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Shaadaab S. Bakht: It allows me to relax
February 09, 2018
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A friend once asked me why I wasn’t worried about what he was worried about. I am a fatalist and blame everything on fate, I told him. He didn’t agree with me. The disagreement really didn’t bother me. That’s because I have never fed on borrowed conviction. To repeat myself, my heart is my compass. And that is heavily controlled by my general experience, my regular face-to-face meetings with adversity, my engagement with my confirmed enemy and also my long breaks with bliss, the only reliable source of appetising calmers called day-dreams.

Everything is fate. All talk of hard work paying off is actually a load of consolatory offerings. It’s a middle class credo, I am almost convinced. Maybe it is just bourgeois bunkum to inspire the underdog and the helpless, I keep telling myself when at leisure and all by myself and far away from manufactured laughs.

A list of instances pushes me to believe in what I believe in. And it also stands to reason that I look at life through my experiences. And not use others’ observations as a measure. That will be an intellectual fraud.

Two beautiful kids are born on the same day. One becomes a prince on the day of his birth and the other is constantly readied for the so-called battle called life from his debut hour.

The fact that a lot of humanity is made to sweat by some, who never sweat themselves, is not even discussed
with him    
He is regularly nourished with ethical lessons and the importance of sweating it out. The fact that a lot of humanity is made to sweat by some, who never sweat themselves, is not even discussed with him.     

It will be asinine to attribute the two situations to hard work.

Listen to this. My classmate clearly fooled around for nearly two years. He was into parties, movies, football matches. Four days before our examination he prepared answers to six expected questions. Five of them came. He came first in the school. He remains the same harmless smalltime Epicurean and continues to squeeze his luck.

One of my famous editors wrote in The Times of India about the role luck played in our achievements, if they can be called that at all.

Napoléon Bonaparte (1769- 1821), French statesman and military leader, once asked his deputy for recommending a military commander who could successfully take charge of a front Napoleon was planning to open. The aide of the French Emperor forwarded a name and listed the army man’s game-changing campaigns. After interviewing the suggested commander Napoleon just put one question to his trusted deputy. The question: Is he lucky? 

The concern reminds me of what is often referred to as the bar factor in football. Just an inch of the piece is sufficient to make villains out of heroes. It can make nations sob and communities howl. And everything in seconds.

But nothing can beat the luck that Maradona displayed in soccer. He actually used his hand to score a goal when all he is known for are his magical feet. His smartness went unnoticed by the referee, but not by history and millions of those who keep waiting for hard work to pay off. Sorry, I will continue to be a fatalist.
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