How much I loved studying!

I loved studying. I loved making notes in class, making short notes before exams, revising thrice and solving question papers. I enjoyed sticking stick notes full of equations, full of acronyms and formulae on bathroom walls, on door of fridge and door to my room. Morning if I got up with a book on my chest or next to me on my pillow, I felt happy for that meant I slept off while studying. Loving studies didn’t mean I did it every day, but whenever I sat with my book on my lap with a pillow beneath it, with a wide range of pens close by, I did it perfectly well. With utmost concentration and dedication. I received stupendous marks too. That motivated me that made me crave for further fame. When hard work reciprocates nothing stops you from giving it further push.

Then SAPS happened. On June 11, 2013 I joined this horrible school for entrance coaching. As the school was located 100km away from my home, I was forced to stay in hostel. Joining SAPS was my decision. It was not forced, it was not thrusted upon, it was chosen by me.

8am to 5pm classes everyday including Sundays. Large study halls of hostel were numerous girls sat with books almost 16 to 18 hours a day. Unnameable teachers. Strict schooling. Judging you according to your rank in every MCQ exams. No one to tell how you feel. Scathing and brutally slicing. Embarrassment, anguish, jealousy and pain. For I turned to a poor rank holder, afraid of approaching entrance exams. A poor girl who did not know what to give importance to, where to start.

I grew not only tired but bored. What form did I attain? That of a traumatized refugee? I don’t know. I built a cocoon and drew in. I was two doctor’s daughter and that made me feel overburdened. I grew fearful of meeting the high scorers. For they exuded immense confidence and reaped their hard work well. I thought of how happy their parents and relatives would be. I wondered how happy their homes would be, how happily their parents would tell their children’s triumphant stories. And my parents, how were they handling this, their daughter’s fiasco?

I am not even an average. I am that container of everyone’s pity. I imagined, over imagined and over cried.Why…Why…Why?

Two years have gone by. I am doing  B.A now in St.Joseph’s college.


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