I Am Gadlo: A Personal Journey from Home to the City

A personal story of family, distance, failure, memories, and finding the strength to begin again

The Story Behind My Name — Gadlo

My real name is not Gadlo, but that is the name my family has called me since I was a child, and over the years it has become so deeply connected with my identity that whenever someone from home calls me “Gadlo,” it feels like much more than simply hearing a nickname. There is a small story behind this name, and the story begins on the day I was born. I was born during the monsoon, on a day when our entire village was flooded by the waters of the Brahmaputra, while rain continued throughout the day and the sky remained covered with clouds. The weather was completely cloudy and the atmosphere had that particular feeling that comes with a heavy monsoon day in the village. In our Hajong language, this kind of cloudy weather is called “Gádlá.” A senior woman from our neighbourhood, whom I lovingly call Barma, remembered the weather on the day I was born and chose the name “Gadlu” for me from the word “Gádlá.” She did not choose the name randomly or simply because she liked the sound of it; she connected the name with the weather that surrounded the day I came into this world, taking a word from our own Hajong language and turning it into a name filled with affection. Over time, “Gadlu” gradually became “Gadlo” in the way my family naturally pronounced and used it, and eventually it became the name everyone at home knew me by.

Today, when I think about that story, I realise that “Gadlo” is much more than a nickname because it carries the memory of my birth, the monsoon, the flooded village, the Brahmaputra, our Hajong language and, most importantly, the affection of Barma who gave me that name. Whenever I hear someone call me Gadlo, I do not hear only a word; somewhere in my mind, I return to that rainy day, to the cloudy sky above my village and to the people who were part of my life from the very beginning. A name that was created from the weather of my birth eventually became one of the strongest connections I have with my childhood and with the place I call home.

The Home I Once Thought Was Ordinary

I grew up in a home where life was simple, familiar and deeply connected to everyday routines, and because I was surrounded by those routines from childhood, I rarely stopped to think about how much meaning they actually carried. My mother would wake up very early in the morning, sweep and clean the house, wash the dishes and utensils, and begin the many household responsibilities that seemed to continue throughout the day. When I was younger, I simply accepted these things as normal because I saw them happening every day, and I never really thought about how much effort and care went into keeping our home running. Now that I live away from home, I understand those mornings differently because I have realised that some of the deepest forms of love are not always expressed through words but through the ordinary things someone does for you every day without expecting anything in return.

My father also had his own routine, and sometimes he would wake up early and go for his morning walk, while on days when there was farming work, he would leave for the field. There were also times when he would wake us up if we slept for too long, something that I did not always appreciate when I was younger because I naturally wanted to sleep a little longer. Looking back now, however, those simple moments have become part of the memories I value most, because distance has a strange way of changing the meaning of ordinary things. What once felt like a normal morning at home can become something you wish you could experience again when you are living far away.

Growing Up with My Brothers

My relationship with my siblings was also shaped by the ordinary chaos of childhood, and although we were not always as close as we are today, we shared many experiences that slowly brought us closer as we grew older. We played together, laughed together, teased one another, argued over small things and sometimes even fought when our tempers got the better of us. I often fought with my third elder brother, Rahul, and with my younger brother, Luhit, and there were times when our arguments became serious enough that we even hit each other, although after some time we would return to normal as if nothing had happened. When we are children, we rarely understand that these small arguments and silly fights will one day become memories that we miss, because at that age we are too busy being angry or trying to prove ourselves right to realise how quickly childhood passes.

Now, when I think about Rahul and Luhit from far away, even those arguments seem precious to me because they remind me of a time when all of us were together under the same roof, sharing the same space, growing up together and creating memories without even knowing that we were creating them. Life has a way of making us appreciate certain moments only after they are gone, and perhaps that is why childhood memories become more valuable as we grow older.

The Family Meals I Miss

One of the simplest memories I carry from home is the way we used to eat together, especially when it was time for rice, because there was something comforting about sitting together for a meal even though none of us thought of it as anything special at the time. I also had a habit that everyone at home knew very well: whenever I was extremely hungry, I would take my rice and start eating before the curry or the other dishes were ready, while everyone else would patiently wait until everything was served. At that time, I simply did it because I was hungry and did not want to wait, but now even that small habit reminds me of the warmth of home because I can still imagine everyone sitting together, the food being prepared, people talking around me and me impatiently starting my meal before the rest of the dishes had arrived.

These memories may sound very ordinary, but that is exactly what makes them so meaningful to me now. When you are living at home, you rarely stop and think that one day you might miss sitting at the same place with the same people and eating the same food, because you naturally assume that those moments will continue forever. It is only when you are far away that you begin to understand that the most valuable memories are often made from things that seemed too ordinary to remember.

A Family That Always Believed in Me

My family has always trusted me deeply, and whenever I needed something, they would try their best to solve the problem for me, while even when I did not ask for help, they would still check on me and make sure that I was okay. I grew up with the comfort of knowing that there were people who would stand beside me whenever I faced difficulties, and because that support was always there, I did not fully understand its value when I was younger. I thought it was simply what families did, but after leaving home, I realised that having people who genuinely care about your problems and your future is one of the greatest forms of security a person can have.

Their trust has stayed with me even when I have been uncertain about myself, and it has become particularly important during the difficult periods of my life because knowing that someone believes in you can sometimes give you the strength to continue when your own confidence becomes weak.

Leaving Home for the City

For a long time, I thought the life I was living at home was simply the normal way life was supposed to be, and I never imagined that one day I would have to leave that familiar environment and learn how to live among people who knew nothing about my childhood, my family, my village or the experiences that had shaped me. But life does not always wait until we are completely ready for change, and sometimes circumstances push us towards a new place before we have fully understood what we are leaving behind. That was how I eventually came to town, carrying a mixture of curiosity, hope and uncertainty, and although a part of me was nervous about entering an unfamiliar environment, I was more excited about the possibilities that I believed were waiting for me.

After growing up in a village where many faces were familiar and where the rhythm of life was something I understood naturally, the town felt like a completely different world, with busier roads, unfamiliar people, new surroundings and a constant movement that made every day feel different from the life I had known before. At first, that difference excited me because I thought I was finally stepping into a bigger world where I could meet new people, discover new opportunities and begin building the future I had imagined for myself. I believed that coming to town would simply mean leaving behind the limitations of my old surroundings and moving towards something new, but I did not yet understand that the city would also teach me how deeply connected I was to the home I had left behind.

When My Plans Changed

I had originally come to town with the intention of sitting for an examination, and I had a plan in my mind about what I would do after arriving, but things did not unfold exactly as I had expected. I did not sit for that examination, and instead I started working as a security guard, which was very different from what I had originally imagined when I left home. Suddenly, I had responsibilities that I had to manage on my own, and I had to learn how to adjust to a working life in an unfamiliar place without having my family around me in the way I had always been used to.

At home, I told my family that I was working in an office and that I had got a job, rather than telling them that I was working as a security guard. I knew I was not telling them the complete truth, but at that time I was not ready to explain everything because I was afraid they might worry about me or feel disappointed that things had not gone according to the plan I had originally shared with them. I was trying to handle the situation on my own while also trying to make sure that my family believed I was doing well.

When the City Started Feeling Different

In the beginning, the newness of the town kept me busy, because there were new people, unfamiliar surroundings, work responsibilities and many things that demanded my attention, so I did not have much time to think about what I had left behind. Slowly, however, the excitement began to change, and I started noticing the things that were missing from my new life. The town was full of people, but most of them were strangers, and although I was surrounded by movement and noise, there were moments when I felt more alone than I had ever felt at home.

I began to understand that being surrounded by people is not the same as being surrounded by people who know you, understand your habits, remember your childhood and genuinely care about what happens to you. The more familiar I became with the city, the more clearly I began to understand the value of the home I had left behind, and the things that once seemed ordinary slowly became the things I missed the most.

After a tiring day, I would sometimes sit quietly and think about my mother waking up early to clean the house, my father going for his morning walk or leaving for the field, Rahul and Luhit and all the silly arguments we used to have, and the family meals where everyone sat together. I would even remember my habit of starting to eat rice before the curry was ready because I was too hungry to wait, and although these memories were made from simple moments, they became more powerful the farther away I was from home.

The Failure That Taught Me Something

Another major turning point came when I appeared for the CA Foundation examination in May 2026. I had hopes for myself and believed that passing the examination would be an important step towards the future I wanted, but when the result came, I failed. The result was painful because failure feels particularly difficult when you have attached your hopes and expectations to something, and for some time I questioned my preparation, my ability and even my direction in life.

After some time, however, I began to understand that one examination could not define the entire direction of my life. A result can tell me what happened in one particular attempt, but it cannot decide what I will do next, and it certainly cannot determine whether I am capable of achieving my dreams in the future. The failure forced me to look at myself honestly, understand where I had gone wrong and think about what I needed to change rather than simply feeling sorry for myself.

My Family's Trust Became My Strength

During that difficult period, I thought more deeply about my family and the trust they had always placed in me, and I realised that their belief in me was never supposed to depend entirely on whether I passed or failed an examination. They had supported me in ordinary situations, they had tried to solve my problems whenever I needed them, and they had continued to care about me even when I did not tell them everything about my life in the city.

That made me understand something important about family: sometimes the people who truly believe in us are not the people who celebrate only when we succeed, but the people whose faith in us remains even when we are struggling. Their trust reminded me that one failure should not become the definition of who I am, and instead of allowing the result to stop me, I decided to use it as a reason to prepare better and try again.

Preparing to Try Again

I have decided to appear for the CA Foundation examination again in January 2027, and this time I want to approach my preparation with greater discipline and a clearer understanding of the mistakes I made during my previous attempt. I know that the journey will require patience, consistency and the willingness to continue even on days when I do not feel motivated, because success is rarely achieved simply by wanting something badly; it requires the ability to keep working when the initial excitement has disappeared.

I also know that there may be difficult days ahead, and I may experience moments when I doubt myself again, but I have learned that progress does not always happen in a straight line. Sometimes we move forward by succeeding, and sometimes we move forward by failing, understanding our mistakes and choosing to stand up again. My failure in May 2026 was not the result I wanted, but it has become part of my journey, and I want the next chapter to be about learning from it rather than being defined by it.

What Distance Taught Me About Home

Living away from home has changed the way I understand my family because when I was there, I saw their actions as ordinary parts of daily life, while from a distance I have begun to see the love behind those actions. My mother's early mornings are no longer simply a routine; they remind me of the quiet work she does for the family. My father's morning walks, his farming work and the way he sometimes woke us up are no longer just familiar habits; they are pieces of the home I now miss. My fights with Rahul and Luhit are no longer simply childhood arguments because they remind me of the years we spent growing up together, and the meals we shared are no longer just meals because they remind me of a time when I never had to wonder where I belonged.

Distance has taught me that home is often made up of things we do not notice while we have them. It is made up of familiar voices, repeated routines, shared meals, arguments that disappear as quickly as they begin, people asking whether you have eaten, and the quiet confidence of knowing that if something goes wrong, someone will try to help you. I had all of these things around me when I was at home, but I understood their value only after I had moved away.

My Name Still Takes Me Home

Even my name now feels different to me because whenever I hear “Gadlo,” I remember the day I was born, the monsoon rain, the flooded village, the waters of the Brahmaputra and the cloudy sky that covered everything. I remember the Hajong word “Gádlá,” which describes that cloudy weather, and I remember Barma, who saw the connection between that weather and the day of my birth and affectionately chose “Gadlu” for me. I remember how that name gradually became “Gadlo” in my family, and I understand now that the name carries much more than a sound because it carries a piece of my childhood and the place where my story began.

Perhaps that is why I feel so connected to the name even though it is not my official name, because it reminds me that before I became the person I am trying to become today, I was simply a child growing up in a village, surrounded by family, rain, rivers, familiar voices and the people who loved me.

I Am Still Finding My Way

Today, I am still living away from home and trying to build my future in the middle of uncertainty, while working, studying, facing setbacks and trying to understand what I really want from life. I still have many dreams that I have not achieved, many things I need to learn and many challenges that I will have to face, but I no longer believe that having difficulties means that I am on the wrong path.

I have learned that life does not always follow the plan we make for ourselves, and sometimes the unexpected road teaches us more than the road we originally wanted to take. I came to town intending to sit for an examination, but instead I started working as a security guard; I thought the city would simply introduce me to new people and opportunities, but it also introduced me to loneliness and made me understand the value of my family; I appeared for CA Foundation with hopes of passing, but I failed and was forced to confront my weaknesses, yet that failure also gave me another reason to prepare again.

Perhaps all of these experiences are slowly shaping the person I am becoming.

Home Is More Than a Place

When I left home, I thought I was simply moving towards a new life and leaving my old one behind, but the farther I travelled from home, the more clearly I began to understand how much of my old life had already shaped me. I learned that my mother's daily work was not simply a routine, my father's concern was not something to be taken for granted, my brothers' arguments were not meaningless, and our family meals were not just ordinary moments that would always be waiting for me.

I also learned that family is not defined only by the times when everything is going well; sometimes the strongest proof of family is the way people continue to believe in you when you are struggling, confused or unsuccessful. My failure in May 2026 did not erase the trust my family had in me, and that trust has become one of the reasons I want to stand up again and prepare for January 2027 with greater determination.

I Am Gadlo

I am Gadlo, the name that began with a cloudy monsoon day, a flooded village and the waters of the Brahmaputra, the name that came from “Gádlá,” the Hajong word for that cloudy weather, and the name that Barma lovingly turned into “Gadlu” before it eventually became “Gadlo” in the way my family called me. I may be living far away from the place where that name began, and I may still have a long way to go before I reach the future I imagine for myself, but whenever I hear that name, I am reminded of the people, language, memories and experiences that made me who I am.

I left home because I wanted to build a future, but somewhere along the way, I discovered that building a future does not mean leaving your past behind;