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few months ago I was invited to cover an event in New Delhi and was also asked to dance. On day one, we were all required to wear an Indonesian-inspired outfit.

I wore a blue kebaya (traditional blouse) with a printed long skirt, and blue glittered sandals. I hopped on the bus but decided to walk the rest of the way. A couple of minutes later, there was a downpour and I reached the entrance of gate 3, wet from head to toe.

I found my way, only to realize it was a 2.5-hectare walk! Barbed wire blocked my view for picture taking so I asked volunteers to help me climb on a table. I stood proudly in my semi-wet batik outfit, with a camera in my hand, feeling like a somebody. It was an overwhelming high, until I realized I was all alone, it was 8 p.m., and I had forgotten the way to gate 3.

I called my friend and she said she was on her way back already and requested me to find the others. I felt lost in the dark mud swamp with its sporadic puddles, alone and only able to speak a few words of Hindi.

I fought back tears and reminded myself that big girls don’t cry. I asked again and again for the whereabouts of the gate from random passersby. I finally posted in the group chat that I was lost but there was no reply. I felt like a nobody … conscience corrects … who do you think you are that you should be rescued, Queen Whatchamacallit?.

I cursed myself for not being related to Shahrukh Khan because I would have been sent a helicopter. Finally, I got hold of a young girl wearing a peach-colored sash that said “volunteer”. She agreed to escort me through the hundreds of meters of marshy, filthy road, in her chiffon sari, to reach the entrance. This young girl treated me like a somebody.

In my bed afterwards, I reflected on my life and realized it was people who I didn’t know who had helped me in my career. In fact, people who know you often won’t help because you are already judged by them.

On the third day, my excitement escalated, because I had been positioned in the front spot in one of the dances; I might be seen on TV! As I was about to sit in my prime position, a friend whom I allowed to shine years back instructed, “Please shift to the side, in between the professional dancers”.

Once again, the painful reminder engulfed me that I was in fact a nobody. My conscience spoke to me, Who do you think you are? Queen Whatchamacallit? Stop this absurd thought! Who the hell do you think you are that you should be in the front?

Our turn to dance proceeded. I positioned myself on the designated corner of the second row. All feelings of “nobodyness” floated away. It was time to forgive and regret.

I might have just been an unseen speck on Google Earth that night but what mattered was that there was me dressed in a red embroidered kebaya with a matching flowing batik skirt, holding an angklung (bamboo instrument).

I may be a nobody to some, but for 3.5 million people worldwide who viewed the performance, I was a somebody because I personified Indonesia, even if I am an Indian. It was two minutes of glorification for me.

All of us want to shine in life, some are luckier and get more opportunities, some get less. Some people, out of envy, might even make sure you don’t get to shine. Who am I to demand?

At the end of the day, it is the Omnipotent who decides how much “shine time” we deserve in our lives. Human beings in between are just excuses. — Aruna Hanjani