The Man Who Planted Failure

Chapter 1: The Fall Before the Rise

When you hear the name Imran Yousaf, you might think of the award-winning entrepreneur who built Pakistan's largest eco-friendly furniture company. But before his success was in magazines, his failures filled his life like dust in a forgotten warehouse.

Ten years ago, Imran was not a CEO. He wasn’t even employed.

He was just a 29-year-old man sitting on the side of a broken road in Lahore, staring at a letter he had just received: “Loan Rejected.”

That was his third rejection in two weeks. The small business idea he’d spent two years building on paper had collapsed before even starting. He had sold his motorbike to cover registration fees. He had borrowed money from friends to attend a startup bootcamp. Now, he had nothing left — no money, no job, no plan.

In his own words:

“I didn’t fail. I planted failure like a seed. I just didn’t know yet that something was about to grow.”

Chapter 2: The Day He Almost Gave Up

On the evening of July 23, 2015, Imran stood on the railing of a footbridge over Canal Road. Cars zoomed beneath him, indifferent. The world was moving forward — fast. He wasn’t.

He was about to step forward when his phone rang. It was his mother.

“Beta, where are you? I made your favorite — daal chawal. Come home.”

That moment changed everything.

It wasn’t the food. It wasn’t even the love. It was the anchor. In the middle of a storm, his mother’s voice reminded him: You still exist. You still matter.

He got off the railing, sat on a bench, and cried for the first time in years — not because he had failed, but because he had survived failure.

And for the first time, that felt like success.

Chapter 3: The Seed of an Idea

The next morning, Imran did something different.

Instead of searching for jobs or applying for loans, he walked to a local junkyard. He watched workers toss broken wood and rusted metal into piles. Then he asked a question that confused them:

“What do you do with this wood?”

“Burn it or throw it,” one replied. “Why?”

“No reason,” Imran smiled.

But there was a reason. He remembered his father, a carpenter, once saying, “Wood never dies. Even broken, it can be reshaped.”

That sentence echoed. Like the wood, Imran too felt broken. But could he — like the wood — be reshaped?

He took home a broken table leg that day. It became his first raw material, and the beginning of an idea no one could have seen coming.

Chapter 4: From Garbage to Glory

Using borrowed tools from a neighbor and a free YouTube tutorial on sanding, Imran began reshaping discarded wood into simple pieces: a candle holder, a photo frame, a tiny bookshelf.

He posted his creations on Facebook. No one bought them.

So he went to a weekend market in Gulberg with a bedsheet as a stall. On the third Sunday, a woman bought two items.

“Your designs are raw, but honest,” she said. “I’d love to see more.”

That woman turned out to be the head of a local home décor boutique. One month later, Imran received his first small order: 15 recycled-wood lamps.

With no workers, no proper tools, and barely any space, he worked 14 hours a day under a leaky tin roof. When he delivered the order, the manager said:

“You missed the deadline by two days, but the quality is worth it. You’ve got something rare — soul.”

Those words became his new business motto:

“Craft with Soul.”

Chapter 5: When Passion Meets Discipline

Passion is romantic. But passion alone doesn't win.

Imran knew that. So he stopped seeing himself as an "artist" and started behaving like a businessman. He took online courses in accounting and supply chain. He tracked every rupee. He researched recycling laws. He hired one worker, then two, then four.

Three years in, his company — ReviveWood — had its first showroom.

But growth wasn't easy. Power cuts, supplier scams, health issues — at every stage, something tried to knock him down. The difference now was: he expected the punches. He trained for them. He didn’t hope for “smooth sailing.” He built a ship strong enough for storms.

Chapter 6: The Day the President Called

In 2021, ReviveWood was selected for the Green Pakistan Excellence Award. Imran stood on stage shaking hands with the President. Cameras flashed. Reporters gathered. His story was everywhere.

But in his speech, Imran didn’t talk about success. He talked about failure.

“Everyone sees this stage,” he said, “but no one sees the bridge I almost jumped from. The world loves victories. But what the world forgets is: every success you see here was made from pieces that once felt worthless.”

He held up a wooden frame he had made from that first table leg — the same one he took from the junkyard years ago.

“This,” he said, “is not a photo frame. This is proof that nothing — and no one — is truly useless.”

The crowd gave him a standing ovation. But the real applause came online.

His story went viral — not because he became rich, but because he stayed real.

Chapter 7: Your Failure Is Not Final

Today, ReviveWood employs over 120 workers, many of whom were previously unemployed youth or school dropouts. They make everything from luxury beds to school desks, all from recycled materials.

But if you visit their Lahore headquarters, you’ll see a quote written above the entrance:

“Plant your failure. Let it grow.”

Imran never forgot where he came from. He visits schools, mentors startups, and still uses that original table leg to remind himself that even broken things can become beautiful.

In an interview last year, a journalist asked:

“If you could speak to your younger self, what would you say?”

Imran smiled.

“Jump — not off a bridge — but into the hard work that will save you. You don’t need luck. You need one reason not to quit.”

Epilogue: This Is About You

This story isn’t just about Imran.

It’s about you.

Maybe your dream failed. Maybe you’re broke, tired, rejected. Maybe you’ve been told your idea is useless, or that you’re too old, too young, too late, or too much of something people don’t understand.

But here’s the truth:

You are not broken.

You are unfinished.

And like broken wood, you can still be reshaped — into something rare, something raw, something real.

So plant your failure.

Water it with discipline.

Shine hope on it daily.

And one day, people will ask how you did it.

And you’ll smile, not because you made it,

but because you didn’t quit when no one was watching.