I still remember those hot summer afternoons that seemed to stretch forever. The kind where time moved slowly. And I waited for my father to return home with a bag of mangoes or litchis. Just about the right quantity to feed the family, but not in abundance. That, in many ways, was a sign of a middle-class household. There was comfort, but never excess.
Everything was in proportion, driven by an understanding of what was needed and what was fair to have. Without quite realising it, that sense of ‘just enough’ seeped into me. Long after I’ve left the house and started earning my own money, that sense stayed.
I’ve believed that a middle-class upbringing is less about income and more about a way of living. It shapes how we see the world, how we measure our worth and how we respond to opportunities. We may move cities, earn more, live differently, but that internal calculator is always on. We weigh, we justify, we hold back a little.
I grew up in a home where what we needed was there, built slowly by my parents. I have never seen my parents splurge or indulge in expensive things even when there was a scope. A simple house. A car came much later. Travel was simple. Overseas holidays, pricey jewellery or studying abroad… they were simply never part of the conversation. I understood my boundaries early and more importantly, I accepted them.
There was dignity and discipline in that life.
My parents didn’t speak in big words, but they instilled in me the idea of independence, responsibility and restraint quite early. They ensured I got a decent level of education with which I should be able to take care of my life from then on. By the time I stepped out into the world, there was an unspoken understanding: I am on my own now, not shielded anymore.
Even in difficult moments, asking for help didn’t come naturally to me. I learnt to manage, adjust and endure. These are generally spoken of as values. But they come with silent costs. Because the world outside does not always operate on ‘just enough’.
There is another kind of upbringing, one that is set in abundance.
The upbringing where things are not always measured and limits are not so strict. And that often shapes a very different kind of behaviour. I have experienced it first-hand.
A tendency to take things for granted. Not (always) out of malice, but because things have always been available. Walking away, talking in a condescending tone, throwing tantrums (even as adults). A habit of deciding for others and demanding outcomes because that’s how life has worked for them.
Then there is the loud confidence that the world is at their feet and everyone else will adjust. And when they don’t, money or power steps in. We see it in the way conversations are carried. Their attitude suggests that wealth speaks.
In some of the people I’ve met, I’ve come across a certain sense of entitlement, an insistence on control, a refusal to adjust. ‘My way or the highway’ not as a statement, but as a default attitude. It’s easy to dismiss it as arrogance, but it habitually comes from a life where one barely had to negotiate with constraints.
And then I return to my own conditioning.
The middle-class instinct to accommodate where others demand, to hesitate where others assert, to explain where others don’t. It creates an uneven playing field.
A middle-class upbringing gives us a strong moral spine, but it also places a ceiling above us. We learn to survive well, not demand more. We become reliable, not ambitious in the loud, visible way the world rewards.
Because while restraint teaches us patience, it can make us invisible. While humility keeps us grounded, it can sometimes hold us back. While a modest living builds character, it can also limit how much we allow ourselves to want. And that’s unsettling.
Yet, there is something deeply steady about it. We don’t crumble easily. We don’t take things lightly. We value effort because we’ve seen what it takes to build something from scratch. We may not chase abundance, but we respect it when it comes.
Over time, I’ve realised it’s about recognising what I carry and what I need to learn or unlearn. Perhaps the real work is in keeping the grounding, but letting go of the hesitation. Holding on to discipline, but making room for desire. Knowing the value of ‘enough’, but not being afraid of ‘more’. Because somewhere between restraint and abundance, there is a more balanced way to live. And most of us, the middle-class people, are trying to find it.