I have learnt the hard way that neither success nor failure last

Host: The morning was grey, the kind that blurs edges and makes time feel heavy. The train station lay under a soft mist, the tracks glistening with dew and old memories. Commuters passed like ghosts — briefcases, tired eyes, hurried steps.

At the far end of the platform, Jack sat on a wooden bench, his coat collar turned up, a cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand. Jeeny arrived a moment later, breathless from the cold, her scarf fluttering like a tired flag.

Host: They hadn’t met in months. But something about the fog, the station, the faint hum of trains waiting to leave — it pulled them both back to the kind of conversation only those who’ve fallen and risen can have.

Jeeny: “Abhimanyu Singh once said, ‘I have learnt the hard way that neither success nor failure last forever.’ I was thinking about that on the way here.”

Jack: (chuckling) “Sounds like something people say when they’ve lost more than they’ve won.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe something they say when they’ve finally stopped confusing either for who they are.”

Host: A train horn echoed, long and distant, like a memory calling from far away.

Jack: “You know, Jeeny, I’ve had my share of both. Big deals, promotions, the rush of being on top — then layoffs, debts, starting over. I used to think failure was temporary and success permanent. Turns out, both are just… passing stations.”

Jeeny: “That’s what makes them beautiful — their impermanence. You can’t build your life on either. Success makes you forget who you are; failure reminds you.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You sound like a monk. Maybe I’ve just lost too much to romanticize failure.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about romanticizing. It’s about recognizing that success isn’t proof of meaning, and failure isn’t proof of worthlessness. They’re just phases — like seasons. You can’t hold onto spring, and you can’t curse winter forever.”

Host: The wind picked up, carrying the smell of iron and wet concrete. Jack’s eyes followed a train pulling out — slow at first, then faster, its wheels clattering like a heartbeat speeding toward destiny.

Jack: “You ever notice how people treat success like a destination? As if you arrive and finally stop moving. But once you get there, you realize it’s just another stop, and the train doesn’t wait.”

Jeeny: “And yet we chase it — all of us. Even knowing it won’t stay.”

Jack: “Because it’s easier than sitting still with failure. At least success feels good while it lasts.”

Jeeny: “Until it starts to own you.”

Host: Her words landed quietly, but they carried a strange weight, like a stone thrown into deep water.

Jack: “You think success owns people?”

Jeeny: “I’ve seen it. Look at politicians, actors, CEOs — the moment they rise, they start fearing the fall. They stop growing because they’re too busy protecting what they’ve built. Success is a sweeter kind of prison.”

Jack: “And failure?”

Jeeny: “Failure humbles. It strips you down. But that’s where the real rebuilding begins.”

Host: Jack stared into his coffee, where the steam curled like something alive, trying to escape.

Jack: “You talk like you’ve made peace with it — failure, I mean.”

Jeeny: “I have. A few years ago, I lost everything — my job, my confidence, my health. I thought I’d failed at life itself. But the funny thing about rock bottom? It’s stable ground. You can finally stand.”

Jack: “That’s poetic, but it hurts like hell while you’re in it.”

Jeeny: “Of course it does. Growth always hurts. But think about it — have you ever learned anything important from your victories?”

Jack: “Hmm.” (pauses) “No. Mostly just learned how to be arrogant.”

Host: They both laughed, the kind of laugh that comes not from humor, but from the relief of honesty. The fog began to lift, revealing the faint glow of sunlight breaking through the morning’s shroud.

Jack: “You know, after I got fired last year, I thought it was the end. I lost my identity overnight. But now I look back and realize it was the best thing that ever happened. I’m actually doing what I enjoy — consulting small startups, mentoring people. Less money, less pride, more peace.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Success feeds the ego; failure feeds the soul.”

Jack: “Still, I’d take a bit more ego and a bit less soul sometimes.”

Jeeny: “And yet here you are, freer than you’ve ever been.”

Host: The sound of another train arriving filled the station, a low rumble that vibrated in their bones.

Jack: “It’s strange, isn’t it? We spend years building these versions of ourselves that crumble in a single day. And we call that failure. But maybe it’s just life editing us.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Maybe life’s greatest mercy is that it doesn’t let any version of us last forever — not even the successful one.”

Host: She looked out at the tracks, where the steel rails met and vanished into haze. There was something both sad and hopeful in the sight — like the end of a story that promised another beginning.

Jack: “I used to envy people who seemed to have it all figured out. Now I pity them. They’ve stopped changing.”

Jeeny: “That’s the tragedy of perfection — it leaves you nowhere to go.”

Host: A child’s laughter echoed somewhere behind them. An old woman fed pigeons on the far bench. The world, uncaring yet eternal, went on — indifferent to who was winning or losing.

Jack: “Do you ever fear starting over again?”

Jeeny: “Every time. But fear isn’t a reason to stop. It’s proof that we’re still alive.”

Jack: “You really believe success and failure are the same thing in disguise?”

Jeeny: “No. I think they’re just two sides of momentum. You can’t move through one without brushing the other.”

Host: The train beside them hissed softly, ready to depart. A faint sunbeam fell across Jeeny’s face, catching in her hair, turning the mist around her to a faint halo.

Jack: “Maybe Singh was right — neither lasts forever. Maybe that’s the blessing. If success doesn’t last, neither does failure. Nothing does.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why you can breathe again.”

Host: The announcement speakers crackled. A crow called from the electric pole above. The world seemed momentarily still, as if holding its breath between endings and beginnings.

Jack: “Funny. I used to think permanence was what I wanted — a stable job, lasting recognition. Now I just want to keep moving, learning, unbreaking.”

Jeeny: “That’s growth, Jack. Not success. Growth.”

Host: He smiled, and for the first time, the lines around his eyes looked not like fatigue but like evidence of survival.

Jack: “You know, I used to fear losing it all. Now I realize losing is the only way to make space for something new.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We think success is reaching the top. But it’s really learning to climb again after every fall.”

Host: The train whistle blew, long and clear. Jack stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Jeeny watched him, her eyes reflecting both melancholy and faith.

Jack: “Maybe the secret isn’t to win or lose — just to keep showing up.”

Jeeny: “And to remember that neither the applause nor the silence will last forever.”

Host: They walked toward the train doors, side by side, the platform mist curling around their feet. As the doors closed, the train began to move — slow, steady, inevitable.

Through the window, their faces blurred in the shifting light, carried forward by the same truth Singh had spoken: that everything, both triumph and defeat, was only ever temporary.

Host: And as the train vanished into the horizon, the sun finally broke free — flooding the station with a brief, golden light that touched everything, then quietly moved on.