How I Lost My Job and Found Krishna
It all started like most plot twists in life — with an email.
After working from home for ages (thanks to our beloved lockdown), I got the dreaded news: “You’re requested to return to office.”
Now, that may sound normal to most people. But for my bipolar brain, it was like throwing a cat into a rock concert.
You see, offices aren’t just about chairs and coffee machines. They are emotional war zones. Too many faces. Too many energies. Too many invisible knives.
And I’d already had my share of “Mr. Tough Guy” colleagues triggering my mania like it’s a light switch.
I was nervous — like first-day-of-school, forgot-to-wear-pants kind of nervous.
And then something beautiful happened.
In that nervous storm, my mind did what minds like mine sometimes do — it took a sharp turn into the divine. I started reading the Bhagavad Gita, and Karma Yoga grabbed me like a lifeline.
Not just reading — living.
I chanted mantras while walking, while coding, while blinking. My heart grew full of Krishna, Rama, and Vishnu. Every breath felt sacred.
I even stopped my old habit of masturbation — because one of the books said spiritual energy shouldn’t leak.
And oh boy… did that energy stay.
It didn’t just stay. It partied.
I couldn’t sleep. I was floating. My thoughts raced faster than my Internet connection.
Soon, I believed I was enlightened. No joke — like, “Hey world, meet the new Buddha with an ID card.”
At the office, I felt ignored by a few people. Or maybe they just didn’t know what to say to a guy radiating divinity and not replying to “Good morning” like a mortal.
I overthought.
I over-felt.
I over-everything’d.
To calm down, I clung to mantras — but the storm inside me was louder.
Eventually, mania hit full force.
I started messaging spiritual truths to my office group. Midnight wisdom bombs.
People got annoyed.
HR got involved.
They warned me.
I didn’t stop.
They removed me from the group.
My anger exploded.
In one bold, fiery click — I resigned.
Even though I had loans, responsibilities, adult things.
Even though my future was a question mark drawn in red ink.
Later, I tried to take it back. But life doesn’t always have an undo button.
That’s when it hit me:
“This… was mania.”
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I just sat.
I stayed home during notice period, chanting, trusting Krishna, still floating between delusion and devotion.
And then — the miracle.
On the very last day of my job, out of nowhere, I got a new offer.
Better salary.
Remote work.
Peace.
It felt like Krishna himself placed a safety net just as I was falling.
Reflection
Bipolar mania isn’t just wild energy. It’s spiritual confusion wrapped in fireworks. It makes you feel divine while slowly unraveling your life thread by thread.
But here’s the twist:
Even in that chaos, faith saved me.
Even when my brain went rogue, Krishna held me.
And now I know…
It’s not about being perfect.
It’s about being held, even when you break.
Thanks Krishna. I’m enough.
And if you’re reading this, dear friend —
So are you.