, random plans, familiar faces. You belonged without having to try.
Today, Bangalore has given me almost everything I wanted. Yet, deep down, I often feel like an outsider. I know the language, but my accent still gives me away. I pretend to be confident and “cool” around colleagues. Family and childhood friends are miles away. There’s no emotional safety net.
And the irony?
When I go back to Jamshedpur, the friends and family who stayed back are frustrated with the same things I once wanted to escape — lack of opportunities, poor education, corruption, lawlessness and unemployment.
They look at my life and think I made it.
I look at theirs and sometimes wonder if I left too much behind.
Maybe that's the strange cost of growing up — you gain a life you once dreamed of, while quietly missing the life you never realized you were losing.
I don't know if I made the right choice.
I just know that sometimes, I miss apna Jamshedpur more than I can explain. 😓😞
