Raindrops on his face

Raindrops on his face,

Hiding tears in his eyes,

Mixing with sweat on his brow,

Washing the blood from his temples,

Fuelling the fire in his heart.

He sat quietly on a bench in the jogger’s park. Breathing heavily, sunken shoulders, eyes staring in wilderness. He heard his dad’s voice in his head. “Don’t give up. You can still reach it. Its your destiny. Its my pride.”

Sidharth has been a workaholic for as long as he can remember. He has never known any other way of living. He always worked, and worked towards a single goal. To achieve greatness. To leave behind a legacy which the world will remember him with.

How? He didn’t know.

He was destined to achieve greatness. A born leader, who would set an example for others to follow. So predicted the family astrologer. So blessed the family deity. So believed his family. And so he was told to believe and act upon.

As a kid he would struggle to fathom how he could possibly attain something like this. And his innocent mind started equating personal and professional success to means of becoming rich, powerful and to some extent ‘Great’. To be someone who everyone looked upon, admired and appreciated. Over the years hard-work and excellence became Sidharth’s second nature. He never gave himself the option of coming second. Be it in school, academics, extra-curricular or sports. Success was an all-encompassing umbrella, which covered all aspects of life. And thus, he worked hard to achieve it in all.

Sidharth was a voracious reader, an avid sportsman, a stupendous orator and a spontaneous decision maker. He was an obedient son, a doting brother and a supportive friend. He attended A-grade educational institutions. He ensured that he lands himself with a high-paying job. He married a girl equal in his calibre and was blessed with two adorable kids. He was also termed as ‘lucky’ by many to have a supporting family. They supported his ambitions, they took pride in his achievement. His wishes were not just accommodated but were followed as a dictate. All in all, his life was a well balanced equilibrium, spanning all aspects of life.

Yet he was never at peace with himself. Nothing was ever sufficient. It could always be better than what it was. Sidharth moved from one objective to another. Only focusing on the goal-post in front and on how to achieve it. He never allowed himself to stop at any of these milestones to bask in its glory. When nearing the completion of a goal, he would typically become restless. His mind would start running in all directions, looking for a new challenge to excite, a new race to run or a new puzzle to solve.

Everything came into his life with an objective and happiness was not one of them. Every beginning had a predefined ending, and that end decided how the start should be. He would design beautiful creations, with their usability in mind. He would learn new skills, focused on their application. He would acquire new assets, after calculating the RoI. Everything had a purpose and that purpose gave a meaning to his life.

This approach did not necessarily make him a practical person without emotions. Only his thought process was structured. His principles guided his thoughts, his thoughts decided his actions. This did not make him inhuman. This did not make him wrong. He was just different from the majority. He had trained himself to be so. He had an over-arching objective in life. And with every milestone he itched to move closer to it.

If ever Sidharth felt tired, he would ignore it. If his body or mind would show symptoms of burning out, he would find a way to recharge. If work in office became overbearing, he would start focusing on home. He always managed to keep himself gainfully occupied and productively engaged.

His only and probably the biggest challenge in life was to define the objective of his life. Something the world will remember him for. His contribution to this world and its inhabitants, for the current and future generations. This was probably the only loose end of his life, which he had always tried to get a grip on, and which was still hanging somewhere out of his reach.

That day Sidharth had a long day at work. He was feeling quite exhausted. When he reached home, everyone seemed a little extra quiet. When he enquired, his wife pointed towards his son’s room. Without asking for details, Sidharth moved towards the closed door. As soon he opened the door something came flying towards him, hitting him on his head, followed by an angry voice, “I told u to leave me alone!!!”

Sidharth didn’t stop at the door. He went inside and switched on the light. Seeing him his 12-year-old son went numb, before bursting into tears. “I am sorry daddy; I couldn’t meet your expectations. I could only manage the 3^rd position in my exams.” Siddharth didn’t respond. He didn’t notice the blood coming out from where the box had hit him. He quietly closed the door behind him and walked out of the house without uttering a word to anyone.

Sitting on that bench in the park, Siddharth was revisiting his life thus far and the day that lay ahead of him. The day that was expected to start on a promising note. The day that could help him take a leap forward. He had an important meeting scheduled for tomorrow, which if successful could push him a few notches ahead in his career.

And yet something was holding him back. Something was telling him that he should slow down.

And yet the voices in his head kept him pushing. Imploring him to move ahead.

They say a man spends his life among three generations. Siddharth had inherited this fire in his heart from his father. He had nurtured it with his blood and sweat. And he could see he was passing it on to his son.  He was teaching his son to keep running after that ever-elusive dream.  Was he a great father? Was this the right legacy? He wants his son to become ambitious, but is success over-priced? His father taught him the value of hard-work, but didn’t teach the measure of happiness. Does this make his father a wrong example? What will the world remember him as – a son, a man or a father? Can he choose being only one?

Siddharth was still facing these questions when it started to rain, erasing his footmarks in the mud. Probably also the answers in front on him.