Being a musician could save your child’s life

The “bright and inquisitive” minds made quite the impression on his father, who was then a 36-year-old “hot-shot” plant engineer himself. Years later, Roy went on to graduate from their alma mater, IIT Kharagpur. His father’s wish fulfilled, it would take another decade for Roy — a writer at heart — to bring his own dream to fruition. “It took me 12 years to write my book because I kept changing jobs and work got in the way. Amid all this, I rewrote the book three times, because I wasn’t the same person anymore,” he adds. I  had to get to a point where I wasn’t embarrassed by my writing,” he says.

Switching from dental studies to marketing, Mutahhir Quraishi is now the marketing head of Tajore, a clothes brand. Pic/Nimesh Dave; (right) Ruchika Lonare explored teaching, anchoring and farming once she was laid off her engineering job in COVID

Roy self-published his book, The Forest Had Pied Pipers, in 2023. It’s a fictional tale about three college friends who are abducted while bicycling through Maoist country, and the escape plan they hatch. “I haven’t made much money out of it,” he says, “I can perhaps throw a small pizza party with the money I got. But it’s not about the money; it’s about a diversified life portfolio. The act of writing is fulfilling enough.”

Through it all, Roy kept at his day job (analyst, B2B marketer, and product manager) in the tech industry. Responsibilities sat heavy on his shoulders; even as he wrote his draft, reality checks came in the form of weekly email alerts on the developmental milestones of his unborn son. “I’d get growth alerts about how big my son had gotten in the womb — stuff like ‘your baby is the size of an avocado this week’. When I finally published, said avocado was telling me how the book might be promoted on YouTube,” he recalls.

“If I commit everything to my job then any setback will be quite damaging. And if I invest everything in my writing career, then a single letter of rejection from an editor or publisher will be devastating,” he adds. 

Somak Roy, Ganesh Kohli and Mahek Sukhani

Walking the tightrope between the realities of adulting and the desire to follow one’s heart is a skill learnt over the course of one’s life —  an opportunity that 19-year-old Anurag Borkar from Chandrapur district will never have.

The 20-year-old was found dead on September 23, just hours before he was to take admission in a hard-won medical seat at AIIMS Gorakhpur, after bagging 99.99 percentile in the NEET UG 2025 examination. In the suicide note he left behind, Borkar wrote, “I don’t want to do MBBS. A businessman earns as much as a doctor. I don’t want to go through five years of study and then an MD.”

Parental and societal pressure to enter a “stable” and high-paying profession — Indian favourites are doctor and engineer — push lakhs of students to apply for limited college seats each year. And yet these “safe” career paths are where maximum student suicides occur each year. Unable to deal with the prospect of letting down the hopes pinned on them, many youngsters remain trapped in these high-pressure courses, whether they want  to continue or not.

Ishaan chintamani

Mutahhir Quraishi, 36, grew up in an academic home in Kalaburagi, Karnataka, with his father a doctor, and mother a professor. Studying medicine seemed the obvious choice, and he went on to pursue dentistry at one of India’s top colleges. “I received merit awards, but they never gave me happiness or satisfaction at all,” he recalls. Even as a child, his interests diverged from medicine. “As a kid, I memorised jingles. I was fascinated with how brands were built,” he says.

Having both parents in what is largely  seen as ideal professions, Quraishi never confronted his own desires.

The turning point came at 20, after a near-fatal bike accident. Confronting mortality forced him to face his discontent. After nearly losing him, his parents too “finally noticed how unhappy I was. They told me to pursue my passion”. Midway through his second year in dentistry college, Quraishi pivoted to business studies. 

Prashant Raj

After completing a BBA and then an MBA, he took on a marketing job with a modest salary. “Patience is key. When I started, my salary was low. Today, I’m the 
marketing head of Tajore, a clothing brand, and my parents are proud,” adds Quraishi, who now resides in Malad. 

His journey paints that even within India’s rigid academic structures, clarity, passion, and a fulfilling life are possible. 

There are some parallels between Quraishi’s story and the journey of Prashant Raj, who graduated from IIT Kharagpur over two decades ago, and is well known for his 2017 Netflix documentary, Alma Matters: Inside the IIT Dream. The documentary is a harsh look at the invisible cost of pursuing the IIT dream. 

Amit Tandon, an IIT graduate, juggled a business at the side while performing stand-up comedy to sustain himself and his family for eight years. Pic/midday archives

Even in the B-school, though, there were some faculty members who were empathetic towards students who felt trapped. From Baroda, where he is shooting on set, Raj tells us, “Back in 1999, our dean told us that we might make mistakes, but once we finish the degree and step out into the world, we can do what we want to — as long as we behave responsibly — and no one can stop us.” The fact that he can recite his dean’s speech word for word is a testament to just how big an impact liberating words like these can have on 19-year-olds. 

After a few years working jobs that matched his degree, at 30, Raj switched to visual storytelling in the form of sketches, web shows and films. But no matter what career one picks, it’s not all sunshine and roses, he cautions. Young people, Raj adds, often don’t realise that it takes time to build skills no matter how passionate they are about the field. He warns against career envy: “If you have chosen a creative path, there will still be challenges. We must understand that people who aren’t necessarily as talented as us might be doing extremely well because they do a lot of other things better. Some professions, like stand-up comedy, seem easy at first but are perhaps the toughest in the creative field. If you want to be good at something, you will have to deal with the unpleasant stuff.”

The crushing pressure that many youngsters face when they question their career choice, though, is largely because “we don’t talk about what to do if you feel you’ve made the wrong choice, or even how to make the right choice”, adds Raj.

Aayushi Shah, 21, can relate. She’s currently in her third year of medical college, but not sure whether a career in medicine is the right path for her. Her path, like Borkar, was shaped early. “Growing up, I didn’t know about any other option besides engineering and medicine. You’re too young to realise it [may not be a good fit] until it’s too late,” she says. 

There was barely any time to question her path even as she prepped for NEET, which consumed two intense years of her life. “Studying for NEET is basically waiting for it to be over,” she says. 

For the average Indian family, becoming a doctor seems like the safest career bet. “No one talks about how much of a brain f**k medical studies is,” Shah counters, highlighting the unseen psychological strain that comes with the hounding of such ‘safe’ careers. Her college lost another student to suicide last week.

The mental toll is palpable. Witnessing peer suicides and navigating an unforgiving system left her questioning not only her choices but also her competence as a future doctor. “If all the factors keeping me here didn’t matter, I’d switch to event management or photography,” she admits. 

Yet, Shah’s story also highlights the need for self-awareness even within high-pressure systems. Not everyone can afford to switch courses midway or quit their jobs to pursue their dream career. But recognising the source of dissatisfaction and seeking alternatives to feed that passion is one way to strike the balance between financial sustenance and creative satisfaction. 

Amit Tandon, an IIT graduate and one of India’s leading comedians, is a prime example. He spent years juggling a traditional Indian career in engineering and business with his love for stand-up comedy. 

For eight years, he pursued it as a hobby alongside his day job, spending two to three hours every night after work sharpening his stand-up material, further honing it on stage on weekends. With a family to look after, Tandon went full-time with stand-up only when it started earning him more money than his business.

“I’d advise students to pick one profession where you make money while pursuing your passion on the side,” he explains.

Tandon also underscores the societal mindset that often discourages creative pursuits. “Parents need to be educated about creative professions. It’s unfortunate that you only receive respect in creative fields when you have recognition,” he says. His journey shows that in India, following a passion, especially in arts and entertainment, requires both courage and pragmatism. Financial independence often provides the confidence to take risks without compromising the art form.

Not every career trajectory is a straight line, and detours sometimes uncover hidden opportunities. Emcee Ruchika Lonare, better known as “Anchor Riona”, had a stable engineering career in Mumbai before COVID-19 disrupted her plans. Laid off during the pandemic, she returned to her hometown near Bhopal and discovered new possibilities with teaching and mushroom farming. Eventually, she pursued anchoring, a passion she had nurtured since childhood. “I was pushed into JEE coaching after Class 10, like everyone else. I scored well, but my heart wasn’t there,” Lonare admits. While teaching provided stability, anchoring allowed her creativity to flourish. Over time, she built a portfolio merging both endeavours in ways that brought fulfilment. Her story illustrates that setbacks, while initially daunting, can guide individuals towards a more meaningful approach to life and work.

Siddhi Mohandas, 29, initially chose medicine out of love for biology and a desire to help others. But during college, she grappled with depression and disillusionment, intensified by pandemic pressures. “College didn’t feel very open. You couldn’t have an original thought,” she recalls.

Seeking a path that combined her skills and sense of purpose, Mohandas transitioned into marketing, a “dynamic field where I could experiment and be creative”. While some relatives questioned her decision, she found support from her father and friends.  “I feel more like myself now,” she says, illustrating that reclaiming one’s career and happiness is attainable with self-awareness and support. 

13,000 
No. of students who die by suicide annually in India 
*Source: IC3 Institute’s 2025 Student Suicide Report 

At 16 to 19, a young person’s brain and sense of self are still developing. It is essential to realise that the child’s brain is still not fully developed and a parent’s role is to be a safety container in times of pressure. The nervous system and brain need the soothing of a regulated adult to allow the child to find safety and regulation in times of pressure. This can create a state of internal conflict — a mix of anxiety, feeling overwhelmed, uncertainty, and fear of failure or of disappointing parents.

As a parent LOOK OUT for these phrases, such as:

. “What’s the point?”
. “I don’t care any more.”
. “I feel numb / empty / tired all the time.”
. “You wouldn’t understand.”
. “I wish I could just disappear.”
. “I wish I wasn’t here anymore.”
. “I just want to die”

What a parent SHOULD say 

. “No grade or college defines who you are.”
. “We love you for who you are, not what you do.”
. “That sounds really hard. Tell me more about what’s been going on inside.”
. “It’s okay to not have it all figured out right now. You’re allowed to take time.”
. “Would you like me to just listen or help you find options?”

What a parent should NOT say

 Nyana Sabharwal, psychotherapist

.  “You have so much potential — don’t waste it.”
 . “Everyone else is working harder.”
 . “We just want you to be successful.”
 .  “If you don’t do this now, you’ll regret it later.”
 .  “You can relax once you’ve made it.”

In recent weeks  ...

1 Anurag Borkar, 19, Chandrapur: Died by suicide on September 23 a day before taking admission in AIIMS. He wanted to pursue entrepreneurship instead

2 Dheeraj Saini, 22, Haryana: Found dead in his hostel room on October 1 in his final year of BTech (electrical engineering). Inquiries are still going on

3 A 20-year-old student in Kota: Hanged himself in his room at the coaching centre’s hostel on October 1 due to the pressure of JEE exams

4 Himanshu Kashyap, 24, Chhattisgarh: Died by suicide in his hostel on September 6. He left a note that said, “I couldn’t do it, I am sorry dad.”

5 Shivam, 24, Greater Noida: Died on August 15. The final-year BTech student left a suicide note stating that he stopped attending classes after the second year.

Letting the kids sing their own tune

Ishaan’s (left) father Gaurav Chintamani  and mother Priya Mathews have encouraged his desire to forge a career in music since they noticed his talent for it when he was five. Pics/Nishad Alam

If you follow Indian bands, Advaita is a name that would not have escaped you, and neither would the name of the band’s bass player, Gaurav Chintamani. He is one of the few artistes who have transitioned into the business part of music where he alone calls the shots. The Delhi resident is a music producer, audio engineer, musician, educator, and now a dad to 11-year-old son Ishaan and a five-year-old daughter. 

It was only recently that Ishaan told his parents that he would like to pursue a career in music, and Chintamani and his wife Priya Mathews were nothing but supportive. “Both Priya and I are the kind of people who optimise for joy. Maybe he would one day get up and say that he wanted to pursue Geography; I would not stop him from pursuing it. The idea is that the sooner he figures out what he likes to do — and by practising it enough — the better he can get at it. If you’re doing what you love doing, that’s the best thing you can ask for,” he says. 

Pic/iStock

Chintamani’s style of providing gentle direction and support springs from his own upbringing. “When I finished school, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I asked my parents if I could take a year off and they were extremely supportive,” he recalls, “I graduated via correspondence; I didn’t want to waste time going to a particular college. When I told my dad I want to do something related to music, he said it was my life, my decision. He also said there are no guarantees in life. That liberated me. There was a fear of failure, but I felt that at least it would be on my terms.” 

Chintamani and his wife had both observed that Ishaan had shown musical talent since he was five. “I believe that all parents have one responsibility — get out of the way of your kids. They can’t impose their ideas of what they imagine life should be on the kid,” he says. 

They both believe that there’s no one-size-fits-all formula to career or education. On seeing Ishaan’s academics skyrocket after self-study at home during the pandemic years, the couple began homeschooling him four years ago. It was not a decision they took lightly; Mathews has elected to be a stay-at-home mother so she can provide her son with all the support he needs. 

A product of the premier Jamia Millia Islamia, Mathews feels that degrees are a myth. “Despite getting a degree from there, it has done nothing great for me. For Ishaan, I prefer that rather than holding a fancy degree, he grows up to be a self-actualised person,” she says. “I want him to know that he can pursue his passion, but at the same time, he will have to find a way to quantify and show his progress,” she adds. 

There’s no point in trying to control children and force them to fit the mould, she asserts, “If you come from a home where you cannot be yourself and talk to your parents, you may eventually grow up to be a rebel and cut off ties completely.” 

‘Students carry silent struggles’

Harish Menon

Ganesh Kohli founded the IC3 (International Career and College Counselling) Movement to provide counselling to high school students and help them make the best choices for higher education and their career path. He believes India’s hesitation toward unconventional careers stems more from a risk-averse mindset, rather than paucity of resources. “Parents want security, educators know the routes they grew up with. When pathways are invisible, choice feels risky,” he says. 

According to him, the real shift comes when counselling is embedded in school culture, linking student interests with concrete options like internships, mentorship, and staged experiments. His view is that students who pursue passion-driven careers often show greater resilience and confidence, provided schools offer structure and support. 

“Clarity reduces anxiety,” he notes, adding that passion without guidance can create confusion. 

Pic/iStock

For Kohli, the NEET suicide case highlights how parental fears, rooted in love but limited by information, can push children away from their true interests. “When the path is broken into milestones, uncertainty reduces, and unconventional choices become informed journeys,” he stresses. 

Harish Menon, founding chair of IC3’s Student Mental Health Task Force, points to systemic gaps fuelling distress in schools that prioritise academics over adequate counselling. Approximately 40 per cent of students are unaware of support systems within their schools, and more than half remain unsure whether career guidance is even available to them, shows the IC3’s 2025 student suicide report.

“Students carry silent struggles,” he explains. Data shows career uncertainty itself is one of the strongest drivers of anxiety, worsening sleep deprivation and overload. His call is for schools and policymakers to shift from reacting to crises toward building everyday practices on the lines of structured counselling, trained teachers and safe emotional spaces that normalise support. 

‘Parents, educators sometimes overlook emotional cost’

Students preparing for competitive exams like NEET or JEE face not only academic but also immense emotional pressures, says Mahek Sukhani, coordinator of the Department of Mass Media at Don Bosco College, Kurla. “The academic pressure of covering vast syllabi, coupled with the fear of competition where success rates are slim, leads to anxiety,” she elaborates, “Emotionally, many struggle with isolation, burnout, and the fear of ‘failure’ being equated with a lack of worth.” The constant comparison with peers only intensifies this stress.

Sukhani stresses the importance of early identification of stress through behavioural changes, withdrawal, or declining performance. She emphasises creating safe spaces for dialogue, peer-support systems, workshops, and timely counselling referrals to reassure students that seeking help is strength, not weakness. “Many parents and teachers focus primarily on academic outcomes while unintentionally overlooking the emotional cost,” she notes. The gap can be bridged by awareness programs for parents and educators, about psychological challenges students face. 

From creative to corporate

Creative fields may hold the lure of passion, but they come with their own challenges. While it’s rarer to see, this can sometimes prompt people to search for more traditional corporate roles that provide more stability and comfort. 

Arya (name changed) loved her journalism job, but was among the thousands who was laid off during the first wave of COVID. Forced to find a job in corporate communication instead, she has since realised she doesn’t want to return to news. “It may not have been my decision to quit originally, but it has been a very conscious decision to never go back,” she says. While the money is admittedly comfortable, “it’s not just about the money; it’s also the work environment”. “Basic stuff like a regular weekly off, reasonable timings, a year-end break, or the assurance of a bonus if you work hard — this was not there in journalism. Now I have all of this, and my stress levels are lower; that’s a big plus for me at this stage in my career,” she adds.  

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