The reluctant speaker
I am not much of a talker except for a circle of few friends close to me. I hardly speak out when professors ask for insights from us. In most of the cases, I am either mentally absent-lost in my own la-la land or have no clue what they are talking about. In some cases, though I choose to remain silent despite knowing a thing or two. I then end up cursing myself for wasting an opportunity to look intelligent in front of others. I can’t help it, that’s the way I am.
Those who know me well will acknowledge that I’ll be among the first to run away from public speaking and stage.
Having said that, I did take a shot at it once. The whole episode is almost etched in my memory. Back in school, we used to have poem recitations as a grading component till 6th class. I was in 5th grade when my Hindi teacher, Vinay Gupta was impressed by my Hindi poetry recitation. I remember her telling me in front of the class,“ Aapki awaaz hume kaafi anokhi lagi” (your voice sounds quite unique to me). She informed me that I was selected to represent the class in the Hindi elocution that year.
I was quite happy. I immediately went to the library and picked up a Hindi poetry book written by then PM Atal Bihari Vajpayee.
My partner Durgesh Mishra was the winner of previous year’s Hindi and English elocution. I felt we were quite a formidable team. I still remember preparing till 10 pm the day before (late night by my standards then)
The D-Day
We felt like the most important people in the class that day. Almost everyone gave us tips on things like body language, voice modulation etc.
My turn came first. Just as I reached the dais I felt my body temperature just shot up double. It was quite a surreal sight to see so many eyes transfixed on me. It didn’t help when the audience- consisting of 5th std students, let out a gasp upon hearing the poet’s name. I guess it was surprising to them that a PM could write poetry. My feet began to tremble. Suddenly, I became nervous.
I reached my breaking point.
Luckily, I knew the poem by heart. I quickly recited (or vomited, you can say) it and managed to last two minutes on stage, the minimum stipulation. After that, I ran from the stage as if I was running for my life.
The other guy forgot his lines midway but somehow managed to last two minutes like me.
The English elocution guys screwed up as well.
The mood in our class could be compared to the anger when India loses to Pakistan. There were some who appreciated me for at least putting on a show, while the other guy chickened out. But it was mostly brickbats we received. You see, back in my days at least the children were honest.
While our Hindi teacher was indifferent, our English teacher blasted both the teams with the choicest of words, accompanied by giggles from rest of the class.
I do not remember how my parents reacted.
Looking back, I feel I was too young to handle criticism. Too young to know that it was OK to fail. I wish I had someone to tell me all these things.
That was probably my last association with the stage. The scars still remain. I still feel nervous during presentations. I fear am being judged by the same set of eyes that judged me that day.
