Aby Mathew Vattamattam

**My Life Story — Aby Mathew**

My story begins in the hills of Kuttiady in Kerala. My childhood was shaped by village life, family struggles, and the daily journey to school at Pashukkadavu—a walk downhill through the forest and across a hanging bridge. Looking back, that journey seems to reflect much of the life that followed: uncertain paths, difficult crossings, and the need to keep moving.

“I lost the life I had planned, but found my purpose in the life I never expected.”

My father was a postgraduate in English, but education did not protect him from financial hardship. Heavy debts cast a shadow over our family. In February 1992, he died by suicide, leaving a loss that would change our lives. I was still a child, trying to understand something far beyond my years.

One detail from his diary has stayed with me: when his first child was born, he borrowed fifty rupees from Balan. That child was me. Those few words revealed something I could only understand more fully as I grew older—the hopes and burdens a parent can carry together.

After my father’s death, my mother carried our family forward through farming and hard work. Her strength became one of my earliest lessons in perseverance. Our family had also suffered the loss of my paternal uncle and his family in a landslide. Loss was part of our history, but it would not become the whole of my story.

Even in those difficult years, I was curious about the world. By fourteen, I had collected stamps and coins from around sixty countries. They offered glimpses of places far beyond our village. I also learned typewriting and shorthand, travelling on foot and by jeep to attend classes. Each new skill felt like a possible door to a different future.

Not every door opened. My application to enter the priesthood was rejected because of height and age requirements. Volleyball brought another painful rejection when my height stood in the way of an opportunity. Such experiences hurt, but they also gave me questions I would carry into adulthood: How much power should another person’s judgment have over my life? What could I still achieve if I continued?

I later moved to Calicut to study medical coding and transcription. Like many young people, I imagined a future connected to America. I worked with Entel Medi Care, a New York company, but the disruption following September 11 brought layoffs. I spent about six months unemployed, watching the future I had pictured become uncertain.

In March 2002, I travelled from Calicut through Shornur, Durg, Raipur, and Bilaspur, eventually reaching Manendragarh. That journey became a turning point. It would later give meaning to the title of my memoir, *The Wrong Train to the Right Destiny*. The life I found was very different from the one I had planned.

At twenty-two, I became principal of St. Joseph’s School in Manendragarh. The school had around 250 students, with classes up to the eighth standard, and my monthly salary was ₹2,500. It was a modest beginning with considerable responsibility. I was young, far from home, and learning leadership through daily experience.

I also started “Triple E,” a spoken English initiative that attracted more than three hundred students. Teaching gave me the opportunity to help others gain confidence while building my own. There were disagreements and difficult periods, but support from parents encouraged me to continue. My experiences also took me to Saraswati Shishu Mandir, where the dhoti, kurta, and harmonium became part of a very different educational setting from the one I had known in Kerala.

Over time, my career moved from classrooms into corporate management and infrastructure. I took on responsibilities involving people, projects, money, deadlines, and difficult decisions. My work included around three years associated with the ₹400-crore redevelopment of Bilaspur railway station. The boy who had crossed a hanging bridge to reach school was now involved in work that helped people travel and connect.

Alongside my professional journey, I continued to play volleyball. The disappointment of being rejected earlier in life never entirely disappeared, but neither did my love for the game. At forty-five, I represented my state in Masters volleyball and won a bronze medal. It was deeply personal proof that an early rejection did not have to decide the ending.

Marriage and fatherhood brought another dimension to my life. My wife, Sruthi, and our son, Ryan, are central to what home means to me. Professional ambitions matter, but family gives those ambitions perspective. Being a husband and father continues to teach me about responsibility, patience, and what deserves my time.

Writing became a place where the different parts of my life could meet. Childhood grief, financial struggle, rejection, leadership, sport, and family all gave me something to examine. My writing projects—including *The Wrong Train to the Right Destiny*, *Insult Is an Asset*, *The Pot That Never Fills*, and *The Measure of Life*—grow from questions I have encountered personally: How do we live with loss? What do we do with humiliation? How much is enough? What makes a life meaningful?

My story is still unfolding. I continue to work, write, play, learn, and make mistakes. When I look back, I see a journey shaped by my mother’s perseverance, my father’s memory, the people who offered opportunities, and the decisions I made when my original plans failed.

I did not build the life I imagined as a young man. I built a life through the opportunities and responsibilities that came after those dreams changed. That is the story I carry—and the story I hope my writing can help others understand.