The phrase 'Admission frenzy at its peak' on Sulekha home page took me back to that day...when I wanted to flee the scene, but couldn’t think of a place to go. Longed for help, but didn’t know where to find it. Was thinking of a hundred ways to kill myself, but couldn’t find the courage. “It’s not the end of your life,” my heart comforted, “but certainly the end of your ambitions,” my mind convinced me.
The results of my Std. 12 board exams had been declared; and I had passed out with a dismal 75%. 75% doesn’t sound too bad to most people, after all it makes one eligible to a degree with a distinction, but for a science student who aspired to become a doctor, it came as no less than a third degree burn.
Besides, at the risk of sounding immodest, I had never known what it meant to be second to anyone. I was popular in school and college for grabbing awards of every kind, even creating a few of them. The ‘Best Student’, the ‘Most Talented Student’ and the ‘Student Who Made Us Proud This Year’ awards were all created after my record-breaking triumphs in every known inter and intra collegiate competition.
All my victories will seem like a farce after I announce my results to the world, I was now thinking to myself. ‘Can I lie about my marks? No, the mark-sheet will be a proof! Can I forge my mark-sheet? Not in such a short span of time! Can I run away? No, my influential parents would trace me out even from planet Pluto! Can I die? Probably yes! But what if I don’t get killed in the process and instead become a liability to everyone else. It probably is still worth a try,’ were some of the evil thoughts that were running a marathon in my mind.
I thought of my parents, dialled my mom’s number, and then thought against it. I have no right to seek their help and put them through further agony after having let them down and having brought shame to a family of intellectuals, I told myself.
I recalled my mother’s sharp retort, every time I would go into a verbal deluge before exams, answering one call after the other. “If you continue talking your head-off, non-stop, on your cell phone like this, you will grow up to be a successful telephone operator instead of a doctor,” she had reprimanded me several times.
“I’ve yet to meet a busier person than you, child,” my dad would often say. May I know who amongst all of them that you talk to and hang out with, is your best friend?” he had once asked me.
“Why…all my schoolmates…?”
“I’m not talking of your schoolmates here, I’m talking of a soulmate,” my dad clarified.
“I have many friends, dad. They all adore and admire me, some have even confessed that they wish they were like me,” I boasted.
“That’s your problem, child. You have too many followers and few true friends,” he had concluded.
“How very preachy!” I muttered to myself in soliloquy, reaching for the door that led to my room and pulling it hard behind me, in an act of sheer disapproval.
But all of it was making sense to me today, as there were neither wishes nor well-wishers…neither calls nor conversations. As I frantically scrolled the address book of my mobile phone in the hope to find a friend there, I realised that it was choc a block with names and numbers of contacts…not confidantes. Just as my thumb was about to explore other options, I saw a name ‘Aasra’ in the list.
‘Aasra’, I recalled, was the name of a ‘Helpline For Teens’, which had been mentioned in one of the articles of The Sunday Times, many months back, that I had quickly saved on my mobile phone for Seema, when she was brooding inconsolably after what was her eighth break-up with a guy.
Thinking of the number to be a blessing in disguise then, I instantly dialled it, to hear a busy tone on the other end. Not wanting to give up and for lack of anything else to do, I kept dialling the number for an hour, till the phone croaked and I could hear a young voice on the other end of the phone.
“Hi, I have called up for help,” I said, finding courage to confess. “I’ve scored poorly in my exams and feel like killing myself.” “Hold on,” the voice persuaded me from the other end. “Kindly call up on this number….for you have mistakenly called Aasra’s Corporate Office,” he clarified. “But this was the contact number mentioned in the newspaper,” I wanted him to know, but he had already disconnected the call by then.
“I’ve scored poorly in my exams and feel like killing myself,” I came straight to the point this time, as a girl answered the call. “Sorry, you have been connected to the AIDS helpline number. Be on line, I’ll connect you to the suicide helpline number,” she sweetly comforted me.
Committing a suicide is easier than finding help from a helpline, I thought to myself, but yet held on to the line, in a hope to find a solution to my problem.
“Is it Aasra’s suicide helpline number that I’m connected to?” No sooner did I hear ‘yes’ for an answer, I yelled in disgust, “I feel like killing myself!!!” intentionally refraining from citing the reason, to deny them the sadistic pleasure of coming up with any other bizarre excuse. “You are not alone. I feel the same way too,” replied a young lady from the other end, to my utter shock and surprise.
“I’m sorry, is this Aasra’s suicide helpline number that I’m connected to?” I asked, pausing after every word of the sentence, so that I would be heard crisp and clear. “Yes, it is,” she replied. “I understand that you have called for help. But I don’t know of what good I can be to you, for my boyfriend who’s all I have in this world, just called me to say that I’m good for nothing,” she said, almost breaking into a sob.
“Why…you bring solace to so many hearts, every moment of your life, through your noble profession,” came out an instant reply out of me, even before I could realise it. “No other service can be greater, my friend,” I went on. “Don’t believe the world or what they think of you, for you are the only one who knows yourself best and what you are truly capable of. Don’t let the world’s cruel ways shape your destiny or dictate your life, friend. It’s better to be alone than thrive in bad company. Dump the guy if you should, for nothing’s worth killing yourself over,” I pronounced to her in words that I could not believe were my very own.
“Thanks friend. May be we should exchange places,” she said, now sounding much better. “I’m Nancy, may I know what’s bothering you, friend?”
“No big deal, Nancy! Nothing worth killing myself over!” I answered with a smile in my voice and a spring in my step as I headed home.
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Hey Rakhee, I'm pleased to no extent that you've taken time to read through some of my other blogs as well. Thanks for the same.
Am glad that you liked this post as well.
Keep visiting.
Cheers,
Divya
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Divya,
As you must have noticed, I am reading all your blogs that I missed in the past. This blog made me laugh, smile and giggle.
Committing a suicide is easier than finding help from a helpline,
This sentence takes the cake. During my student life, even I had thought of calling the TOI helplines but I could never gathere a courage to discuss my personal problem with a stranger. Looking at your experience, I think, it was a smart choice. ;-)
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I am the exact opposite, I never knew what I meant to be under the first 20 let alone first, nice to read what goes on minds of people like you...
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Thanks Mr. Fernandes.
Appreciate your stopping by and taking time to leave a comment.
Keep writing in. Your brickbats and bouquets are always welcome.
Cheers,
Divya
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Dear Mighty Pen,
You certainly wield a mighty pen, no doubt. So this is the fate of Helplines and Agony Aunts eh?
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.
Nice blog.
Edwin Fernandes
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That's so sweet of you. Thanks so much Praggya. I'm indeed on cloud eleven.
It's nice to see you here. Keep writing in.
Cheers,
Divya
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Wow! you write well!! I enjoyed the 'service' experience..
I will definitely peep in your site... may you blog a lot more...
May be you scored 'only' 75% but these lovely comments from all of us.. should definitely put you right in the cloud eleven!!!! and shall always be there for you to peruse.....forget marks!! forget certificates!!!
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Thanks Sir.
It's always a pleasure hearing from you. Keep writing in.
Warm regards,
Divya
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To Ms. Dvya,
Your story narrates the inner traffic of the students who have done well but have missed the bus of admission into a desired faculty. Well narrated one. But the overall outcome is quite different and more valuable: the life is precious than any other things in the world.
Naval Langa
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Thanks Sir.
Now that the committee members have declared the verdict, it's my turn to strain my lachrymal glands.
Warm regards,
Divya
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