The thing about me, myself and poker.

Luck -(noun)- success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one’s own actions.

Let’s face it — nobody likes feeling unlucky.

But if you are the type to not believe in luck or unluck for that matter, I’d say there’s a good chance you probably don’t even care.

And I like that. Because for a very long time, I believed that I was unlucky at the game of poker. Sure, it took me a while to realize that in reality it was never really about luck — it was just a case of me being a shitty player.

Word on the streets is that this was a while ago. And to be fair to my younger self — I have to agree that my love for teen-patti from back in the day had a lot to do with my style of play.

Clearly I struggled to make the shift. Sure, one could say that it was almost like having to switch mid-way from chewing paan to chewing gaam.

Now, if you enjoy something like that, you’re probably relying on a whole lotta luck. Not that there’s anything wrong with that — especially in the case of teen-patti. In fact, it was almost always fun to not know your hand, let alone what somebody else had.

But with poker, that doesn’t really work. It’s a game of taking actions instead of solely relying on chance. When we first started, my friends and I didn’t really care and it reflected on how badly we played the game.

We enjoyed playing absurd variations. It was like a drug. Fun at first, but it started getting hazy. A sense of darkness that almost everyone feared and nobody really seemed to understand why.

But like how it is with most drugs — it started to fade away. It meant that collectively we had started to enjoy and appreciate the originality of the game of Texas Hold ’Em poker.

Of course, for me this happened over time. At first, it was fairly complicated. One could call it a fling. You know, it’s odd when it’s new — I was in a bit of a love and hate relationship with poker.

There were days I didn’t understand her or appreciate her so-called perspective on things. And then there were days where I would lie down close to her and just listen. Not surprising, she always had something to tell me.

She would question my strategy and loved talking about positions.

Sometimes she would even tell me what to wear and what music I should listen to. Clearly it was uneasy, but I know now that she would bring up the past only to make me more aware of the present.

As always, I scored brownie points for being a good listener.

I was rewarded with a lot of love. I was introduced to like-minded souls — from amateurs to professional players that became friends over time.

She gave me access to the world of tips, tutorials, webisodes, expert advice and just a whole lotta books + live tournaments to understand her better.

After a few months into it, I started giving back in ways I previously thought were not possible. The changes in our relationship made me want to become not just a better player, but a better person in a holistic sense.

With time I’d say we got along more than just fine. My parents became more welcoming and accepting of our attachment. Our relationship started to feel fresh and young all over again.

There was clarity, understanding and a whole lotta dedication which led me to feel more present. I became more attentive and immersed myself completely into the game.

At times, I would seamlessly dive into the moment — almost like an alternative to meditation. Challenging at first, but spiritually addictive to say the least.

And as someone in the midst of the madness of learning how to get better at the game, coincidentally I had also made the switch to living a healthier lifestyle — from eating right to being consistent with exercise and yoga.

Now with all of the above added to the mix, the game of life itself felt more elevated. It brought a lot more sharpness in the sense of almost everything.

Naturally, poker and I were getting serious. My extended family and friends noticed her presence in my life. Within weeks one could see — the shift reflected on how I played if not my individuality as a whole.

It was beautiful. Poker taught me to question and make the right choices at the right time. Whether it was to raise in battle or go all in during war — homegirl always kinda knew. She was always there.

I couldn’t help but be grateful for the subtle life lessons I was getting to experience by simply playing a game I truly enjoyed.

Come to think of it, before I took the game seriously, I had a fairly strong disliking for mathematics. Surprisingly with time, I started taking interest in numbers — all kinds of numbers. Conversations that involved numbers.

I was fascinated by it. Understanding basic odds and probabilities , counting your outs, keeping a record of the bank roll , size of bets, etc. Things I would typically ignore during game-play.

I finally understood how the stock market works and the true meaning of long-term strategic investments. And when you’re in your 30s, it’s nice to have something new to talk about over a drink with your father.

Somehow, I was learning all this on a poker table. That’s exciting because I wasn’t just learning about the game. Poker essentially teaches you life lessons as long as you’re paying attention.

From defining your own luck, to posturing, to having emotional + mental discipline, to asking the right questions and making the right decisions, to being pro-active than reactive, to understanding people and their behaviour, to managing financial + emotional hiccups — plus a whole lot more.

How could I or anyone be possessive of something so pure. With time I realized that she was never really just mine — poker loved almost everyone that understood, respected and treated her well.

It’s a beautiful thing if you see it for what it is and can be. Today, I can safely say that I’m grateful (not lucky) to her for still being part of my life.

Because in reality, if there’s anyone lucky in poker, it’s the players that understood very early that it is indeed a game of skill — not luck.

And that’s that. Shuffle up and deal, shall we?