Quitting Time?

A couple of days ago a young doctor from our institute killed himself in his car on his way home from the college library. It seems he had tried to get admission to a postgraduate course and failed twice. He had been a good student. Being unable to do postgraduation was not the end of the world, but he seemed to think so. I am thinking of his mother who had nurtured him in her womb and then for some twenty five odd years, smiling when he was happy and crying when he hurt, who must have been more disturbed than he was when he couldn’t make it because he was hurting, and now whose all life was a big hurt. I am thinking of his father who must have loved the son as much but perhaps not have been as open as the mother in his expression of his emotions, who must have been proud when the son became a doctor, and who must have dreamt of his son’s life in future as he had had his own life with his son and his achievements. I am thinking of some girl who might have set her heart on building a life along with him because they were made just for each other. There will be many others who will also miss him, but not like these three who perhaps are in a frame of mind not unlike his own before he quit. I am sad because he did not see what life had to offer with these people who wanted him for what he was. I am sad because he did not see what he could have done even if he did not do postgraduation and perhaps been happier than he would have been with a postgraduate degree. I am sad because he did not meet someone who could have explained it all to him so that he would be amongst us, satisfied with self, happy with self. I am sad because this rat race in which our growing children find themselves is here to stay, killing their happiness while they run, killing a few who cannot run fast enough.