Lesson One from the Rubble: What I Learned When It All Fell Apart

Advice Echoes Loudest in Empty Rooms

As a child, I have a vivid memory of watching this lovely old Hindi movie called Haathi Mere Saathi (released in 1971) starring the legendary Rajesh Khanna and Tanuja in lead roles. Without going too much into the plot of the movie, it is based on an orphan called Raju who earns his bread and butter by performing numbers and skits on the street with his four elephant companions. While as a naive, unaware child it was just another entertaining movie for me, it now, as an adult, strikes a different chord in my heart.

I live away from my friends, my family, and my country. In the land of the free and the home of the brave. The United States. I came here with three suitcases, a passport, and a heart full of dreams. And it would be an understatement to say that this country has left an imprint so deep in me that I evolved into a whole new person. It has shown me highs, lows, glamour, hard work, betrayal, friendships, love, and also evil.

When I now look back at my journey from being an unaware, ingenuous, aloof 20-something-year-old to now being a young woman navigating the world all alone, I am constantly reminded of one song from the movie. It goes something like this, and don’t worry, I will add a translation for all the non-Hindi speakers.

Duniya mein rehna hai to kaam kar pyaare
If you want to live in this world, then work, my dear
Haath jod sab ko salaam kar pyaare
Fold your hands and greet everyone with respect, my dear
Warna ye duniya jeene nahin dhegi
Otherwise this world won’t let you live in peace
Khaane nahin dhegi peene nahin dhegi
It won’t let you eat, it won’t let you drink
Khel koyi naya suboh shaam kar pyaare
So play a new game every morning and evening, my dear

While otherwise a catchy tune with adorable visuals of an elephant performing funny tricks, the collation of the word khel or “game” with life is so hard-hitting. Out of all the definitions that describe life, I find this one the most fitting.

Life is a game, where you play tricks every day to survive until you reach the end and then retire from this world for good. The tricks, in terms of life as a game, would include winning competitions, surpassing your peers, earning money, marrying the most good-looking person, making some more money, showing up at important events, buying a house, and then making some more money to continue doing all the above.

Life is good when you are somewhere in the middle of the race. You are still a part of it. People who are close to you still have hope that you will conquer it. Others don’t care much because they are focusing on winners, and you have hope to keep going on. But in this game of life, people or society, as one might put it, like to particularly pay attention to two types of players. The ones who are winning, obviously, and the ones who are losing.

Without focusing on the part where humans are winning this game, because nobody really gets a kick out of that, let’s dive deep into the champions of failure.

There’s a strange thing that happens when life brings you to your knees. Suddenly, people start paying attention. Not with empathy, but with analysis. It’s like your struggle becomes an open forum, and everyone’s an expert. Instead of asking, “How are you really doing?” they very nonchalantly and without considering the impact ask, “Why did you let this happen?”

Now you would ask me, “So what? Life is tough. You gotta push yourself.”

Let me tell you the lessons that I’ve learnt from being in the rubble, stripped of pride, certainty, and the polished image of a life that looks “in control.”

When things are going well, when you are succeeding, you are surrounded by cheerleaders. Everyone waiting by your side to celebrate your wins, validating your worth without a question. But the moment you stumble, your entire achievements crumble. Praise turns into doubt. Cheers turn into criticism. And a person once important and wanted suddenly becomes inconvenient.

It’s not like people don’t care or never cared. But it suddenly starts to feel like their care was conditional, tied to what you brought to the table instead of who you are. The ones who once had unwavering faith and admiration for you suddenly start seeing faults in every action you take. It doesn’t matter how much you try. If it ain’t yielding the results they expected, the effort doesn’t count. There’s a brutal honesty that emerges when you have nothing left to offer. No good news, no impressive updates, no curated success story. That’s when the masks fall, yours and theirs.

Some people disappear. Some pretend to stay but emotionally check out. And some, the rare ones, lean in, sit with your silence, and simply stay. This painful filtration system teaches you something invaluable. The difference between people who like your light, and those who can hold your darkness.

When the curtain drops and the rubble is revealed, the hardest pill to swallow is not the failure itself. It’s the revealed intentions and perspectives of people closest to you. Or so you thought were to be the closest. Instead of extending support, encouragement, and trust, they start to question your timing, your decisions, your emotional capacity. They’ll give advice that’s laced with judgment, not understanding.

That’s when I understood. You can be loyal, consistent, and kind, and still be misunderstood.

But no matter how much judgment and contempt is thrown your way when you are trying to pick up the pieces of your broken dreams, it’s not your fault. It doesn’t make you wrong. It makes you human in a world that often rushes to diagnose rather than understand. It’s actually despairing when you, already burnt out, are trying to pick yourself back together and realize that the only sense of hope, the support of the people around you, starts to fade.

So you start editing yourself. Smaller thoughts, filtered feelings, carefully constructed choices. You become a version of yourself that is palatable, not authentic. I mean hey, they were there by your side once because having you around made them feel good. Why would they now, when you are struggling, put up with your agony?

Then before you know it, the weight of pretending becomes heavier than the fear of being seen. And the truth is, even if you succeed in being liked, you’ll still feel hollow, because it’s not you they’re clapping for. It’s the mask. Once you are at rock bottom and all these things start weighing you down, that is when the real healing begins. Rock bottom strips away everything that once defined you. Roles, titles, achievements, external validation. You’re left with just you. Your raw self. The unedited version.

Because even after molding yourself to be palatable for the ones around you, your place in their life is not certain. Once they extract everything that they need from you, your different phases are no longer of use to them. And while it’s terrifying at first, this stripped-down space becomes sacred. Because it’s here that the real work begins. The healing. The rebuilding. The re-meeting of yourself, on your terms. You start seeing yourself for who you are. The good, the bad, the ugly, and the nasty. And yet, you love yourself enough to want to get out of it. And that’s a start.

You realize that you are not your productivity. You are not your performance. You are not the version of yourself that earns the most praise. Your worth was never meant to be measured by checklists or applause. You’re enough not because of what you do, but in spite of it. That truth doesn’t feel radical until everything else is gone. But once it sinks in, it’s unshakable.

Here’s the final truth that rock bottom whispers.

Let them judge. Let them talk. Let them walk away.

You are not here to win everyone’s approval. You’re here to live honestly, to move at your own pace, and to choose peace over performance. To grow on your own timeline. To be misunderstood and still stand tall, because your truth doesn’t need to be explained to everyone.

Freedom doesn’t come from being seen. It comes from seeing yourself, clearly, kindly, and without apology. And once you do, their noise doesn’t hold the same power anymore.