Delhi Days, Desert Dreams, and the Silence Within.
By Dr Sunil S Rana
I was born and raised in Delhi; that vibrant, chaotic, and ever-beating heart of India. The scent of paranthas from local eateries, the whirr of DTC buses, the narrow gallis echoing with laughter, and the timeless elegance of Connaught Place; all of it runs through my veins. My childhood, adolescence, and young adult life were all painted in the colors of Delhi. From schooling to college, Delhi was both my cradle and my launching pad.
School days were filled with ambition and mischief, while college life at Deshbandhu College, University of Delhi, was where friendships blossomed and identities were forged. Time, however, is a relentless river. The once-bustling corridors are now silent memories, and those mischievous college buddies; my partners-in-crime; are now greying gentlemen and graceful women, parents of grown-up and mostly married children.
Like everyone, I got swept into the whirlwind of life; business commitments, family responsibilities, and the daily grind. Yet, amidst the hustle, a quiet truth settled in: I, too, feel lonely deep down. Not the kind of loneliness one might notice in silence, but the subtle ache that lives beneath a crowded room, a fulfilled day, a noisy dinner.
At our college reunion after four decades, we were overwhelmed by a strange excitement. Wrinkled faces, slightly stooped backs, and greying hair did little to dim the spark in our eyes. We were, after all, meeting the people who knew us before the world told us who we had to be. Yet behind the smiles and nostalgia was a shared reality: life had changed us. Our interactions today are limited to WhatsApp forwards, birthday wishes, and an occasional "How are you?" that often goes unanswered.
And in this moment of reflection, I came across a forwarded message that felt like someone had peered into my soul. Though it spoke about doctors, it resonated with me deeply because in spirit, it wasn’t just about medicine; it was about the cost of commitment, the burden of success, and the solitude that often shadows those who shoulder responsibilities with silent grace.
“Lonely and Me…?”
Forwarded – An excellent write-up
Being a doctor; especially a successful one; takes its pound of flesh. But success doesn’t merely mean money. It’s about the weight of expectations, the sacrifices that never get acknowledged, and the silent tears wiped behind closed doors.
Replace the word "doctor" with any profession that demands everything; lawyers, entrepreneurs, teachers, even artists; and the story remains heartbreakingly similar.
You may be surrounded by family, friends, clients, and colleagues, but still feel completely, achingly alone.
When your family doesn’t share your profession, they rarely understand your grind. They empathize, yes, but cannot fathom why you missed that family wedding or forgot to return a call. It’s not indifference. It’s just life playing out in a flurry of obligations.
Old school friends? They fade into WhatsApp history, remembered more for profile pictures and forwarded memes than meaningful conversations. The rare ones; those golden friends; still try. They accept that you’re busy, that your voice isn’t heard often, but your care remains unchanged.
When you do meet, there’s a strange quietness. You laugh, share old stories, but the depth has shifted. Like waves meeting a rocky shore; they touch, but don’t soak.
Your professional peers? They drift, scatter like seeds blown by the wind. Life takes them to different cities, countries, timelines. You remember them on odd nights, send a random reel or an old college fest photo, and sometimes get a brief “Hey, long time” in return. The bond remains, but it’s dimmed.
Colleagues? Often friendly, sometimes fierce. The professional space is a chessboard; friends today, competitors tomorrow. Conversations over tea rarely spill over into personal camaraderie.
And if your spouse isn’t from your professional world, the disconnect can deepen. They may love you dearly, yet misunderstand your silences. Your exhaustion after a long day seems like disinterest. Your missed anniversaries feel like negligence. The truth is; you’re just carrying too much.
Clients, patients, or customers may admire you. Your calm voice, your expertise, your steady hands. But admiration is not companionship. You must stay objective. Build boundaries. Because in this world, when trouble knocks, you realize that applause doesn’t always translate to support.
And when your professional worth is measured by reviews, public opinion, or social media sentiment, one misstep can undo years of hard work.
You are indispensable; until replaced.
This isn’t the story of just one person. It’s a quiet truth many successful individuals live with. Loneliness doesn’t ask for permission; it arrives unannounced.
Add to this the modern burdens; court cases, competition, customer tantrums, and the endless cycle of proving yourself. It’s a game where the finish line keeps moving.
Yet, the piece ends with hope:
"Don’t burn yourself trying to outrun shadows. The only race worth running is between your Potential and your Performance. The rest? Let it go."
It reminds me of something Rabindranath Tagore once wrote:
“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”
Time is not in quantity, but in quality. It’s not how many messages you reply to; it’s how deeply you connect when you do. It’s not how many reunions you attend; but how honestly you show up when you’re present.
In Delhi’s busy bylanes and Rajasthan’s dry, sun-drenched sands, my journey evolved. My education in Veterinary Sciences from Bikaner was a turning point; new city, new friends, new challenges. But Delhi never left me. Its pulse continued in my veins, like an old rhythm I couldn’t forget.
Friends from Deshbandhu College now live in far-off places. Many have seen ups and downs. Some lost their spouses, others raised their kids single-handedly. Some conquered the corporate world; others chose a quieter life. Yet all of us are bound by a common thread: the passage of time.
One of my favorite quotes by Kahlil Gibran is this:
“Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life.”
So while loneliness is real, so is the ability to fill that void with meaning. I find solace in cooking a meal, planting a new sapling, writing a thought, or walking in silence. These are the things that bring me back to myself.
And then there’s the quiet comfort of social media. A friend’s joke. A meme that reminds me of college days. A photo tagged with “Throwback Thursday.” These digital breadcrumbs; though shallow; light up forgotten paths.
I remind myself often: No matter how high you climb, someone will always be ahead of you.
So, I don’t compete anymore. I strive.
I don’t hustle to impress. I create to express.
I don’t long for grand reunions. I cherish the unexpected call, the random message, the momentary smile.
Life, like Delhi, is both maddening and magical. And like Rajasthan, it teaches you endurance. You learn to find shade under harsh suns and warmth in cold winds.
So here I am; still busy, still loved, still lonely sometimes; but still hopeful.
And maybe, just maybe, if I pause often enough to smile at an old message, call back a friend, or cook that forgotten recipe, I’ll keep finding pieces of myself I had buried beneath layers of time.
Because in the end, we’re all walking each other home; one forwarded message, one heartfelt smile, one honest connection at a time.
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