As I look back, I'm grateful for those ‘bad' grades. Resilience is built in the cracks of imperfection

Indian Express

2 days ago

By Siddharth Chatterjee
The headlines are jarring. Every year, countless Indian students, crushed by the weight of poor exam scores and the pressure to secure a spot in a 'top' university, choose to end their lives. It is a tragedy rooted in a dangerous myth: That success is a straight line drawn by report cards, and failure to measure up in academics is a life sentence of worthlessness. But I am living proof that this could not be further from the truth.
My school years were a litany of 'not good enough.' Academically, I lagged behind peers; numbers and formulas slipped through my grasp like sand. Sports? A disaster. I couldn't run a mile without gasping, let alone hit a cricket ball. When my 10th class board results arrived, they were underwhelming, to put it mildly. Teachers shook their heads; relatives whispered. In a culture that equates marks with merit, I was written off as a lost cause.
But here's what no one saw: A quiet stubbornness. I refused to let a scorecard define me. My dream was the National Defence Academy (NDA), a place that valued grit as much as grades. The first attempt? Failure. The second? I scraped through, not because I'd suddenly become a genius, but because I'd learned to outwork self-doubt. At NDA, my grades remained mediocre. I struggled with lectures, often staying up late to decode lessons others grasped easily. But I showed up — for drills, for team exercises, for the early mornings when quitting felt easier than pushing on. Tenacity, I realised, was my superpower.
Graduating from the NDA and the Indian Military Academy was my Forrest Gump moment — the kind of unscripted, seismic shift that makes you realise life's most defining chapters often arrive without warning. Then came the leap into an elite Special Forces unit, and something clicked: I started to excel, suddenly, almost effortlessly. It was as if an invisible force was guiding my steps, pushing me beyond every limit I'd once known. And when the gallantry award came, they felt less like an end and more like a marker — proof that sometimes, when you surrender to the journey, the path finds you.
But destiny's unseen hand had other designs. A quiet, gnawing unrest took root in me — a subconscious doubt about using arms to muffle dissent. It began in Nagaland, where years of grinding counterinsurgency felt like a cycle without purpose, a fight that yielded little beyond weariness. I couldn't shake the conviction that this wasn't the path I was meant to walk.
So I stepped away from the Army. And in that choice, a new chapter began: As a junior security officer with the United Nations, trading the familiar rhythm of uniformed service for a role that felt, in its own way, just as vital — though vastly different.
I quickly understood that to thrive and advance in my work with the UN, I'd need to dig deeper — pursue more education, arm myself with greater knowledge. Stagnation wasn't an option; growth, in this arena, demanded a deliberate commitment to learning, a choice to keep expanding the boundaries of what I knew.
I decided to apply to Princeton University, friends laughed. 'You? An Ivy League?' they said. My academic record was far from stellar, but I wrote about resilience in my essays — the nights I'd studied by candlelight after a power cut, the way I'd led a team project despite not being the smartest in the room. I got in, not because of perfect grades, but because I'd learned to frame my story around growth, not gaps.
Life after that? A 12-year career in the Army, where discipline and adaptability mattered more than report cards. Then 29 years with the UN, rising to become its top diplomat in China. None of this was possible because I aced exams. It was possible because I kept going — even when I felt unworthy, even when the world said I'd peaked.
What carried me through? Four pillars. One, tenacity. Success is rarely a sprint. It's showing up, again and again, even when progress is invisible. Two, self-belief. I stopped waiting for others to validate me. I chose to trust that my worth wasn't tied to a percentile. Three, mindfulness: When stress threatened to overwhelm, I learned to breathe, to focus on the now instead of rehashing failures. A five-minute pause to center myself became non-negotiable. And four, positive affirmations: 'I am more than my mistakes' became a daily mantra. It wasn't denial—it was a reminder that setbacks are detours, not dead ends.
To the students drowning in the pressure of scores: Your life is a book, not a single test. The pages ahead hold chapters no exam can predict. I failed more times than I can count, but I never stopped turning the page.
Today, as I look back, I'm grateful for those 'bad' grades. They taught me that resilience is built in the cracks of imperfection. So don't quit. Not when the world doubts you. Not when the scorecard screams 'no.' Your story isn't written yet—and tenacity, not marks, will be its boldest ink.
Never give up. Your greatest victories are waiting, just beyond the next try.
The writer is UN Resident Coordinator to China