Vivek Pradhan was not a happy man. Even the plush comfort of the
 First Class air-conditioned compartment of the Shatabdi express could
 not cool his frayed nerves. He was the Project Manager and still not
 entitled to air travel.

 It was not the prestige he sought, he had tried to reason with the
 admin  person, it was the savings in time. As PM, he had so many
 things to do. He opened his case and took out the laptop, determined
 to put the time to some good use.

 "Are you from the software industry sir," the man beside him was
 staring appreciatively at the laptop.

 Vivek glanced briefly and mumbled in affirmation, handling the
 laptop now with exaggerated care and importance as if it were an
 expensive car.

 "You people have brought so much advancement to the country sir.
 Today everything is getting computerized."

 "Thanks," smiled Vivek, turning around to give the man a look.
 He always found it difficult to resist appreciation. The man was
 young and stocky like a sportsman. He looked simple and strangely out
 of place in that little lap of luxury like a small town boy in a prep
 school. He probably was a railway sportsman making the most of his
 free travelling pass.

 "You people always amaze me," the man continued, "You sit in an
 office and write something on a computer and it does so many big
 things outside."

 Vivek smiled deprecatingly. Naivety demanded reasoning not anger.
 "It is  not as simple as that my friend. It is not just a question of
 writing a  few lines. There is a lot of process that goes behind
 it."  For a moment,  he was tempted to explain the entire Software
 Development Lifecycle but restrained himself to a single
 statement. "It is complex, very complex."

 "It has to be.  No wonder you people are so highly paid," came the
 reply.  This was not turning out as Vivek had thought. A hint of
 belligerence came into his so far affable, persuasive tone.

 "Everyone just sees the money. No one sees the amount of hard work
 we have to put in."

 "Hard work!" "Indians have such a narrow concept of hard work.
 Just because we sit in an air-conditioned office does not mean our
 brows do not sweat. You exercise the muscle; we exercise the mind and
 believe me that is no less taxing."

 He had the man where he wanted him and it was time to drive home the
 point.

 "Let me give you an example. Take this train. The entire railway
 reservation system is computerized. You can book a train ticket
 between any two stations from any of the hundreds of computerized
 booking centres across the country. Thousands of transactions
 accessing a single database, at a time concurrency; data integrity,
 locking, data security. Do you understand the complexity in designing
 and coding such a system?"

 The man was stuck with amazement, like a child at a planetarium.
 This was something big and beyond his imagination. "You design and
 code such things."

 "I used to," Vivek paused for effect, "But now I am the Project
 Manager,"

 "Oh!" sighed the man, as if the storm had passed over, "so your life
 is easy now."

 It was like being told the fire was better than the frying pan. The
 man had to be given a feel of the heat.

 "Oh come on, does life ever get easy as you go up the ladder.
 Responsibility only brings more work. Design and coding! That is the
 easier part. Now I do not do it, but I am responsible for it and
 believe me, that is far more stressful. My job is to get the work
 done in time and with the highest quality. To tell you about the
 pressures, there is the customer at one end always changing his
 requirements, the user wanting something else and your boss always
 expecting you to have finished it yesterday."

 Vivek paused in his diatribe, his belligerence fading with
 self-realisation. What he had said, was not merely the outburst of a
 wronged man, it was the truth. And one need not get angry while
 defending  the truth. "My friend," he concluded triumphantly, "you
 don't know what it   is to be in the line of fire."

 The man sat back in his chair, his eyes closed as if in realization.
 When he spoke after sometime, it was with a calm certainty that
 surprised Vivek.

 "I know sir, I know what it is to be in the line of fire," He was
 staring blankly as if no passenger, no train existed, just a vast
 expanse of time.

 "There were 30 of us when we were ordered to capture Point 4875 in
 the cover of the night. The enemy was firing from the top. There was
 no knowing where the next bullet was going to come from and for whom.
 In the morning when we finally hoisted the tricolour at the top only
 4 of us were alive."

 "You are a..."

 "I am Subedar Sushant from the 13 J&K Rifles on duty at Peak 4875 in
 Kargil. They tell me I have completed my term and can opt for a land
 assignment. But tell me sir, can one give up duty just because it
 makes life easier. On the dawn of that capture, one of my colleagues
 lay injured in the snow, open to enemy fire while we were hiding
 behind a bunker. It was my job to go and fetch that soldier to safety.

 But my captain refused me permission and went ahead himself. He said
 that the first pledge he had taken as a Gentleman Cadet was to put
 the safety and welfare of the nation foremost followed by the safety
 and welfare of the men he commanded. His own personal safety came
 last, always and every time. He was killed as he shielded that
 soldier into the bunker.

 Every morning now, as I stand guard I can see him taking all those
 bullets, which were actually meant for me. I know sir, I know what
 it is to be in the line of fire."

 Vivek looked at him in disbelief not sure of his reply. Abruptly he
 switched off the laptop. It seemed trivial, even insulting to edit a
 word document in the presence of a man for whom valour and duty was
 a daily part of life; a valour and sense of duty which he had so
 far attributed only to epical heroes.

 The train slowed down as it pulled into the station and Subedar
 Sushant picked up his bags to alight.

 "It was nice meeting you sir."

 Vivek fumbled with the handshake. This hand had climbed mountains,
 pressed the trigger, and hoisted the tricolour. Suddenly as if by
 impulse, he stood at attention and his right hand went up in an
 impromptu salute.   It was the least he felt he could do for the
 country.

 PS: The incident he narrates during the capture of Peak 4875 is a
 true-life incident during the Kargil war. Major Batra sacrificed his
 life while trying to save one of the men he commanded, as victory
 was within sight. For this and his various other acts of bravery he
 was awarded the  Param Vir Chakra the nation's highest military
 award.

 Live humbly, there are great people around us, let us learn!

 Winners are too busy to be sad, too positive to be doubtful, too
 optimistic to be fearful and too determined to be defeated.

You are a winner any day, any time.