12th Fail holds a mirror to my fears, regrets, and the haunting uncertainty that accompanies failure. This isn’t just a movie; it’s an introspective journey that prompted me to reconsider my relationship with failure and how it shaped my identity and perception of home.
Why I am talking about it?
One of the most intense scenes for me in this movie was when Manoj’s belongings are stolen and he arrives in a new city with nothing at all but the weight of his dreams upon his shoulders.
The way he says, “I can’t go home. Not like this,” it broke me.
For me, it wasn’t just a line delivered on screen; it was a mirror reflecting my own fears, regrets, and the haunting uncertainty that accompanies failure.
I understand his drive, his conviction. I believe in his determination to achieve the unachievable. And I was overwhelmed when finally, after all that toil and hard work, his dream becomes a reality. Trust me, I was right there on the ground with him and Shraddha—a puddle of joy and tears.
But then I look at Gauri Bhaiya and know that not all are the chosen ones. The rest of us just live here. Or more accurately, as author Patrick Ness says in his novel of the same name,
“Not everyone has to be the chosen one. Not everyone has to be the guy who saves the world. Most people just have to live their lives the best they can, doing the things that are great from them, having great friends, trying to make their lives better, loving people probably. All the while knowing that the world makes no sense but trying to find a way to be happy anyways.”
Do the Gauri Bhaiyas of the world get to go home, I wonder?
Because I didn’t. I know, intimately, what it’s like to feel as if I am not worthy to go back home; a failure in the true sense of the word.
Failure and I have always been in a complicated situationship. When I was younger, in school, in college, I had a stellar academic record. At home, failure was the f-word; a forbidden territory, an uncharted realm that remained distant and inconceivable.
In my case, failure wasn’t an option, and success became the elusive trophy that defined my worth.
Unsurprisingly, I have remained a slave to this fear all my life. As a youngster, I wasn’t allowed to fail. So, when, as an adult, I encountered failure for the very first time in my life; I didn’t know what to do with it. Of all the uncertainties of adult life, there was but one certainty: I couldn’t go back home. Not as a failure.
It is a truth that I have battled with for as long as I have breathed. And I broke down when Manoj gave voice to my lifelong nightmare.
My personal narrative deviated from the expected trajectory. Failure became a recurring theme. I failed at being a star-student. I failed to fulfil the burden of expectations placed upon me by myself and others. I grew up and failed to keep a 9-5 job. I failed to maintain relationships.
My fear of failure haunted me so viscerally that I became it; or at least the universally acknowledged definition of it. And Manoj and Gauri Bhaiya’s struggle on screen echoed my internal battles.
How could I possibly go home wearing this once detestable external identity that I was made to renounce all my young life?
You should care because…
There’s a very popular interview clip of actor Anupam Kher where he reveals how, when he was a teenager, his father took him to a restaurant and the duo indulged in a grand feast before his father told him that Anupam Kher had failed his 10th standard exams and that they were celebrating the event so he (Anupam Kher) would never be afraid of failure, as it was an inevitable part of life.
This clip, this anecdote, has remained with me for many years. I wish someone had told me that it was okay to fail. That no matter where I fell, how deep my rock bottom was, how badly I injured myself, I could always get up, dust myself off, and RESTART.
Much more recently, I saw a short video wherein a parent was telling their children that no matter what happens in life, whether or not they succeed at life, they could always come back home.
If you break your heart, come home.
If you lose your job, come home.
If you feel like a failure, come home.
If you don’t know where to go, come home.
No matter what you have done, or what has happened to you, come home.
“Come home”: Two simple words that make a world of difference.
The longing to go back home when faced with failure is a universal desire. I wish I could go back home when I first failed. When I shattered for the first time, I wish I had known that I could go back home to recover, to put myself back together with the glue of love.
As we witness the young protagonists of 12th Fail and countless others dreaming of changing the world, the film becomes a poignant reflection on the rest of us—those who may not be as fortunate or as driven as Manoj. For the rest of us, perhaps the change begins within ourselves.
It may seem like a very small thing, but let us send our children out into the world with the knowledge, the surety, that they will always be welcomed back home. That, of course, they must dream, and dream big, but never believe that they are unworthy of love and home if they do not realise those dreams.
As we send them off to live their lives and fight their own battles, let us tell them to go forth into the great unknown, knowing that they can always, always come home and restart.