You Do You — Just Play It Fair and Square

A Saturday basketball game, a screaming banshee of a mom, and a car ride full of kids taught me a quiet lesson about winning, losing, and why how you play still matters.

It was the third Saturday of January. The new year had rolled in with the promise of new beginnings — cue the eye roll — and a fresh set of resolutions, hopefully not all destined to be broken. I was busy finishing up a blog when my alarm went off, reminding me of my son’s basketball match. I shut my laptop, hurried into my trainers, grabbed my bag and keys, and headed out the door.

It was a nice, breezy afternoon, with a faint hint of grey in the sky — the kind where you want to sit in a rocking chair with a book in your hand, or maybe just purr like a contented tabby.

I do me, I smiled to myself, the Gen Z speak rubbing off on me. I looked rather sardonically at the copy of The Brothers Karamazov lying on the seat of my car and chuckled at the irony — the weight of the literature in sharp contrast with the ludic messiness of my thoughts.

I got there a little past two. I parked my green, number-plated car and, with my aviators perched on my head, ambled down the walkway to the basketball court — hoping they wouldn’t miss my swag.

I threw open the doors, the dull hum of conversation mingling with the excited chatter of students. We parents watched as the captains of the various teams marched to the centre of the court for introductions, accompanied by some very upbeat music. The excitement was building. The first match of the day was for the sixth and seventh graders, and I was beside myself.

My son was part of the defence, and his best chum was the captain of the team. They worked in perfect tandem — a nod, a wave of a hand, a glance — working the game to their advantage. It was quietly heartening to watch.

It was a fun, exciting match, all right — and I was on the edge of my seat, hollering at my son not to let his guard down. He threw up his hands, blocked, grappled, snatched the ball with gusto, and occasionally shot me an amused sideways look. So much for gentle parenting, I mused. I went from a phlegmatic, composed mom to a screaming banshee on the bleachers in a matter of hours.

The final match went right down to the wire — a couple of extra minutes, followed by some more extra time. Then, with just seconds to spare, a slam dunk.I ricocheted like a rocket, unable to contain myself. The proud mother cometh, so I figured I could cut myself some slack.

The captain of the other team was pugnacious, handling the ball with grit and purpose — his steely resolve winning many a heart. It reminded me of the stakes of an India–Pakistan match, where one wrong shot, a missed catch, or a bad ball can literally upend a cricketer’s life.

Eventually, the boys and girls in blue got the better of the red team. They flooded the court, and when the final whistle went off, There were fist bumps, group huddles, hugs — and yes, it was all worth it.

And yet, my heart went out to the other team.

On my way back home, with a car full of kids — some from the winning team and some from the other — I learned another lesson. Their spirits were high, singing in unison, chatting and bantering as if there wasn’t a care in the world. The weariness of defeat and the smugness of victory were both forgotten. It was all in a day’s work.

That afternoon reminded me that while winning is a huge dopamine hit — and yes, it does matter — there’s something equally powerful about how the game is played. About showing up, playing fair, holding your nerve, and walking off the court with your head held high, regardless of the final score. It’s an intangible thing — hard to define, impossible to touch — but you feel it in the rhythm of the game, in the teamwork, and in that collective spirit that lifts everyone involved.

Sometimes, victory lies not just in winning, but in the manner in which you traverse the path that led you there.

That’s the canon I try to live by. I’m not a religious person, but I am deeply mindful of intent and consequence.

As a new founder of Green Molecule, I know there are many paths to success: shortcuts, quick wins, fast money, and the temptation to become the shareholders’ blue-eyed poster girl. But I’ve learned not to chase mirages. I’d rather walk toward a quieter oasis — one grounded in truth, transparency, and, if I’m lucky, sustainable, tangible success.

Because how you get there still matters.

And so the prodigal daughter returns to her favourite, pithy refrain:you do you — just play it fair and square.

Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible  

First dreamer. Accidental chemist @ Green Molecule - Clean Confidently

A Personal Note

P.S.: This is simply my personal experience and not a prescription for anyone else. We all find our spark in different ways—to each his, her, or their own. This is not a roadmap at all, just something that worked for me.

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