Now let me share with you one of the most challenging conversations I ever had before leaving for the US. Yes, I had nailed my SATs and was ready to apply to colleges, but I hadn’t yet fully told my parents what was going on. I hadn’t shared the full scope of my plans, and the reality of leaving home for a new life in America was something I knew would hit hard.
So here’s how it all unfolded, as I remember it vividly:
It was 1997, and I had everything lined up. My scores were great, and I had already secured a potential scholarship, but I still needed one very important thing—my parents' approval and their signatures to finalize the admission process. Up until then, I had danced around the topic, dropping hints here and there but never really laying it out clearly.
One night, my dad wasn’t home, and I knew it was my moment. I approached my mom at the kitchen table, heart pounding, knowing that once I told her, there would be no turning back. I was smart enough to realize that getting her on board was the first step—if she agreed, my dad would follow. But the stakes were high.
I sat down, took a deep breath, and told her everything: about the scholarship, the college, and how much this opportunity meant to me. As I spoke, I could see her face change. It wasn’t just the words she was hearing; it was the weight of what they meant. This wasn’t just about me going to college. This was about leaving home, halfway across the world, with no guarantees of when I’d return. In 1997, communication and travel weren’t as simple as they are today.
My mom looked at me, and I could feel her internal struggle. “Sumit, are you sure this will make you happy?” she asked, her voice filled with both love and concern. And in my youthful certainty, I responded, “Mom, this is the only thing that will make me happy.”
At the time, I was too caught up in my own dreams to see what this meant for her. I was focused on my future, on the excitement of starting something new. But now, with the perspective of time, I realize just how much she sacrificed in that moment. Her little boy was flying the nest, and she had to let me go. It was one of the hardest things she ever had to do, and I only understand now the depth of a mother’s love—that quiet sacrifice, the strength it takes to let go of someone you love so deeply.
Looking back, I see that moment as one of the most profound lessons in love. It wasn’t about the words spoken at the kitchen table—it was about what wasn’t said. It was about the unspoken bond, the love that allows someone to pursue their dreams, even if it means breaking your own heart in the process.
This experience ties deeply into the lessons I’ve learned from yoga. Yoga, much like love, is about surrender. It’s about letting go, trusting the process, and embracing the unknown. Just like my mom let me go, trusting that I would find my way, yoga teaches us to release our need for control and lean into life’s natural flow.
But the journey wasn’t over yet.
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