Darkness that Lights the Way

In a city like Mumbai, which never sleeps, the relentless honking of impatient drivers is an everyday story. Beneath the scorching sun, a lone figure stands on the asphalt, ensuring order amidst such chaos. With practiced precision, this man waves his hands, guiding the ceaseless flow of traffic for hours at end. For three decades, he has performed this duty—unnoticed by most, yet essential to the city’s rhythm. This is the story of Shivakant Nadkarni, a humble traffic police officer who keeps the lifeline of India’s fastest city moving and ensuring that ordinary people like us reach our offices on time.

For many, he might be just another man in uniform, lost in the blur of the Mumbai hustle. But if we pause for a minute, there is a story here. Behind that uniform is a father—a man who has endured a life of hardship, raising his only son, Neeraj, after the early passing of his wife. Shivakant was young when the hardships of life hit him, taking away the opportunity for him to ever go to school. Never knowing the luxury which education could provide, he always looked at it as a stepping stone to a more fulfilled life. And this drove within him the Indian Dream—that his son should become an engineer, walk through the hallowed halls of an IIT, and live a life far removed from the struggles that defined his own existence.

And as the Indian Dream goes, Neeraj worked relentlessly to chase it—burning the midnight oil with second hand books and borrowed notes, the only resources they could afford. His fingers traced over worn-out pages, his mind giving will to the spirit that he had it in him to secure his place amongst the best. But in a world where coaching institutes develop students with handpicked mentors, personalized strategies, and rigorous training, his self-guided efforts could have simply not been enough. And so the results came, and reality struck hard. He had fallen short of what was needed. Yet again, IIT remained a distant dream, locked behind the iron dome of cutthroat competition.

It was a bitter truth, not just for him but also for thousands like him—students who toil every day in dimly lit rooms, sacrificing sleep and comfort, only to realize that hard work alone is sometimes not enough. Their aspirations cracked under the weight of an unyielding system—exposing the fractures that lie hidden within the Indian Dream itself.

Yet, Shivakant refused to let his son’s ambitions be an another casualty of this harsh reality. He had built his own life on resilience, enduring decades under the scorching sun. Yet this was a challenge unlike any other. His duty as a father had always outweighed everything else for him. To this end, he made a decision. He decided to send Neeraj to a private college, ensuring that his son would not be left behind, come what may. And so he took out loans, knowing well the chains of debt that would follow. But as the months passed, those promises became harder to keep. The weight of unpaid bills, of compounding interest, of a future that loomed with uncertainty, pressed down on him. He had spent years managing the traffic of Mumbai, maintaining order in chaos, but now his own life was spiralling into disorder. The weight of an unforgiving world bore down upon him. He became desperate to make ends meet.

And so, for the first time in thirty years of his service, Shivakant allowed himself to falter. This man, who had built his life on integrity, accepted the bribe offered by a reckless driver. It was just this one instance, a desperate measure to ease the suffocating weight of his debt. But once the line had been crossed, it became easier to do this again. And again. And again. And with each time, he reassured himself with a single thought: It is for Neeraj.

What began as a reluctant compromise soon became a daily routine. Shivakant spiralled into someone who took bribes daily, blending into the fabric of corruption that so many accept as inevitable. To ordinary people like us, is this not a common sight? A traffic officer who turns a blind eye for a silent note in the pocket? We shake our heads, we call it dishonest—but do we ever stop to ask why some men fall into corruption? Do we ever wonder what pushes them past the edge?

Society teaches us a rigid notion of ethics—right and wrong as absolute truths, divorced from context. We condemn actions without examining the desperation behind them. But can we truly equate a starving child who steals a loaf of bread to a man who robs for greed? Can we call a father, struggling under the crushing weight of debt, just as immoral as those who exploit power for luxury? And here lies the real conundrum of morality: should we judge a man solely by his actions, or should intent and circumstance carry weight?

These are questions with no simple answers, for morality is not black and white—it is a spectrum of greys which keeps shifting with context. And yet, no matter how blurred the lines, karma always manages to balance the scales. It makes sure that every choice meets its reckoning.

And so it happened with Shivakant as well. One day, his senior officer discovered his actions and without hesitation, he was suspended. A man who had spent decades standing under the harsh sun, serving the city with diligence, now found himself discarded, his uniform tainted by the stains of corruption.

Yet, he did not let Neeraj know this. His son was on the verge of campus placements, and Shivakant refused to let his own disgrace overshadow the future he had worked so hard to secure. With quiet resolve, he masked his shame, carrying on as if nothing had changed. He still woke up early, still left the house in his old uniform, pretending to head to work. He spent his days wandering through the city, a ghost in a place he once commanded respect. But no matter how deep his humiliation ran, none of it mattered as long as Neeraj’s dreams remained untouched.

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months. And then, the moment they had struggled for had arrived—Neeraj graduated and got the campus placement he was looking for. The job offer letter trembled in his hands. Neeraj could already see it—his father’s face lighting up with pride, his silent approval giving him the unspoken acknowledgment that it had all been worth it.

He wanted to preserve the moment, make it special. As he waited for his father to return, he searched for an envelope in the old cupboard to store the letter safely. His fingers sifted through the old papers, forgotten memories, until he froze.

The words on the document in his hands screamed at him in an unforgiving ink: “Suspension Notice”. This was months ago. Before his exams. Before his interviews. Before everything. A chill crept up his spine. His breath hitched. His father had carried this truth in silence, day after day, never letting the weight of it slip into their home.

The door creaked open. He could hear his father’s footsteps. Neeraj barely had time to shove the papers back into the cupboard before Shivakant entered, moving with the same weary grace as he always did. Without a word, the elder sank into his usual chair, his face remaining as unreadable as always. Neeraj stared at him, the job offer now a crumpled piece of paper in his fist. His mind was in turmoil as to what he should say.

Finally, his trembling voice broke the silence, “Papa, I got the job.”

Shivakant’s reply was a perceptible nod accompanied by words Neeraj had waited a lifetime to hear, “Very good, beta. Proud of you.”

In those few words lay a torrent of emotion—an exchange heavy with sacrifices neither could name aloud. Neeraj’s heart pounded as he yearned to ask for the truth, to demand answers, to reveal that he already knew the hidden cost of their choices. But what would that change? His father had long borne a burden he could neither shed nor fully confess, and unearthing it now would only reopen old wounds that had barely begun to scar over. So, he remained silent.

In that suspended moment, Neeraj had realized that life is not merely about finding light in the darkness; perhaps it is precisely this darkness that grants us the vision to see the light which is all around us.