Acquaintance With Defeat

As I sat quietly at the side benches of badminton court, I regretted for once being an engineering student and not a psychology student. Faces with perhaps all emotions known to man had erupted within those walls. Excitement, tension, dejection and fear -all seemed to had decided to grace the arena by etching themselves on those players’ faces. The intriguing emotions were all mesmerizing but the face that captivated & left me spellbound was of the boy who had been defeated moments ago and was sitting alone soaked in sweat. I, despite his best efforts to hide, could sense that, though quiet, his apoplectic urges were at their mighty best. With physical pain soaring past his resilience, it was taking him all his self control to keep his nefarious instincts at bay. As my lips curled into a smile I reckoned perhaps unearthing the human psyche in the aftermath of a defeat in sports would be an interesting observation.

A defeated player’s immediate frisson couldn’t had been laid bare any better than by Shelley in his aptly forged lines, “I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!”. Defeat never comes empty handed but brings with it the appalling flood of disappointment leaving one cold and dry. Trepidation & castigation that follows can send the shivers down any one’s spine. It is made all the more gruesome by the sportsman conduct the loser is expected to portray after having succumbed and that too with all his internal mechanism on fire. After being substantially spent in the course of practice and the game itself, asking the loser to keep a smiling face, passion under control and to comply with the customary handshake with the opponent seems a travesty. Quite often even the very best players around the world have failed in this obligation. Illustrious Roger Federer burst into tears after the Wimbledon final defeat against Rafael Nadal. Of course, the master is a human after all. We fail to notice but perhaps when the defeated boxer hugs the winner, it goes on to the show the mettle and the strength of the character of the player which embellishes the true spirit of game.

Striding past the players’ instantaneous reaction, the far more captivating facet is the defeat‘s implication on the player in the long run. The great Bjorn Borg quit tennis after the defeat rendered to him by John McEnroe in US Open final, surprisingly; he left even without attending the presentation ceremony. Defeat can be that treacherous poison which can subdue one’s urge to win for once and all. The blow which a substantial defeat renders could leave the very best down on all fours. It is capable of unleashing that monster which transforms the champion into mediocre. The defeat in an arena where you are watched by million, cheered & jeered by thousands, numerous hopes pinned to you-the trauma that unfolds can be phenomenally devastating. In the squabble of public furore and self belief, all catastrophes fall on the motivation as it bows down to receive the merciless beating.

But the most stunning aspect quite contrary to its damaging nature is a bright one. History has never witnessed any champion without prolific defeats pinned to his chest. Michael Jordan was left out of his school team for possessing only ‘crude skills’ and now history books iconize him as the best basketball player ever. The bottom statement comes down to how one negotiate terms with the blow dealt by a loss. The path less taken is of improvising and of innate desire to come back tough and hard. For sure the never-say-die attitude is what it takes to become Steve Waugh, Federer or Zidane. Mao Zedang famously said, “ Peace time after the war is to prepare for the next war.” Perhaps the compactness of mind, maturity in actions and ability to take loss and win in the backpack alike is what that defines champions. Lance Armstrong, diagnosed of prostate cancer, went on to win Tour de France for 7 times in row after having coped with the burns of radiotherapy. Though ignored later or sooner perhaps it’s the process that underwent in making of the player which counts rather than the predicaments in which he occasionally lands up.

I’ve used a lot of ‘perhaps’ here but to conclude I have only one ’sure’.

Surely, glory does not lie in never falling but in rising up every time we fall.

Kashmir’s Intifada: Birth of A Nation?

What began as a dispute on 99 acres of land two years ago spawned into a snafu which appears to be beyond the imagination of a bard. The pelted stones, every raised slogan & the burgeoned hostility have almost pitched a predicament which was never foreseen. Those uniform clad men who stood undeterred against the foreign intrusion now stand meek and dumbfounded against their medieval attackers. The people who once persuaded masses with their rhetoric now appear unheard and clueless. How things can go wrong to such an extent? It all started with one word from the Kashmiri mouths “AZADI”
The word which Kashmiri’s have come up for their rebellion is ‘Intifada’ – an Arabic word meaning an uprising. The events of June and July have brought the reality home-paradise has been long lost in Kashmir. The procession this time, surprisingly, has included from all walks of life. Amazingly women and children are easily seen pursuing the bandwagon. This all sums up to a conclusion in the mind that there is something genuine behind this turmoil in Kashmir. Injustice has always been there but this time ignorance and indifference has exhorted the Kashmiris to hit the streets. If attention is fostered then 3 main reasons sprout up in mind. The first being the chain of events which included the Amarnath Shrine board land dispute, Shopian murder case and the firings by security personnel on democratic agitations. Armed Forces Special Power Act (AFSPA) in place has inflicted wounds which can never be healed. These all nefarious deeds went to challenge the self respect of an ordinary Kashmiri. The secondary reason was the obvious absence of economic development, jobs and infrastructure. In a state where 50% of the population is below 21 there cannot be a better suited overture of revolt than unemployment. The tertiary reason, an alarming fact, stems up from the vested interests of the separatists, namely Hurriyat Conference and JKLF. These skeletons in the closet have stemmed up a revolt which is now a lookalike of the French Revolution.
New Delhi lost the plot due to it’s dichotomy in deeds and words. The human right violations by security forces and the inhospitable AFSPA was never in the Delhi’s cognizance. It’s only this brute force of armed forces that’s keeping now Kashmir with India. Hard to say but yes ,this time security forces have brought shame to the nation by manhandling the innocent Kashmiris. On the economic front, even with militancy absent in the valley for last 3-4 years and still the economic development remains a questionable arena. The troublemakers Hurriyat was given unreasonable liberty. The decision to bring the Army in Srinagar was a historic mistake when the policymakers themselves declined such a move in more troubled waters of Chattisgarh. Message put out by this move was suicidal and democracy took a beating as never witnessed before. No doubt, the goodwill is lost for once and all. The slogans of “Indian dogs go away” and “Freedom now” adds music to the alarming note.
Seeking solution to this grisly scenario is no treasure hunt. They are clear and visible. Greater autonomy should be provided to the state of J&K and it’s government. Mellowing or abolishing AFSPA can be a start for mollifying this public outcry. External security forces should be limited to an optimum number. Rather the strength of J&K police should be increased manifold. The trigger for protest would wane if the Kashmiris did not have to suffer daily humiliations. If people felt that New Delhi really cared to address their concerns, the rage would not be so potent. No effort could be complete without an economic turnaround of the state. Industries and Railways which have been so reluctant should be brought in Kashmir. An employed youth won’t have an inclination of pelting stones. The separatist are nothing short of terrorist and should be and should be met out like them- wipe them.
For Kashmiri’s ‘Azadi’ is nothing but a stalemate. They can’t hope to survive with 3 powerful nations in vicinity and still be independent. Patience and prudence are paramount. Kashmiriyat has the chance of getting enriched only in India. The fact to be realized is that India did mess up but freedom will be a bigger mistake. Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.

Confessions From the Train Floor

After facing a highly eventful and exhausting semester it was the time of the year to make the heart soaring journey northwards. Journey back home has always been a cherished longing for me since my days in Kota. Sitting there in auto I reflected on the burning issue in hand – My ticket was not confirmed. Despite slogging my guts to get a confirmed ticket, all efforts went in vain. Perhaps this time somewhere in heart excitement had rendered defeat to Reluctance.
Flashing message of 2995 AII-BDTS Express. departure caught my eye as I placed my foot on the platform. It was one hour wait before the train arrives. after making my customary visit to the book stall and returning empty handed, suddenly a thought stimulated me. I rushed to the notice board where list of the confirmed travelers was on display. Today, when of all days when I had no idea to travel in which coach, I decided to pick the coach this time with more F’s in it (I mean more female passengers). I finalized S4. Depressingly for me share market discussing uncles, gossiping Gujarati aunties and extra weeping toddlers are the ones ever who have kept providing me company since time immemorial. This time I decided to get the better of situation by infiltrating the coach with sufficient gals.
At last on the arrival of the train (on scheduled time once for change!!) I heaved my luggage into S4. After chaining my bag safely under a berth, I initiated my seasoned campaign to look for those glamorous entities for whom I was in that coach. But after one round of the coach my world had came crashing down. The ‘glamorous gals’ turned out to be a Marathi aunty, two nuns in customary habit and a young girl with lots of brothers. Fate has thwarted me once again and I decided to have my vengeance on return journey. With defeat lurking on my face and the feeling of adventure dead, at last I came on terms with the uphill task of sustaining myself on this 14 hour long over night journey.
The big question now to be encountered was how to get myself some place to place my bottom down. I was left with no doubt after status of the coach that today I have only one last resort left i.e. THE TRAIN FLOOR. But still pursuing resistance and showing that last bit of Indian optimism I decided to stand as long as possible. Already past Baroda mundane sceneries passing by were getting dimmed as night was falling. A Marwari family took sympathy of my plight. They asked me to sit beside their flowing-nose twins. I finally sat down. Alongside my berth a heated discussion seemed to be waging on. Unable to resist myself I finally went closer to have a look and I realized the topic under fire was the abysmal service of Indian Railway. I had wished for a lighter topic for the night. Though unasked yet I jumped in the argument explaining how overburdened Indian Rly is. With the bluffed looks on their faces I can easily chalk out that I was not invited and too intellectually young to speak among such a ‘coveted’ crowd. Embarrassed, I pulled myself out of the discussion. The Marwari family has finished its dinner and was preparing to pull the middle berth, which meant I had to vacate the compartment. With no place to sit and sleep I decided to kill the time by reading a book. So I pulled ‘Dreams of My Father ‘by Barack Obama out of my bag. Reluctantly my feet took me to the corridor besides the toilet as it was the only place which was now lit. For about an hour I enjoyed it but suddenly it was an effort to keep an eye fixed on the copy. I had begun dozing. Literally my wall of resilience was now wavering under the pressure of keeping my eye open. At around 1:30 my struggle was finally rescued by arrival of Ratlam railway station, I decided to take a stroll on the platform and to have a coffee if possible. When I alighted at Jab We Met famed station I was again hit by a surge of disappointment as there was no tea stall open and was left alone to wonder how everything could go wrong so horribly?
Once again boarded on the train I took the brave decision to sleep on the floor. I decided to occupy the passage within the two lower berths. Finally around 2 a.m. I settled on the floor with a layer of newspaper and a bed sheet. it would have hardly been 15 min since I had pulled my blanket when someone tapped me . I rose up to see the old Gujrati uncle on alongside lower berth with no friendliness in his eyes. With open hostility he asked me to remove my lodgings from the passage as I was hindering his movement. I knew arguing will not help my cause as people will not support me, I decided to try the pleading technique but that idiot seemed to be made up of some harder stuff, He had gone berserk and started to spell out the unwanted abuse. I refused to leave. He caught me by surprise when all of a sudden he got the hold of my arm and pushed me and this was the moment of showcasing my strength (although not much but sufficient for that fellow). I pushed him by double intensity and he fell on his own berth. Secretly I was impressed by my own self as the fellow showed no further protest. This drama almost lasted for 20 min...Cursing him, again I tried to lie down. Disturbed again this time the intruder was in my own pocket as my mobile vibrated to my msg alert. Reluctantly I pulled it from my pocket to notice the message of Airtel welcoming me to MP. Only one word crossed my mind “Goddammit’. No further clue was required for me to guess that heavens have conspired against me vehemently. I tried to keep my peckers up but I started to sense a commotion and it struck me that Chittorgarh was nearing. I was aware that 60% of the passengers were to alight at Chittor. With Such turbulence I could hardly manage to close my eyes. At last train halted at Chittor.
Now With last 3 hours to go and half of the berths vacant I grabbed an upper berth. Most of the passengers woke with the dawn but I slept with it. That lie down was a boon to my now aching muscles. If Any dream visited me I don’t remember. Finally I got up after listening to the irritating song of those train singers singing in the honor of KhwaJa Sahab’ Dargah at Ajmer. Now I could sense Ajmer coming. My heart was already on a rock and roll. Sleeping anymore was out of question as the up downers had resorted to Antakshri. I got down and within minutes standing on the gate I saw a yellow board with AJMER JN written in black. That was a million dollar moment. On reaching platform I easily found I saw Papa waving at me . Laughter on his face lit up the arena. I was finally home. To my own Ajmer. Despite a memorable night the feeling of homecoming overpowered every other feeling. It was my HOME SWEET HOME

Till Your Dreams Come True

Often your tasks will be many,
And more than you think you can do.
Often the road will be rugged
And the hills insurmountable, too.
But always remember,
The hills ahead
Are never as steep as they seem,
And with Faith in your heart
Start upward
And climb 'til you reach your dream.
For nothing in life that is worthy
Is ever too hard to achieve
If you have the courage to try it,
And you have the faith to believe.
For faith is a force that is greater
Than knowledge or power or skill,
And many defeats turn to triumph
If you trust in God's wisdom and will.
For faith is a mover of mountains,
There's nothing that God cannot do,
So, start out today with faith in your heart,
And climb 'til your dream comes true!

Sojourn Of life

Life isn't just full of happiness,
It's sunsets, it's love, it's tears.
It's the thoughts of yesterdays memories,
That can wash away all our fears.

It's that very painful experience,
That each one of us has had.
It's the laughter that fills the air,
It's the tears when you are sad.

It's loving that someone special,
That at one time made you smile.
It's the pain of losing that person,
But the memories that make it worthwhile.

It's that child in every one of us,
Although in time we'll all be old.
It's the good times we'll never forget,
It's the memories we'll always hold.

It's the hug that we all need,
When we'd rather drown in our sorrow.
It's the hope in every one of us,
That makes us hold on for tomorrow.