Almost 10 and a half years ago, I happened to be at Mumbai. Back then the confusion still reigned if it was Bombay or Mumbai.
Bright yellow lights burned me for an hour and a half. I had make-up applied on my face against my wishes. And then suddenly it was all dark. There was a huge roar. It stayed that way for 4 and a half hours. Stuck up at my seat, I was barred from moving about. A small microphone, which failed to work due to the power-cut, attached beneath my shirt.
Four and a half hours later the action resumed. An hour later, I was broken.
A few drops fell clinging onto my cheeks. I didn't howl. Sampa Ma'am consoled me. No one saw the howls I silently screamed alone in my room.
The dream was lost. The inconsolable me knew myself. I could have been there holding my forte against all the warriors. But I learned something that day. An individual counts. A team can fall crashing when one individual fails, all because the individual counts.
Those scenes revisit me today, as I clean my CD-rack and come across the recording.
I still think about the ifs and buts. I still wonder I was a hair's length away. I still marvel how one incorrect answer can change the mindset and the temperament. The pain is still raw today. Since, I have learnt to fine-tune myself.
Life often doesn't give a second chance. Now, maybe I think I don't need that chance anymore. The experience, the lesson counts.