I loved the movies, but I studied engineering—
my parents choosing stability for me
over the uncertainty they didn’t want.
The cinema, they said, was unpredictable,
while a steady job was a safe and sensible bet.
I loved writing stories
and watching them grow into screenplays.
I loved directing the actors
who lived the roles I imagined.
Yet instead of entering a film institute,
I walked through the gates of an engineering college.
I hated the subjects forced into my days—
data structures, algorithms,
computer architecture, programming…
All I wanted was to write the stories
and craft the scripts
for the films I longed to direct.
Still, I graduated,
accepted an offer from a large IT company,
and became a Programmer Analyst.
The work was dull, the pay was good.
I married my childhood love,
and together we built our home.
But the film world kept calling.
I tried to silence it; the silence broke me.
Like Odysseus lashed to the mast,
I heard the sirens’ song
and felt my limbs held fast.
Those around me sealed their ears with wax—
my words fell away unheard.
Only my wife understood the ache in my voice.
She urged me to follow my dream.
Her faith stood firm;
her job gave us room to breathe.
With her steadfast support, I resigned.
Our parents were furious
and withdrew from us completely.
I went to a producer with my story
and he turned it down without hesitation.
And so began the long, hard pilgrimage—
from door to door,
from rejection to rejection.
Doubt crept close,
but my wife held the line for me,
telling me to keep moving forward.
At last, fortune opened its hands.
A producer read my script and liked it.
He agreed to produce the film.
I began casting, planning, gathering a crew.
He trusted my vision
and never interfered.
We finished shooting in forty-five days.
Post-production followed—anxious, electric.
When the film finally reached the theaters,
the first reviews pierced my hope.
But slowly the tide shifted;
shows filled, and then overflowed.
The movie became a blockbuster.
I felt weightless—lifted above the world.
I embraced my wife,
the true author of my courage.
Our parents returned, remorseful,
admitting they’d been wrong.
I stood in that moment—grateful, fulfilled—
thanking my producer,
and loving, deeply,
the woman who believed in me from the start.
