by Anshira K K
I recently had a thought that stayed with me longer than I expected. It was about people we often call “failures”. Not in a dramatic way, but in a very quiet and ordinary sense of the word. People who do not clear exams, who do not secure stable jobs, who do not seem to move forward in the way society celebrates. For most of my life, I had not belonged to that category. I study in a prestigious institution and I usually succeed in exams. My worries were never about whether I would pass. They were only ever about how well I would perform. I truly believed this came from my hard work. I believed that effort was enough to explain my outcomes. I did not think of it as a privilege.
I come from a rural middle class family and from a minority community. I carried that identity with a sense of limitation rather than advantage. As a result, I never paused to consider that I might still be privileged in ways that mattered. But recently, I began to think about those who work just as hard and still do not succeed. People who try again and again and still fall short. People who do not get the results they were promised, results they were told that effort would bring.
And slowly, I began to see that my story is not only about effort. It is also about circumstances that quietly supported me. It is about systems that did not push me too far behind. That realization felt uncomfortable, but also very necessary.
There is a popular narrative about failure these days. Motivational speakers and podcasts often speak about failure as a “stepping stone”. They tell stories of people who failed, and then rose to extraordinary success. These stories are inspiring, but they are also rare. We hear about them because they end well. Even our celebration of failure, is only if it transforms into success.
We rarely speak about failure, that remains a failure. We rarely speak about people who try and do not “make it” in the way society defines success. Their stories are not shared. Their struggles are not turned into lessons. They remain unseen.
There are many people who work hard and still do not reach where they hoped to be. Some of them pass exams, but just barely. Some of them get degrees, but not the opportunities they expected. Some of them keep trying until they are too tired to try again. At some point, they stop fighting what feels like destiny. They accept their situation, not because they lack courage, but because they have no other choice. They move forward quietly. They do not rebel against life. They adjust to it. They carry responsibilities that do not allow them to take risks again. Behind them, there are families waiting for support. Not everyone who suffers steps into a villain arc, some simply learn to live with the storm. For them, failure is not a story. It is a condition they must live with.
No one asks them how they feel. No one pauses to listen to their silent struggles. Their pain is not dramatic or sensational enough to attract attention. Their endurance is not celebrated. And yet, the world is full of such people. In many ways, the world runs because of them. While ideas may come from a few, execution comes from many. The systems we depend on are held together by people who do ordinary work every day. They follow instructions. They avoid risks. They choose stability over ambition because they cannot afford to fail again. Their choices are shaped by necessity, not by lack of imagination.
Many of them hold degrees and diplomas. But those qualifications do not guarantee them a distinct place. They become part of a large crowd. They search for jobs and accept whatever they can find. Sometimes they give up dignity for survival. This is especially true for those without financial security and those without inherited wealth. Those from the lower and middle strata who must depend entirely on what they earn. They do not stop living. They continue, even when life does not reward them as expected. Their resilience is quiet, but it is real.
We do not see movies about such lives. Stories are usually told about people who rise above everything. Success gives a story its worth in the eyes of society. But what about those who do not rise in that way? What about those who remain where they are? They fill buses and trains. They stand in crowded compartments and travel long distances for work. They wake up early and return late. They run a marathon that has no finish line. Their lives may look ordinary, but they carry a depth we rarely acknowledge.
Even within spaces of privilege like ours, there may be such people. There may be individuals who choose not to stand out. Who prefer to remain unnoticed. Who measure their lives differently. They are not failures nor are they lesser. They are part of the same world, with the same right to exist and to belong. Their lives may not be loud, but they are meaningful in their own way.
Long ago I came across a poem in Malayalam with only two lines which translates into,
“Who said zero has no value?
It is vast enough to contain me.”
I saw it on a social media platform, written by someone unknown, someone without a name that stayed in memory, or a face that could be remembered. I often wonder if that person is one among those countless others who move quietly through life, unrecognized and unnamed, blending into the crowd, dissolving into society without leaving behind anything that the world pauses to notice, and yet holding within them a depth vast enough to carry their own existence (like they themselves described to befit a 0).
That thought feels important now. Value is not always visible. Worth is not always measured in success. There are people without names that travel far, without stories that are told. They exist quietly, like that unknown writer who shared those lines. They carry their lives without making noise. And yet, they hold a space in this world that cannot be ignored.
Perhaps we need to learn to see them differently. Not as failures, but as people who continue despite everything. Not as invisible ones, but as essential members. For in the end, the world does not merely belong to those who succeed loudly. It also belongs to those who live quietly and endure.
— Edited by Lakshmi Yazhini | Design by Neenu Elza
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