Failed startup – but a broken glass ceiling

“Am I doing the right thing?”, asked a little voice inside my head, as my hands were busy in the process of tearing my Placement I-card.
It was not that easy thing to do, considering the position that I was in.
It meant that I would no longer be eligible to seek a placement from my college’s placement process. It meant that I would walk as a jobless person at the end of my postgrad.
It meant that I would be living on my parent’s expenses for at least one more year. And don’t know, for how many more years to come.But, to a person with a modest financial background and an orthodox family, it meant a lot more than that.
For me, It meant a rebellion. A battle-cry, signaling the impending, uncertain war ahead.
Scars were inevitable, both before and after the impeachment of this sacrosanct placement process.
“Your friends will earn lacs. They will own good bikes, even cars (and shall have their girlfriends to sit on/in them). Achha ghar hoga, society me prestige hoga (they will own a good house, will have some reputation in the society), And you will do nothing? What will you have exactly?” 
The typical Deewar dialogue was on a repeat in my head. But the irony was that I wouldn’t even have the support of my mom. Rather, my mom would be asking similar questions to me. Damn you, Shashi Kapoor, why did you have to say “Mere Paas Maa hai?” Couldn’t you have said dreams, or passion or something else? (which I had my heart filled with).
“So, I’ll have to pay around 10k as a fine for opting out of the placement process. Plus, I can’t even opt for deferrals now and will have to write an apology letter as well. The bashing I’ll get from the place-comm, well that’s going to be a different thing altogether.”
My calculative mind was tormenting me, as I was throwing my torn I-card (and perhaps, shackles of slavery) into the waters of my favorite lake. A lake that gave me hope all the time, and was swallowing my possible, probable and predictable future too, as I stood there, shaking in fear, unaware of what I had just done.
“You will fail. You don’t have any experience. You need to get experience to start something of your own” My mind kept bugging me, as I walked on that red clay path, which appeared even redder that day.
“Red signifies danger. Red is bad. Red is asking you to stop this utter nonsense” Stupid mind of mine.
Perhaps, he had forgotten, red is also the color of a rebellion.
A rebellion, that was taking its shape inside of me.
A rebellion against “the usual”.
I started my bike and decided, this day will be written in the history of the entrepreneurship. That too in the golden words. On a silver paper. With a diamond pen. So I thought.
So wrong was I!
Stupid me!

After almost a year later, I still remember that day.
As my co-founder puts in his papers and jumps the boat in the most extravagant way possible, I still remember that day quite vividly. Just like it had happened yesterday.
As I decide to shut the shop, with shaking arms and reddened, I remembered that red clay road. Yes, perhaps, I mistook red for rebellion. Red means danger. DANGER.
As I pack my bags and say my final vows with the choked voice, I remember that torn paper. Did I end up tearing my future with that paper? It seems like I did! 
As I let tears flow down my eyes and embrace my pain, without giving a single fuck (Note to editors: you can replace the F-word with ‘thought’) to the typical Bachchan dialogue “Mard ko dard Nahi Hota!”, I remember the water of that lake. It hadn’t looked convincing that day. Probably it was also shaking with fear, something I had mistaken as an effect of wind!
And as I leave the city where it all had started, I remember that day!
The one that should have been written in the history of entrepreneurship.
In golden words.
On a silver paper. 
With a diamond pen.

Perhaps the battle-cry wasn’t strong enough and should be dissolved in the wind.
Perhaps the impeachment was a mistake, and it should be forgotten.
Perhaps the scars were unnecessary and should be hidden.
Perhaps this is just a failed rebellion and should be buried, somewhere deep inside my heart.
Only, it shouldn’t be.
Because it’s not over, yet.
As I embark on a new journey, the dream, the rebellion is taking a breather.
It’s getting bolder, and more ambitious with every passing moment.
One day, it will come back again, with a bigger battle-cry, with a bigger impeachment, will demand bigger sacrifices and award me with bigger scars. The rebellion will be bigger, and so shall the size of courage that will embrace it again.
One day, it will all come back again, and that day,  I’ll be better equipped to deal with the monstrosity of my dreams.
And when that day will come, it will be written in the history of the entrepreneurship.
That too in the golden words. 
On a silver paper. 
With a diamond pen.

Published by Abhishek Kshirsagar

Just a misguided ghost, trying to find solace in the stories that the streets have to whisper!

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