Rules Are For The Weak

 It was an International Yoga Day. I was watching Swami Ramdev’s yoga videos. While demonstrating, he said, “Never get up from a lying position without using your hands.” But moments later, he broke this very rule several times. Laughing, he clarified, “Niyam kamzor logon ke liye hote hain”—rules are for the weak! That moment triggered a chain of reflections.

I used to hold rules in high regard. They made life easier. The hard thinking had already been done; all that remained was to follow the path and enjoy the journey. But life taught me—it isn't that simple.

I remember and reflect now, how long back in my school days, the teacher stormed into our classroom, visibly enraged. He ignored our wishes, sat on the chair restlessly, and gave a hard hit on the table with clenched fists. He breathed like a dragon breathing fire. We the students looked at each other - wondering what had happened – and wondering what was about to happen!

“Surprise test,” he announced, ignoring our reactions, and quickly scribbled the questions on the board. “I’m trusting you. Be honest. Do not cheat. If you do, I will find out, and there will be consequences.” Then he walked out with calm urgency—as if his part of the test was done.

Having no other choice, we went ahead with the test. We did not cheat. Sir was so serious – failing was ok, but we did not want to risk provoking him by cheating. It was a surprise test after all, so none of us had done well.

The next day however gave us a shock that we could never forget, and perhaps raised questions that life would answer only the hard way!

The teacher again stormed into the classroom, and dropped our test papers on the table with a thud. Then he spoke – “What performance is this? I wasn’t even in the class. Couldn’t you have referred to your notes and written better?” He was disappointed, not because we performed poor in the test, but because we didn’t bend the rules to achieve results!

We couldn’t make sense of it—his rage, his test, or why he was upset when we did exactly what he asked. Later on we came to know, this wasn’t a test for us, but his attempt to prove to the school management that his teaching methods were welcome and accepted among the students, in response to a feedback from a parent. For him, good marks in the surprise test were a stamp of approval from the students—proof of his teaching prowess. This had nothing to do with our performance at all!

Another time – another teacher. She asked us to write the multiplication table of number sixteen. Again, she gave strict instruction – do not count with fingers to arrive at the answers – we should write the table from memory only! This time, half the class broke the rule—they used calculators, notes, even their fingers. The rest of us, who followed her instruction, faltered. And yes, we were the ones who got scolded.

They were the authorities, the judges, the guides and supposed role models. Had they at least remained silent, perhaps our minds would have slipped into using shortcuts – if not into outright cheating. But they specifically and particularly instructed to follow rules. And when we did that with honesty, they were upset!

Were they teaching something beyond the academic portions?

Fast forward to my college NCC days. We were in a camp in another city, with cadets and officers from various places.

A Havildar was responsible for the general discipline and order in the camp.

“Nobody leaves the camp after 8 pm. Cadets take turn every 2 hours all night, starting 6 pm, and guard at all entrances and exits of the camp. Any doubt?” – he spoke on camp day one.

"No sir!" we shouted in chorus. Should’ve known better. Had I not already seen enough of how rules are actually set?

It was my turn as the gate guard. It was about 8 pm. I see a group of cadets – seniors, well built, laughing and walking towards the gate I was guarding. The alpha among them casually signed towards me to open the gate, and returned to the laughter among them. I defied. Their laughter stopped. Few henchmen among them stepped forward, held me by my collar, and lifted me up a few feet off the ground. They let me off on the alpha’s signal. He blurted out the usual dialogue. “Do you know who I am?”. I knew. I didn’t care. He wasn’t that important. Nobody is. The only important thing at that time was that nobody leaves the camp beyond 8 pm. At least not through the gate I was guarding.

The alpha wasn’t stupid. He de-escalated the situation. He offered to bring me cigarettes and liquor upon their return – I just had to let them pass, and remain silent. I did not budge—despite the fear pressing down. He begrudgingly retreated with his group. I was proud to have done my duty to the letter, even in the face of potential danger, and against temptation.

But it didn’t last long. One of them returned and said Havildar sir had called for me. Before I could respond, I heard a sharp whistle—there he was, gesturing me to report immediately.

“I’ll take care of the gate. It’s Havildar sir’s order”, their minion said with indifference and took the position.

As I ran towards Havildar sir, the alpha and his group gave a mocking look at me and went past me with their old laughter. Do I need to describe what happened next? I didn’t turn back to watch.

The Havildar sir gave me a task – help the kitchen folks move food to the dinner area. With few other cadets too, of course.

The sounds of “Do you know who I am?”, the laughter, and the whistle – still echo in some corners of my mind.

Rules, apparently, aren’t as solid as I had imagined. They bend not just for powerful people, but also for mischievous people. Who knows, perhaps they bend for criminals too! But when it comes to ordinary people, or worse, people who are straightforward with rules, they transform to something strict and cruel!

I was assigned the kitchen duty for the rest of the camp days. No work is dishonorable, but the manner in which it was assigned felt demeaning.

I endured. I suffered. Quiet outside, boiling within.

Eventually the end of camp arrived. Havildar sir sent off the cadets to the railway station batch by batch.

Before it was my batches’ turn, he gestured me to come nearer. Not wanting to look at his face, I stood in attention.

“At ease son.”

I followed and looked at him with no expression.

“Son, I know what’s running through your mind. I’ve been where you are. You’re clinging to rules like your life depends on them—taking risks just to comply with some dumb regulation. That’s dangerous—for you and those around you!

Rules are like pool noodles: they help you start swimming. Without them, you might drown. But if you cling to them too long, you’ll never learn to swim on your own.

The lazy lifeguards—those who neither swim nor teach—just keep making rules like, ‘Always use the noodle!’

This is one of life’s basic lessons. You’ll learn it, one way or another. I only hope it’s not too late by then. I hope you don’t lose precious life moments, living as a machine running someone else’s code. Good luck, son.”

My anger subsided, replaced by a soft guilt. Had I disrespected my true teacher—the one who completed the lesson my other teachers only hinted at?

He was right. What’s the point of following rules blindly? We surrender our freedom to the rule-makers. But if those rule-makers are lazy—or worse, corrupt—what does that compliance even achieve?

Do they reward the rule-followers? Do they punish the defiant? I’m forty now. What did a lifetime of rule-following get me? The job I dreamed of? The wealth I imagined? The love I desired? No, no and no!

What do I do with all the ‘good guy’ certificates—most of which, I now suspect, were given only to get things done?

Now, the regret of a life missed feels heavier than the imagined guilt of having sidestepped a few rules—if not broken outright.

Linkin Park’s words ring in my mind: “…but in the end, it doesn’t even matter.”

Some rules are sacred—always wear a helmet, always buckle your seatbelt.

Some rules exist solely for someone else’s convenience—don’t lose yourself trying to obey them. They’re like the blue line in a marathon: meant as a guide to cover the organisers' backs. Everyone—including the organisers and most runners—knows there will be plenty of deviation. Ironically, trying to run strictly along it actually defeats the purpose!

And some rules? They’re just plain dumb. Break them—proudly. That’s how you reclaim your freedom.

There are far more worthy pursuits in life than chasing gold stars for obedience from people we may never meet again.

If rules serve as a roadway or a lever toward those pursuits, follow them. But don’t fall into the ego trap of thinking that rule-following alone will move you forward. And if you sense they’re holding you back, look around—and when no one’s watching, break them.

Today, I follow rules—not for praise, not out of fear, but because I understand their purpose. And when I break them, I do so not out of rebellion, but from choice.

I am Warrior Citizen—rules matter, but only if they merit. Because as Swami Ramdev said, rules are for the weak.

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