Hi,
Let
this note find you full with enthusiasm & energy to deal with the various
challenges & excitement life is offering you!!
One
of my recent favorite books has been “The habit of winning” By Prakash Iyer. It
is written in very simple language. It contains lots of real life inspiring
short stories. The interesting part was that when I got the book, I simply
could not put it down. I used to sneak every 5 minutes I had between two
meetings or any other work to read one more story.
The
following two stories on “Making of Champions” are taken from this book. You
may find them inspiring.
1. Karoly Takacs – Pistol shooter
Karoly
was a sergeant in the Hungarian army. In 1938, the twenty-eight-year-old was
the country’s top pistol shooter, having won most major national and
international championships. He was--by a mile--the favourite to win gold at
the 1940 Tokyo Olympic Games.
Then,
disaster struck.
At
an army training session, a hand grenade accidentally exploded in Karoly’s
Hand. And blew it away. His shooting hand. Not only did his entire Olympic
dream crash, he also lost a limb.
‘Why
me?’ Karoly could have been excused for asking the question most of us would
have asked. You would understand it too if he wallowed in self-pity, an
understandable reaction for someone after such a tragic turn of events. You
would sympathize with him if he were to become a recluse, a living example of
how fate can devastate the best-laid plans.
Oh
no, not Karoly. He was made of sterner stuff.
Instead
of focusing on what he had lost--his right hand, his potentially gold
medal-winning shooting hand--he chose to focus on what he still had. He had
mental strength, the mindset of a winner, the determination to succeed and yes,
a healthy left hand. A left hand which, he thought, he could train and
transform into the world’s best shooting hand.
After
a month in hospital, Karoly went out and, away from the glare of the world,
began practicing to shoot with the left hand. Despite the pain his body still
reeled under, despite the strain the left hand had to undergo to also do all
that the right hand had earlier done, he stayed focused on his goal: to make
his left hand the best shooting hand in the world.
One
year later, Karoly resurfaced at the national shooting championship in Hungary.
His colleagues were delighted to see him. They complimented him on his courage,
and his fabulous gesture of coming over to see them shoot. But they were taken
aback when Karoly told them that he wasn’t there to see them shoot; he was
there to compete with them.
And
compete he did. In fact, Karoly won the championship. Just one year after
losing his right hand. He won with his left hand.
Karoly’s
decision to practice quietly, away from scrutiny, was significant. It is easy
for people to ridicule you for dreaming big. It is also very easy for you to
stay afloat in your misery for a sympathy wave laps at you from all over.
Unfortunately
for Karoly, his Olympic dream remained unrealized for a while, as two
successive Games were cancelled due to the world war.
In
1948, the Olympics came to London. Karoly was chosen to represent Hungary in
the pistol shooting event. And he won gold. Shooting with his left hand.
Imagine
being a gold medal favourite, losing your shooting hand in an accident, yet
picking yourself up from the shattered mess, training your left hand to shoot
as well or better, and going on to win the Olympic gold.
Four
years later. Helsinki Olympics. Pistol shooting event. Who won gold? No
surprises here. Karoly Takacs.
That
is the stuff champions are made of.
2. ‘Main Khelega!’ (I will play….): Sachin
Tendulkar
24 February 2010: An
entire nation erupted with joy as Sachin Tendulkar became the first cricketer
to score a double century in a One-day International. In 2961 previous games in
international cricket, no man had been able to go on the 200-run mark. And it
was only fitting that the man with highest number of runs in Test and One-day
cricket (and the highest number of centuries in both forms of the game) had
achieved the feat.
As newspapers filled
column space with stories and vignettes chronicling the life of India’s
greatest cricketer, I thought about my favourite Sachin story. It’s a story
that Navjot Singh Sidhu, former Indian cricketer-turned-politician, loves to
tell. While the world rises to salute a truly outstanding cricketer, this
little tale probably explains, in some small measure, the making of genius. A
giant among men. The little Legend!
December 1989,
Sialkot, Pakistan. It was the fourth Test match of the India--Pakistan series.
And, as it happens, just the fourth Test of Sachin’s career.
Making his debut at
sixteen, the cherub-faced, fuzzy-haired Sachin had already won admirers, being
widely seen as a precocious talent. However, several young stars had sparkled
briefly in India’s cricketing firmament and then, almost as suddenly, faded away—a
gross injustice to their enormous talents. Let down on the long highway to
success by a faltering mental make-up, that didn’t quite back up their reserves
of talent. Would Sachin go the same way? Was he being blooded too early for his
own good?
The series was level
0-0 after three Tests. Despite conceding first innings lead of 65 in the fourth
Test, Pakistan hit back strongly through blistering spells from Waqar Younis
and Wasim Akram, reducing India to 38 runs for 4 wickets in their second innings.
India was suddenly staring at defeat, with which they would lose the series
too.
In walked Sachin to
join Sidhu. Experienced pros like Sanjay Manjrekar and Kris Srikkanth, Mohammed
Azharuddin and Ravi Shastri had found the Pak attack too hot to handle and were
back in the pavilion. How would the new kid on the block cope?
Waqar bowled a nasty
bouncer that went smack on Sachin’s nose. The poor boy was badly hit and his
nose began to bleed profusely. It made for a sad sight on TV, and most women
watching were convinced that there ought to be a law to prevent a
sixteen-year-old from being subjected to such brutality.
As the Indian team
physiotherapist rushed to offer first-aid and the Pakistanis gathered to check
out the bloody sight, Sidhu recalls walking down to a shaken—and still
bleeding—Sachin. As the physio tried to stop the bleeding, Sidhu suggested to
Sachin that he should retire hurt and come out later. That would give him time
to get his nose fixed, regain his composure and hopefully return to a less
menacing attack. ‘Go take a break,’ said Sidhu. He feared this might just be
the end of another promising career.
‘Come in, I’ll
attend to you,’ said the helpful physio.
But Sachin brushed
them away, almost annoyed that they should even suggest that he walk away. ’Main khelega!’’ he said. ‘I’ll play.’
And, in that moment, says Sidhu, a star was born. Those two words verbalized
the fierce determination of a young man who wasn’t going to quit.
Sachin could have
gone into the relative comfort of the dressing room but he didn’t. People
watching would have understood but he knew his heart wouldn’t understand. The
heat was on. India was in trouble. The pace attack had its tail up. The blood
was staining his gloves, his shirt, his face, his spirit.
But the kid would
have none of it. Main Khelega it was. Sachin went on to score 57 runs and
shared in the match-saving 101-run partnership with Sidhu. With two words--main
khelega--talent transformed into genius, that day in Sialkot.
It’s always like
that. What separates champions from mere mortals is not just talent. It’s
attitude. It’s mental strength. It’s the willingness to fight when the chips
are down. It’s the main khelega spirit. The spirit that puts the team’s need
ahead of one’s own interest. Main khelega say’s it’s not just about me, it’s
about my team.
There are times in
our lives when the pressure mounts and we feel like throwing in the towel and
calling it quits. That’s just the time when you need to put your hand up and be
counted. Time to say main khelega.
As a leader, you may
often feel that the world is conspiring to knock you down. You may be looking
to win but defeat stares you in the face. At times like these, all a leader
looks for is a few good men in his team. For people who say main khelega. And
this spirit is contagious. As one man puts his hand up, another hand goes up.
And another. And a team starts believing in itself. In its ability to fight,
and win.
----
Warm
regards,
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