On December 2, 2025, I turned 50.
Am I excited? Absolutely. For most people, a 50th birthday is a standard milestone—a time for a big party and a reflection on mid-life. But for me, passing this specific date was a miracle.
Thirteen years ago, at the age of 37, I was diagnosed with stage 4 kidney cancer. I was told then that every year I lived from that moment on would be a "bonus."
Now that I have crossed that finish line, I decided to celebrate differently—not just with a cake, but by capturing the essence of these 50 years. I am not a celebrity, but I have seen enough in this half-century—especially in the last 13 years—to fill a lifetime. If my experiences can offer even a single person hope or perspective, I will be a happy man.
The Foundation: Humble Beginnings
My journey began in a lower-middle-class family. We were three brothers raised by a hard-working mother and a father who worked in a factory. I still remember the year 1990; we lived happily on a household income of just 5,000 rupees (about $60 USD at the time).
My parents, though they had not studied past high school, had a singular vision: they wanted their three sons to become engineers from VJTI, one of the most prestigious colleges in the region. They ingrained the importance of education in us, believing it was the only way to change our stars.
We didn’t have luxuries. It took three years of persuasion just to get a bicycle. Requests for extracurriculars like cricket coaching were often turned down due to financial constraints. Yet, we never held a grudge. Instead, it fueled a life goal within me: To become financially successful enough that I never have to turn down a wish of my family.
Driven by this goal—and a challenge from my mother to beat my brother’s exam scores—I scored 91% in my 10th grade boards. I was ecstatic. Even though I missed the merit list by one mark, I had already achieved more than I expected.
The First Strike: Loss and Responsibility
My youth was a mix of language barriers—it took me six years to gain confidence in English after schooling in my native tongue—and quiet ambition. But destiny decided to test my resilience early.
Strike One: In 1993, just as my 12th grade results came out, I lost my father.
I was only 17. My world shattered. Suddenly, there was an urgent pressure to finish my education and start earning. By 2000, I had completed my engineering degree and landed a job in IT. Life finally seemed stable. I married Poonam in 2004, and we welcomed our first daughter, Nupoor, in 2006. Despite typical family frictions, I focused on the silver lining: watching my daughter grow.
The Second Strike: The Diagnosis
By 2011, my career was soaring, and we welcomed our second daughter, Aayushi. Life was good. But life rarely knocks before it barges in.
Strike Two: In February 2012, I was diagnosed with stage 4 renal cell carcinoma (kidney cancer).
I was 37. I had never been seriously ill. Suddenly, the script of my life was rewritten. For the first time, I felt real fear—not for myself, but for my family. But I realized quickly that panic was a luxury I couldn't afford. I made a quiet promise: I will fight. For my daughters, for my wife, for myself.
From 2012 to 2022, I fought for survival. I combined conventional medicine with a strict regimen of healthy diet, physical exercise, and naturopathy. There were relapses and two surgeries, but I kept bouncing back. I even ran the Mumbai Half Marathon. I traveled, pursued photography, and lived my "bonus years" to the fullest.
The Avalanche: 2023 to 2025
Just as I thought the worst was behind me, destiny unleashed a series of brutal blows.
Strike Three: In February 2023, my wife, Poonam, was diagnosed with a rare, autoimmune disease. The ground beneath my feet vanished. My pillar of strength was shaking.
Strike Four: Two months later, in April 2023, my mother (aged 72) was diagnosed with lung cancer.
The years 2023 and 2024 were a blur of hospitals and caregiving. I was juggling Poonam’s health, my mother’s treatment, and my own cancer surveillance. My mother passed away in December 2024. Losing her created a void that has yet to be filled.
Strike Five: While grieving my mother, destiny attacked again. In May 2025, after a morning workout, I suffered a heart attack. The stress of the previous two years had taken its toll. Three stents were placed in my heart. My lifestyle turned upside down again, but with persistence, I am slowly clawing my way back to normalcy.
Learnings from the Battlefield
The fight is still on. I don’t think I will ever truly "relax," but I do not dwell on complaints. Instead, I thank this phase of life for molding me. Here is what I have learned:
- Be Resilient: Assume the worst has happened; from there, the only way is up. A positive attitude keeps you moving when your body wants to stop.
- Practice "Letting Go": Everything—pain, grief, happiness—is temporary. The more we attach to outcomes, the more we suffer. Letting go is the best antidote to stress.
- Invest in Relationships: Invest in people who care. Realize that "caring" has no relation to blood. Often, the relationships we form naturally are stronger than the forced ones.
- Prioritize Financial Discipline: Insurance and savings are not optional; they are vital. When health fails, financial security allows you to focus on fighting the disease rather than worrying about the bills.
- Keep it Simple: Every situation has a simple solution if you look for it. Complexity only breeds stress.
- Honesty Pays Off: Sincerity in your personal and professional life builds a reservoir of goodwill. When I was battling on multiple fronts, the unconditional support I received from my employer and friends was a direct result of years of honest work.
Final Thoughts
Now that I have crossed this 50-year milestone, I feel a sense of achievement. Not just for who I am professionally, but for the journey I have survived. It hasn't been a fairytale. The lows were dominant, and the grief was severe. But the satisfaction comes from sailing through the storm without drowning.
I view 50 as a new beginning. My battles will accompany me until my last breath, and I have accepted them as integral parts of my life. After all, we only get to live once.
I live with one hope: That one day, years from now, I will sit down, congratulate myself, smile, and say—"It was hard, but I made it."
