Writing to me is something which helps me to discover what I think. It's always not possible to write what's on your mind. It takes time to improve the learning. Slowly and gradually it improves. Well, someone writes from reflections of his/her life. The other one writes after he/she is completely inebriated. The latter one is something when the person writes with his/her own wildest imagination. Some need it some not though. Writing for me has always been a necessity I would say. A great stress reliever. As I see myself down the time of these 11 months since I started this blog, I can see a significant improvement (according to me) in my vocabulary, grammar and all other aspects of English language.
One thing that I had learned is to respect the language and it will respect you back. For this one I would like to narrate a short experience of mine when I was in my school.You all must be thinking that I was that same old geeky boy in school. The one whom you can find in two places only one is class and the other is library. If you are thinking like this, then I must say that you are absolutely... right. But this is not exactly true, I was found in these two places but I was far from someone who is far away from a geek. Classes were for mere attendance purposes. Library, for looking at the syllabus before exam days. Ah! coming to the experience part. It goes something like this..........
In the year somewhere in 2000 (I am not that old come on) when I was in 8th standard. I still remember the day when it was my first terminal exams going on. The environment in school was evident. The sorority, standing at the corner of one of the classrooms were discussing about several topics whether they were a part of syllabus or not. The talks always scared me. Then there was a group of the famous front benchers. Obviously I was not one of them. The guys with bags more than their weights. They wore glasses as much thick as they liked. It was a fashion that time. The one with the thickest lens was already declared the topper by me. Though the school didn't care about my decision. Poor me! Well, Then comes the other bunch of kids. The ones whom I belonged to. Or at least I felt comfortable with them. They talked about topics which were more mundane to me (not studies of course). The most important feature of them was that like me, their actions didn't irk me.
The exams time was as usual the worst time for me. Late night studies when others revised their syllabus. I wondered and I still do when I think that how these geeks got time to revise the syllabus when I just can't even think of completing even 40% of it. I would start with a bang till they tire me unnervingly at the end. A kind of obligation it seemed to me. It was my English exam. The subject which I liked second (first being mathematics which is still my favorite). We had four sections like a normal English exam would have. Reading, Writing, Grammar, Literature. The exam went well (for me, not for school). Like always I was oblivious to the results.
But some one was truly concerned about it. You must be guessing that my parents were. Then you all are wrong. It was my English teacher. I don't know why but she believed I had the potential to do much better. But the problem with me was that I didn't realize it. I remember the time when she called my mother t school ( not for scolding but praising me). "Your son can do much better. All he need is some guidance!" she said. I could see concern in her eyes. That time I got the minimum marks in class in the writing section (close to 0). I was never used to reading (at that time memorizing my subject books was suffice for me).
Unknowingly in my second terminal exams, I was slightly better prepared than my first terminal exams. I averted from writing section. I wanted to just pass in that subject. I sat in the classroom. As usual after being terrorized by the other students. "Hey you did that chapter on Titanic?" etc. questions kept playing in my mind like a tape recorder has been stopped at one track only. The pangs still disturb me. The exam was over early. Nervously, I looked at the wall clock for the time. I was only left with the writing section. Luckily I got one hour time to complete the writing part. Praying hard within, I turned the pages of the booklet to reveal the writing part. It was something to write on a survey done in the society. Shutting my mind to the myriad issues that clouded on it, I started writing. After the time, the invigilator collected the papers from us. One thing that always bothered me was to discuss how was the exam. It was not less than a nightmare!
Three weeks passed. We got a week's holiday after the exams. The rumors spread like forest fire that the English exam results were out and I have failed the exam. I was too scared to face even myself. But something kept me strong from within. The class had begun. The teacher started distributing the papers according to the roll numbers. Every time she called a roll number closer to mine, my heart skipped a beat. Finally,she called mine. "Roll number 37." Loud and clear it was. With my trembling legs, I stood up from my seat. I walked slowly towards her. I don't know what happened to me but I snatched the paper from her. Striding back to my seat I slowly looked at the marks I got. A voice from behind distracted me. "How much you go dude?" The other one said clearly "Pass or fail?" The group behind me burst into a huge laughter. "Sh!" the teacher pointed them to stay quiet. I immediately rolled my exam paper without noticing my marks. The look at their sly faces haunted me. I surmised that I was fallible.
When the exam papers were distributed to all, she asked the class monitor to announce the roll numbers of students who were among the top 5. I put my head down to cut off from rest of the world. It was all over. I had failed. A tear rolled down my cheek. The monitor started yelling the roll numbers in reverse order starting from 5th one. My friend sitting next to me patted on my back. "Get up. Don't worry. The world has not ended!" For me it has ended! After his prodding, I sat straight. "Roll number 23 is fifth." She announced. It was Priya's roll number. Whole class applauded. "Roll number 12 is fourth." She screamed this time. It was Rohit's. I heard someone shouting "Don't worry Rohit, better luck next time!" The class turned into a fish market in a matter of few minutes. "Roll number 16 is third." "The second one is roll number...." Everybody's eyes were wide open. They were eagerly waiting for the roll number to be called out. The monitor stood still. She bent down towards the teacher. They murmured for a while. She spoke out "Roll number 37 is second!" It was heard by all loud and clear. I was stunned. Looking at the other students, I fished out the paper from my bag. I had got 85 marks. Turning the pages, I checked my marks in the writing section. I had got highest marks in the writing section in class (28/30). That was enough for me to walk home with pride.
That day I truly realized that writing to me is something which helps me to discover what I think. Every moment is a story. It is just waiting to be weaved by some one. Wait, I wrote such a long story........
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda