Short Story: An Unusual Story
I didn’t know why, but I always had this uncertainty in my mind
related to my education. I never liked it. Now, even at the age of forty-seven,
as I write this short story (not specifically a short story), I don’t know what’s
wrong with me. Or, let’s make it simpler. What’s wrong with education?
Particularly, my education. I remember – studying hours, memorizing short,
medium, and long answers, writing a number
of practice exams prior to the Major exams?
I also remember sitting in coaching classes for at least four to five hours
daily, doing nothing but staring at Chanchal (my classmate, I had a crush on). Honestly, attending those boring
lectures, I didn’t acquire any knowledge. I only acquired the power to control
my emotions. That’s all. So, when did I acquire knowledge? After all, at the
age of forty-seven, I am a successful History professor at a reputed educational institute. And like many
people, I earn a decent amount of money to shelter, feed, and secure my family.
In
my schooling days, I was a topper at my
school. But the real problem started when I entered college. If I had to
explain my condition in one word, I ‘d call myself – confused. Right! Back
then, I was confused whether to take science, commerce or arts. Truly, I didn’t
know what I wanted to do. Maybe I did but was
totally unsure whether it would work or not. So, my father took me to a
counselor. The counselor was supposed to help me in choosing my field my
studies. He called us with all my grade certificates
and asked me some basic questions like what
interested me in school? What did I like to do in school apart from my regular
studies? What are my hobbies? And then, he
asked me the most important question: What was your favorite subject as a
student? Frankly, I didn’t know. But I enjoyed science and mathematics. So, I
told him the same names. Immediately, after listening to my answer, I saw two
ends of his lips getting wider on his face – a smile, a wonderful smile
appeared on his face as if he had done something extraordinary. Like extracting a diamond from a barren land. Not
sure of the reason for his smile, I
smiled back at him, with some amount of shyness.
Next
day, I took admission in the Engineering
Diploma. I remember happily filling up the admission form with a black pen,
only in capital letters, as the instructions on the form read. What’d have
happened next? The expected. My college began, I got busy. To be honest,
immensely busy. I started going to an Engineering based coaching classes,
spending hours, hours, and a lot of hours (at least six to seven, sometimes
eight or nine) sitting there learning new things. I was glad to learn about them. Then, the worst thing
happened. My life took a shape. A shape – I detested. I noticed (not realized)
my entire day had become like the timetable
I had at my school. Not to unmention that, in school, the timetable was for various periods (classes) and
only for some hours. But since the day I had chosen
to study engineering, not a few hours, my entire day had become like a
timetable. When I was writing down my entire schedule, it looked something like
this:
7
AM to 12 PM – Classes
1
PM to 6.30 PM – College
7.30
PM to 9.30 PM – Homework and revising the lessons
9.30
PM to 10.30 PM Dinner
10.30
to 6.30–?
Pretty busy, huh? Not having time to socialize, not having time
to talk to parents (they were okay as far as they knew I was studying or
attending coaching classes), not having time to have a proper meal in the
entire day, not smiling too often (just nodding my head, staring at the
professor), not having… Well, almost everything. But I was still happy. I knew
this hard work was going to pay off
someday or the other. Ignoring it, I moved forward in my life toward the path I
was supposed to follow – The Engineering Path. There were times when I got
stuck on a problem, or I got confused, but my professor (at classes as well as
college) were pretty helpful. They made me understood, revise, and solve the practical
problems in front of them. They knew I was a hardworking boy (maybe, a man).
Hence, they didn’t want to..,
After
working sixteen hours a day (excluding lunch, dinner, and sleeping time), I obtained first class marks in all three years of my
Diploma. My parents were happy for my
success. I was happy to see them happy. Everything was going on well, but one
day something nasty happened. Something I still don’t understand. I saw my
photo on a banner. It was a hoarding of my coaching class, with my photo among
several others, with our overall scores printed beside our heads as if we were
worth that much. At first, I didn’t understand why they had done such an
uncanny thing. Later, my father explained to me that my coaching classes were
advertising me, using me as a tool to attract new students. To be specific, using
my scores as a tool to gain new customers like big brands do in shopping
centers, displaying the quality of their products. Yes, I was a product, and
people from my coaching classes were freely advertising me. Advertising their
quality products. Next day, I went to them and requested them to remove my
photograph from the hoarding. They opposed but couldn’t win against my logic. Also,
I talked to my so-called classmates and tried to persuade them to do the same thing.
But they didn’t, they enjoyed Free Publicity. Instantly, I laughed on their
faces. Free Publicity of whom? You or the Classes? However, I let them do whatever
they wanted to do. Yet, I couldn’t let myself get advertised, again. Therefore,
I never joined a coaching class ever again.
Did
it affect me? To an extent, it did. I had to work extra hard, refer to books, refer
to study materials, and study for some more hours. More hours by reducing the hours
of sleep. Before leaving the classes, I slept for the whole six hours. After leaving
the classes, I slept for four hours. I continued to do well in my studies. Leaving
the classes hadn’t affected my performance, but in the true sense, I had become
a homebody. I went out for college, came home, studied, and kept studying until
it was time for dinner. I forgot to mention, I had started to dislike my habits
like not stepping out of the house, not playing any sport, not talking to
people, not having a bath, not brushing my teeth and not trying out new dishes.
In totality, at one point, one could tell my life had become dull. Super dull.
By
the end of the last year, I looked like an unshaved wanderer, not content with
the choices of his life. At last, on the day I received my Engineering Degree,
I realized (finally realized) I was not in love with myself and couldn’t love
anything I had achieved or done so far. It might sound absurd, but everything
seemed meaningless. I knew many students, standing with me, holding that degree
might’ve felt the same. Still, they were quiet. After all, it was something
they’d achieved. If not something, they wanted to achieve. Perhaps, they were
like me, on a journey of finding happiness through anything; Work, Love, or Family.
That
day, I understood a lot of things. The smile on my counselor's face, the smile
on my face while filling the form, the extra efforts put in by the coaching
class on me (because I was a magnetic gem, who was going to benefit them in
future), the reason behind my carelessness, and a number of things that I had
kept in my heart, undiscussed and unthought. On the way home, I saw my photo on
the hoarding (of my coaching classes) again. This time, I did not react. I
smiled and went home. My mother welcomed me with sweets, the sweet’s name was
Chocolate Barfi. It’s my favorite. I let her shower her love on me. After that,
I went to my room and slept for nine hours. Nine hours.
Bored?
Well, this was a usual story, happened to everyone. Now, read the unusual part
of my story.
First and foremost, I denied to take up a job.
My father, like any other middle-class father, insisted, even forced me, to
join a company. I didn’t. I didn’t let the decision, I had taken, alter. It was
difficult to bear the daily torture. So, I went to the library and read
newspapers, books, and explored a variety of subjects. When my father got to know
about my useless (or, unpropitious) activities, he made me understand that I
could do these things with my job simultaneously. I didn’t answer to him. But I
understood something. At the age of twenty-four, no one can sit idly. He or she
has to work and earn. Immediately, I started finding a job related to my current
interest. Undoubtedly, it was Teaching. I only knew that. Rather than joining a
coaching class, I took home tuitions. I charged less than many coaching classes.
In fact, I charged very less. It earned me some amount of money, which I
proudly gave to my mother, not spending a single rupee on myself. That is what
I called – The Cost of Living on My Terms. You have to sacrifice something. For
a year, I kept taking tuitions, imparting knowledge to kids. By the end of the
year, I had earned around fifty thousand, which was very good money. My father
was okay. My mother was happy. Yet, I had to find what I really wanted to do.
It mattered to me a lot.
By
the age of twenty-six, I made up my mind. I wanted to pursue something in Arts.
A Bachelor’s degree or a Master’s, if possible. Which subject? I did not know.
A thought of asking my father about this occurred in my mind, but my legs didn’t
move. For a month, we had stopped talking to each other. Occasional interactions
kept happening, but he wasn’t interested in talking to me any longer. The Cost
of Living on My Terms. Without further ado, I started checking the courses available
for me. Literature and Political Science were out of the question. So, I took a
subject that’d give me detailed insight into what happened before I was born.
In past one year, I had developed a secret interest in History and decided to
take it as a subject. But I needed money to get into a college. A simple college, unlike my previous one.
One
day, I talked about it with my parents. They weren’t surprised, they were
shocked. My father yelled at me in full volume, as usual giving me a lecture.
That day, he only gave me a lecture. Not the money. I didn’t pester him regarding
that. I left the room. I didn’t hate him for not giving me money. I completely
understood his point of view. I must’ve taken a job. The money could’ve helped
me, now. Now – Life was tough.
After
receiving no support from my parents, I took a loan. Educational loan. It was
easy for me to get one because of the tuitions. They’d the guarantee that I’d
pay them back. Unfortunately, I couldn’t. I could’ve but didn’t get a chance.
It was a co-operative bank, it closed down after some months before I could pay
back the entire amount. I went to take admission in a good college, where I
could interact with people like me. Again, I filled up the form, with a black inked
pen, in block letters, and with a smile on my face. That happiness, while getting
into Engineering Diploma, was different.
It was of getting into a college, unsure of what I really wanted to do.
This smile was of knowing and accepting what I was going to do. I was fortunate
that life had given me another chance to recreate myself, find a new meaning apart
from the already existing one. For a few weeks, I kept thinking about the other
students, who entered into Engineering, with the same feelings as mine, who
didn’t know what they were doing. They were too young to understand, and it was
too early to realize.
A
year later, my father died at the age of seventy-one. I don’t feel the reason for
his death is related to what I am writing, right now. I decide to skip that
part. However, after my father’s death, my mother left me. She went to stay
with her sister, who was also a widow. At last, I was left with no one. In
those days, my emptiness found the company of books, history books. I compared
my pain with the rulers and other characters. Life started to become dull,
again. Super dull. I found my thoughts jumbling, asking myself pertinent
questions like:
Did
I do wrong to him? I should’ve followed his instructions.
Then,
what would’ve have happened to my happiness? My purpose? My meaning?
My days went, battling with my thoughts. By that
time, I was an MA in History. I had enough qualification to start my career as
a Professor in a college. Instantly, I
applied and got a job as Professor. I started taking classes, teaching students
with great interest. But it didn’t help me. When I turned thirty, my mother
passed away. It was more painful to bear because of the guilt I had. Years went
on. I got married to a lovely, understanding woman. It was an arranged marriage.
But we liked each other. Not loved, only liked. Isn’t that enough? If you ask
me, it is because you won’t get more.
At
last, as I write the end of this short story (specifically not a short story), my
journey of finding happiness has completed.
As I wrote above, I was on a journey to find happiness through anything:
Work, love, or Family. Unfortunately, I don’t any of them. I may consider Work
as a source of my happiness, but at the same time, I dislike it. Why should I
not? It took everything away from me. Love and Family. No doubt, education has
changed my life. But for what? Good or
bad?
Well,
I don’t have an answer. Do you have one?
THE END
Author's Note:
Thank you for investing your time and reading this story. I apologize for the mistakes that you might've come across while reading the story. It is because I have written this story in less than two hours. Lastly, if you liked the story, do share with your friends. Also, check out my new book: The Closed Case. Link is given below:
Amay Saxena!
Comments
Post a Comment