A Lesson I Didn’t Understand Then
It was the year 1994.
I was in the 11th standard, studying at a local inter-college in Western Uttar Pradesh.
Our principal was a distinctive man. After the morning assembly, he would send every class back to their rooms—except the 11th and 12th. We stayed behind, almost every day.
Then he would begin what had clearly become his favourite address.
He would say:
“If you want success, you need to do your best work. You are here to study—that is the reason you are here. But I am not asking you to study. I am asking you to do your best. Whatever it is that you want to do, or are doing at present, do it as well as you can.”
And then, more practically:
“If you want to study, then study seriously. Devote your days and nights to it. Study for eight or nine hours a day. Your career depends on it.”
The Lesson Beneath the Words
He would say something like this:
“When you focus your energy on one thing—and one thing only—you become good at it. You become an expert. You become a king. And that is what I want you to be—a king in whatever you choose.”
Then he would deliberately push the idea to its extreme.
“If you have no interest in your studies, that’s fine. Maybe you want to do something else altogether. But whatever it is, don’t be average at it. Don’t be just another face in the crowd. Do it so well that you are remembered.”
And then he would return to his core point:
“I am not asking you to become an IAS officer, or to top the state board exams. I am asking you to do your best work—no matter what you do. That is my definition of success. It is by doing your best work that you move forward in life, taste success, and give your dreams a real chance.”
At the time, I used to laugh at these speeches. They sounded exaggerated—almost irresponsible.
It took me years to understand what he was really saying.
He wasn’t glorifying any particular path. He was insisting on depth. On commitment. On the dignity of doing something wholeheartedly.
Today, I look back with a great deal of respect. Not for the words as they were spoken, but for the principle behind them—which feels just as relevant now as it did then.
Why We Hold Back
It’s not what you do, but how you do it that matters.
No matter how small or ordinary a task may appear, it has the potential to shine—if you do it to the best of your ability.
Most of the time, we don’t hold back because we are incapable. We hold back because we are afraid. Sometimes it’s the fear of failure. And sometimes—more quietly—it’s the fear of success.
That may sound contradictory, but it isn’t.
Very often, we avoid doing our best work because we are not ready for what success might demand of us. Success brings responsibility. It asks us to show up again, to remain consistent, to live up to what we have proven we can do. And somewhere inside, we hesitate.
If we are to grow—personally or professionally—we have to move past both fears: the fear of failing and the fear of succeeding. And the only way to do that is simple, though not easy—to do our best work. Every time. Day after day.
The Quiet Measure
There is a quiet satisfaction that follows. A calm, settled feeling.
After finishing a college assignment.
After preparing a meal.
After delivering a presentation.
You don’t need applause to confirm it. You just know. Your heart tells you that you showed up fully—that you didn’t cut corners, didn’t rush through, didn’t merely pass the time.
That knowing is the real measure.
When the Heart Knows
In 2004, I was co-hosting a live radio show on FM Gold with a fellow radio jockey.
The show began well. We were alert, engaged, doing what we were meant to do. But midway through, a few technical glitches and unexpected disruptions crept in. Slowly, something shifted. Our energy dropped. Our attention wandered.
By the time we reached the halfway mark, we were no longer fully present. We were still speaking, still filling airtime—but we were mostly just going through the motions.
When the show ended, we walked back to the FM Gold section. Our mentor smiled and said, “That was a good show. Well done.”
We looked at each other, surprised.
“Was it?” I asked her quietly.
“I don’t know why he’s saying that,” she replied. “I feel we didn’t give our best. We could have done better.”
That moment stayed with me.
It taught me something simple and uncomfortable: external praise is not a reliable measure. People may applaud your work, even celebrate it—but your heart knows the truth.
Your heart notices when you hold back. When you disengage. When you choose convenience over commitment.
The real criterion is not social validation, but inner honesty.
If you’ve done your best work, you don’t need anyone to tell you—you feel it.
And if you haven’t, no amount of praise can convince you otherwise.
Do Your Best—and Forget the Rest
I agree with the spirit of what our principal used to say.
If you want success, do your best work.
Where I differ slightly is in the outcome. Becoming a “king” is never fully in our control. What is in our control is how we use our time—how we show up, how seriously we take what is placed in front of us, how honestly we engage with our own efforts.
That is why I would add one more line to his mantra:
Do your best—and forget the rest.
Not because the rest doesn’t matter, but because it isn’t yours to manage.
You can write your best, but you cannot control the outcome of a writing contest.
You can drive to the best of your ability, but you cannot control the traffic.
You can study sincerely, but you cannot manipulate the results.
There will always be elements beyond your reach. And spending energy resenting them achieves nothing. Complaining only drains you—of motivation, of clarity, of time.
Time, in particular, is unforgiving. You cannot ask it to pause or slow down for you. But you can decide how you use it.
You can let it dissolve into endless scrolling and distraction. Or you can invest it—quietly, deliberately—in something that moves you forward.
That choice, at least, is always yours.