When Success Feels Empty

I was searching for a senior professional for a role when I came across someone with an impressive background—an IIT graduate who later pursued an MBA from IIM. After a brief exchange of messages, he called me while traveling from Gurgaon to Bangalore. We agreed to have a detailed chat during his drive home from the airport.

For the sake of this story, let’s call him Ram.

Ram had a warm, confident voice, and we connected instantly. We spoke about his career aspirations, but the role I had in mind didn’t interest him. However, he was kind enough to refer a friend. That was a separate story. What mattered was that we hit it off well, and by the end of our conversation, he suggested meeting for dinner the following week.

The evening arrived, and Ram brought along his cousin—let’s call him Sam. As we settled into our seats, conversation flowed effortlessly. At one point, I joked, “So, you must be one of those guys who work 90 hours a week and barely have time to even look at your wife.”

He laughed, high-fived me, and said, “For that, I should have one first.”

Oops. I had unknowingly stepped into tricky territory. Embarrassed, I quickly apologized, but Ram, being a sport, brushed it off. “It doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago.”

I mumbled, “I’m really sorry for what happened.”

He smirked and corrected me, “No, no, she’s very much alive and well. In fact, she’s in Bangalore. We’re just divorced.”

Ram took a sip of his drink and leaned back. “You like stories, right? Let me tell you one.”

Ram was an only child, and like many middle-class parents, his folks wanted him to excel. From the age of two, he was enrolled in everything—gymnastics, painting, music, dance, skating. By the time he reached fifth grade, his childhood had already been sacrificed at the altar of IIT preparation.

Vacations? Non-existent.

Weddings? Not attended.

Childhood? What’s that?

His parents put him in a corporate school where he studied 12-16 hours a day. High school came, and off he went to a coaching center in Kota. He woke up at 4 AM, buried his head in books all day, and slept late at night. The hard work paid off—he cracked IIT with an All-India Rank and got into one of the top colleges. His graduation was a blur of sleepless nights, study sessions, and internship hustle. Eventually, he landed a prestigious corporate job abroad.

Just when he thought he could finally enjoy life, his father asked, “Why not try for IIM? Or would you like to take up this job?”

Ram thought, “Let me finish my studies first. A job can come later. I’ll enjoy life then.”

Cracking IIM was easier for him. He burned the midnight oil once again, aced the interviews, and secured a dream job in one of the best companies. From that moment, his life turned into a series of flights, boardrooms, and late-night emails. He spent more than half the month traveling. The grind continued.

Somewhere along the way, he married Priya, his college classmate. She had a demanding job too. Both of them worked insane hours, earning big money. To outsiders, they seemed like the perfect power couple. But as Ram put it, “You know, I once watched a video of Sudha Murthy saying, ‘I never fought with Narayana Murthy because he traveled 20 days a month, and I traveled the other 10. We hardly saw each other.’ That was our story too.”

Priya realized this lifestyle wasn’t taking her anywhere. She needed emotional and physical connection, but Ram was in no mood to slow down. After five years of marriage, they amicably parted ways. Now, she’s happily married with kids. And Ram? He lives alone.

His parents are in a retirement home. He visits them once a month for two days. That’s all he can afford.

Then, he turned to Sam, his cousin and best friend—the only family member he had consistently stayed in touch with. By this time, Ram had lost count of his drinks. He laughed and said, “This idiot here was never good at studies. Played cricket for the state, did some random degree, and spent most evenings at pubs or movies. And guess what? He now runs a coaching academy and a gym. He earns more money than me, but I pay more tax than him.”

He chuckled, took another sip, and sighed, “I was always a donkey, working 14-16 hours a day since childhood. And what did I achieve?”

The Real Question: Success or Happiness?

That night, as I walked back home, Ram’s story lingered in my mind. It made me think about how we define success. Are we pushing our kids into a relentless race while forgetting to teach them happiness? Should they chase high salaries, or should they chase a life worth living?

We glorify relentless hard work, but at what cost? Is success just about high-paying jobs, prestigious degrees, and corporate titles? Or is it about meaningful relationships, peace of mind, and the ability to enjoy life?

Ram had everything—wealth, education, a stellar career. But he lost his childhood, his marriage, and even his connection with his parents. Was it worth it?

Maybe it’s time we redefine success. Maybe it’s time we stop raising donkeys and start raising humans who not only work hard but also know how to live.