Summer, 1997

It was the night before Sports Day, the most dreaded day for me, a plump 9 year old whose nightmares would start eons before the actual event. “Fatso! Rolly Polly! Porker! Fatty…” few of the choicest words which were hurled at me every year.

Like always, I had been praying for a miracle. A massive earthquake to destroy the school, gigantic tornadoes which could swoosh away the school building.  Last year, my prayers had gone beyond Milky Way when I had requested my alien friends to destroy Earth. Alas, my prayers would go unanswered and I would be at the receiving end every year. 

Sports day meant trauma day. 

As I sat huddled under my sheets, immersed in prayers, the slight creaking of my bed shook me. It was Dad.

He embraced me in a bear hug, placed a kiss on the top of my head, ruffled my  hair and gave me the golden key to unlock all doors of my life, “Sweetie, I understand your fears, but don’t let their voices stop you from trying. Give it a shot. It’s not over, until it’s over. Never quit before the end line”

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Though it has been more than two decades since that day, his words still continue to give me strength and guidance. His words of wisdom ring in my ears whenever I am about to give up. They have been my life mantra. 

Someday when I have children, I hope I would be able to inspire and guide them, the same way Dad did that fateful day, and has been doing, always. 

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