Story of Failure

"Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more intelligently". - Henry Ford

I am Failure. Not a failure, but failure itself. Not the verb, but the noun.

I have seen people with mighty hearts and decorated chests, cringe by my very mention. Those widely respected and honored in their lives and fields, pray they never have to see me in the eye. Sometimes, in all my innocence, I wish at least such brave-hearts  would like to take me head on as a challenge. But they don't ever dare to. I have often wondered why.

Trust me, I don't look that hideous!

Like the black sheep, hidden from the glory of the living rooms of all the braggart families, I have a cousin to blame for this.

Bitch, thy name is Success. 

Success is pretty and a lot of people, despite of their age and experience (or the lack of it), have crush on her. It's blinding, it's flashy and it makes one utterly myopic. Many a great souls have lost their way after achieving success. But every courageous soul who has ever had an encounter with me has always set new goals and started afresh.

After every success lies an emptiness, after every failure lies a hidden opportunity!

Beyond every finish line, and before every start, in the solitude of thunderous applause, is me. I am the way to look into the future because I have the vision.

We have a strict framework, rules and definitions for success, but me, I am Universal. With no definitions, explanations or interpretations. Not Subjective. While your success may not convince or appease many, your failure is accepted by all. I am the gold standard against which all your successes would be measured.

Success invariably would always be incomplete. It would always make you worry about others' reactions. I am absolute. I would make you a clean slate. What else could possibly be a better place to dust off and start again?

I understand the fixation of  being successful.  But to forget my role once you have been successful is, well, just rude! If anything, I am the springboard that catapulted you to your goals.

Me and my lovely cousin have frequent contests of "tug of war". We call it Life. As lovable as she is, she never gives me credit for my role. And I don't ask for one.

I am that fifth grade Math teacher who helped you get over your fear of the subject by scaring you more. Now, you don't remember him while you accept your accolades as a great Mathematician.

I am that teenage lover of yours whom you deserted for college. And now when you shamelessly seek attention of the gorgeous ladies at your corporate job, I smile in the background.

I am that parent of yours who put in everything he/she had for your future and you comfortably forgot to mention that in your valedictory speech.

I am that sibling who prayed for your scores in his/her struggles. Now, when I struggle to meet my ends, you shun me.

Success is a result of the work put in by the best teacher- failure!

I am that patient homemaker who ignores all your flirtatious transgressions, knowing  at the end of the day, you will come back home for solace.

And sooner, than later, you will come back and embrace me. You will have to accept me as, in your fancy vocabulary, "part and parcel" of life.

Beyond all inflated egos, materialistic gains and short lived happiness, you will find me.

Accept me now, when you have the sweet taste of success.

Or I will hit back, hard.



Photo Courtesy: www.matchexecutives.au

And He Ran Like A Man Possessed...

Miles away from failure
A step towards success
Yet miles away from reality

Like a cruel game of chess

With sweat glistening on his forehead

He ran like a man possessed

His legs trembling
His eyes tearful
His body numbing
He shouted without a voice
Ignoring everyone who had gathered around

Waiting for him to give up

But he had made a choice

Looking up
Staring the zero in its eye
He suddenly sped
And ran like a man possessed

With his world crumbling before his eyes
Only a little was left under control

That gave some peaceful moments and hope to his soul

Where he could deny descent
And aimed for the summits
Not for victory but to play the game of grits
He challenged himself and pushed his limits

Forgetting for a little while, his self-detest
And ran like a man possessed

With logic outdone by sheer arrogance

He reminded himself that he could still be a winner

Here he renewed his belligerence

Letting go of all that was repressed
He ran , he ran,
And he ran like a man possessed

The Paradox

Sitting alone in my room, I fight with rational and irrational fear.

Fear of failure. Fear of future. Fear of the next moment. I feel weak and low.

The darkness of the night overtakes me as alcohol mingles with my blood.

Facing crossroads of life, I am confused which path to take.

My dreams parting from me, as does the smoke of this cigarette and the visibility of the invisibility is visible to me.

The difference between right and wrong seems diminishing and the answer itself becomes a question.

Struggling against hopeless odds and seeking help from the ideals of sadism, I feel like a dying man who asks death for long life.

I don’t know what went wrong, don’t know why it went wrong and don’t even know when it went wrong, but the certainty of uncertainty surrounds every move.

And here I exist, in this non-existent world, experiencing completeness of incompleteness and the only things I know are the surety of being unsure, reality of virtuality and the success of failure.

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This is the second of the 2 posts that I decided to re-publish from my brother Abhinav’s collection. Once again, thank you brother for passing these onto me as your legacy.

The first post is here---> Iceberg

Image courtesy-www.baltic-review.com