For starters, I must admit that I haven’t written in a very long time. It takes time to think, gather notes, collect supporting facts, quote incidents, and finally draw a story. That said, I wonder how it would be if one could tell what he’s been through and what he has experienced in life. One might need to think and build around these experiences to churn out a well-written piece, but, if one is writing about oneself, he only needs to dust off the crowded corners of his mind and select the memories that need sharing. With this in mind, I will now proceed to tell you one of my stories – a story that can be perceived as a success story by some and failure by many. It is, however, a story from the dog-eared pages of my life.
Let’s rewind to my grad school days when I used to be an average guy, just like I am today. My college used to be one of the better colleges there were, albeit it would qualify as rather expensive one in the city. There I was, a guy from a service class family, studying with my business class classmates.
Due to a relatively lower headcount than other branches, all the batches used to stick together. And yes, we used to have the same college fights with other branches like everyone else.
Coming to the point of this story, it was the sports week in our college and the atmosphere was nothing short of electric. To clarify, I’m not a sports person. In my childhood, the only reason I was ever successful in taking wickets during a cricket match was that I was such a weird and slow bowler, that the batsman would get frustrated! That said, I was a known ‘celebrity’ in my life’s bubble nonetheless, so I thought it worth to try something. In any case, getting tanned in the sun would mainly cost me some fair and lovelies, so what the heck!
Like I mentioned already, our batches were close and most of the people around knew that I was asthmatic as a result of which dust and breathlessness could be extremely perilous to me, if not fatal. Add to that the fact that I had chosen to run a races without shoes, on a rusty red soiled ground. Some of my friends and seniors were concerned and tried to dissuade me from pulling such stunts, however, I had made my mind. Moreover, I knew that I could never run fast enough to win against the seven other people competing with me in the race (if you were to see me in person, you’d know what I’m saying here).
The fact remains that I decided to run. As the whistle blew, I could feel the other runners sprinting ahead. There were some who zoomed past me in a flash, and I couldn’t even see their faces. There were hordes of people cheering us and the atmosphere continued to remain rather tense and pumping at the same time (imagine a toned down version of bhaag milkha bhaag). I ran like I had never run before until I was nearing the end, all the while watching the fastest guy a few inches away from the rope. Then the second, third, and so on. Accepting my fate and terming it sheer predictability, I was close to giving up when I happened to turn my head and got a surprise. To my disbelief, there were two guys still behind me. Two fit and lean guys, whose body frames boasted of more sports activities than mine. I was no longer the last runner, like I thought, few moments ago. Now, I was that guy who ran with all his might. I still had a red face and the most difficult time breathing, but I now knew that if you and I were to be chased by a bear in the woods, the chances are, you would get to say hello to the bear while I would say goodbye and run 😛
Why did I share this story? Well, the point here is that we may not be perfect and perhaps we aren’t even meant to be so, but our imperfections and the determination arising from them are what lead us to create new and better versions of ourselves. They help us progress and do something new and achieve something better over and over again. It never was and never will be a good idea to give up or to think that you’re not good enough. Like a wise friend once said to me, “Try try, but never cry”.
Keep on running!
PS: If you know me enough, you will realise after reading a few lines, that the story is mine, but the writing is different. Thanks to the editor, for making a ‘Gangs of Wasseypur’ sound like ‘The Gangs of New York’.
You can read more of her writings here: Riveting reflections
A Thought Blog - By Prateek Devta 