When I Fought Alone
And the people I trusted just watched
I was around 10 years old.
It was a Sunday morning.
Just like every other Sunday in my childhood—carefree, full of joy, and made for cricket.
We had placed our stumps right in the middle of the street, like we always did. The whole group of colony kids had gathered. The street was our stadium.
We were excited. In our zone. Lost in the game.
And then—they came.
Three elder boys. Came on cycle. Gunde-type.
They came fast, laughed, kicked our stumps, and rode away.
We all stood there—surprised, a little afraid, but silent.
Why argue? Why take a stand? They looked dangerous. Older. Stronger.
So we quietly picked up the stumps… and started playing again.
Not long after… they came again.
Same story.
Same stumps on the ground.
Same laughter.
But this time, the frustration had begun to build up in all of us.
Still, nobody said anything.
We picked up the stumps again. And resumed the game.
But when they returned the third time…
And once again kicked our stumps—
Mujhse nahi raha gaya.
I was short-tempered as a kid. And that day, my anger took over.
I shouted at the tall guy.
He was around 16. I was just 10.
But I didn’t care.
I told him, “Why the hell are you disturbing our game again and again? What’s your problem?”
He thought I would be scared.
That I’d back off.
But I stood firm.
We were 8-10 kids. They were just 2-3. I thought we had the numbers.
But I was wrong.
He came close. Started abusing me. I didn't back down.
He pushed me. I pushed back.
And suddenly—we were fighting.
Punches. Slaps. Shirt torn. Blood rushing.
I thought my friends would jump in. I thought they would support me.
We were more. We were together.
But when I turned around—not a single one stepped forward.
They all just stood there. Watching.
Frozen.
I kept fighting. Alone.
And then… some elders from the colony saw us and rushed in to stop the fight.
They asked what happened.
We explained.
They scolded the older boys. But by then—the damage was already done.
It wasn’t a one-sided fight. I had given him a tough time.
But I was the one who got more slaps.
He tore my t-shirt.
And I got injured.
When I went back home, my granny saw me and asked, “What happened?”
I told her.
And that night, lying on my bed with scratches on my body and pain in my heart, I realised something:
No matter how many people are around you... you can still end up standing alone in your hardest battles.
That was the day I understood a harsh truth about life:
People will play with you. Laugh with you. Celebrate with you.
But when trouble comes—don’t expect anyone to come and save you.
Everyone has their own fears.
Their own limits.
Their own boundaries.
Even the ones closest to you… might not stand by you when you need them the most.
And it's not always their fault.
It’s just how life is.
You have to fight your battles alone.
You have to protect your dignity alone.
You can’t depend on anyone.
That day was painful…
But it taught me something priceless:
Never wait for others to support you.
Be your own support. Be your own saviour. Be your own warrior.
If you are going through something today... feeling alone... waiting for someone to come and rescue you...
Maybe this is your message.
Stop waiting.
Start standing.
You were not made to be rescued.
You were made to rise.
Alone, if needed.
But rise anyway.
Because that’s how strength is built.
That’s how self-respect is earned.
That’s how warriors are born.
If you're going through something right now—emotionally stuck, mentally exhausted, or just feeling alone… I see you.
I’ve been there. And I know how heavy it can feel.
If you feel ready to talk, I’m offering a free 1:1 session where I’ll just listen—without judgment, without pressure.
🤝 You don’t have to go through this alone.
👉 Book your free 1:1 clarity call by clicking here.
Sometimes, one real conversation can begin the shift you've been waiting for.
