They gave me a trophy.
Gold-plated. Heavy enough to feel real.
It dangled on my chest as I stood beside a podium that wasn’t mine. Second place. People clapped. The look of the audience could be easily deciphered. Their eyes screamed, “These boys are going places.”
But when I looked up, I couldn’t see where that place was. I just saw more people clapping.
More boys like me. Messy hair, practiced smiles, and eyes that hadn’t cried in years because “high achievers don’t have time to break down.”
And in that moment of applause, I caught myself drifting. Not to the present, but to a memory. A dream I once had.
In the dream, I got everything I wanted (yes, that’s a Billie Eilish reference). A lavish life. Doing work I loved. My bucket list full of ticks, including the places I’d wanted to travel.
That should’ve been the ending, right? The happily-ever-after.
But it wasn’t.
Because I was unhappy in the dream. Dissatisfied. As if there existed goals beyond infinite, which others failed to explore.
I wondered why. Questioned, rather. Because goals were everything to me. If all those goals I’m chasing didn’t fulfil me, then what would? That’s when my thoughts drifted elsewhere. To something I couldn’t measure. Something that didn’t need applause or certificates.
A pause.
An idea inspired by Pablo Neruda’s Keeping Quiet. For the unversed, ask yourself:
What if the world paused?
Not forever. Just for a moment. A long, silent breath.
No sounds. No movement. Not even the wind remembering where to go.
The air still. The clocks quiet.
People freeze in place because there’s nothing left to respond to. Nothing left to chase.
The office worker stops typing. The chai wala stops pouring. The child mid-laugh, the mother mid-call, the student mid-sentence. Everyone caught in a moment that doesn’t want anything from them.
Slowly, they all start to look around. Not at each other, but inward.
Some realise they’ve forgotten how heavy their shoulders felt. Some notice they’ve been holding their breath for too long. Some finally hear their thoughts, clear and unfiltered.
Someone reaches for a pen. Someone sits with their silence. Someone smiles without knowing why.
Just like that, time begins again.
But it doesn’t feel the same anymore.
Not completely, at least. For they now know what stillness feels like. For they now realise the ultimate satisfaction isn’t in ticking off boxes on a list they made years ago, but in the process that leads up to it.
I kept replaying that imaginary pause in my head, even when I was back IRL. Because the world suddenly felt loud again. Too fast. Too certain. I started noticing the noise I had just tuned out.
That thought stayed with me until I was cycling home the other day. Wind in my face. Sweat soaking the back of my shirt.
I passed a coaching center. Its hoarding read:
“Champions aren’t born. We make them.”
Underneath it, kids poured out of class like water from a broken pipe. Dead eyes. A few carried torn out books, tucked like shields. They were tired, listening to classes one after another without a break to reflect. I slowed down. Something inside me started itching.
That night, a thought disrupted my sleep. It wasn’t because I was nervous about boards, or JEE, or the next exam. But because I couldn’t answer one simple question.
Champions of what?
I used to think this system was fair. That if you worked hard enough, you’d win. But what if the ladder was bolted to the same wall? What if we’re all climbing toward a door that opens nowhere?
My friend’s brother dropped out last year. He ranked in the top 500. I asked him why he left. He said, “I didn’t want to be excellent at something meaningless.”
I laughed. At the time.
Now that sentence sits inside my spine.
We keep calling it merit. As if scoring more means deserving more. As if the kid who couldn’t afford coaching didn’t deserve a seat. As if intelligence can be bubbled in with HB pencils.
Like I said, they gave me a trophy.
And I smiled for the photo.
That’s how the Matrix works. It flatters you while imprisoning you.
I still study hard. Still work hard. Still get told I’ll be “someone great one day.”
But on some nights, when the room is quiet and I stare at all the trophies, I whisper to myself:
“Champions of what?”
And that’s when I feel most awake.
While you’re here, do check out other stories and blogs I’ve written. Linked here.
1 Comment
O P SUSHANTH · September 26, 2025 at
Yet another masterpiece!!
I never imagined that a single piece of article could ever alter the whole fundamentals of my thought.
I guess it has finally been proven wrong,..