I want to start off by mentioning that I absolutely love my family, and would AND have suffered through hundreds of Kapil Sharma episodes to prove that love. Fortunately, they love me back the same amount, if not more. They always try to understand me, support me, uplift me and frankly, it sucks. As an artist, I’ve often seen suffering glorified, read stories about legendary artists turning their pain into great art. And as much as I sound like Jordan from Rockstar whining about not having enough chutney with his samosas, in my one-dimensional, childish pursuit for greatness I would not have minded a little bit of hardship... you know, to build “character”. So, when I told my simple, B-town parents with conventional careers that I wished to try my luck in the very fickle and risky fashion industry, let’s just say that their complete acceptance was not on my bingo card. I’m not saying they were over the moon about their child pursuing something they knew or understood next to nothing about, but they did have my back and started googling everything they could about succeeding in such a field.

Next to my overachiever cousins who have the kind of careers that the Indian society drools over, whatever minor milestones I’ve achieved undoubtedly lack lustre. My dad is the dreamer in the family who engages with any new ideas I have, fleeting or substantial. I may have inherited my dream big habit from him but I fear I did not pick up my mom's type A thorough preparation and execution skills. For instance, I had once mentioned in passing about being interested in pursuing a course in some college in London and in the next couple hours my mother had researched all the Indian restaurants in the area and had started going through her contacts to look if we have any relatives in the city to make my potential move smoother. And then there’s my elder brother who is always ready to pep-talk me when I need a hand out of a hopeless, self-loathing cave I’ve built around myself; or when I’m not in the mood to be motivated, listen to me bitch about how difficult adult life is.

I am at that transitional period in life where I’m done with my graduation and am figuring out my place in the world and the workforce, which if there was ever a physical representation of this time, would somewhat look like an inflatable man flailing around during a tornado. All my family has ever wanted out of me is to have a well-rounded happy life starting with a fulfilling career. Having not yet made any tides in the number of roles I’ve tried my hands in, it’s hard not to get discouraged at times. While one might assume that having parents who constantly believe in you is a dream, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I live under constant fear of getting their hopes up when I try something new all to only end up disappointing them. I keep dreading the day when their pot of patience runs out. And that I’m playing hangman with them and one day I will get the last letter wrong. 

I am well aware I’ve gotten one of the best hands anyone could get in this circus called life, and my anxieties are a me problem. That, it’s on me to move past my fears of not becoming the successful child they probably hoped for. I am utterly grateful for all the ‘I value my daughter’ posts and the  ‘How to work towards your goals’ podcasts my mom shares with me. Yet sometimes when I witness them making strides in their own lives, being fulfilled in everything that they do, I feel the kind of pride you feel for a loved one and I realise they have not gotten an opportunity to feel that towards me yet, it just…sucks. But I am trying to make it suck less. To not let their support pump my worries and instead use it as the helping hand it’s intended to be.

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