I try to learn with experience. This is my process of learning

Host: The sun was setting behind the cricket field, its orange glow dissolving into a fine mist that rose from the grass. The stadium stood mostly empty now, the crowd long gone, leaving behind echoes of cheers that still trembled in the air. The scoreboard blinked faintly, like a ghost light refusing to sleep.

Jack and Jeeny sat near the boundary line, a few feet from the pitch, where patches of worn soil told stories of battles fought not with swords, but with will. Jack’s hands were clasped, his elbows on his knees, his face half-lit by the fading sun. Jeeny leaned back, her hair brushing the wind, her eyes following the horizon with quiet calm.

The game was over. The conversation, however, had just begun.

Jeeny: “Babar Azam once said, ‘I try to learn with experience. This is my process of learning, so I try my 100 percent.’ Simple words, right? But there’s something so human about them.”

Jack: (smirking faintly) “Simple, yes. Maybe too simple. Everyone says they give a hundred percent. It’s the easiest thing to promise—and the hardest thing to prove.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the faint smell of grass and dust. Somewhere, a ball rolled across the field, its hollow sound echoing like a memory.

Jeeny: “But he didn’t talk about perfection. He talked about process. That’s what I love about it. Not learning to win—learning through the experience itself.”

Jack: “That’s easy to say when you’re winning. Failure has a way of rewriting noble philosophies.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. That’s exactly when it matters most. When you fall and still choose to learn instead of retreat. When experience becomes the teacher, not the punishment.”

Host: The light dimmed, and the first stars began to pierce the sky above the quiet stands. The field lights flickered on—each one humming to life, flooding the grass in cold silver. Jeeny’s face glowed under their pale illumination, while Jack’s expression darkened in contrast.

Jack: “You know, people romanticize struggle too much. Everyone says failure teaches you, but I think it just hardens you. You start building walls, not wisdom.”

Jeeny: “Maybe wisdom is the wall, Jack—if it’s built right. Each failure adds a brick, each success a window. You don’t shut the world out; you start seeing it more clearly.”

Jack: “You sound like a coach’s speech before a losing game.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And you sound like someone who’s forgotten what it feels like to try without knowing if it’ll work.”

Host: The pause that followed was long, filled with the hum of insects and the distant echo of a motorbike leaving the stadium. Jack reached for a pebble, flicked it toward the pitch, and watched it bounce once before stopping short.

Jack: “You think effort always means growth? I’ve seen people give their all and still stay stuck in the same circle—same pain, same mistakes. Sometimes effort isn’t learning; it’s denial dressed up as persistence.”

Jeeny: “And sometimes cynicism is just fear dressed up as intelligence. Learning doesn’t promise reward—it promises change. That’s why people resist it.”

Host: Her voice was steady, her words deliberate. The wind tugged gently at the corner of her scarf, and her eyes caught the faint shimmer of field lights reflecting off the grass.

Jeeny: “You know Babar Azam’s story, right? How he started as a ball boy just to be close to the game. Watching, learning, waiting. He didn’t skip steps—he absorbed them. That’s what it means to learn by experience.”

Jack: (softly) “And now he’s one of the best. Sure. But for every Babar, there are a thousand who never make it.”

Jeeny: “That doesn’t make the process wrong. It just makes it rare. Everyone’s chasing results—he’s chasing refinement. Giving your hundred percent doesn’t guarantee success, but it guarantees growth. There’s a difference.”

Host: A faint breeze passed through the field, making the banners ripple like waves. The floodlights hummed louder now, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air like golden confetti from an invisible celebration.

Jack: “You talk like experience is a benevolent teacher. It’s not. It’s brutal. It doesn’t whisper—it breaks. It takes from you before it gives anything back.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s why it works. Because it makes you earn the lesson. You can’t download wisdom, Jack. You bleed for it, and that’s what makes it stick.”

Jack: “So pain is necessary?”

Jeeny: “Not pain—presence. You have to be awake through what you experience. That’s how you learn. Otherwise, you just repeat the same story with different names.”

Host: The night settled deeper, the sky now a velvet expanse pricked with stars. Somewhere behind them, the janitor began locking the side gates, the faint clang of metal echoing like punctuation marks on their thoughts.

Jack: “So where’s the line, then? Between obsession and dedication? Between trying your hundred percent and burning out?”

Jeeny: “The line is self-awareness. You try your hundred percent today. Not forever. Learning isn’t a marathon; it’s a series of sprints. You give your best each time, rest, then start again with more clarity. That’s what process means.”

Jack: (nodding slowly) “So the process teaches you how to keep going.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not about winning or losing—it’s about deepening. About becoming a better version of the person who started.”

Host: A single cricket ball rolled across the grass toward them, stopping at Jack’s shoe. He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and turned it slowly, feeling its worn seam against his fingers.

Jack: “Funny thing about this game—no matter how many times you practice, the next ball is always new. No experience guarantees the next move.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s what makes it life, not just sport.”

Host: Jack’s expression softened, the sharpness in his eyes giving way to something quieter—recognition, perhaps.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Babar meant. You can’t control outcomes, but you can control your learning. Experience isn’t just repetition—it’s awareness.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s not about how many times you fall—it’s about how present you are when you get back up.”

Host: The lights began to dim, one by one, until the field was bathed only in the pale glow of the moon. The grass gleamed faintly, and the air felt cleaner, cooler, like the exhale after an honest conversation.

Jack stood, the ball still in his hand, and tossed it toward Jeeny. She caught it easily, smiling.

Jack: “Maybe I’ve been so afraid of failing that I forgot how to learn.”

Jeeny: “Then tonight’s your first lesson.”

Jack: “And what’s the assignment?”

Jeeny: “Simple. Try again tomorrow—with awareness, not expectation.”

Host: A gentle laugh escaped him, soft but genuine, like the first break in a long winter.

They began walking toward the exit, their shadows stretching long behind them, the sound of their steps blending with the night’s rhythm.

Host: Above them, the moonlight lay across the field like a quiet blessing. In that stillness, the words of Babar Azam seemed to echo—not as a quote, but as a truth reborn through their own voices:

That experience is the only teacher that never flatters.
That effort is the language through which wisdom speaks.
And that learning is not a destination—but a sacred, endless process.

Host: As the gate shut behind them, the echo of their laughter drifted across the field, mingling with the night breeze—two souls walking not toward victory, but toward understanding.