The phone rings. I rush towards it and as I press the receive button I am greeted
with a news that I wasn’t ready for.
“Vanya, she is no more. She was hospitalized and she passed away last night
due to heart attack.” My best friend’s voice shook as she said those words. She
had a hard time conveying the news that she had learnt moments ago. My
mentor had left the world. I could feel tears forming in my eyes as one of it
slowly dropped from the corner of my left eye and traced its way down to my
cheek and I had to hold on to the chair near me to steady myself.
I stood there with beads of sweat appearing on my forehead and the
nervousness within clearly started to show as my eyes dodged from one corner
to another. It was the first time that I had written something that was supposed to
be presented to an audience. I waited with bated breath for my turn and when the
time finally came, I read out loud whatever that paper held. It wasn’t much since I
had strictly adhered to the word limit but it was enough to impress my mentor at
the time. As I read from the paper, she interjected with adjectives like beautiful,
excellent, splendid making me feel laudable. When I finished, I looked at her with
sanguine eyes, hoping, ever so slightly, that she would like it. And when she
finally spoke, her words sounded like music to my ears.
Her words reiterate in my mind to this date. “This is what I expected out of all
of you when I asked you to write a journal entry. It is supposed to reflect what
you feel and not just be a technical piece full of facts. Your text was full of
emotions. I just wish it was longer. Nonetheless it was beautifully written.”
I was elated. After all nobody had written it the way it was supposed to be, except
me. Only my piece had elicited that reaction from her that everyone had been
working for. That was the first time I had felt approved of, like I had achieved
something sterling. And then there was no stopping me. I would work for hours
in the night whenever I had to present a paper to her just so I could hear her
exaltation and get her sanction.
And 2 years later, with the same women as my mentor, when I finished with my
presentation, she said something that is still so fresh in my mind, as if it were just
yesterday.
“I feel so jealous of some of you. I was never this good when I was your age. You
are the people who would a few years from now be studying in Oxford,
Cambridge and you would be giving all of them a tough competition.”
A wide smile had graced my lips back then. It was as if all my hard work had
finally come alive through her praises. Her words had depth, her appreciation
difficult to earn, her guidance the most genuine kind.
Over the course of years that I was in school, I always put my heart and soul into
whatever I wrote. Writing was the only thing familiar to my mind and it gave me
an opportunity to find myself. Before she happened, I hadn’t felt that urge to
write. Before writing happened, I was waiting to be found but not anymore.
Now that I look back, I think that it was by sheer luck that she had took up our
section for teaching or I would have never known writing the way I know it now. It
was the way she spoke that had everybody actually pay heed to her whether it
was the times she pointed out the mistakes in our work or reprimanded us for
being lazy enough to not give it our best shot or the at length discussion about
the improvements that our writings needed or the pains she took to write
individual comments on our answers.
I was sitting in front of the laptop with fingers crossed. I clicked the submit button
and exhaled slowly the breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. There on the
screen were the marks that were to decide my fate for the next three years.
Confusion laced my eyes as I couldn’t believe what was written on the screen. I
checked twice if the result belonged to me. Yes it did. And still there was
something that didn’t really feel right. Could it be? Could I have actually scored
99 marks in English in my final year of school? But all of this didn’t make any
sense. Marks this high weren’t awarded to anyone. Not even the most intellectual
students. And yet, there it was.
I was sitting in the hall waiting for the prize distribution ceremony to begin. I had
no clue what award I was there to receive. I had just got a phone call to be at the
venue at 10 am sharp and I was merely following the drill. And suddenly I heard
my name being announced and I broke out of my reverie.
“Ms. Indrani Sen Literary Excellence Award to Vanya Jaiswal for scoring
the highest marks in English and making us all proud.”
I could feel my eyes getting moist at the mention of my mentor after whose name
the award had been made. So even though she wasn’t physically present there, I
could sense her lingering smile from above. She was looking at me proudly,
probably wanting to pat my back or kiss my cheek like she had always done
when someone did wonderfully in her subject. Later did I realize that I was not
only the school topper but my marks had broken records all over the country and
I was also the national topper.
She was the reason for what I am today, the reason that I have MY own
story to tell, my journey towards becoming who I am today: A selfproclaimed, newbie writer, with a passion for writing.
I have had my share of setbacks, failures, times when I felt I wasn’t good
enough, when I compared my writings with that of others and felt that I still had
miles to go before I could compete but it was in those moments that I realized
that everyone has their own place in this world, a place unique to them, a place
that nobody else can possibly fill and that good and bad is relative. All I can do is
be myself and work towards my growth as a writer.