Letter 3: Choosing Time, Family, and the Courage to Live Without Regret

A father’s letter to his children’s future selves on why their family left a near‑perfect life in the US, came back to India, and chose a path guided by family, time, and the courage to live without regret.

Please, always be there for each other. Life will throw things at you that neither of you will see coming. In those moments, your greatest asset won't be money or status or success. It will be each other.

Around the time Y was born, your Appuppa and Ammumma had come to the US to help us. I wanted to bring Achacha, Achamma, and Achoos over too — to create a moment where we had the whole immediate family in one room, celebrating the start of a new chapter together. But it didn’t happen — and that’s okay. In life, not everything moves according to our wishes; sometimes the reasons only become clear later.

Not long after, Achacha passed away. He went peacefully, after an afternoon nap — a sudden and quiet moment that taught me something profound. Life is fragile. You can go to sleep one afternoon and never wake up. Time waits for nobody, and we don’t get to rewind. All we truly have is the now, and how fully we live it. That moment reshaped how I looked at everything — family, distance, and the choices we make about where to anchor our lives.

When I got the news, it took me 36 hours to get from the US to India to be with Achamma and perform his final rites. Thirty-six hours. Too long. That distance was also a teacher. It showed me that the US, for all its beauty and opportunity, is simply too far when your heart needs to be home.

Achamma was now alone. And the thought of not being able to reach her in time again — no matter how impossible it may sound — became a truth I couldn’t ignore.

When we decided to move back to India, many people were surprised. Friends in the US and family in India alike couldn’t quite wrap their heads around it. And I understand why. On the surface, we were walking away from a life of comfort — our close circle of friends, the routine we had built, and the ease that came from years of living in a place that had become ours. We were trading familiarity for uncertainty. It looked like stepping away from a near-perfect life.

In truth, we continue to work for some of the most prestigious companies in the world, and we’re lucky and privileged to have received such strong support during our move. What we did set aside were some of the career prospects that might have been easier to pursue if we’d stayed — but we chose meaning over convenience and career, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

And here’s the truth I want you both to understand: I did this for me, with the support of your mother.

Not for Achamma, though being close to her matters deeply. Not for both of you, though I want you to know your grandparents, not just their stories. I did this for me — because of duty, karma, and because I don’t want to live with regrets. If I stayed, and something happened again and I couldn’t be there in time, that would be a regret too heavy to carry.

Time doesn’t wait. Your mom and I recognized that, and we acted before it was too late. It was incredibly important that your mom was fully comfortable too — and she was. Her strength and clarity made this decision not a sacrifice, but a choice. A shared one. That alignment between us, that sense of shared values, is something I hope you both seek in your own partnerships.

Yes, we left behind a certain kind of comfort and predictability. And yes, there was anxiety — unknowns we couldn’t plan for. But life can’t be lived like a spreadsheet. In the end, not everything is controllable or measurable. You base your choices on values, not fear, and then you trust the direction you’ve chosen.

So far, we have had no regrets. Life here has been kind. We have support, good schools and offices close by, and a home that’s full of life and energy. It has also helped that both of you are still young and have been able to adapt and integrate more easily into this new life. Sure, the traffic is bad, but every place has its downsides. There’s no “best place” in the world — only what fits your life, your priorities, and your season. If that ever changes, we’ll talk about it in future letters.

V and Y, you were both born in America — a country I will always be grateful to. It gave us opportunity, friendships, and perspective. That time shaped us deeply.

Y, you’re too young to remember those years. V, you’ll have fragments — a few memories, maybe a feeling. That’s okay. What matters is that your roots began in a place of warmth and possibility. You made dear friends. You had teachers like Miss Devi, who gave you a strong foundation to grow from. Those are gifts that will stay with you forever.

Someday, we’ll take a nostalgic trip back. We’ll walk through those streets, see the house where we spent your earliest days, and remember how it all began. That chapter will always be one of the most beautiful in your mom’s and my life.

When you grow up, you’ll face moments that test your courage and your clarity. I hope you’ll use the same lens I did when making this decision — duty, karma, and no regrets. A lot of this way of thinking comes from what I’ve learned from the Bhagavad Gita and from Njanappana, a timeless Malayalam devotional poem that speaks about the uncertainty of life and the importance of living wisely. Someday, I hope you read Eknath Easwaran’s version of the Bhagavad Gita — it explains deep ideas in simple, clear language. And if there is one prayer I wish you both learn and truly understand, it is Njanappana. Its words are still so relevant today, and they capture how fragile life is and how important it is to live meaningfully.

And about material things — this is important. Go after them. Crave them, chase them, work hard for them, achieve them. There is nothing wrong with ambition or wanting a beautiful life. But never be bound to them. Don’t let possessions, career, or status decide your worth. At the same time, understand that money and networks matter in the real world. There will be situations where you need money, and in those moments, you must work smart and hard to earn more than enough of it. Build skills, build a financial cushion, and build relationships with people you trust — your network will help you when connections matter more than credentials.

I worked 14 years in the US to build a financial corpus and a network. That effort is a big part of why we could make this decision to move back without fear or regret. Excess money, when earned with integrity, is not just comfort — it is freedom and choice. Use it that way. The moment money and status start controlling your choices instead of enabling your values, you’ve lost sight of what truly matters.

We left a life of ease behind — and in return, we gained something richer, something more meaningful.

Thank you for coming into our lives, Y. You complete this family in ways I didn’t know we were incomplete.

Before you were born, I quietly hoped for a girl. But when you arrived, I realized how pointless that hope was. What mattered was you — your laughter, your boundless affection, your little arms that always know when to hug. You bring a special kind of energy into our home — expressive, loving, and full of joy. You dance, you insist on doing things your way, you make your opinions heard even with just a few words — and you shower us with love in ways that surprise us every day.

We love you so much, Y. We all do. You’ve made our lives brighter than we could have imagined.

With all my love, always,
Acha

This letter is part of our ongoing series, “Letters to Tomorrow,” where we write to our children but leave the door open for anyone walking a similar path. If you’ve ever made — or are considering — a big move for family, values, or something deeper than comfort, I’d love to hear your story in the comments. Your reflections might just become part of the legacy our kids read one day.

Please, always be there for each other. Life will throw things at you that neither of you will see coming. In those moments, your greatest asset won't be money or status or success. It will be each other.

Around the time Y was born, your Appuppa and Ammumma had come to the US to help us. I wanted to bring Achacha, Achamma, and Achoos over too — to create a moment where we had the whole immediate family in one room, celebrating the start of a new chapter together. But it didn’t happen — and that’s okay. In life, not everything moves according to our wishes; sometimes the reasons only become clear later.

Not long after, Achacha passed away. He went peacefully, after an afternoon nap — a sudden and quiet moment that taught me something profound. Life is fragile. You can go to sleep one afternoon and never wake up. Time waits for nobody, and we don’t get to rewind. All we truly have is the now, and how fully we live it. That moment reshaped how I looked at everything — family, distance, and the choices we make about where to anchor our lives.

When I got the news, it took me 36 hours to get from the US to India to be with Achamma and perform his final rites. Thirty-six hours. Too long. That distance was also a teacher. It showed me that the US, for all its beauty and opportunity, is simply too far when your heart needs to be home.

Achamma was now alone. And the thought of not being able to reach her in time again — no matter how impossible it may sound — became a truth I couldn’t ignore.

When we decided to move back to India, many people were surprised. Friends in the US and family in India alike couldn’t quite wrap their heads around it. And I understand why. On the surface, we were walking away from a life of comfort — our close circle of friends, the routine we had built, and the ease that came from years of living in a place that had become ours. We were trading familiarity for uncertainty. It looked like stepping away from a near-perfect life.

In truth, we continue to work for some of the most prestigious companies in the world, and we’re lucky and privileged to have received such strong support during our move. What we did set aside were some of the career prospects that might have been easier to pursue if we’d stayed — but we chose meaning over convenience and career, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

And here’s the truth I want you both to understand: I did this for me, with the support of your mother.

Not for Achamma, though being close to her matters deeply. Not for both of you, though I want you to know your grandparents, not just their stories. I did this for me — because of duty, karma, and because I don’t want to live with regrets. If I stayed, and something happened again and I couldn’t be there in time, that would be a regret too heavy to carry.

Time doesn’t wait. Your mom and I recognized that, and we acted before it was too late. It was incredibly important that your mom was fully comfortable too — and she was. Her strength and clarity made this decision not a sacrifice, but a choice. A shared one. That alignment between us, that sense of shared values, is something I hope you both seek in your own partnerships.

Yes, we left behind a certain kind of comfort and predictability. And yes, there was anxiety — unknowns we couldn’t plan for. But life can’t be lived like a spreadsheet. In the end, not everything is controllable or measurable. You base your choices on values, not fear, and then you trust the direction you’ve chosen.

So far, we have had no regrets. Life here has been kind. We have support, good schools and offices close by, and a home that’s full of life and energy. It has also helped that both of you are still young and have been able to adapt and integrate more easily into this new life. Sure, the traffic is bad, but every place has its downsides. There’s no “best place” in the world — only what fits your life, your priorities, and your season. If that ever changes, we’ll talk about it in future letters.

V and Y, you were both born in America — a country I will always be grateful to. It gave us opportunity, friendships, and perspective. That time shaped us deeply.

Y, you’re too young to remember those years. V, you’ll have fragments — a few memories, maybe a feeling. That’s okay. What matters is that your roots began in a place of warmth and possibility. You made dear friends. You had teachers like Miss Devi, who gave you a strong foundation to grow from. Those are gifts that will stay with you forever.

Someday, we’ll take a nostalgic trip back. We’ll walk through those streets, see the house where we spent your earliest days, and remember how it all began. That chapter will always be one of the most beautiful in your mom’s and my life.

When you grow up, you’ll face moments that test your courage and your clarity. I hope you’ll use the same lens I did when making this decision — duty, karma, and no regrets. A lot of this way of thinking comes from what I’ve learned from the Bhagavad Gita and from Njanappana, a timeless Malayalam devotional poem that speaks about the uncertainty of life and the importance of living wisely. Someday, I hope you read Eknath Easwaran’s version of the Bhagavad Gita — it explains deep ideas in simple, clear language. And if there is one prayer I wish you both learn and truly understand, it is Njanappana. Its words are still so relevant today, and they capture how fragile life is and how important it is to live meaningfully.

And about material things — this is important. Go after them. Crave them, chase them, work hard for them, achieve them. There is nothing wrong with ambition or wanting a beautiful life. But never be bound to them. Don’t let possessions, career, or status decide your worth. At the same time, understand that money and networks matter in the real world. There will be situations where you need money, and in those moments, you must work smart and hard to earn more than enough of it. Build skills, build a financial cushion, and build relationships with people you trust — your network will help you when connections matter more than credentials.

I worked 14 years in the US to build a financial corpus and a network. That effort is a big part of why we could make this decision to move back without fear or regret. Excess money, when earned with integrity, is not just comfort — it is freedom and choice. Use it that way. The moment money and status start controlling your choices instead of enabling your values, you’ve lost sight of what truly matters.

We left a life of ease behind — and in return, we gained something richer, something more meaningful.

Thank you for coming into our lives, Y. You complete this family in ways I didn’t know we were incomplete.

Before you were born, I quietly hoped for a girl. But when you arrived, I realized how pointless that hope was. What mattered was you — your laughter, your boundless affection, your little arms that always know when to hug. You bring a special kind of energy into our home — expressive, loving, and full of joy. You dance, you insist on doing things your way, you make your opinions heard even with just a few words — and you shower us with love in ways that surprise us every day.

We love you so much, Y. We all do. You’ve made our lives brighter than we could have imagined.

With all my love, always,
Acha

This letter is part of our ongoing series, “Letters to Tomorrow,” where we write to our children but leave the door open for anyone walking a similar path. If you’ve ever made — or are considering — a big move for family, values, or something deeper than comfort, I’d love to hear your story in the comments. Your reflections might just become part of the legacy our kids read one day.

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