Tag Archives: childhood

Fall seven times, stand up eight

I had a very bad day at work. I was gloomy about my failure to provide a bug free solution which is field failure and had my share of blessings from manager. Not that am gloomy cause, he went on a ride on me but why am I failing so often these days. Like a fly running around your nose, thoughts too were buzzing within my mind. It was around 6 30 PM in the evening, i was walking back home after getting down from the bus. My right eye caught something that made me silent and immerse into myself for the rest of the day. A boy of aged about 6 years old just fell running. He was playing touch me/ some such street game with his friends. As soon as he has fallen, woke up, dusted off his shirt and pulled up his pants and forwarded in the direction where his friend was heading. After running for another five steps, he gravitated to the ground. I thought he is about to fall again, but this time he just managed to balance and proceed.

Hitherto, my mind which was buzzing around with thoughts about my bad day switched to my childhood. At the age of six, I was spirited, jubilant, cranky and crazy, a typical child of that age group. I used to get into street fights, got beatings from mom for the mischief with neighbours. etc etc.

Being sick with high temperature I couldn’t make it to the cricket game. By the time it was 4 PM( which was our play time) , I used to pretend to be okay and plead mom to let me go to the playground only to watch but not play. Mom gets persuaded only after a couple of promises from her little child. I, elated by her mom permission, used to flood her with kisses and cruised through the main door while she is all laughs for her spirited son. Being a chubby little kiddo, everyone used to adore me and my mom the most. In the scorching summer heat, either I used to play / watch the game, fall sick, play , fall sick.. but I never gave up playing/ turning up at the ground. Spirit was always there despite of results and side effects.

Now, having seen the world through various lenses for about twenty years, I feel ashamed about how easily I tend to give up on failures, comforting myself with lies with a soothing judgemental statistics. Probably most of us were taught in schooling, “Fall seven times, stand up eighth time”. Am afraid how often does that come to our mind when in dejection / failure.

Walking through the way to home, I have decided for myself that I won’t stop battling. I won’t be afraid of failures. In fact I shall endure it , prosper along with it. World didn’t change much, our inhibitions, whims, fears have increased beyond proportions which are ten times manifold and pulling us back. Which was not the case during childhood. Probably to stand up every time we fall too requires certain amount of effort. I wish to fall once again and no matter what I shall stand up. I promised to myself and heaved a sigh of relief. Went home, had good food and a good sleep, otherwise it would have been so unsettling.

So how often are you falling and how often are you standing up ?? How does this saying reflect your life ?

Advertisements

Bicycle accident

Rewind to 1993, I was 6 years old. Like any child grown up in congested rectangular block house of typical lower middle class Indian family, I dared to dream since then.

I remember my first dream was neither to drive a fancy car nor go to scenic locations that were shown in Hindi movies aired on zee television. It may sound silly now(but justified to my context at that age), but it was to ride a bicycle and vroom through our streets. Cycle bug bit me after a friend of the same street showed off his new bsa bicycle.

My dad had a Bajaj Chetak scooter and neither of siblings had a  bicycle. I cried for days and skipped meals and got beaten up by parents for pestering them to buy a new bicycle. Giving their financial situation, finally deal was made, they would offer me 6 rupees on every Sunday to hire a bicycle, which would cost 2 rupees for an hour.

I precisely remember how crucial that 2 rupees were to me. I was darn careful. It wasn’t just about one hour of bicycle riding but about satisfying my whims and ego of the child within. Within two to three months I vroomed all through the streets of my locality to show off my skills. Slowly other friends who couldn’t afford to buy a bicycle followed me and I formed a small gang who would meetup on Sunday after breakfast and vroom all over. Now that I have made a gang of 4 to 5, we used to vroom all through racing in the narrowest streets I’ve ever seen. The friend with bsa bicycle came along and joined the racing only to fall on the stones and get hurt into a bad shape, after I hit his bicycle accidentally.

Next scene was his father summoned my mom, colony heads and others to gather in the common area. He shouted at me saying I was the one who was spoiling others, and gave me the grand title “Rowdy”. I couldn’t stop laughing for that comment,  thinking he was over reacting, not realising love for his son, only to get slapped by my mother in front of 20 odd people.

But then the advantage of being a pampered child of a wonderful mother is that she took me to her side later in the evening and told, If she hadn’t slapped me, he would beat me up more than that for the damage that I have done to his son(broke his hand). I asked mom naively, “When everyone else scolded why did she care for me, was it because am her son?”. To that she said “Caring and love doesn’t have to change for what others do to you. One can still chose to love.”Then I knew what mother’s love was.This incident had an indelible impression on me to love others despite their shortcomings and wrong doings during my formative years. Practicing  unconditional love has grown on me ever since. Infinite thanks for my mom.

Never after that I’ve embarrassed my Mom and I rode bicycle peacefully till an age of 17 without hurting anyone 🙂