The Dent in the Fender .

- Ravi Ila Bhatt

About a year ago, Rohan, a 26-year-old software lead who had just bagged a massive bonus, was cruising through a quiet residential lane in South Mumbai. He was driving his brand-new, midnight-blue BMW, the windows rolled up to keep out the humid air. He was checking his smartwatch for notifications, driving a bit too fast for a colony road, his mind already on the high-end rooftop party he was heading to.

Suddenly—THWACK!

A heavy stone sailed through the air and smashed right into the rear passenger door of his pristine car.

Rohan slammed on the brakes, the tires screeched, and he shifted into reverse, his face turning a deep shade of red. He jumped out, his expensive sneakers hitting the pavement with a thud. He grabbed the nearest kid—a thin boy of about twelve named Ishaan—by the hoodie and shoved him back toward a parked scooty.

"What is wrong with you?!" Rohan roared. "Do you have any idea how much this car costs? This is a BMW, not some toy! Why the hell did you throw that stone? Your parents are going to be paying for this for the next five years!"

Ishaan was trembling, tears streaming down his dusty face. "Please, Bhaiya, I’m so sorry! I didn't want to hit the car, but nobody was stopping... everyone was just driving past!"

He pointed toward the shadows between two parked SUVs. "It’s my brother, Arjun. His crutches slipped on some loose gravel and he fell hard. I can't get him up, and his leg is bleeding. He’s too heavy for me to lift alone. Please... I just needed someone to stop."

The anger drained out of Rohan as if someone had pulled a plug. He looked over and saw Arjun, a boy with a leg brace, struggling on the hot asphalt, looking exhausted and pained.

Rohan didn't say another word. He hurried over, tucked his silk tie into his shirt, and carefully lifted Arjun back onto his feet and toward his crutches. He grabbed a bottle of mineral water and some tissues from his car, cleaned the scrape on the boy's knee, and made sure he could stand steadily.

He watched in silence as the two brothers slowly made their way toward their apartment block, Ishaan holding his brother’s arm tightly.

Rohan looked back at the deep, ugly dent in his shiny blue door. He eventually had the car serviced, but he gave the mechanics a strange instruction: "Leave the dent."

He kept it there as a permanent reminder. He realized he had been moving through life at such a frantic speed—chasing promotions, status, and the next big thing—that he had become blind to the world around him. 

Moral : 

Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a stone at you to get your attention. Slow down. n