SON , THE WORLD CAN WAIT

Son, The World Can Wait

Written By : Sanjay Shharma

The streets of Dehradun stretched ahead, dimly lit by the glow of streetlights. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant pines. We walked in silence, side by side, as the city pulsed around us. This wasn’t the Dehradun I had known. The quiet, slow-paced town of my childhood had given way to a restless, neon-lit rush. Rajpur Road was alive—superbikes growling at traffic signals, laughter spilling out of cafés, boys draped in branded jackets, girls flicking through reels on their phones. Somewhere between this chaos and our quiet conversation, I saw a reflection of my son’s world—restless… eager… searching.

He studies in one of India’s most prestigious, century-old schools—a legacy institution that has produced some of the country’s finest leaders, thinkers, and changemakers. I had put him there for the same reasons; to shape him, to prepare him for a future of excellence, to instill in him the discipline and values that such an institution is known for. But as I watched him now, hands buried in his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, a part of me wondered… was he thriving, or was he merely surviving? Was he soaking in the values of this great institution, or was he getting lost in the chaos of hostel life? Was he truly focused, or was he… distracted?

Tonight was special. A rare night out, just the two of us. Away from the strict schedules, the ringing bells, the housemasters’ watchful eyes. He had earned this break. And I was here to understand—not as a father handing out advice, but as a friend listening without judgment. As we sat in the warm glow of a roadside dhaba, sipping chai from clay cups, I saw the change in him. The slight loosening of his posture, the way his voice carried more ease. The way his stories flowed—some guarded, some open, some laced with unspoken questions.

The hostel life he had built was a world of its own—one of unbreakable house loyalties, whispered secrets under bunk beds, fights over food portions, alliances made and broken on the sports field. The boys wore their house colors like warriors—proud, territorial, ready to defend their turf. Every inter-house competition was a battle, every victory, a badge of honour. “Dad, you know how it is… our house is not just a place. It’s who we are.” And yet, behind this bravado, there was another side; the silent rivalries that stung deeper than spoken words, the loneliness that crept in during long study hours, the self-doubt that sometimes came knocking, uninvited. “Everyone’s got their game face on. You can’t let your guard down.”

“But don’t you ever feel exhausted?” I asked. He hesitated, staring at the steam curling from his cup. “Sometimes.” Then came the stories—about seniors who pushed limits, about friendships that felt both strong and fragile, about nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was doing enough. And somewhere in between, I saw it. He was always the one keeping peace, making sure no one felt left out, the one adjusting to others. But where was he in all of this? “Do you ever feel like you’re losing yourself in trying to keep up?” The question lingered.

He glanced at his phone—something he barely got to use in school. Here, with me, it was always within reach. And yet, he was constantly occupied. A message here, a call there, an unsaid urgency in his fingers scrolling. Who was he talking to? What was so pressing? Was it the outside world pulling him in… or was he searching for something in it?

Later that night, we sat in the hotel balcony, the city murmuring below. The warm air carried faint music from a distant party, blending into the silence between us. And then, without warning, he spoke. “Dad… sometimes I don’t even know if people like me for who I am… or just because I always say yes to them.” I let the silence stretch. Then, I placed my hand on his chest—the way my father once did to me. “Put your hand here,” I said. “Feel it. That’s the only approval you need.”

He looked up, eyes searching mine. “But what if I lose them?”

“Then they were never yours to begin with.”

There was a stillness after that. A quiet understanding that didn’t need words. I told him stories—the ones I had written, the ones that had meaning beyond paper. Stories of strength… of knowing when to walk away… of how happiness is never borrowed from others. It must rise from within.

Morning came. I found him outside, strolling alone. Was he breathing in the crisp air, lost in thought about last night? Or was it the rare freedom of walking without a purpose? Or maybe… just maybe… he had found someone special to talk to. But whatever it was, I knew this—if he was to become the man he wanted to be, he needed to be stronger in his mind… clearer in his heart.

As I dropped him back at school, I pulled him into a tight hug. He stood at the gate, a thousand unspoken words between us. His shoulders were still slightly hunched… but there was a difference. A newfound stillness. A quiet resolve. I rolled down the window, my voice steady, yet soft. “Son… the world can wait. You don’t have to rush to be something for others. First… be everything for yourself.”

A tear threatened at the corner of my eye—not of sadness… but of hope. Would he remember this when the world came rushing in again? Would he hold on to this truth when self-doubt tried to creep back? I could only pray.

But before he turned to leave, I left him with a few things to hold on to—things I wish I had understood earlier in life:

Your mind is your greatest strength. Train it well. Read, think, reflect. Don’t let the world dictate what you believe.

People will come and go. Some will stay, some will betray, and some will simply fade away. Let them. Your people will find you.

Don’t chase approval. Respect yourself first, and the world will follow.

Every day, do one thing that makes you stronger—physically, mentally, emotionally. Build yourself, brick by brick.

And when life feels overwhelming, put your hand on your chest… and listen. Your heart already knows the way.

He nodded, eyes a little heavier, a little wiser. And as he walked back into the gates, I knew—he had heard me. Maybe not all of it… Maybe not today… But one day, when he needed it most, these words would find him.

About the Author

Sanjay Shharma is an engineer, management graduate, and second-generation entrepreneur with over 35 years of experience in building products, markets, teams, and institutions. Deeply rooted in Indian culture and a firm believer in the power of self-awareness, he integrates ancient wisdom with modern challenges. Passionate about community development, conscious living, and personal well-being, he shares insights drawn from life experiences, encouraging readers to live with more ease, joy, and fulfillment.