The words that cut me the deepest

The other day, in a casual conversation, my wife said something that hit me like a hammer:

"You are hiding behind your so-called passion and wasting your time, effort and money."

It wasn’t said with anger. It wasn’t even loud.
But it was sharp. And honest. And it hurt.

She loves me. She’s stood by me through my failures. But I can feel the silent disappointment she carries.
Because right now, I am not earning.

My reality today

I spent over two decades in the IT industry. Worked with Fortune 500 clients. Earned well.
And then — I lost most of it chasing startups that didn’t work.

The gym business I run today is the first venture where my wife also invested alongside me.
We bootstrapped it together. It generates revenue, yes — but every rupee goes back into recovering the heavy upfront investment. Salaries, rent, operations — everything eats into it.

My personal income?
Zero.

Today, my wife’s job is the only stable income in our home.
She works hard, carries the financial load, pays the bills, and even paid for our 15th anniversary trip recently.
And while I handle the gym’s daily operations, pursue my AI/ML masters, and try to build something meaningful with AI — the harsh fact is:
I am not contributing financially.

Her frustration. My wiring.

She sees it as irresponsibility.
I see it as who I am.

She often says:
"I wish you were the responsible one like I am."

And maybe she’s right.
Because stability matters.
Because bills don’t wait.
Because she fears losing her own job one day — and then what?

But the truth is — I’ve been in jobs.
I know what they give you.
I also know what they take away from you.

Jobs gave me money. But they killed my spirit.

I am a creator. I’ve always been one.
I’ve built things. Failed at many.
But nothing exhausts me more than doing work I don’t believe in.

Creation gives me energy. Jobs drained it.

The weight that no one talks about

Everyone celebrates successful entrepreneurs.
The 1% who make it.
But who talks about the 99% who tried and failed?

Who talks about people like me — who have worked harder than most salaried professionals, took bigger risks, fought silent battles at home — and still ended up as "failures" in society’s eyes?

Failure doesn’t mean we didn’t work hard.
Failure doesn’t mean we didn’t care for our families.
Failure doesn’t mean we didn’t carry our share of burdens.
It simply means: the outcome didn’t favor us. Yet.

Why I’m still writing this

Because I know there are thousands like me.
Who are struggling quietly.
Who see the silent disappointment in their loved ones' eyes.
Who carry guilt, shame, and fear.
But who also still dream. Still build. Still hope.

If you’re one of them — know this:
You are not broken. You are not worthless.
You’re simply a builder waiting for your moment.

And that’s why I keep going.
Even when no one believes.
Because I believe in myself.
And maybe — that’s still enough.

#BitByBharat
Rebuilding. Publicly. Honestly.