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Defeat’s defining moments

Never give in or give up for there is grace even in defeat

THERE IS no solace in defeat. Not in the least. Copious tears have to flow till the wound is rinsed and drowned in it. The gash will hurt even after the tears have stopped, and the scars it leaves will remain a rude memento to posterity.

Equanimity is a vain virtue in times like this. The agony of defeat has to be borne and there is no shame in lamenting loudly. Cry, for there is no solace in defeat.

Defeat can be unforgiving. It can crush the most robust heart there is, and pound it to pulp. The thunderous war cries of the enemy will ring in the ears for long and the blood that spills from the eyes will reek of their open disdain. It will write a new chapter in the annals of history about an unseemly battle, and the latter will always wince when it is remembered. For defeat can be unforgiving.

Defeat has no excuse. A soldier who goes to the pitch is armed with an unyielding belief in his spirit and strength. His mettle is not made of shallow optimism, but with a gritty will to prevail even in the face of extreme odds. He knows that his victory is the realisation of a collective dream, and he has an obligation to fulfill. He can ditch his private ambitions, but not that of his nation or his tribe. He needs to wager all he has to win. For defeat has no excuse.

Defeat can be a revelation. It exposes the hidden chinks in one’s armour that for a long, haughty period was considered impenetrable. It brings to scrutiny those aspects that were taken for granted, and it rips one’s chimerical sense of invincibility. And in defeat you know your true blue partners, for ditherers flee when the chips are down. So drain the tears, clear the vision and pay attention to what unfolds. For defeat can be a revelation.

Defeat is a veritable possibility. Faltering and failing is in the nature of contests. If not today, at some future date, one is destined to be vanquished, for victories aren’t patented, and excellence isn’t insulated from the vagaries of fortune. Knowing this, let one fight with all his might. The drubbing he might suffer if the coin doesn’t face his way will then hurt less. For defeat is a veritable possibility.

Defeat isn’t a choice that we make. Battles are fought only to win and yet, there are as many conquered in the world as there are conquerors. But when one goes down fighting and there is grace in the fall, the tears that are shed look genuine. When one allows the opponent an easy rout, even the apology that ensues will look preposterous. Victory is what we all want to take home. Defeat isn’t a choice that we make.

Defeat, like death, is a great leveller. The winner gathers worship and the loser gets wallops which the world recognises instantly, for failure is eclectic in nature. The world is more familiar with the private ache of losing than the delicious aspects of victory. The also-rans outnumber the podium finishers, and for this reason, the fallen heroes enjoy the silent empathy of the majority. They weep together and shed common tears. For defeat is a great leveller.

Defeat, in the end, is not ‘The end’. When the battle has ended, the din has died and the public anger has abated, the period of convalescence begins. It’s the time to assess the whys and wherefores. A time to introspect and reckon what was forfeited and the implications it has on the larger constructs of life.

In retrospect, when the loss seems less colossal than it was made out to be, one makes peace with it and begins to put the bricks back and rebuild. For defeat, in the end, is not ‘The end.’

Brazil, you too shall rise again.

Asha Iyer Kumar is a freelance journalist based in Dubai