The last couple of days have been really
tough. A life changing result is due next week and being tensed has always made
me feel very lonely. It feels like I have to fight the big, bad world all by
myself. I used to be of the opinion that in life we get what we deserve and that everything happened for a reason, but I
do not believe I deserved my mother’s passing away - nobody deserves that. At
times, doubt creeps in and I stoop into depths of misery, victimizing
myself. The flair for drama in life among the women in my family cannot be exaggerated.
I admit, not so proudly, “self-victimization” is something we are masters at. Last
night, during a rigorous session of self-pity reloaded, an incident came to
mind and made me smile.
It was the third day of my Final Term
examinations, in the new school I had moved to at the beginning of that year. I
was ten years old, studious and self-conscious. I had not made many friends
that year. The top scorers used to discuss studies with me because I was
potential competition. They were usually amiable. I considered them friends. They
considered me a foreign threat that needed to be thwarted. We had seven
subjects, with one day for each exam – it was the grand finale for proving yourself
academically. The third day of this “deciding week” was my Math exam. Even
though Math was one of my strong subjects, my carelessness had cost me many
marks in the past. I was tensed. As soon as the exam was done, the routine called for the top scorers huddling and discussing the answers. This “helped” in two ways –
We knew immediately if we made a blunder because the majority was always right,
but more importantly we knew where every competitor stood and who scored the highest.
As we were discussing the answers I realized one of my answers did not match
with that of the others. It was a 6 marks question – one of the big ones. I felt like
someone had punched me in the stomach. As I walked away disappointed with
myself, I heard my “friends” celebrating my error. They were ecstatic that I was
6 marks down, which was not something you could easily make up. Their jubilance
hurt me more and I cried all the way back home.
My mother always waited expectantly to
know how the exam went and she knew as soon as she saw our faces. I explained
to her amidst tears what had happened. My sister immediately tried solving the
problem I made the mistake in and found that my error was in placing the
decimal point at the wrong position. She comforted me telling me that maybe it wasn’t a blunder
that would cost me all 6 marks. My entire family was trying to comfort me, but
I was well underway on my self-victimization routine (even at the tender age of
10!). After about an hour of brooding, my mother came up to me and told me to wipe
my tears because what is done is done. She told me there was nothing I could do
about those 6 marks and it would do me well to consider it all gone. After I had
calmed down she made me realize I had to earn the respect of my classmates and
crying over spilled milk was not going to help with that. She explained that
life is such that people act terrible all the time for no reason whatsoever; I could
either cry over it or be a fighter and earn their respect. I had to prove to
them that 6 marks was nothing for me to make up. She told me to get my act
together because I still had four more days to set things right and that this
was not the time to give up. I tried my very best the next few days. To put
things in perspective, I would say those were few of my most hard working
days so far into my life! But at the end of it I was still 4 marks down as per
post exam discussions and calculations. I was obviously disappointed – it was
my first year in the school and I felt I had let down my mother most of all by not proving
my worth.
On the day of my results as we were
walking in, my classmates kept congratulating me. A couple of parents
congratulated my parents and were talking about how proud they must be about
me. I had no clue what was going on because as per my calculations I was not even
the top scorer in my class. I was bemused over how generous parents and
students were in this school with compliments; congratulating everyone. I got
my report card and I still remember the feeling like it was yesterday. Relief
at losing just one mark for the wrongly placed decimal point, pride at what I
had achieved, grateful that I had not given up thanks to my mother and above
all confident that maybe I was someone to be respected after all. I was the
topper in the entire Grade that year; I won a scholarship and brought home my first earning.
The other top scorers became true friends of mine,
some of whom I still cherish as friends. When I look back at that incident, I
remember my entire life seemed to be crumbling at that point after my Math
exam. Today it seems comically juvenile. But to my mother it was not funny
then, and I don’t think it would be funny now. She would tell me to wipe my
tears, be brave and face the world because what’s done is done. We might not
reap fruit for every seed we sow; and some fruits we reap will be rotten even
though we sowed with care – such is life. What matters is whether we have the
courage to get up and try again. That is what made me smile last night in
between my self-pity. That is what leaves me in peace today. My mother taught
me that courage when I was ten years old. She taught me to wipe my tears, get
up and fight the big, bad world. I know I have it in me to fight this fight until
I win, no matter if I win or lose tomorrow.
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