The fall of 2004 changed the direction of my life. I was packing for UC Berkeley, telling myself I was taking a mid-career break to learn research properly. But even as my mind drifted towards California, my heart stayed in Sevagram.
Ashwini had just finished his 12th standard and was preparing for the MGIMS entrance test — the exam, the Gandhi-Thought paper, the coaching sessions in Nagpur, and the anxious wait that followed are told in full a few chapters earlier, in “Guidance Point.” What that telling doesn’t cover is what happened on my side of it, and on Bhavana’s.
The Verdict, From California
I flew to the US with a guilt that sat stubbornly in my chest. I kept asking myself the same question: was I chasing my own growth while my son’s future hung in the balance?
When the results came, Ashwini stood third for two staff-quota seats — close enough to taste it, far enough to lose sleep — and had missed the open-category cut as well. He enrolled at Fergusson College in Pune for Biotechnology instead, trying to look brave. We pretended to be cheerful. Inside, we were all waiting.
A few weeks into the term, a seat in the open category fell vacant. Someone withdrew. The waitlist shifted. Ashwini was next.
The call came from home. It was Bhavana. Her voice was trembling, not with worry this time, but with relief.
“He got in,” she said. “The seat opened up. Ashwini is coming back from Pune.”
I sat down. I don’t remember what I was doing before that call, but I remember the moment after it. The relief was physical. Across oceans and poor phone lines, we held on to that one sentence like a blessing.
Our son was coming home.
The Financial Scramble
The happiness lasted a few minutes. Then reality returned.
To secure the seat, the fees had to be paid immediately. In 2004, money could not be moved with a click. There was no NEFT from a phone, no instant transfer. We were not sitting on spare cash either. Most of our savings were in mutual funds.
And I was 13,000 kilometres away.
Bhavana had to do everything. She arranged the redemption, hunted down the agent, searched for the physical papers, filled forms, signed, re-signed, and then travelled to Amravati to submit documents at the main branch. The waiting was the worst part. Every day mattered. Every delay threatened the admission.
The cheque came in time. She deposited the draft with a day to spare.
Only then did we breathe.
The Solo General
Looking back, Ashwini fought the exam. But Bhavana fought the year.
Amrita was still small then, in third standard, needing homework help, routine, and reassurance. Ashwini had gone through the full emotional cycle of hope, disappointment, hostel life in Pune, and sudden return. And Bhavana was holding the home steady through all of it.
At the hospital, she was also dealing with the chaos of launching the Hospital Information System. Anyone who has introduced a new HIS knows what it means: software glitches, angry staff, resistance, delays, and daily firefighting. Her workdays stretched to ten or twelve hours, and even after she returned home, the problems followed her like a shadow.
On top of that, she was preparing her own passport and visa so she could visit me in Berkeley. One more queue, one more form, one more deadline.
People talk about work-life balance as if it is a neat solution. That year taught us something else. For a working woman, balance is not a pose you achieve. It is a constant act of holding, adjusting, and not letting anything fall.
When Ashwini finally wore his white coat and walked into the anatomy hall of MGIMS, it was his victory. But the foundation had been laid by Bhavana’s quiet resilience. She kept the roof in place, even when everything felt unsteady.