(Prof.S.S.Dogra)
After spending almost his entire life in Delhi, my father was building a new house in his native village, Parol, in Himachal Pradesh, in 1986. I had also gone there for a few days to help him with the construction work.
One morning, while we were having breakfast, my cousin Uday Singh asked me in the local hill dialect, “Bittu (my childhood nickname), there is a wrestling fair in the village today. Would you like to come along?”
I smiled and agreed. We played cricket every day in the village playground, but I knew absolutely nothing about wrestling. I thought it would be interesting to watch the local wrestlers compete.
When we reached the venue, I saw people from nearby villages sitting in a large circle around the wrestling arena. The rhythmic sounds of drums and traditional wind instruments filled the air, creating a festive atmosphere.
My father was already there. Seeing me, he said, “Son, you must never have seen anything like this in the city. How do you like the traditional village music?”
I listened carefully to the musicians and suddenly expressed a desire to play the drum. Before I knew it, I was playing a nagada (traditional drum) for the very first time in my life. Although I could not maintain a proper rhythm, both the artists and my father appreciated my effort and patted me on the back.
Soon, an elderly villager named Man Singh Ji announced the names of two wrestlers, and the competition began. After four or five bouts, the names of another pair of wrestlers were called, but one of them was absent. My cousins encouraged me to step into the arena. Since they were all younger than me, I agreed just to please them and entered the wrestling ring without any preparation.
Moments after shaking hands with my opponent and testing our strength, he swiftly threw me to the ground. Thus, I lost the very first wrestling match of my life.
What troubled me most was not my own defeat but the thought of disappointing my father and brothers, who took pride in my strong physique and athletic abilities.
Meanwhile, I carefully observed the next few matches and silently resolved to fight again. I discreetly approached the organizer, Master Man Singh Ji, and requested another chance—against the very same wrestler who had defeated me.
He agreed.
A short while later, our names were announced again. This time, I entered the arena fully prepared and brimming with confidence. Drawing upon my experience in kabaddi, I quickly attacked my opponent’s legs. As he stumbled, I tightened my grip around him and slammed him firmly onto the ground.
In that moment, I turned my first defeat into my first victory.
My father and brothers were overjoyed. Proud of my comeback, they lifted me onto their shoulders and celebrated my triumph with great enthusiasm.
Even today, whenever I recall that memorable moment, the immortal song from the movie Mr. India, written by Javed Akhtar Saheb and sung by legendery singer Kishore Kumar Ji naturally comes to my lips:
“Zindagi ki yahi reet hai,
haar ke baad hi jeet hai…”
(“Such is the way of life,
Victory comes only after defeat.”)
