Your Story is your treasure

In one of the world’s oldest recorded tales, The Epic of Gilgamesh, a king sets out—not to conquer kingdoms, but to confront the most human fear of all: death.

After losing his closest companion, Enkidu, Gilgamesh is shattered. His strength, his power, his victories—none of it shields him from the grief of losing someone he loved. What good is greatness, he wonders, if it ends in silence?So begins his journey—across deserts and mountains, to the ends of the earth. He endures trials, defeats monsters, and finally discovers a rare, sacred flower that promises eternal youth. A gift, perhaps, for all he has suffered.But while he sleeps, a serpent silently steals it away.He wakes up too late. The flower is gone. There are no second chances.Empty-handed, he returns home.But he is not the same man.

He walks through the gates of Uruk, his city, and for the first time, he sees it—not with pride, but with clarity. The walls, the people, the order and beauty that he helped shape—these are his true legacy. Not the flower he lost,But the story he lived.

When the Doubt Creeps In

Years ago, I found myself on a journey of my own.I had stepped away from a life I had known for over two decades—a life of discipline, precision, purpose. The Air Force had been more than a profession; it was an identity. My days were measured not in emails and deadlines, but in lives moved, missions executed, and calm leadership under pressure.And then, I walked into a business school classroom.

Suddenly, the rules were different. Everyone seemed to speak a language I didn’t yet know—one filled with frameworks, networking dinners, and case competitions. People were moving fast, building resumes, planning next moves with clarity and confidence.And there I was—trying to keep up, often quietly asking myself:

 “Am I too far behind?”

“Do I even belong here?”

It wasn’t fear of failure that unsettled me.It was the unfamiliar feeling of not fitting in.That voice of doubt—that was my serpent. Not dramatic or loud, but quietly persistent and it began to eat away at something I had always carried with pride: my story.

 

The Mirror of Memory

One evening, tired of comparing and calculating, I paused. And for once, I stopped looking ahead.

I looked back. Back to the young cadet rising before sunrise at Rashtriya Indian Military College.

To the dusty parade grounds of the National Defence Academy, where grit was carved into muscle memory.

To the flight decks, the operations rooms, the long nights planning missions that no one would ever read about.

To the people I led, the young officers I mentored, the quiet courage I saw on difficult days.

Each memory, each chapter, came flooding back—not as a list of achievements, but as evidence.

Evidence that I had already been through the hard parts.

That I knew who I was.

That my journey, though different, was no less worthy.

And I realized: I hadn’t lost the flower.

I had carried the treasure all along.

The Journey We All Take

In every myth, every legend, there is a hero. And every hero, no matter how strong, must leave behind what is known and familiar to discover something deeper within.

There is always fear.

Always failure.

Always a moment of reckoning.

But then, there is return.

Not a return to the same place—but to a deeper understanding of what matters. Of who we are. Of what we've become.

My time in transition—from military life to academia, from certainty to ambiguity—wasn’t a detour. It was part of the arc. A necessary passage. A reminder that transformation doesn't always look heroic on the outside

Sometimes, it's just quiet persistence. Sometimes, it’s just not giving up.

What We Leave Behind

Today, I no longer chase the flower. I no longer fear the serpent. Because I understand now—what Gilgamesh understood. Legacy isn’t a title. Success isn't always loud and meaning isn’t always found in the next achievement. Sometimes, it’s found in looking back at where you’ve come from, at the quiet strength it took to endure, and at the invisible weight you carried so others could rise.

In the End...

We all carry our own epic.

We all face doubts, detours, and days when we wonder if we’re enough

But here’s the truth no serpent can steal:

 Your story—with all its turns, stumbles, and triumphs—is your treasure.

You don’t need to rewrite it.

You only need to remember it.

Because in the end, that’s all we are.

Stories.

And yours... is worth telling.