The summer of 1992, to be precise 9th April 1992, is etched in my memory vividly. The day my mother, whom I feared the most between my parents for her strictness regards studies and food, stood by me like a rock - nurturing me through days of low to bring me out strong and a champion.
It was the D-day. The day my plus two results were to be out. I was at my friend’s place preparing for the entrance exam that was soon to follow. I was unable to concentrate on my studies and could hear my heart beat fast. I was dreading this day, understandably so, as I had not written my exams well.
How I wished this day never came. But it did. My friend’s dad came in to the house clutching in his hands the mid-day newspaper, which had the plus two results. I almost froze. I did not want know how I fared.
My friend browsed through the newspaper and declared loudly with a wide smile that she had passed in first division. After some quick exchange of congratulations, hugs and kisses by her immediate family, my friend turned to me and asked for my hall ticket number. My mind went blank. It was not until my friend repeated her question did I give her my hall ticket number.
She searched for my hall ticket number in the First division section meticulously. When she started to search for my number all over again, the fear in me started to take monstrous size. She then looked at me – her eyes filled with pity for me. I asked her to give me the newspaper. I went over the First division section hoping my friend’s eye missed to locate my hall-ticket number. I could not locate it. With eyes brimming with tears I began to scan for my hall-ticket number in the Second division. I found my hall-ticket number – under second division. My mouth went dry, my head felt heavy and a dizzy feeling started to set in. All the sympathetic talk by my friend and her mom sounded distant.
I had brought disgrace to my family. How will I face my parents who had so many expectations from me – had pinned so many hopes. These were the thoughts that kept racing through my mind. But the one thought that occupied prominence among these maze of thoughts was how would I face my mom? The thought almost killed me.
I had every urge to not go to home. But my feet took me there. With great fear, I rang the door bell. My mother opened the door with a smile on her lips. I did not have the courage to look into her eyes. I dragged myself to my room. She followed me. And then followed her question in a stern voice, “What’s the result?.” I turned back looked at her and managed to say “second class ma” and burst out crying. At that moment my mother took me into her arms, hugged me tight and let me cry my heart out. Slowly, she eased herself from the clasp, planted a kiss on my forehead and left the room only to come back with a plate of steaming rice and my favorite dish, eggplant curry (masala baigan) – probably she had made it as a treat for me believing that I would fare well in my exams. This thought pushed me into another bout of crying. Mom gently manouvered me to sit on the bed and then fed me the meal.
During the next couple of days, mom prepared the dishes of my liking, ensured I had a healthy meal; took me out for shopping, treated me to movies and snacks, while constantly instilling confidence in me. It was during one of those days that I decided I will make her proud one day. And, proud I did make her – after three years – when I secured a rank in the entrance exam for MBA. That day, she jumped along with me in joy when she saw my hall ticket number in the mid-day newspaper.
No comments:
Post a Comment