धोबी का कुत्ता — The Migrant Mindset Misery
- Madhukar Dama
- May 30
- 10 min read
A Realistic, Exhaustive Breakdown of How Migration Creates a No-Home, No-Identity Life
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They didn’t leave their village out of arrogance.
They left because everyone told them that only those who leave grow.
That success lies in cities. That dignity wears a suit. That education is escape.
So they packed their memories, hopes, and ancestral shame… and walked away.
First came the dorm room. Then the job. Then the marriage. Then the child.
Then the loan. The car. The school. The city apartment. The annual bonus.
Everything that was promised.
But what was never promised — is what hurts the most now.
No belonging. No rootedness. No real friendship. No peace.
Just a constant ache — a quiet, invisible exile from both the world they left and the world they entered.
Their children don’t know their native tongue.
Their parents talk to them like guests.
Their bodies are in cities, but their souls are still somewhere between the old well and the neem tree.
They’ve become like the washerman’s dog —
too clean for the mud, too muddy for the marble.
Neither at home in the hut, nor welcome in the high-rise.
And now, even if they want to go back...
there’s no "back" left.
Only confusion. And silence.
This is not a tale of failure.
This is the cost of the modern dream — paid in identity.
A quiet mourning for the life that could have been lived.
Not better. Just... whole.
This is the story of millions.
Not losers. Not winners.
Just people... who no longer belong anywhere.
🧠 MENTAL & IDENTITY CONFUSION
1. They don’t feel at home in their village anymore.
2. They’re still outsiders in the city even after 20 years.
3. They think in their mother tongue but speak in broken English or Hinglish.
4. They feel embarrassed of rural relatives but are not accepted by urban elites.
5. Their accent, clothes, and opinions seem outdated in the city.
6. Their city friends mock their village background.
7. Their village friends say they’ve become arrogant or fake.
8. They celebrate city festivals but long for village simplicity.
9. They remember their childhood food but now depend on Swiggy.
10. They cannot decide who they really are — and feel ashamed of both options.
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💼 WORK & PROFESSIONAL DISSONANCE
11. They migrated for a job that they secretly hate.
12. Their degrees don’t match their current work or passion.
13. They work 9–9 jobs but still fear getting fired.
14. They have no backup skills if the job ends.
15. They earn in lakhs but spend in anxiety.
16. They can’t return to the village because there's “nothing to do there.”
17. They feel stuck — not poor enough to quit, not rich enough to rest.
18. Promotions give no peace. Resignation gives no relief.
19. They measure their life in EMIs.
20. They realize late that they have nothing real to pass on to their children.
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🏠 HOME & LIVING SPACES
21. They live in rented flats full of furniture but empty of soul.
22. They can’t own land in their native place anymore — it’s sold, disputed, or encroached.
23. They buy flats in metros but have no neighbors who know them.
24. They decorate homes with Amazon items but long for neem trees and cow dung floors.
25. Their village homes are locked or collapsing.
26. Their urban homes are unaffordable and lifeless.
27. They can’t afford to move back; they can’t afford to live here.
28. They are never invited as family anymore, only as guests.
29. They feel like intruders both in village functions and urban events.
30. They fear being forgotten in both places.
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👩👩👧 SPOUSES' SUFFERING (WIVES/HUSBANDS)
31. The wife migrated with dreams but is now lonely and jobless.
32. The husband is absent 12 hours a day chasing targets.
33. The wife has no support system in the city.
34. The couple lost their shared identity — now just roommates parenting together.
35. Urban life gives no space for rituals, traditions, or community support.
36. The wife is judged by village folks for becoming “modern.”
37. The wife is judged by city folks for being “backward.”
38. They cannot go back to live with in-laws — values have changed too much.
39. They can’t invite in-laws to city — too costly, no space, no time.
40. They live in nuclear silence, bound by screens and sarcasm.
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👶 CHILDREN’S IDENTITY CRISIS
41. The child cannot speak the native language properly.
42. The child feels no connection to village relatives.
43. The child is called “burger” or “foreign-returned” by cousins.
44. The child doesn’t like rural food, hygiene, or environment.
45. Yet, the child is also bullied in elite schools for being “vernacular.”
46. The child has no rooted identity — not rural, not urban.
47. The child has never seen a farm, but is taught “life cycle of crops” in books.
48. The child has no grandparents in daily life — only Zoom calls.
49. The child is raised by maids, screens, and daycare.
50. When asked “Where are you from?” the child looks confused.
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🌾 FAMILY & CULTURAL DETACHMENT
51. They missed every cousin’s wedding and grandma’s last breath.
52. They attend functions only when forced, and feel out of place.
53. Their children are strangers to family customs.
54. Their own elders think they’ve become “too English” or “too fast.”
55. They want to hold on to culture, but don't know how.
56. They perform rituals without meaning, out of guilt.
57. They can’t connect with elders, nor can their children.
58. They feel guilty but helpless.
59. Their names remain on land papers, but their hearts are elsewhere.
60. They mourn silently — for everything lost and nothing gained.
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🧂 FOOD & DAILY LIVING CRISIS
61. They miss the taste of traditional cooking.
62. They eat out of packets and feel digestive distress daily.
63. No millet, no home-grown vegetables, no raw milk.
64. No morning firewood tea with elders.
65. No one to share mangoes, pickle, or festivals with.
66. Every meal is rushed, heated, outsourced.
67. They envy what their childhood had, but can’t give it to their kids.
68. They try to replicate it with organic stores and terrace gardens.
69. They fail.
70. They eat alone. They eat fast. They eat numb.
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💔 SOCIAL ALIENATION & EMOTIONAL ISOLATION
71. Their friend circles are superficial, transactional.
72. They have no community to call during emergencies.
73. They live in cities with thousands, yet feel completely alone.
74. They’ve lost the habit of sharing or depending.
75. They see people only during celebrations or crises.
76. They’re exhausted by small talk and fake smiles.
77. They have no one to express real sorrow to.
78. They’ve trained themselves to “manage everything alone.”
79. And now, even when they want help, no one comes.
80. They live like islands in glass towers.
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🧘♂️ SPIRITUAL & EXISTENTIAL VOID
81. They once believed migration was progress.
82. Now they wonder what they’ve truly achieved.
83. They abandoned slow village time for speed and stress.
84. They abandoned community for career.
85. They abandoned belonging for buildings.
86. They abandoned identity for income.
87. They abandoned rootedness for recognition.
88. They abandoned elders for elevators.
89. They abandoned nature for networking.
90. And they don’t know how to return.
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🚧 THE COST OF RETURNING
91. Their village is now transformed — no water, no youth, only old age.
92. The land is sold or leased to strangers.
93. Relatives have moved to cities too.
94. The native soil no longer welcomes them — they feel like tourists.
95. They don’t know how to farm, fix, or live without apps.
96. Their skills are irrelevant outside the system.
97. Their confidence melts in the rawness of village life.
98. They fear being laughed at for “failing in city.”
99. They want to go back — but don’t know where “back” is anymore.
100. They built an in-between world that doesn’t exist — and now, they’re stuck in it.
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SUMMARY
The migrant family — in search of a better life — ended up becoming a modern "धोबी का कुत्ता".
They neither belong to their past nor feel safe in their present.
Their identity is confused, their family disconnected, their roots severed, and their future unclear.
> They are not from here. They are not from there. They have lost what they had. And never fully gained what they chased.
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EPILOGUE
“Don’t Let Them Inherit Your Exile”
You didn’t know.
You trusted the promise — that education meant empowerment,
that cities meant success,
that leaving meant rising.
Now you know better.
You know that in the name of growth, you lost grounding.
That in chasing a future, you erased your past.
That in becoming someone in the world’s eyes,
you became no one in your own.
But your children still have a chance.
Don’t hand them the same mask you wore.
Don’t train them to escape from their roots.
Don’t tell them that real life starts only when they leave.
Instead —
Teach them to build a life that doesn’t demand exile.
Teach them that education is not migration.
That learning is not leaving.
That value is not in distance, but in depth.
Show them where the soil was once kind to your bare feet.
Show them the language your mother spoke without shame.
Show them that the world doesn’t need to accept them —
if they can accept themselves.
Let them learn what they need to.
But let them come back.
Not because they failed.
But because they understood what you didn’t in time:
> Home is not where you reach. It is what you return to.
And if they must belong somewhere —
let them belong fully. Not halfway.
Not like the washerman’s dog.
Not nowhere.
Let your children inherit land, not confusion.
Belonging, not brokenness.
Memory, not mimicry.
Let them inherit the power to stay.
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Here is a huge, layered, emotional healing dialogue between Madhukar the Hermit and a multi-generational migrant family in Bengaluru who feel deeply lost — and are now ready to change direction for their children and themselves.
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HEALING DIALOGUE: “A WAY BACK HOME”
With Madhukar the Hermit in his forest hermitage near Yelmadagi, Karnataka
CHARACTERS:
Madhukar – The 43-year-old former veterinary doctor turned off-grid natural healer.
Vasudev – 65, grandfather. Migrated from Dharwad to Bengaluru as a teacher.
Kusuma – 60, grandmother. Feels rootless but masked her pain for decades.
Raghav – 40, their son. Works in IT, owns a flat, drained mentally.
Meera – 38, Raghav’s wife. Homemaker, feels suffocated in city life.
Aditya – 12, their son. Speaks only English, disconnected from both worlds.
Madhukar's wife Savitri, daughters Adhya (12), Anju (10) – join later briefly.
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SCENE:
The family visits Madhukar’s forest hermitage, exhausted and uncertain.
They sit on floor mats. Birds chirp. Firewood crackles.
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Vasudev:
Madhukar… we did everything we were told to. Education. Migration. Job. Apartment.
Yet today… we feel like orphans in the middle of a crowd.
My village is gone. This city is not home.
And this child here… he doesn’t belong anywhere.
Raghav:
I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I earn. I pay bills. I sit in meetings.
But there’s no life inside me.
We don’t eat together. We don’t laugh. My son doesn’t know his grandparents’ language.
Meera:
And I… I’ve lived in this apartment for 15 years. Not a single neighbor knows me.
I had dreams of connection… but now I talk only to the fridge and the phone.
Aditya:
(quietly)
I don’t like village trips. No Wi-Fi. People stare at me.
But I also hate school. Nobody talks like me.
I don’t know where I’m from.
(A long pause. Wind blows through the trees.)
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Madhukar:
What if I tell you… that you are not lost.
You are just standing at the wrong bus stop.
You waited there too long, hoping the right bus would come.
But that bus never came — because that stop wasn’t built for you.
The place, the pace, the people — none of it matched your soul.
You were taught that leaving home is success.
But you were never taught how to build a new home inside yourself.
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Kusuma:
I had no voice. I just followed my husband.
We laughed in the beginning. But now we sit and scroll.
Everything feels borrowed. The kitchen. The festivals. Even the language.
What have we left behind?
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Madhukar:
A lot.
But not forever.
You are not the first to migrate.
But maybe… you can be the first to return.
Not in space — but in spirit.
Not with shame — but with clarity.
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Raghav:
Return? To where? There's no job in the village. No school. No future.
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Madhukar:
Then don’t return to the past.
Return to what you truly need.
And for that, you need just five things:
> 1. A small piece of land.
2. A simple home.
3. A self-reliant lifestyle.
4. A local community you blend into.
5. And work that doesn’t own your soul — not the other way around.
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Meera:
But we don’t know how to grow food. We’re not farmers.
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Madhukar:
Neither was I.
I was a professor. A doctor. A government researcher.
And yet… my wife and I grow everything now — with our daughters.
We earn from online workshops, healing consultations, and sharing our journey.
You can too.
You can teach others how to unplug — because you know the pain of being plugged in.
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Aditya:
But what about my friends? And PlayStation?
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Adhya (Madhukar’s daughter):
(smiling gently)
I was scared too. I thought I’d miss out.
Now I play with soil, trees, birds, and real friends who don’t block me when angry.
Want to try?
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(Aditya hesitates… but smiles.)
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Madhukar:
Aditya — you are not meant to be a photocopy of your parents’ suffering.
You are the page where the pain ends, and peace begins.
But only if they let go.
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Vasudev (grandfather, tearful):
We thought we were saving him by leaving.
But maybe… we passed on our confusion.
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Madhukar:
That’s okay. You were lied to.
Now — you can tell your children the truth:
> That success is not salary.
That growth is not height.
That life is not about “reaching somewhere” — but about rooting deeply.
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Meera:
We have a flat in Bengaluru. If we sell it, we can buy 1–2 acres on the outskirts?
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Madhukar:
Exactly.
Buy land where the soil still knows silence.
Build a tiny mud home — just enough.
Start a kitchen garden. Work from home.
Raise chickens, grow greens, and slow down your heartbeat.
And then — teach others.
Hold workshops. Host healing circles. Guide fellow migrants like you.
That’s your new income. That’s your new dignity.
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Raghav:
But won’t people mock us?
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Madhukar:
They already do.
Whether you follow their way or leave it.
So let them laugh.
And when they fall sick, stressed, or broken — they’ll remember you.
Not as fools.
But as the first ones who had the courage to come back.
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FINAL MOMENT:
The family sits in silence.
A new wind blows.
The boy picks up a stick and starts tracing patterns in the mud.
The grandmother hums a tune she hadn’t sung in years.
The father closes his laptop.
The mother smiles without reason.
The grandfather touches soil with reverence.
They found a way.
And they will walk it together.
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