On Losing and Finding the Artist Within

When a Uniform Replaces a Sketchbook

My first attempt at sketching. (2015) | Not the best one, but it gave me the confidence to move ahead in this journey.

I’m sitting at my sleek corporate desk now, looking out over a city skyline. There’s a faint ache in my hand. It’s not from typing, it’s from the muscle memory of a 2B pencil, the scratch of charcoal on textured paper, the way my fingers used to smell faintly of graphite.

A few years ago, the guy who sat here, who managed quarterly reports and stakeholder meetings, was… well, he was a stranger.

Let me introduce you to the old me. Let’s call him Sketchbook Adarsh.

Sketchbook Adarsh lived in a different timezone. His real day started around midnight. With music, always music, a blend of classic rock and raw, soulful Indian melodies, he’d get completely lost. Five, six hours would melt away in a single sitting. The only things that mattered were the contrast, the depth, and the moment a piece of blank paper finally surrendered to a sketch. He found meaning in the curve of a falling leaf, the intense stare of a portrait subject, the smallest, most insignificant detail.

He was the guy my college friends would recognize from a distance because they could hear my rendition of the latest Bollywood hit booming from the bathroom. “Oh, it must be Adarsh,” they’d joke. “Next one, will you sing, ‘Galliyaan Teri Galliyaan’?”

He had a rhythm, messy, but an original one.

Then came the call. The uniform. The Indian Defense Forces.

That one year of training was a crucible. It wasn’t just a career change, it was a total rewrite of my operating system. Every soft edge was honed into a sharp point. Sleep became a functional necessity, not a slow drift to a soundtrack. Individuality was replaced by synchronicity. You learned to command, to be respected, to move with precision.

And I did it. Why not…well that was my passion and love.

I became someone formidable, someone with a new gravity, a new set of passions like fitness, strategy, and discipline.

The trade-off?

I lost the flavour.

The pencil was replaced by a INSAS (Indian Small Arms System) 5.56mm rifle. The late-night creative flow was replaced by the 4 AM drill. There was no space, not a centimeter for the quiet, introspective chaos of the artist.

Now, after the defense stint, I have transitioned again, startup hustle, then the structure of the corporate world. I have found success, sure. I have the titles, the network, the grown-up hobbies.

But sometimes, when a meeting runs too long, or a deadline feels hollow, I feel the ghost of that old hunger. I find myself clicking through old photo albums, staring at the charcoal pieces I made, and feeling a pang of grief. It’s not just about drawing, it’s about the way I used to see the world.

This isn’t about escaping my current life, it’s about integration. How do you take the discipline of a soldier and the passion of an artist and forge them into one complete person?

The new me commands respect, the old me found meaning. I want them both at the table.

The journey back is not easy and I am well aware of that. I just wish I could bring the old me forward into the person I am. It’s about finding the intersection between the commander’s focus and the artist’s eye. It’s about letting the music play, and finally, picking up that pencil, knowing that the first line I draw might be shaky, but it will be mine.

Has your own career or life transition ever forced you to put away a deeply personal passion? How did you bring it back? Share your story in the comments.

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