Inner Revival

 The UPSC result came.

I had scored 86. The cutoff was 90.

Just four marks. Four cruel marks.

I closed my laptop and didn’t open it again for days. Something inside me just… collapsed. I had poured an entire year into this attempt — months of isolation, discipline, and blind faith that maybe, just maybe, it would all pay off. But here I was, alone in my room, the weight of failure pressing down on my chest like a rock. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just froze.

For the next one week, I disappeared from the world. I binge-watched web series, scrolled endlessly, ate irregularly. I avoided calls, messages, everything. My mind was like a paused movie, looping only one thought: “What now?”

That’s when Ajith, my friend, called.

He asked about the result. I told him. He paused and then said gently,
“Da… come out of it for a while. I’m quitting my IT job. The pay is meagre. Thought of taking a break… Want to join me for a trip to Idukki? It will be good for both of us.”

Something about that call shook me awake. I hadn’t stepped out in ages. For the past one year, I was buried under books, test series, revision plans, and dreams. I needed this escape. Not from UPSC. From myself.

“Yes,” I said, without thinking.

Normally, when I plan a trip, I go full detective mode — researching places, checking hotels, figuring out the best food spots and routes. But not this time. I didn’t want to plan. I didn’t want to think. I just booked a KSRTC bus to Kattappana and left the rest to the winds.

A day before the trip, Ajith called again.
“Abhijith, my younger brother, wants to join us.”
“Cool,” I said, and booked a ticket for him too.

That night, we reached Thampanoor bus stand and boarded the bus to Kattappana at 10 PM.

But I couldn’t sleep.

While the bus crawled through winding roads and mist-covered hills, my mind wandered through past failures, present emptiness, and an uncertain future. Strangely, that night, the bus became a confession box. I didn’t talk. I just thought.
Travelling is funny like that—it makes you introspect when you least want to.

We reached Kattappana at 4.20 AM.
Tired, cold, a little hopeful.

By 5.30 AM, we caught a bus to Kumily. It was one of the most comforting rides I’ve ever had. The chill breeze sneaking through the windows, a drizzle tapping on the roof, and an old Malayalam Christian song playing softly in the background—it felt like someone up there was trying to say, “It’s going to be okay.”

I want to pause here and tell you something.

This blog isn’t about Thekkady or the Jeep safari or the beautiful trails inside Periyar Tiger Reserve.
This blog is about something more. Something that happened that night.
Something that changed how I saw Ajith, not just as a friend, but as a person.

Let’s rewind a bit. I hadn’t planned the trip. I was broke. Like, 1200 rupees in my account kind of broke.

Ajith hadn’t received his salary yet.
We never thought money would be an issue—we just wanted a break. But now that we are here, reality hits. We had three days left in the trip. And barely enough to survive the next day.

That evening, we sat in silence. Ajith was visibly disturbed.

 He said, “Let’s just go back home tomorrow. We can’t afford to stay.”
I was shocked. “No,” I replied. “We’ve come this far. I’m not going home halfway. I need this break.”
He remained silent. I was stubborn. I told him, “If you want to leave, leave. I’m staying.”

He looked at me for a moment and just nodded. No arguments. No emotions. Just… silence.

I went back to the room and collapsed into sleep, drained. But sleep didn’t last long. Sometime later, I woke up — not to an alarm, but to raised voices. Ajith and Abhijith were arguing outside the room.

Their voices weren’t angry. Just frustrated. Loud enough for me to hear. Loud enough to tell me that things were not okay.

Outside, under the dim light of the lodge , I could hear them clearly.

Ajith’s voice cracked first.

“Abhi… I can’t take this anymore,” Ajith said, his voice trembling. “I try to act normal in front of you, in front of Aswin, in front of everyone. But inside, I’m breaking. Completely breaking.”

Abhijith didn’t reply. The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that makes your heart beat faster, anticipating what will come next.

Ajith went on, this time quieter. “I didn’t quit my job because I was lazy or wanted a break. I quit because every day felt like I was losing a part of myself. I worked like a machine and still couldn’t afford basic things. And now… no one is hiring me. I feel like I’ve failed in every way possible.”

Then came the crack in his voice.

“Appa thinks I’m wasting my life. That I’m not serious. Do you know how that feels? When your own father looks at you and you can see the disappointment in his eyes?” His voice choked. “He worked so hard… sleepless nights, two jobs… just to get me through college. And what did I give him in return? A son who’s jobless, still dependent on him.”

Abhijith gently said, “But he loves you, chetta. He’s just worried. He doesn’t know how to show it.”

Ajith almost laughed — but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “Worried? He doesn’t even talk to me anymore. You know I haven’t spoken to Amma properly in weeks? I know I am hurting her. But I can’t bring myself to walk up to them and say ‘I’m sorry’. My ego… it stops me every time. I sit in my room and replay everything in my head — what I should’ve said, what I didn’t say. And now, there’s just silence between us.”

A long pause.

Then, something shifted in his tone — softer, vulnerable.

“Abhi… I want to earn. I want to take care of them. I don’t want to keep borrowing money from Appa’s pension. I hate myself for it. I hate seeing Amma quietly keeping her medical bills aside like they don’t exist. I want to fix all of it. I just… I don’t know how.”

And then it happened — the sound I didn’t expect.

Ajith broke down. I could hear him crying.

Not the loud, dramatic sobs you see in movies. This was different. This was raw. Quiet. Choked. The kind of tears that have been held back for too long.

Abhijith put his hand on his shoulder. “Chetta… it's okay to fall. You're human. You don’t have to carry this alone. We’ll figure it out together. But please don’t keep shutting yourself off. Talk to them. Appa may not say it, but he’s still waiting for you to open that door and sit next to him. Amma keeps asking me if you’re eating enough. They still care, chetta. They always have.”

Ajith just nodded through the tears. “I don’t want them to be ashamed of me. That’s all. I just want them to feel proud when they say my name.”

And then — the door creaked open.

They walked in.

Ajith stopped short when he saw me sitting upright on the bed. Our eyes met.

In a second, he wiped his face with his palm, trying to hide what couldn’t be hidden.

“Aswin… I thought you were asleep,” he said with a weak smile, his voice still a little broken.

I didn’t say anything. Words would have ruined the moment.

Because at that moment, I didn’t see the Ajith I knew — the always-calm, always-funny guy. I saw a brother carrying guilt. A son trying to make things right. A man quietly drowning in expectations he couldn’t meet.

I just looked at him — eyes filled with a silent understanding.

We lay there in the dimly lit room, three of us—silent, tired, yet strangely at peace.

Ajith broke the stillness.

"Aswin… please don’t take it the wrong way. Let’s go back tomorrow."

I turned to him, stared at the ceiling for a second, then asked quietly,
"Will going back fix all your problems, Ajith?"

He didn’t respond.

So I continued, my voice was firmer this time.

"I have my own share of struggles too, brother. I really believed I would clear UPSC this year. I gave it everything. But I failed. And right now, the future… it’s just a big, blurry question mark. My parents are beginning to worry. They don’t say it, but I see it in their eyes every day."

There was a lump in my throat, but I pushed through.

"I need to figure out what’s next. And I will. But it might take time. I didn’t come on this trip to escape. I came because I needed to breathe. To feel something other than anxiety. To clear the fog inside my head. I want to go back and fight again. Stronger. But I need rest first—real rest, not just lying in bed, scrolling through life. This trip... this is my pause before the comeback."

Ajith lay silently, listening. I knew my words were hitting him. I could feel it.

"You’re fighting your own battle, Ajith. But ending this trip won’t fix anything. You’re tired, mentally and emotionally. You need this break more than anyone else. We may be low on cash, but we’ll survive. Trust me—sometimes, a few days of quiet away from the chaos can do wonders. It won’t erase your problems, but it will give you the strength to face them head-on."

Still, no reply. But I could sense a shift.

So I said what had been sitting in my heart all evening.

"Ajith, when we go back, the first thing you need to do is talk to your parents. Not just the usual small talk. A real conversation. Tell them what you’re going through. They’ll understand you. They may scold you, yes—but not because they hate you. They love you, man. Don’t punish them with your silence."

There was another pause.

I asked gently, “When was the last time you and your family went on a vacation together?”

Ajith didn’t answer.

His younger brother, Abhijith, spoke up instead.
"Before COVID. Around 2019."

I was stunned. Almost six years without a family trip.

I sat up. "Are you serious? Ajith, it’s no wonder there’s distance between you and your parents. You guys need a break from life to. Go somewhere. Spend time together. A simple trip can do what hundreds of conversations can’t. It can heal."

He nodded slowly. And then, for the first time that night, he smiled.
"I will. I promise. I’ll fix things. I’ll plan a trip. And I’ll talk to them. Honestly. No more hiding."

A quiet relief settled into the room. I smiled too. The heaviness in my chest finally lifted.

That night, I slept peacefully. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of exams, failures, or expectations. I just slept.

---

The next morning, we woke up with renewed energy. It felt like something inside all three of us had shifted.

For the next three days, we stopped worrying about the past or the future. We just lived. We laughed. Took endless photos. Got drenched in the rain. Ate cheap food that tasted better than any fancy meal.

Thekkady, Periyar, Vagamon, Kattappana the green hills and silent lakes—they gave us something we didn’t know we needed: presence. We were broke, yes. But we were rich in everything else that mattered.

By the end of the trip, our minds were lighter, our hearts steadier. We didn’t fix all our problems—but we fixed something inside us.

And that was enough.

---

When the bus pulled into the station and I stepped down, I stood still for a moment. The hum of the town, the dust of the road, the familiar heat — it all came rushing back.

But this time, I was ready.

I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer.

"Lord… I know the road ahead is rough. There are challenges waiting. But give me strength to face them. Give me courage when I stumble. Help me to rise when I fail. I don’t know what’s next, but I’m hoping for the best. I trust You, Lord. Walk with me."

Amen.