The Wanderer

I was born in a small nursing home in a small suburb just outside the capital of Punjab. Home was dusty roads, street vendors selling juicy mangos, and playgrounds hot to the touch from the ruthless Indian sun. Life in Panchkula was cozy. My grandparents lived in adjacent sectors, their children not far from the nest. We grew up around more uncles and aunties than I could fathom. My mom’s older brother had a son, Manav, around the same time she had me, so I was closest with him. We practically grew up together, he was the brother I never had.

Even at a young age, Manav and I were competitive. We played cricket in the park outside my grandparent’s house with the other boys on our street, played tennis and badminton on the streets, running away as cars passed by, played soccer with a ragged ball we found one summer day. It was the best of times. He was always more athletic than I was, and I spent most of my childhood trying to keep up. I remember having this feeling that, no matter how hard I tried, he would always win. Sometimes that brought me down, but most times that feeling pushed me forward.

When I was 5 we moved to America. Around the same time, Manav and his family moved to Australia. We didn’t see each other as often as that. I don’t remember if I said goodbye. As my family began adjusting to our new life, his family did the same, just on the other side of the world. We didn’t see each other for a few years, but we were still family, we shared the same blood, and as we grew, this fact held true.

As the years went on, we would meet occasionally on family trips. And every time we met it felt like no time had passed. We would pick up right where we left off, finding small games and adventures to compete in. As a kid, I couldn’t help but compare myself to him. I think its human nature to compare, to find similarities and differences with those near us. To see what we could do differently, to see what we could do better.

My competitive nature was never out of malice, I had nothing but love for my family, but there was that part of me that wanted to be the best at everything I do, and I could see that feeling awaken in him every time we met.

It worked out that every 2 years or so from the time we were 10 till now our families would meet somewhere around the world. And every time we met, Manav and I would spend the trip catching up and competing in our own little ways.

A Checkpoint if you will.

Fast forward to 2 years ago. My uncle was turning 50 and wanted to celebrate with the whole family. All my extended family was flying down to Australia for a week or two, including us.

This trip came at an interesting time in my life. I had just graduated college, achieving something I had worked towards for the past 4 years. College was truly my only focus for as long as I could remember, and it was finally done. It wasn’t an easy journey by any means, and by the end of it I was a completely different person from the naive high schooler who walked under the Purdue arches.

Senior year was by far the most difficult year of my life. My mom was diagnosed with cancer and was going through chemotherapy throughout the year, something that hung over my head like a guillotine. At the time I was planning on going to medical school, a life altering process that took over most of my life. With school work, MCAT prep, research, and my overwhelming computer engineering classes, I had almost no time to focus on my family. It made me question the reasons I was going into medicine in the first place.

My mom was a huge reason for me pursuing medicine, she was a dentist and was extremely passionate about her work, and when she got sick it put into light what medicine really would be. Every day I would work with patients and try my best to help them. Every day I would see pain and suffering, most days I would save lives, some days I wouldn’t. And as I sat through standardized tests and classes and essays, I couldn’t get the image of my mom out of my head.

The doctors ended up saving her life, thank god, and moved onto the next patient. To them, I am forever grateful. But at the end of the experience, I knew one thing for sure. I could never do what they did, I didn’t have it in me.

Luckily for me, I had a great backup through my computer engineering degree, and I was able to quickly find a well paying job as a technology consultant, which would start a mere 4 months after graduation. This new job allowed me to be creative in my software developments, travel around the nation and even the world, and allowed for plenty of room to move up the corporate ladder, all within just 40 hours a week. In my mind, this career would give me the freedom to work creatively while allowing me the flexibility to spend time with family, with a nice added benefit of steady pay right away.

While this all looked good on paper, at the time I was scared, not sure if I had made the right decision. After graduating, I had 5 months of complete freedom. It’s not like I was sitting on my ass, I had a job lined up after all, a good one too. The sign on bonus came in, trips were planned, and for the first time in my life, I had no reason to be stressed. But anxiety doesn’t care about all that. It’ll eat at you regardless. In my head, this huge decision I had made would be in a state of limbo until I started working. It was hard to shut my brain off and enjoy.

I landed in Australia in late June after a grueling 36 hours of travel. 2 whole days had come and gone in airport lounges and cramped seats. I was greeted by my family, and for the first time in 2 years, I saw Manav.

During this time, Manav was going through his own journey. He had taken a year off after university to focus on medical research, and had just accepted an offer to do medical school in Northern Ireland. He was playing cricket constantly for various teams, even trying out for the Australian team at one point. He was always an athletic kid, but right now he was the fittest he had ever been. The kid looked good.

We had a blast that trip. We watched new movies, played more video games than one should on vacation, worked out, and played sports. Every turn we were as competitive as we were as kids. Sometimes I would forget how much we had in common, that shared blood lost over the distance. It was the best of times.

Checkpoints.

I couldn’t help but compare myself to him. Maybe it was my own mental state. Maybe it was seeing someone who started at the same point in time at the same place as me be so much better. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing everything you could have been.

A lot of these things were just in my head, I knew that. No one was pushing me to be a doctor, no one cared if I was 10% body fat. I was blessed with a family who would love me no matter what. But I couldn’t help it, something in me always wants to be better, more perfect.

The last two years have been the best of my life. I found a stride at work, finding creative ways to solve problems. I truly dedicated myself to my own health, cutting out a lot of bad habits and focusing on the gym, and after years of dedication my appearance was finally showing the fruits of my labor. I met my girlfriend and we fell in love. I started writing, got closer with my family, and became the healthiest version of myself to date. I realized how silly it was to compare myself to Manav, how damaging it could be to our friendship, our brotherhood. At the end of the day, I was happy he lived a good life, and I was proud to call him a brother. He motivated me to be my best self.

I was ready for the next checkpoint.

Last month I went to Australia once more. The months leading up to the trip felt like training for a marathon. I pushed myself harder than I ever have before to prepare mentally and physically for the next checkpoint. A part of me wanted to put my best foot forward, to show my family how far I’ve come. A much larger part of me wanted to do this for my own health, to show myself how far I can go.

Manav and I met again, and we were both better off than we were last. He was 2 years into medical school, well on his way to being a doctor. He was still as physically and mentally fit as he was 2 years ago, and more importantly he was happy in his new life. And I was happy for him. We picked up right where we left off, watching movies, playing video games, and working out, just like all those times before.

There was one night where we left our family event a bit early to hang out at his home. We started playing badminton, playing for the sake of playing. We started just volleying, seeing how long we could keep tossing the shuttlecock back and forth. As the number of passes went up, the moves we made became more complex.

We decided to play a friendly game, playing for the sake of playing. We set up some ground rules, play till 11, win by 2, the garage and the gate are out of bounds etc.

And the game was on.

The shuttlecock was tossed in the air, and hit hard by the racket, flying over to his side.

He hits it back, lofting the birdie up in the air to my side.

A light tap to the left and he goes running to return.

A volley begins, the returns get more difficult.

It was as if we were kids again, running to catch the birdie before it hits the ground, the cracked streets of Panchkula replaced with a paved driveway in Brisbane.

A miss by me, a bad hit by him, and the scores even out

10-9 him.

A good shot by me and it’s even

another long rally

a few good hits

a few lucky shots

16-15 him

Match point.

The birdie flies back and forth across the lawn, the sun setting over the Australian winter sky, sweat beading down our faces, grinning ear to ear.

I serve once more, the birdie sails through the air. A volley or two and then I let it rip.

The birdie sails over Manav’s head, a swing and a miss.

My arms go up in celebration

and the birdie hits the garage door.

Game. Set. Match.

He had won.

My arms slowly came down to rest on my knees. My breath heavy, sweat dripping down my nose to the pavement. I look up to see Manav doing the same. A smile materializes on my face.

“Double or nothing?”

He grins, picking up the shuttlecock near his feet and tossing it up in the air.

“Lets do it.”