Colors of Defiance

My name is Madhav Bose, and I've always had a knack for doing things my way. Growing up in a bustling Bengali neighbourhood, I often felt like an outlier. My family had big dreams for me, and by big, I mean they had my entire life planned out before I could even spell 'expectations.' Doctors, engineers, or lawyers were the only acceptable paths. Anything else was met with a disappointed sigh and a shake of the head.

I remember one evening, sitting in our cramped living room, surrounded by the sounds of my mother chopping vegetables and my father rattling off the latest news. My older brother, Raj, was diligently studying, already on his way to becoming a doctor, the pride of the family. Meanwhile, I was lost in my own world, sketching away in my notebook. My passion was art, but in my family, it was seen as a frivolous hobby rather than a viable career.

"Why can't you be more like Raj?" my father would often say, his eyes never leaving the newspaper. "He's focused, disciplined. He knows what he wants."

"But I do know what I want," I'd retort, holding up my latest drawing. "I want to be an artist."

The reaction was always the same. A dismissive wave of the hand, a disappointed shake of the head. "Art doesn't pay the bills, Madhav. You need to be practical."

Practical. The word grated on my nerves. Why did being practical mean giving up on what made me happy? Why did it mean conforming to someone else's idea of success? These questions swirled in my mind, fueling my determination to carve my own path.

The school was no different. Teachers would glance at my doodles and sigh, "Madhav, you need to focus on your studies. You have so much potential, but you're wasting it."

I wasn't wasting my potential; I was nurturing it. Every stroke of my pencil, every splash of colour on a canvas, felt like a step closer to who I truly was. But convincing others of this was a different story.

One day, I decided to take a stand. It was the annual career day at school, and everyone was expected to present their future ambitions. My classmates chose the usual suspects: doctors, engineers, lawyers. When it was my turn, I walked up to the front of the class, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I want to be an artist," I declared, holding up a painting I'd spent weeks perfecting. The room fell silent, eyes widening in surprise. I could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me, but I stood tall.

"Art is my passion," I continued. "And I believe that pursuing what you love is the most important thing. Success isn't just about money or status; it's about being true to yourself."

The silence was deafening. For a moment, I feared I had made a mistake. But then, a single clap echoed through the room. It was my friend Aisha, a quiet girl who rarely spoke but always encouraged my artistic endeavours. Slowly, others joined in, and soon the entire room was applauding.

That day was a turning point. It didn't magically erase the societal expectations or make my parents suddenly supportive of my dreams, but it gave me the courage to keep pushing forward. I started sharing my work online, building a small but supportive community of fellow artists. With every like, comment, and share, my confidence grew.

Ignoring societal expectations isn't easy. It means facing disappointment, scepticism, and sometimes outright rejection. But it's also incredibly liberating. It means staying true to yourself, even when the world tries to mould you into something you're not.

Now, years later, I'm a successful freelance artist. I create what I love, and I've even had my work exhibited in galleries. My parents still worry about my financial stability, but they've come to respect my determination. They've seen the joy my art brings me and, begrudgingly, they admit that maybe, just maybe, I was right all along.

So here's my advice to anyone struggling with societal expectations: listen to that inner voice. Pursue what makes you happy, even if it goes against the grain. Because in the end, the only person who can truly define your success is you.