Giant Strides - Novak Djokovic

Novak Djokovic. Five simple syllables that reflect the uncomplicated Southern Slavic community that he was born into. Say the name. Say it again. Doesn’t it just roll of your tongue? It doesn’t have any harsh sounds, no dragged or extenuated vowels. It aims to be simple, and it is.

Nature has a tendency to revel in placing the most bizarre situations everywhere. Its penchant for oxymorons is evident everywhere around us. And it carries forward this ideal, by making Novak Djokovic exactly what his name isn’t – complicated.

Novak Djokovic can be thought of as a caterpillar. Not particularly striking, but effective for most of its life. Never achieved big things, just crept around doing its job, aware that its place in the world was nowhere amongst the great butterflies of the age – Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer. Had its occasional moments of glory, even brilliance, but never managed to perform to what it knew was its potential.

Djokovic was ranked #3 in the world for 4 consecutive years – one of the lesser known records he holds. He held that position for weeks and weeks, neither relinquishing it nor upgrading it. Just biding his time, knowing that, one day, the caterpillar that he was would start building his cocoon.

A twist in the tale

Location – Arthur Ashe Stadium, New York, U.S.ADate – September 13, 2010.

The forehand landed long. Djokovic shrugged, blending self-pity and respect to the opponent in an awkward curve of his mouth and a rearrangement of his shoulders. Nadal fell to the DecoTurf in ecstasy, shuddering from the pure joy of the moment that he had dreamed of all his life.

Djokovic walked purposefully across the court, and betraying no signs of negative emotion, warmly hugged Nadal and congratulated him. He strode back to his chair, knowing that he had done wrong that day, but that all the years of waiting were now about to pay. He had paid his dues. Four years of being ignored. Four years of being under the wings of the legends as they soared above him. Four years of settling for the shards of the trophies that fell upon the touch of the greats.

His face radiated respect, but somewhere within him, you could see the desire clawing at his restraint, wanting to break out. He controlled himself, however, and conducted himself with utmost grace at the ceremony, behaving like a true gentleman. But at that very moment, I knew that Djokovic would never be the same. His eyes gave off a strong whiff of sheer determination and desire, meshed together to form a cohesive force that would soon take the world by storm, uprooting the entire tennis world by its very foundation.

Nole knew his time had come. To quote a rather bad song by another athlete, Djokovic knew, “Your time is up, my time is now.” He was tired of being the third wheel to the legendary Fedal rivalry which had reached suffocating heights by then. He was tired of not being acknowledged for his innate brilliance.

He was tired of being a caterpillar.

And what do caterpillars do when they want to move onto the next stage of their lives?

They retreat, and build cocoons.

Djokovic retreated. He prioritised his life, committing himself whole-heartedly to procuring the Davis Cup for his country.

Serbia was just four years old when it won its first Davis Cup, and the man they had to thank for it was Novak Djokovic.

Nole was finally getting his place in the sun.

The momentum spurred him on. He vowed to himself that he would make a change, that he would ascend to the top of the world, and claim what was rightfully his.

Djokovic went off gluten. He spent hours a day working on his serve, the very serve that had destroyed his 2009 and 2010 years. The gluten-cut increased his fitness by leaps and bounds and ended his asthma problems once and for all. His vitality began to seep through and he was abound with energy. He refocused and retargetted. He plotted and planned, ran and ran, all inside his little cocoon.

Until, one day, he was ready.

Djokovic was a changed man.

He knew that when he burst out, the world would take notice.

Novak Djokovic was free. He clawed and thrust his way out of that stingy cocoon. It was painful, and life-threatening. But he did it nevertheless, believing throughout that he would end up successful.

He soared out of the cocoon in the end, majestically. He flew and flew, not bound by his previous incarnation, free to explore this added dimension of himself, and of the sky. He could now move in many more directions a lot more easily, and he flew, unhindered, unbound, he just flew. He flew without a destination, without a fixed path.

He flew because he loved to.

And people finally noticed him for the beautiful butterfly that he was.