The Corner Table
We sat in the corner of the restaurant so we wouldn't be too visible.
Darjeeling, 2006. An LTC trip – the government-mandated leave travel allowance my father got once every 3-4 years. The only time we went anywhere. The only time we ate at restaurants.
The waiter came over. “How many people?”
I didn't understand the question. My father said “6.”
We got a laminated menu with stains from previous customers. All of us – my parents, my sisters, me – just stared at it. Nobody knew what to order.
My father ordered the safest thing possible: One sabji. One dal. Rice. Roti. Salad.
No starter. No soup. No desserts.
Those things didn't exist in our universe.
We recreated home in a restaurant because we didn't know how to do anything else.
The Pattern
At home, we didn't have the concept of variety.
Every meal was one dal OR one sabji. Not both. One dish.
Breakfast was parantha with tea. Or biscuits. Almost every single day.
Some special days we had non-veg – festivals, birthdays, occasions.
We never went out.
Clothes? We bought them only for occasions. Somebody's wedding. A festival.
We didn't have “day clothes” and “night clothes.” We had summer clothes and winter clothes. That's it.
There was no concept of buying clothes for home. You wore something outside until you couldn't anymore, then it became home clothes.
Travel? That Darjeeling trip. Maybe one or two others. Every 3-4 years if we were lucky.
I didn't have a favorite food. I didn't have a favorite color. I didn't have a favorite place.
Not because I was easy-going or low-maintenance.
Because I never learned to have preferences.
You're just grateful when there's food on the table. You don't develop opinions about what KIND of food.
The Whiplash
2015. My first paycheck from Amazon.
I stared at the number.
I didn't know what to do with it.
What do people even buy? What do people order? Where do people go?
I was that kid from the Darjeeling corner table, now holding a menu with no stains and no idea what I actually wanted.
So I learned. Aggressively.
I tried everything. Went everywhere. Said yes to everything.
Travel. Food. Clothes. Experiences.
If I saw it, I tried it. If someone suggested it, I did it.
By 2021, I had zero savings.
Zero.
Not because I was reckless. Because I was making up for every corner table. Every stained menu. Every LTC trip I never took.
Learning to Choose
My girlfriend has known me for 19 years.
She knew the corner table kid. She saw the first Amazon paycheck. She watched me try everything, go everywhere, say yes to everything.
And when I hit zero in 2021, she didn't judge.
I panicked. Started reading about personal finance. Got serious about saving.
I was earning well, so rebuilding wasn't difficult. But I swung to the other extreme – suddenly afraid to spend on anything.
That's when she helped me understand something I'd never learned:
It's okay to enjoy things. Slowly. Without shame.
It's okay to say “I like this” instead of “I'm grateful for anything.”
It's okay to have a favorite restaurant. A preferred seat. An opinion.
One day in 2025, we were shopping and I kept looking at this watch. $1,500.
I liked it. I really liked it.
But I wasn't going to buy it.
“Just buy it,” she said.
“It's too expensive.”
“You like it. You can afford it. Buy it.”
I bought it. And it felt strange – buying something just because I wanted it. Not because I needed it. Not because someone was getting married. Just because I liked it.
We went to Dubai recently.
We went to this amazing Indian restaurant in Dubai Mall.
We ordered so many things. Tried dishes we'd never had.
And here's the part that would have been impossible before:
We left 2-3 dishes because we didn't like them.
Small portions, but still – we LEFT food.
Growing up, if I put something on my plate, I finished it. Regardless of how it tasted.
Not because of values or environment. Because I was grateful to have anything on my plate at all.
But in Dubai, I had permission to not like something.
Permission to waste a little.
Permission to have an opinion.
The Transformation
My wardrobe now:
I have clothes specifically for airports.
I have clothes for long-distance travel, sorted by weather AND location.
Beach clothes. Multiple swimming costumes.
Socks of different shapes, sizes, and textures.
Undergarments specifically for slightly transparent shorts so they don't look bad.
Three different watches – one for running, one for everyday, one for parties.
And right now? I have 2-3 pairs of clothes sitting in my almirah that I haven't even worn yet. Bought them a month ago. Just sitting there.
The kid who had “summer or winter” now has granular categories for everything.
From one dal, one sabji to eating at so many different restaurants I've lost count.
From occasion-based clothes to unworn outfits in my closet.
From LTC trips every 3-4 years to visiting so many places in India I cannot count. To traveling to multiple countries across the world.
Both Things Can Be True
I feel grateful for everything.
Grateful for my parents who gave us those LTC trips even when money was tight.
Grateful for my sisters who sat with me at that corner table.
Grateful for my girlfriend who showed me I could have preferences without losing gratitude.
Because here's what I figured out:
The corner table taught me gratitude.
But gratitude without preferences isn't humility.
It's just never learning what you actually want.
When I look at those 3 watches, those texture-sorted socks, those unworn clothes – I don't feel guilty.
I feel happy. Proud. Free.
Free to choose. Free to have opinions. Free to leave food I don't like.
If I could talk to that anxious kid in the Darjeeling restaurant, staring at the stained menu, sitting in the corner hoping nobody notices us...
I'd tell him: One day you'll leave food you don't like, and you won't feel bad about it.
