Thillakan Saba

Confessions and realities 42M, 55LPA I am a 42-year-old man with a senior job in IT. I have a house in Chennai, a supportive wife, and two children. On paper, everything about my life looks perfect. I have achieved all the things society says a man should achieve. In my twenties, life felt different. I had friends to spend time with. We would hang out at Marina Beach and Besant Nagar beach, watch movies at Rohini, Udayam, and Kasi theatres, and ride around Mount Road on my RX100. In my thirties, I had colleagues to talk with over tea breaks. We would discuss apartments, onsite trips, and share random stories about life and work. But now, in my forties, life has turned into a quiet routine. My phone rarely rings for anything personal. Most calls are about office work, bank alerts, or someone from home asking me to pick up milk on the way back. The loneliness of a man in his forties is unusual. I am not physically alone, but I often feel like a machine. When I enter my home, I am simply “Appa.” I am the person who pays school fees, fixes the Wi-Fi, and handles repairs. My wife is busy with her work and the kids. My children are teenagers now, living in their own worlds and their own rooms. They love me, but they mostly see me as the person who provides comfort and stability. They no longer see me as an individual. At the office, I am the senior person. I am expected to have all the answers. I cannot tell my team that I feel tired. I cannot tell my boss that I sometimes struggle to keep up with new technologies. I must appear confident and strong, even when I quietly worry about the future. Sometimes I drive home slowly from work just to spend a few extra minutes in the car. I listen to songs from my college days. For those fifteen minutes, I am not a manager or a father. I am simply myself again. I realize that I have not had a real conversation about my feelings with anyone in years. My old friends now exist mostly as names on WhatsApp. We send “Happy Birthday” or “Congratulations” messages, but rarely talk. When we meet at weddings, our conversations revolve around our children’s grades or the cars we drive. We never talk about what we actually feel. The hardest part is that I cannot even complain. If I tell my family that I feel lonely, they look confused and say, “But we are all here with you.” They do not understand that a person can be surrounded by people and still feel like they are on a desert island. Society teaches men that if they provide money and security, they have succeeded in life. But no one teaches us how to deal with the silence that comes with it. I have built a beautiful life for everyone around me, but sometimes it feels like there is no space left for me inside it. And maybe… this is what life in your forties feels like.