The dust rose behind Ravi’s car as it rumbled along
the narrow dirt road that wound its way to Kotta, the village of his childhood.
Years had passed since he had last returned, and the familiar sights and sounds
felt like an old memory that had come to life. The rustling palm trees, the
cows tethered by the roadside, and the simple huts with thatched roofs—all
reminded him of the place he once called home.
But there was something else about Kotta. It had
always remained underdeveloped, much like the day he left it decades ago. And
despite his successes, Suresh had long felt that his achievements meant little
here.
Ravi was the first from Kotta to secure admission
to MBBS, an unprecedented feat for a village that struggled with basic
amenities. His family had rejoiced. The villagers, at first, seemed not aware
of the importance. May not have time to rejoice in their fight for survival.
And he did. Ravi excelled in his studies, went on
to complete his higher education, and was later offered a position as a teacher
in the same medical school where he had studied. It felt like a full-circle
moment when he eventually became the head of the institution, a place that had
nurtured his dreams.
During his tenure, Ravi spearheaded numerous developmental
projects—improving the school’s infrastructure, expanding access to medical
education, and ensuring that students from rural areas, like his own village,
had better opportunities. His work had a lasting impact, and he was proud of
what he had accomplished.
But Kotta had not changed. It remained as it
was—cut off from the advancements of the world, still grappling with poverty
and limited education. Ravi thought often about why the village had not
produced another medical student for 40 long years after him. When it finally
did, he felt pride, but also a lingering sadness at how slow the progress had
been.
Each time he visited Kotta, he noticed a shift. The
warmth from the villagers had cooled over the years. He wasn't greeted with
open arms anymore. In fact, it seemed like people avoided him. The
conversations with his neighbors became shorter, less enthusiastic. In his
heart, it hurt. He had hoped his success would inspire the youth, that he would
be seen as a beacon of hope for the future.
But the reality was different. Ravi often wondered
why his achievements had been ignored, or worse, why he felt avoided in the
village. Was it jealousy? Was it the human tendency to ignore those who make
them feel small? Or perhaps, Kotta had simply given up on its dreams.
One day, while walking through the village, he
overheard two young boys talking about their future.
"I want to be a driver," one said,
kicking a pebble as they walked by. "What about you?"
"I don’t know. Maybe a farmer like my
father."
Ravi stopped them and asked, "Have you ever
thought about being a doctor?"
The boys looked at him, puzzled. "From Kotta?
A doctor? No one from here becomes a doctor."
Ravi’s heart sank. It was as though his existence
and everything he had done had been erased from the village’s memory. He smiled
weakly and walked away, his mind racing with questions. How had his story not
made an impact? How had Kotta forgotten?
That evening, as he sat in his childhood home, he
came to a realization. He had spent years expecting the village to recognize
and celebrate him, but perhaps he had missed something important along the way.
Achievements are not always recognized in the way we hope. Sometimes, the seeds
we plant do not grow immediately, but lie dormant, waiting for the right moment.
The next morning, Ravi visited the small school in
Kottah. He asked the headmaster if he could speak to the students. Standing in
front of the children, he told them his story—how he was the first from their
village to become a doctor, how it took forty years for another to follow, and
how he hoped the next one wouldn’t take as long.
"Your dreams can take you far," he said.
"You just need to believe in them, no matter where you come from."
As he left, he wondered if his words would
resonate. Perhaps the change he longed for would not happen overnight, but deep
in his heart, he hoped that one day, another child from Kotta would walk the
halls of a medical school. And maybe then, the village would remember that he
had been the first, and that his story, though overlooked, had been the start
of something much greater.
That was the legacy he wanted to leave behind—the
one that might take years to blossom, but when it did, it would transform
Kotta, the place he always believed could be a model village.
And as for why he had been ignored, Ravi no longer
needed an answer. It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that the dream he
once held for his village was still alive, even if it was waiting quietly in
the hearts of its children.
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