What is the right path in life? That question haunted me and probably haunts many of us more times than I’d like to admit.

When I think back to the confusion during my college days, there were so many people telling me what was “best.” Friends, teachers, even relatives everyone had an opinion. Sit for placements. Take the highest-paying job. Follow the safe route.

And, of course, my parents loving, caring, but scared. They wanted to see me “settled.” They had sacrificed so much, and their dreams for me were filled with security, social respect, and a stable income. In their eyes, that was the only responsible way forward.

I don’t blame them. They grew up in a world where taking risks felt dangerous, where a steady salary meant survival, where an engineer’s tag meant dignity. Their worry came from love, but that love often felt heavy, almost suffocating.

I remember how that seeped into me. I started doubting my own gut. I felt guilty for wanting to do something different. I wondered if chasing my own path made me an ungrateful son. That silent, unspoken pressure was sometimes worse than open opposition.

But somewhere deep inside, something felt off. I couldn’t connect with the idea of jumping into a placement just because everyone else was. So, I made what looked like a reckless choice: I refused campus offers and joined an embedded systems course. Everyone called it risky. My parents were heartbroken at first. Yet something told me it was the right direction, even if I couldn’t explain why.

Today, when I look back, I see this through the lens of swadharma your own true path, your own rightful duty.

In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna tells Arjuna:

“It is better to fail in your own dharma than to succeed in another’s.”

Arjuna was a warrior. That was his nature. Even though fighting his own kin felt unbearable, running away to live a peaceful life wasn’t authentic to him. It was not his swadharma.

Similarly, my swadharma was to carve my own place in technology, even if it looked strange or rebellious. It was terrifying. There were nights of regret, waves of self-doubt, and the fear that maybe my parents were right. Maybe I was just being stupid.

But with time, I realized being faithful to your swadharma gives a kind of peace that no approval from society or even parents can match.

Look at Karna immensely talented, but chained to someone else’s dream. He fought for Duryodhana out of loyalty, ignoring his own truth. That destroyed him.

The Mahabharata teaches us:
If you don’t stand for your true nature, life will feel like a borrowed costume ill-fitting, suffocating, no matter how shiny it looks.

Sometimes your swadharma will look wrong to the world. Sometimes it will break your parents’ heart. Sometimes it will even make you question yourself. But it is yours and that makes all the difference.

Today, I’m convinced the deepest peace of mind comes from living your purpose, not your parents’ anxieties, not society’s measures, not even your childhood fears.

That is the essence of swadharma.

And maybe that’s the hardest and the most important battle any of us will ever fight.