I’ve recently been reading a lot of books on development, growth, achievement and success with my two year old toddler in mind. Not all the books are written specifically for children, but the running theme in most of these books is about developing traits such as resilience, self control, empathy and confidence amongst many others, to help individuals and in turn their children, to lead more fulfilling lives.

One amongst the numerous books that stood out for me is “Mindset” by Dr. Carol Dweck. Carol Dweck is regarded as one of the world’s leading researchers in the field of developmental psychology and her book is truly thought provoking and sheds light on reasons why some individuals, against all odds and even in the face of adversity, thrive, thanks to having a growth mindset, and others, although provided with all the seemingly right apparatus (read, good schools, affluent backgrounds etc) don’t, all due to a fixed mindset. The book is a must read and I highly recommend it to everyone, from parents to bachelors to bosses to husbands to wives to teachers to educators. You get the gist. Everyone.

I don’t intend to write a synopsis on the book (I wouldn’t dare) but I couldn’t help but make comparisons with many of the stories described in the book. One such story is about the author’s own unpleasant experience with a second grade teacher who believed that a child’s IQ scores told the whole story about the child and that nothing else mattered. And this brought back some pretty unpleasant memories of my own school years.

My parents divorced when I was around eight but the problems between them began much earlier, which meant my early years were a lot more turbulent than the average second or third grader. It helped that I had five other siblings going through the same situation and having elder sisters to lean on and younger brothers to engross myself with during play eased the situation at home, and today I can honestly say I had a fairly happy childhood at home. Not so in school.

Most developmental books I read stress on the need for children to be raised in stable, stress free environments for them to thrive academically. And although my environment at home wasn’t toxic by any standards, the divorce and its implications obviously had an impact on me as I was doing horrendously at school. Term after term, year after year I would return home with a report card swarmed with capital F’s. Teachers didn’t help. At least most didn’t. Students like me who showed zero potential were delegated to the back rows of the classroom because teachers were busy maximising the potential of the more brilliant kids in the class. Kids were either inherently intelligent, gifted, talented or not. The lesser mortals needed to put in effort and that was viewed as a deficiency. They probably thought I was a waste of time and I still remember the withering looks and slight sniggers every time I stood at the teachers table to receive my report card. There were thankfully, exceptions to the rule. Mrs. Geeta my seventh grade teacher, God bless her soul, whom I took tuitions with every afternoon post school hours, diligently explained baffling math concepts, answered the most idiotic questions with patience and empathy, and made me practice endlessly under her watchful eye. She also spoke to other teachers and ensured I was placed in the front row of my classroom in every lecture to enable me to concentrate on the lecture without distractions. She encouraged me to ask questions when confused (which of course I didn’t dare) and requested the other teachers to keep an eye on me during class.

Suffice to say, I passed the seventh grade by the skin of of my teeth, which at the time, seemed like a miracle. I still failed in math though, but was promoted anyway, as the school had some kind of benevolent principle that allowed a student to fail in one subject and still be promoted. The school probably had students like me in mind. Anyway, I had done something I never ever thought possible but for the attitude of Mrs. Geeta who believed the most difficult task can be overcome with effort. My efforts in math though were obviously lacking. I suppose even Mrs. Geeta’s one year of effort wasn’t enough to undo six years of sheer ignorance. Math, after all, needed a good foundation to begin with.

Subsequently in the eight grade, I had Mrs. Rao, a vivacious, feisty teacher who could keep her class of eighty students in check with a single raised eyebrow. I resolved to do better this year, but it didn’t help that subjects like chemistry, physics and biology were introduced that same year and seemed more alien to me than Greek. Again, my grades began slipping.

And then enters my mother.

During the divorce and for a few years after, my mother had left for another city to get her life into order. She met another wonderful man, married, and had my lovely baby sister a few years later. It was around the time I was in my eighth grade that she returned to stay permanently with us, and my father was thrilled my mum was back in the same city, albeit with someone else. She’s back and she’s happy and that’s all that matters, he would say with a sad smile, and I could see he meant it. What did it matter if he couldn’t keep her happy, as long as she found her happiness in the end. And she did, and so did my father eventually, and now they’re buddies, so all’s well that ends well.

Now back to my mum. My mother was obviously very worried about my grades. And she couldn’t make sense of the fact that my brother, a year younger than me, and having gone through all the same tribulations as me, was nonetheless excelling in school and always managed to get top grades. So my mother resorted to lurking around the corridors of my school desperately trying to “bump” into my teachers and pretend it was all by chance. My school had parent-teacher meetings after every term, but that wasn’t enough for my mum, who refused to wait every four months to discuss my progress or lack of it with my teachers, and hence resorted to hound them every couple of days by stalking the dark and usually lonely corridors of school. She would cleverly carry a book or two in her hand as the pretext for her presence at a place and time she had no business being. And fortunately, on one of her forays, she succeeded into “chancing” upon Mrs. Rao.

I still remember spotting my mum through the huge window of my classroom that opened out into the corridor, crouching so as not be be seen, trying to spot my seat in the classroom. If, god forbid (for her) she met my eye, she would smile sheepishly and hold up a book, trying to fool me into believing she was there for a worthy cause. But I suppose she was, and of course at that point all I could see was another embarrassment. Here I was, a total failure, the dud of my class and the last thing I needed was my mum hanging around the school. It just wasn’t cool. Not that I was cool. In my school, the smart, talented kids were cool. Probably the good looking ones too. I was neither.

To cut a long story short, Mrs, Rao fell in love with my mother. Much to my embarrassment she would praise my mother to other teachers and students alike, stating what a cultured, well spoken, charming woman my mother was. I never really knew what transpired in those weekly meetings between Mrs. Rao and my mum, but I do know that the result of those meetings was that Mrs. Rao was good to me. So good in fact, that she passed me that year, although I was academically not fit to enter the ninth grade. My math and science scores were atrocious to say the least, but under Mrs. Rao’s watchful eye that year, I scraped through a few other subjects. Probably English, Geography and History. I wouldn’t bank my life on it though. Like I said, probably.

I’m sorry to disappoint, but this isn’t one of those success stories wherein the student meets the right teacher who inspires him or her into unimaginable achievements. I wasn’t that student and there was no such teacher. Some sort of semblance to success did eventually come my way, but only years later.

Suffice to say, I flunked the ninth grade and needed to change schools. The academic level of my new school was much lower than my first and hence I finally began passing with decent grades. Not A’s by a long short, but decent all the same. I suppose it also helped having my mum around ensuring I was surrounded by tutors every second of the day. She and my father also ensured that unfavourable comparisons with my brother were never made and instead tried to focus on my positive points. Not that there were many. But it was nice to have parents who believed that I wasn’t some born idiot with no hope for improvement, however much I may have secretly believed that about myself. Math however, still continued to elude me. Try as I might, I couldn’t wrap my head around it and hence I again failed in Mathematics. And because I couldn’t pull through in math, I failed the tenth standard examination which, for the most part, catapulted students into the initial years of pre-university and was considered an important milestones of completing school. Passing in math was a priority. No benevolent rule here to bale me out. Thankfully though, I wasn’t required to sit the entire gambit of subjects again, only mathematics, and so my father desperately persuaded one of the better math teachers in the school to tutor me. And the word “better” is an understatement in describing Mr. Srinivas. Not only did he finally help me pass the examination with a decent score, but he also miraculously inculcated a liking of the subject in me. I never ever dreamt I could like mathematics, but he made the impossible happen. This doesn’t mean that I became some sort of math whizz overnight, however, for a kid who struggled with math consecutively, turning to like the subject was nothing short of a miracle to me. And here’s where I finally come to the crux of my story. It’s all about the mindset.

I was lucky that I chanced upon a teacher who believed that even geniuses have to work hard for their achievements, and luckier still to have parents who believed that it’s effort that ignites the ability and potential in a person and turns it into an accomplishment. Mr. Srinivas didn’t see my inability to cope with math as a inherent disability, but rather as a lack of exposure to accurate methods of teaching coupled with a lack of practice. By suspending judgement of me, my parents and he allowed me to focus on my potential rather than my past failures. They would reiterate that math is all about practice and the more I practiced the better I would get. Sure enough, with loads of practice under Mr. Srinivasan’s expert eye, I passed with an astounding (for me) fifty marks. My father was elated. My mother ecstatic; And both their response to me was: with enough effort, we always knew you would do it. Without them even knowing it, they were inculcating a mindset of growth in me, opposed to a fixed one.

I still remember every time my father would sign my disgraceful report card year after failed year, he would repeatedly chant the same words, “failure is a stepping stone to success”. He said it so many times I wasn’t sure he was reassuring himself or me. But now when I read all these books, I marvel at my parents genuine belief in my potential to get better, even during the midst of my many failures. I certainly couldn’t see it. Despite my pathetic results, my mum would bravely say to whomever cared to listen, that she admired her second child’s efforts at studying, and that that was all that mattered to her as a mother. And if a nasty relative pointed out (accurately), that my so called efforts weren’t bearing much fruit, my mums infamous temper would flair and she would angrily state, “well, maybe not as yet, but she’ll get there one day.”

When I recently saw the Ted talk by Carol Dweck, she used the same term to describe kids struggling academically, “not as yet”. Amazing.

And at that point, I finally made some sense of my few academic accomplishments during my undergrad and post graduation years . My ability to to top my class in sociology in my undergrad years in one of the city’s best colleges in India. My ability to complete law school and later practice as a litigation and then corporate lawyer. My ability to be one of only five students amongst a hundred and twenty, to be selected for a prestigious internship with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission in Los Angeles. Something I would probably have laughed hysterically at if someone told me during my school years that I would one day do. And finally, my confidence today in my ability to accomplish something if I really put my mind and effort into it. It all boiled down to the growth mindset of “not as yet” that my parents implanted in me unconsciously throughout my tough years in school.

Not that everything is now a bed of roses. I still struggle with math and my husband is the go to for simple calculations. Also, a few accomplishments along the way can hardly wipe out the awful memories of failure and incompetence, not to mention feelings of low self esteem that I grappled with while growing up. I still can’t bring myself to be part of the whatsapp group of my batch-mates from my first school. For some unexplainable reason, I resented my classmates from school for a long time, having clubbed them into the entire gambit of negative feelings I harboured about my school years. Poor unsuspecting souls, going about their business, probably dealing with demons and insecurities of their own, unaware of a resentful classmate from school begrudging their accomplishments and wishing them ill from some corner of the world. I recall watching a movie called “Valentine” wherein the protagonist unexpectedly turns out to be the murderer, killing and painfully exterminating all his old classmates from school for giving him an awful time. I loved that movie! I could totally relate. Thankfully, I’m now past wishing them ill (or wanting to knife them in the stomach) but I’m still a bit vary of that group.

The point is though, a lot of us suffer setbacks and failures in life and hence need to be equipped with the right attitude to overcome these failures. Today as an adult, I realise it was a combination of many factors that led to my poor academic performance in school, but it took the right attitude of only a few teachers and more importantly, my parents to help me move past these failures and insecurities. The belief that intelligence isn’t fixed but malleable, geniuses aren’t born but made, personality traits aren’t stamped on us forever and that scope for growth is always around the corner, if we would only look for it.

Today, I am able to view my past as an experience to learn from. To learn that failure isn’t permanent and that judging doesn’t help. Granted, a lot of my teachers weren’t up to the mark and sure their attitudes didn’t necessarily help, at the same time, it must not have been easy for them to teach a class of eighty plus unruly students while being paid a meagre salary. The concept of differentiation in my years as a student was alien and practically impossible to apply. It just wasn’t done and hence the burden of raising academically smart kids fell squarely on the shoulders of a parent. And with my mother away for many of the crucial years of my education and my father finding his own footing, they provided me with the best they could. And it turns out, it’s the best thing a parent can give a child, the right attitude towards setbacks.

I still hope that one day I’ll muster the courage to get on that whatsapp group and feel perfectly at peace with myself and my fellow classmates. However, if I find in a couple of months or even years that I can’t, I’ll just tell myself, “not as yet”.

It has to be said, the irony of this whole thing is that I eventually married the biggest nerd from my class (one of many that I harboured nasty thoughts about) who would slap his head in disappointment and exclaim loudly for the benefit of all (he disagrees) that he only got an A instead of an A+. On reading this article he objected to his role and insisted I instead add what a great husband he’s made. I agreed.

I suppose I should take solace that if I could have mustered the courage to marry one of the biggest nerds from my not so pleasant school days, I’ll (hopefully) soon be ready to face the rest of the demons on that whatsapp group. Until them, I’ll at least try and keep the thoughts peaceful.