The never-say-die spirit of a spider

BINDU, my friend from Kerala, had a simple dream: to ride a two-wheeler to work. She is a research assistant at a university, and like many working mothers, her days are carefully stitched together with responsibility. Her husband’s old scooter stood idle in the courtyard, abandoned after he upgraded to a car. For Bindu, that scooter was a possibility. All she needed was a driving licence.

She practised quietly on the ageing vehicle, rehearsing balance and turns in the early mornings. When the day of the driving test arrived, she went with cautious confidence. But confidence is a fragile thing. As she mounted the scooter and began the prescribed loop, she became acutely aware of the traffic personnel watching her every move. Their scrutiny, real or imagined, tightened her nerves. Her hands stiffened, her feet touched the ground, the scooter stalled. The loop remained incomplete. She failed.

Bindu went home, disappointed but not defeated. After a few days, she reapplied. The memory of failure lingered. Again she faced the test, again anxiety claimed her composure. More failures followed. She wept after each attempt, humiliated as she watched others glide through the test and leave triumphant. In the neighbourhood, her repeated attempts were mocked. But beneath the embarrassment lay something stronger than pride: purpose. Every day, her commute consumed nearly 90 minutes each way. Her young sons waited alone at home for long stretches. She longed to shorten that distance, to reclaim those precious minutes of motherhood. The licence was not merely a document; it was freedom, efficiency, dignity.

Sensing her struggle and determination, her husband promised to buy her a new scooter when she passed. The promise was encouragement, but it was not the prize that drove her. What propelled her was the refusal to surrender.

By the sixth and seventh attempts, even the traffic personnel had begun to recognise her. They saw not incompetence, but courage. In an age when shortcuts are temptations and influence often trumps integrity, she chose the long road. She would not secure her licence through dubious means. She would earn it.

On the eighth attempt, she completed the loop. It had taken her one year and two months to achieve her goal. The traffic staff cheered. Later, they shared her story on social media as an example of grit.

When she narrated her saga to me, I recalled the tale of Bruce, the defeated king who drew inspiration from a spider that kept attempting to climb a wall until it succeeded. Bindu smiled and asked, “Then who am I?” The answer was obvious — the spider.

In a world impatient with failure, her story is a quiet reminder that resilience is not dramatic; it is stubborn, tearful, often embarrassing — and deeply transformative. Her victory was not over a driving test. It was over self-doubt. And in that triumph lies an inspiration for anyone who has ever stalled midway through their own loop.

The writer is a professor at Panjab University