The best I can ever be

I remember playing carom when I was 7 or 8 years old. I always win. I had a natural gift for playing carom, my dad used to say. I was proud of that fact too! I do not know when I stopped playing carom. It might have been because I grew out of it, or simply because winning became boring.

By the age of twelve, I started playing cards, and I was quite good at it too. The better I got the more games he taught me to play. In time, I learnt tricks of my own, and developed a distinct style of play. Today I could challenge anyone to a game of cards, and win it too.

Right from my childhood, I was a competitive person, and never took “No” for an answer. Be it work or play, I wanted to give it my best.

Some time back, my dad was playing a game of cards with my nephews. One of them was playing poorly and was about to give up. My dad insisted that he play, and even suggested that if he plays a particular card that my dad might lose. My little nephew started to scratch his head. He further encouraged him by saying, “Why don’t you try black?” Undecided he dropped a two of spades, and my dad lost the game. My nephew was all smiles, because he won over his grandpa. What an achievement. My dad patted him on his back and said, “Wow, you play good!”

It was then I realized what had happened… I realized being the best is not always, what it seems to be.

I am not good at carom. Hell, I never was. My dad lost to me every single time, because he wanted me to win. He set me up with coins for an easy pocket. He gave me instructions about angles, force and rebound. He gave me second chances so that I would get it right.

I boast that I can play cards, and my style of play – where did it come from? It came from my dad showing me his deck of cards and suggesting me to play a card, and explaining why it is best option to play that hand. Strategy was not something I had inherently it was something my dad taught me.

It hit me, and it hit me hard. In trying to make me the best, my dad was being his best; not in the game, but as a person. He reveled in the success of his kid. Brushed of defeats, and took pride in my conquest. Little did I know that I won a battle, but my dad won a war.

Today, I cannot compare myself to my father. I am neither that modest, nor that willing. Nevertheless, I try. Someday, I hope my father will be proud, not because I have excelled at work or art; but because I have become the best that I can ever be.

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