Chapter 3

The morning sun had barely peeked through the thin curtains of Nitish's small room when a sharp, familiar sound shattered the silence. "Leyyi ra Gadida!!" came the booming voice of his mother in her warm, yet stern Telugu accent. Nitish jerked awake as if hit by a sudden gust of wind. His mother, Kamala, was already at his bedside, her eyes wide and full of anger. She had a way of waking him that left no room for sleep, and today was no different.

"Nitish, wake up! Leyyi ra Gadida!!" she repeated, this time louder, her hands playfully yet firmly tapping his back. Nitish mumbled incoherently, still caught in the lingering fog of sleep. He tried to hide under his thin blanket, but Kamala was too quick. The familiar sound of her slippers clicking against the wooden floor punctuated her rising frustration.

"Enough, enough, my son. Get up already!" she said, her voice softening ever so slightly yet laced with the everyday anger of a mother who had waited too long. Nitish slowly sat up on the edge of his bed. His eyes, heavy with sleep, met his mother's disappointed look. For a long, silent moment, the air was filled with the smell of breakfast and the sound of a nearby clock ticking away the minutes that Nitish had wasted in sleep.

"Appu, why are you still in bed? You have nothing to do here all day!" she scolded in a mix of Telugu and simple English, "Have you not heard of responsibility? Look at what your sister is doing! She is working hard, and you—what are you doing? Running your Twitter account all day! You are freeloading!"

A deep sigh escaped Nitish as he reluctantly pushed himself up. "Ma, I am up. I'll get up and have my tea," he replied in a quiet voice. He knew that it would be a long morning, full of harsh words and angry comparisons. His mother wasted no time launching into a tirade that had become all too common recently.

"Listen to me, Appu," Kamala continued sternly, using the affectionate nickname she had for her son since childhood. "When you left for America, I believed you would come back a success. I believed that career in masters would light up your future. But now, look at you! You are sitting here, doing nothing but tweeting about cricket and making your silly memes. You have 50 lakhs of debt, Appu! 50 lakhs! That is a lot of money, and you have nothing to show for it!"

Nitish shifted uncomfortably on his small cot. He knew the debt was the talk of every family gathering and wherein the neighbors whispered behind their closed doors. It was a burden heavier than most could imagine, and yet here he was, continuing with his life as if everything were fine. He avoided meeting his mother's eyes, knowing that any attempt at explanation would only spark more anger.

"Do you think I will forget the money?" Kamala snapped. "Your cousin Kiran went out, got a good job, and is already saving for his future. And look at Aisha, your sister, who got a proper job and is building her career. What have you done? Nothing! You just sit here day after day, making tweets and memes. You need to get a job, my son, a real one!"

Nitish tried to speak, but his throat felt dry. "Ma, I'm trying, you know. I am sending out applications. I am waiting for my break…" he started, but his mother interrupted him sharply.

"Break? Break! You think jobs come to those who wait? You think this is a game?" she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "You went to America, studied hard, and came back with 50 lakhs of debt on your masters, and now you expect the world to hand you a job? No, Appu, that is not how life works."

She sat down on the edge of his small bed, her eyes softening just a bit despite the anger. "Your father and I, we struggled so much for you to have an education. We believed in you, Appu. But you must understand, this is real life. There is no room for idleness, no space for endless tweeting. You have a reputation as a data scientist now. You must do something productive with it. Enough with these jokes and memes!"

There was a long pause before Nitish finally spoke. "Ma, I know I have to do something. I really need a job. But you know, things are not so simple. Every company I apply to says that they need someone with more experience, or skills that I supposedly do not have. I am trying hard."

Kamala shook her head in exasperation. "Trying hard? You have been trying hard for how long now? Months? Years? When will you understand that mere effort is not enough when the results are nowhere to be seen? I don't want to live in constant worry. Every day, I wake up and think: will my son ever be able to stand on his own two feet? Will he ever pay off that huge debt?"

Nitish's heart pounded in his chest. He knew his mother's words were true. Every conversation they had, every scolding session, reminded him of all that he had failed to accomplish. The weight of 50 lakhs of debt loomed in his mind like a dark cloud. But still, he tried his best to defend his passion as if it mattered.

"Ma, I do love cricket; you know how much it means to me," he said, hesitating as he formulated his thoughts. "My tweets, they are more than just jokes. They show that I understand the game. They show that I have a unique way of looking at it."

Kamala snorted softly, a mix of disbelief and disdain in her tone. "Cricket, indeed! Cricket is good, but what will your future be if you keep talking about cricket all day? I remember when you were a small boy, chasing after balls in the streets of Kurnool, dreaming of great stadiums. And now look at you—sitting behind that computer all day. You need to be out there, working hard, earning money, and showing the world that you can do something more than just making memes."

The room was silent for a moment, filled only with the sound of the slow ticking clock. Nitish's eyes fell to the floor as he listened to his mother's passionate words. He could feel the disappointment in her voice, wrapped in the language of everyday struggles—a language that had been echoed in their home for as long as he could remember.

"Appu, do you remember when I used to tell you stories of our ancestors? I told you how your great-grandfather built a small shop from nothing. He worked hard every day, rain or shine, and he never complained. I expect the same determination from you!" Kamala's voice softened, a mixture of hope and sadness in every word.

"I am determined, Ma. I promise you, I will find a way out of this mess," Nitish replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart ached with the pressure of unmet expectations and the weight of responsibilities that he felt he could not shoulder.

"Promises, promises," his mother murmured, a tear glistening at the corner of her eye before she quickly wiped it away. "I do not ask for promises, Appu; I ask for results. I want to see you stand on your feet. I want to see you clear your debt, get a proper job, and make a life that we, your family, can be proud of."

The conversation seemed to stretch on, time filled with the clashing of aspirations and harsh realities. Outside the room, normal life in Kurnool was already moving along—neighbors greeting each other, the distant sound of a market being set up for the day, and the early chirps of birds echoing the start of a new day. Inside, however, Nitish's small room became a battleground for dreams, disappointments, and the raw, unfiltered truth of everyday struggles.

After a while, Kamala got up and began moving towards the small kitchenette in the corner. "Go get ready for breakfast, Appu. And while you are at it, try to think of something useful for today. Write down a list of applications you have sent and maybe a plan for tomorrow. We cannot live like this forever, my son. You must start taking steps toward a better future!"

Nitish, still sitting on his bed, slowly nodded his head. In his heart, he knew that his mother was right. Each tweet, every joke about cricket, was only a temporary fix and a distraction from the reality that awaited him outside that small room. He felt the pain of failure, the sting of disappointment, and the heavy burden of debt that pressed down on him like a constant reminder of dreams that had not yet been fulfilled.

As he began to get dressed, the conversation replayed in his mind. The forceful words of his mother, the painful comparisons with his cousin and sister, and the stark mention of his debt marked the beginning of a day that was not just about breakfast and routine—it was a reminder that life demanded hard work and sacrifice. He could almost hear his mother's voice in every corner of his small home: "Leyyi ra Gadida!! Wake up and take control of your life!"

Sitting at the breakfast table later, Nitish stared silently at the plain bowl of rice and curry that his mother had prepared. Kamala watched him, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find a spark of the determination she once hoped would burn brightly. "Today is a new day, Appu. I want to see some progress. I know you are smart. I know you have the talent. But talk is not enough. Use that brain of yours. Find a way to use all that you have learned. Please, for your sake, try to do something meaningful."

The words, though repeated many times in the past, cut deep into his heart. They were not meant to break him, but they did feel like another weight added to an already heavy burden. Yet, somewhere in the midst of the relentless criticism and comparisons, Nitish felt a fragile seed of resolve. He had always loved cricket, and he had always loved data. Perhaps these were not separate passions after all. Maybe there was a way to merge them—one that would prove to his family, and to himself, that his path, however unconventional, had purpose.

After breakfast, as he settled at his old laptop in the corner of the room, Nitish opened a blank document. He decided to write down his thoughts, hopes, and the ideas that had been swirling in his mind since his mother's wake-up call. "I have to do something differently," he wrote slowly, his fingers hesitating over the keys. "Each day must count. Each application must be followed by action. I owe it to Ma, I owe it to myself."

Between the clattering of keys and the occasional scroll through his Twitter timeline, Nitish drafted a plan. He listed out the companies he had applied to, the ones he would follow up with, and new skills he could start learning online. The plan was simple—build a portfolio, create projects that merged his love for data and cricket, and actively search for opportunities that could finally pave the way for a stable future. It wasn't an easy road, and the numbers in the debt still loomed large in his thoughts, but for the first time in a long while, there was a glimmer of determination.

Later that day, as Nitish took a short walk outside to clear his head, he couldn't help but overhear conversations in the busy lanes of Kurnool. Strangers chatted about their daily struggles, work, and dreams. Even in the simple life of this town, there was an undercurrent of ambition—stories of people who had risen from nothing to build something meaningful. That realization sank in deep within him. He was not the only one battling hardships, and perhaps, just as many had turned their lives around, he too could overcome this phase.

By the time evening rolled around, Nitish felt a change inside him. Although the memories of the morning's harsh words still echoed in his mind, they now served as a reminder—and a challenge—to prove that he could be more. He decided to spend a few hours reading articles about building a career in data science and connecting with professionals online. Each step, though small, was a step toward rebuilding his confidence.

That same night, when the stars twinkled above the quiet town of Kurnool, Nitish sat by his window with his laptop open. He composed a tweet that was different from his usual humorous takes—a tweet that was earnest and filled with determination. It read: "Every challenge is a chance to start over. Today, I promise myself to take one step closer to a future where I make my family proud, where I use my skills to create something meaningful. #NewBeginning"

The response was muted compared to his usual humorous posts, but there were a few supportive messages. It was not the viral success he had sometimes wished for, but it was enough to let him know that he was on the right path. As he closed his laptop and prepared for sleep, his thoughts wandered back to his mother's stern wake-up call—the persistent "Leyyi ra Gadida!!" that had forced him out of bed that morning. It was a sound that symbolized both her care and her desperate hope that he would rise above his present condition.

In the stillness of the night, Nitish made a silent vow. He would work hard to clear his debt, to find a steady job that would honor the sacrifices his parents had made, and to find a way to merge his love for cricket with his skill in data science. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but he could no longer hide behind the comfort of tweets and memes. He had to start living a life that was more than just online status—a life that could bring him true satisfaction and, most importantly, make his family proud.

As the night deepened and sleep slowly claimed him, Nitish lay on his small cot reflecting on the day. His mother's words, though harsh, had planted a seed of resolve deep within him. They reminded him that he was not the carefree boy who once played cricket on the dusty streets of Kurnool, but a grown man who had to face the consequences of his choices. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he knew this was a turning point—a moment where he would decide to no longer be a bystander in his own life.

With the soft hum of the night as his only companion, Nitish whispered to himself, "I will prove them wrong. I will find my way, even if it takes a thousand small steps." And in that quiet determination lay the beginning of a new chapter in his life—a chapter of hard work, persistence, and the hope that one day, the weight of 50 lakhs of debt would no longer hold him back, but instead serve as a reminder of how far he had come.

Thus ended a day full of harsh words, heavy responsibilities, and fragile hope in the small town of Kurnool. Though the echoes of "Leyyi ra Gadida!!" still rang in his ears, they now carried a promise—a promise that tomorrow would be better and that he, Nitish, would rise again to face the challenges of life and build a future worthy of his dreams.