So, there I was, staring at my phone, waiting for the “ding” that never came.

The email? Never arrived.

The contract? Not mine.

The publisher’s call? Silence.

Disappointment!

Oh yes, that old friend. Shows up uninvited, sits on your chest like a cement block, and refuses to leave even if you bribe him with cashew barfi. I’ve known disappointment well—whether it was my early business days when I lost a deal, or today, as a writer whose manuscripts sometimes get tossed aside like a batata vada nobody wants to eat.

But here’s the thing. Just as I was about to sink into the warm fuzzy bath of self-pity, a verse floated up from the fog. From the book of Habakkuk, of all places. Not the Psalms, not Paul’s epistles, but that tongue-twister of a prophet who probably knew a thing or two about despair.

“Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior.”
(Habakkuk 3:17–18)

Now let’s pause right there.

This fellow wasn’t just disappointed—he was in full-blown agricultural collapse. No figs, no grapes, no olives, no food, and not even a goat to blame. Yet, he rejoiced.

You know what that means, right?

It means that disappointment doesn’t have to be a dead end. It can be a detour. A divine one.

Just think, that job didn’t come through because you were meant to take another road. Or that rejection was heaven’s way of saying, “That’s not your stage—your spotlight’s waiting somewhere else.” And maybe, just maybe, your stalled fig tree is getting ready to bloom like never before.

I remember once slamming my fist on my desk after a particularly brutal editorial rejection, shouting, “Why, Lord?” And I felt Him whisper, “Because what you wrote isn’t meant for them—it’s meant for more.”

Oof.

Disappointment, dear reader, isn’t a curse—it’s a clue. A nudge. A loving shove in the direction of what truly matters.

So the next time you don’t get the job, or the girl, or the flat in Bombay you were so sure was your divine inheritance, remember old Habakkuk. Rejoice anyway.

Because joy that depends on circumstances isn’t joy—it’s convenience. And faith that only sings when there are grapes on the vine is just good weather optimism.

The kind of faith that wins, is the one that dances in a drought, in the Valley of Baka ( Psalm 84: 6).

So go ahead. Dust off the fig tree. Water it with hope. And if the grapes don’t show up, try making some rose milk instead.

Me? I’m still disappointed. But writing, because He still hasn’t said, “Stop.”..!

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