A lesson. The hard way.

A mere 7th standard kid, when completing notes on time and submitting was the biggest task in life. Quality didn’t matter as long as I was punctual, until the day I had to read such comments at the back of my notes. My heart started thumping and I went red in embarrassment. I had to read it more than twice for the pure harshness in it to sink in. History lectures were something that didn’t interest me in any way, that day was just a bit more than that. Even her face had the features of a strict teacher, and it suddenly became the only thing I could notice. I was restless all day, and obviously didn’t muster the courage to tell any of my friends about it. The lecture started peacefully, but every minute ticked in my head. Unfortunately for me, the day wasn’t written in my favor. She announced, “I want each one of you read out the comments I’ve written in your last lesson’s notes.” This was DOOM for me. I wanted to crawl up in a corner and cry. It felt so obvious, it was ‘attack-Shasvathi-day’. When it finally boiled down to my turn, I think I couldn’t find my voice, twice. With the entire class watching me, I repeated these words with trembling hands. End result, classmates broke out into a bout of laughter. Except for my best friend (thank God for that). I stormed back home, hid my face in a pillow and cried. And as always, the mother came to my rescue and taught me how to take it as a lesson and not a ‘failure’. It took me a while to look at it rationally. A year down the line, I got an overall ‘improvement in handwriting’ in my progess report. That was the beginning. Its been 9 years now, and these words still ring in my head as clearly as then. Not just for handwriting, but for ANYTHING I do. 

Thank you, Ma’am.