About Me — Sushil Mario
The story of my struggle to ride the tides of life
Greetings, fellow voyager of the web. I’m glad that your surfing has led you here, and our paths have crossed. For we are shaped on life’s journey by the people we meet, the perspectives we exchange, and the remembrances we take away with us. In addition, we are moulded by our own, individual experiences and the reactions, reflections, and ideas that they inspire.
Here, have a seat beside me. I would be pleased to make your acquaintance before we depart for our chosen destinations, carving our own paths along the way. The journey ahead is long and arduous but imbued with meaning and purpose. Every now and then, however, a weary traveller must rest and recuperate before blending once more into the horizon. Since we’re here, we might as well introduce ourselves, eh? I’ll go first. Let me tell you my story.
Once upon a time, in a land far far away…
I beg your pardon, could you come again? What are these, you ask? The rose-tinted glasses of hindsight lend themselves naturally to romanticisation of the past. They do have their assigned place, but sometimes we ought to set them back on the table and view things the way they were perceived at the time, instead. Tell you what, let me do just that. I might put them back on in a minute, let’s see.
As a kid growing up in the early to late aughts, I was brought up on a varied diet of entertaining influences. Some of my earliest memories constitute formative experiences of various passions taking shape, some of which would accompany me into adulthood. Books played a pivotal role in my upbringing, more so since I was blissfully ignorant of the internet’s existence. An eclectic blend of tomes stocked the shelves, ranging from encyclopaedias — my dad owned a robust collection of those — to children’s detective storybooks. The artful illustrations were hard to resist, and I spent many happy hours in thrall of their contents. I flipped through pictures of aeroplanes and sketches of human anatomy, devoured stories of adventure and crimesolving and imagined living through key moments in the history of human civilisation.
Of particular note were two series, the Find-Outers collection of children’s books by Enid Blyton, and George’s Cosmic Adventures by Lucy and Stephen Hawking. Reading about such daring and devious exploits, from a kid disguising himself as a foreign student to infiltrate a criminals’ den, to skipping school to rescue a scientist trapped in a black hole, enabled me to lead a vicarious life of adventure, imagining the characters to be my friends in real life. They were my constant companions, on a journey unencumbered by complaint or judgement. The varied mix of settings and sights proved to be nutritious fodder for a fertile mind, transporting me into the world of dreams.
Video games were another recurring feature of my childhood, the source of great thrill and wide-ranging enjoyment. One of the best things that happened to younger me was the discovery of a packaged copy of Sid Meier’s Civilization III, lodged in a cluttered cabinet. Intended to be a present for a distant cousin of mine on his day of first Holy Communion, it was instead collecting dust because my parents were unable to attend the event. Without hesitation, I swooped in like a bird of prey and snatched it out of my mother’s hands. Countless hours of unbridled wonderment and delicious merriment followed, as I orchestrated grand battles between the great civilizations of yore, replaying such famous periods in history as the Middle Ages in Europe and World War II in the Pacific.
The world of imagination was my oyster, each addition to my collection was a new playground to explore. For a time, these were the only pearls I clutched, dreading to leave them behind. Inexorably, my carefully crafted shell would eventually give in to external pressure. Soon, unfiltered water came rushing in and the current swept me into the wider ocean.
From elementary to middle school, I was happiest when at home, in the company of fiction and bereft of fear. Outside, I felt quite unwelcome, for I didn’t fit neatly into the proverbial mould and wasn’t accepted as a member of the clique. Rougher, tougher classmates ruled the first half of my day, with older, cooler denizens dominating the latter. As is customary at that age, I desperately craved to be seen, acknowledged, and included. But kids, much like their forebears, tend to be fiercely territorial, quick to pass judgment, and brutal in their honesty. They stand their ground and swipe away uninvited newcomers. Shy and timid, I was hopelessly inept at standing up for myself, making for easy pickings.
One incident, in particular, stands out in memory. I was once skirting the fringes of a group of kids from the neighbourhood, who were enacting some manner of solemn proceedings. I observed the goings-on from afar, wanting to be part of all the fun. All of a sudden, their leader noticed my familiar outline and summoned me. Quaking uncontrollably and tentative in my step, I slowly made my way over, with a fair notion of what was to follow. This kid had a reputation that preceded him, you see. A reputation for terrorising kids through intimidation and violence. He was also missing in action for long periods of time throughout the school year, so as to make one curious. A friend once told me that his parents had enrolled him into boarding school, thinking that it might drill some discipline into him. As I was soon to discover, the staff sergeant had failed.
Before I could react, I felt suddenly lighter, my feet having left the earth behind. I might have mistaken this for a brief cessation of gravity but for the strong arms holding me up by the placket of my shirt and the menacing eyes boring into my soul. In an unfriendly voice, cold as if icicles were lining the roof of his mouth, he proceeded to browbeat me. The gall I had to be poking my nose into their top-secret meeting. Did I wish to find out the punishment for espionage? Transfixed by sheer dread, I could scarcely muster the nerve to move. I just stayed still, suspended in mid air, praying to touch solid ground again. No sooner had I felt his grip slacken, than I was jolted back into consciousness and wriggled free. On impact, I scampered away, like a shell-shocked mouse free of a loosened trap.
Puts glasses on. Looking back, I realise that it was nothing personal, but rather a base assertion of primal dominance. An alpha gorilla brandishing the cowering chimpanzee, a living trophy for the band to howl at. This particular brand of panic-inducing music was a constant fixture of life outside. It was all I could do to close my ears as I neared a blaring speaker, having not the courage to turn it off.
But no, I couldn’t stave off the bleeding forever. The ballad of despair followed me home, playing out during occasional bouts of sleep paralysis. A shrieking demon now towered over me, digging into my sides, daring me to bust out a move. A few rounds of this and the looming shadow would sail away, leaving me trembling in its wake. Lying awake in the middle of the night, I would fight to stave off the slumber, lest the monster return to haunt me in my dreams.
A game of musical chairs was now in full swing. Would I play by its suffocating, paralysing and unfairly imposed rules? Or could I summon the strength to fray the ropes binding me to my seat? I tried to flail and writhe, doing my best to draw attention to my plight. The bully and the beast were taking turns to sneer as they stared straight through me. I could feel the colour drain away gradually, my silenced spirit begin to recede into the background.
The turning point came when I was on the verge of entering high school. A doting teacher of geography, hearing my stifled cries, held out an olive branch and pulled me out of the quagmire. Taking my hand, she soothed me and guided me through that treacherous landscape. She instilled in me hope, that if I could only focus on the path ahead, I could look past the prowling beasts of prey lurking in the shadows all around. If I put my mind to it, I could pick myself up every time I was pushed down. I just had to pick a mountain to scale and give it my all, believing that I were capable of reaching the summit.
After receiving this wellspring of support, I found my bearings and began to sail in earnest. I started to grow comfortable in my own skin and to express myself more freely. I cultivated new friendships, made more memories, and poured more dedication into academics. Studying was my strong suit, and high performance in class tests was highly coveted, in my school. Rising up the ranks was sure to get you noticed, and staying at the top would grant you legitimacy. So far, I had maintained my place among the best performers in my class but hadn’t yet managed to blend into the cream of the crop or break out in terms of wider appeal. The dream was to be able to top my class, and thus stake my claim for the ultimate prize. First rank across all sections in the Grade 10 Board Examinations, sealing my place in the school records and proving my mettle.
Chemistry was my favourite subject to study back then, you know. Our teacher at the time was a very capable instructor but had a reputation for stern evaluation. This was no more pronounced than in the fourth round of tests — out of a total of five — for the academic year of ‘14-’15. To add insult to injury, she opted to announce the results on a rolling basis, instead of all at once. Keen attention, nervous anticipation, and silent prayer dominated the classroom during such solemn occasions. As we came to learn, the performance of the class this time around was shockingly bad, with around half scoring below 25 out of a total of 50 marks. Stunned at the number on paper, most students walked back to their seats with heads bowed, ignoring the prodding of curious mates.
Some were more fortunate, though. I remember the roar of applause when a 42 was handed out to a bright-eyed student, a friend of mine. Heretofore the highest score, he was beaming from side to side as he made a triumphant return. Throughout this test of endurance, I was struggling to stay still in my seat, impatiently waiting for my name to be called. I had thought I had done well, but doubt was slowly creeping in, helped along by the passage of time and the mountain of evidence to the contrary. All of a sudden, there was silence, and my hair stood on end. I’d heard the first words before, but what followed was a stunning revelation. Sushil Mario, 49. Good job. I couldn’t believe my ears.
The usual suspects, myself included, tallied marks as we did after every such announcement of results, in order to crown the champion of this bout of the contest. For the first time, my number was up. I’d done it at last.
In the ensuing weeks, students from other sections, whom I’d never spoken to before, approached me in the corridors to enquire about the secret to my success. It was as though I’d transformed into a celebrity of sorts overnight — for all the wrong reasons, to some. My star was rising, and it would reach its zenith two years later, when I received a phone call from my vice-principal, congratulating me on my triumph in the Board Examinations. I had finally ascended to the summit, firmly planting my flag along with those who came before and the ones who would follow.
Fresh out of a sweet victory, I left my old school behind to find new pastures to graze in. My next stomping grounds happened to be located much closer to home, just a walk across the street away. New faces, new adventures, new opportunities to shine. Confidence at an all-time high, I was gearing up for my next challenge. Unbeknownst to me at the time, the hardest two years of my life lay ahead, a rising tide threatening to pull me under and swallow me whole.
The first few months went quite swimmingly, to be fair. I did well in the first round of internal testing, and seemed poised to replicate my earlier success. But I had just begun to enter into the real world, which entailed unbounded competition and excruciating pressure to succeed. You see, where I come from, career options tend to be well-defined and forward paths narrow. I’d opted for engineering, specifically computer science, for I had a history of programming and a knack for analytical reasoning. What I hadn’t realised at the time was that the CS program in particular is by far the most coveted, due to the rare access to high paying jobs afforded by the IT industry. I was about to wade right into the open sea, whose waters were infested by sharks and floor was as deep as a bottomless pit.
I was to compete in an arena of a million — literally — combatants, all vying for the 10,000 or so seats at the ivy league of Indian education, the IIT’s (Indian Institutes of Technology). An insane, back-breaking amount of dedication and hard work would be required to crack the code and pass through the portals of one of those hallowed institutions. For every school topper like me, there were a few thousand others, all fighting over the same tempting bait.
To rub salt — or in this case, sugar — in the wound, lightning struck out of the blue. I received a diagnosis of diabetes mellitus, a pernicious ailment of mind and body. Devastated at the revelation, I was left reeling and gasping for breath. A veritable shock to the system. It took me months to regain my bearings, to find the right balance between diet, exercise and insulin that I needed to keep the parasite at bay. Stripped of pleasure through food, and struck occasionally by bolts of hypoglycaemia, it was all I could do to stay afloat.
In the middle of this rat race to the finish, I was starting to feel burned out and disillusioned with the system that enabled it. Slowly, I began to detach, to let go of the anchor that tethered me to my identity — academic achievement. My grades started slipping and I stopped keeping up with entrance examination coaching. A crisis of identity followed. The descent was protracted and palpable, and I lost track of where I was, sinking gradually into the depths. I was trapped in a dark room, partly of my own devising, seeking a spark of insight with which to reignite the sputtering fire within.
Takes glasses off, sets them aside, and rubs both eyes. Truly, I was in a dark place at the time. Yet the blame for my failures ultimately rests on me, for I retreated into the darkness just as the drums sounded. A lot of my time at home was spent frivolously, on mobile games and YouTube videos, seeking refuge from the storm on an island of pirates. Time sped me by, and I was too late, too caught up in such petty vice to hail a ride. The nail in the coffin of my self-esteem was driven by one of my teachers at the coaching center, who put into stark relief how disengaged and far behind I was. My dad was with me then, and his face fell. My spirit was dashed against the rocks, and I realised I was doomed to be shipwrecked. Disappointment in myself was pulling me into the depths, with defeat spelling itself out in block letters on the seafloor.
At the end of the twelfth grade, I was finally washed ashore. The land was dry, perhaps too much so. Having vastly underperformed in the entrance examinations, I didn’t make it into the colleges most sought after. But I did get admission into one of the better colleges in my city, and resolved to make the best of it. I would start anew, with a fresh set of eyes and complete freedom to explore my interests and passions. I could immerse myself in spirited learning, without it being forced down my throat.
As I would soon realise, hunky dory can’t remain in life’s vocabulary for too long. A healthy balance between order and chaos doesn’t come easily. To me, an excess of order was delivered in the form of strict, out-of-date curricula. More chaos arrived in the guise of COVID-19. But this time, I was ready. Ready to use the chaos to my advantage, as cracks in the order were exposed. I took up courses on Udemy in lieu of regular coursework. Through these and personal projects, I learnt application development, machine learning, and quantum computer programming. I found new, more accommodating forms of order and more tameable kinds of chaos in internship and assistantship. Life kept throwing curveballs at me, but I was hitting them right back. I was determined to succeed this time, on my own terms.
Now, by a combination of skill, effort, and good fortune, I am employed full-time on a steady ship. New anchors have emerged, in the form of friends, experience, and skill. As I stare out into the horizon, I can make out new shores in the distance. Ones that possess different means of obtaining a ticket of admission — holistic and varied, rather than a single number onscreen. My island hopping campaign now begins, spanning various staging grounds on the route of research and development, with the goal of ending in a professorship on the mainland.
The future looks bright, the sun smiling down upon me. As I sit here, I’m nervous but excited. Life will give me lemons, as I know from experience. What I also know is this. I intend to squeeze them into an evolving cocktail of experiences, sweetened with fruitful passions and fortified through bitter resistance.
Really lost track of time there, didn’t I? That was my About Me story. Now go on, it’s your turn. Tell me a bit about you.
