Fallen but prized

It is the dream of every school-going child to win a prize in school competitions. As a nine-year-old, I was no different. My friends proudly displayed their prizes, much to my shame. Though I hankered after one, my extreme stage fright stood between me and my esteemed prize. I never competed.

Once, the desire was so overwhelming that I impulsively gave my name for a poetry recitation competition. For the next few days, my preparation was so perfect that my granny remarked I could recite it faultlessly even in my sleep. Full of confidence, I walked onto the stage and stood before the microphone. A hundred-odd pairs of eyes stared at me expectantly. I froze. My mouth went dry.  I stood still, hearing my class teacher prompting from what felt like light years away.

“Twinkle twinkle..” she prompted. I repeated, “twinkle twinkle…” She prompted again, “Little star….you continue.” I repeated, “Little star ..you continue”. Her voice nudged me again but in vain. As children in the front row recited the full poem in chorus, I was gently escorted to the side wings.     

My longing for a prize resurfaced when I was selected for a group dance performance two years later. On my request, I was placed in the last row. I stared at the floor the entire ordeal avoiding looking at the audience; it was a grand success. All the dancers were given prizes. For the first time in my life, I held a prize in my hand--a snow-white plastic swan with a blue-coloured baby riding it. Holding it aloft, I ran home joyfully, shouting “Amma!”

My younger cousin, who met me at the gate, demanded, “Give it to me.” When I refused, she persisted: “Didn’t ajji say we should share everything?” She grabbed it; I held on.
Poor swan. Desperately seeking freedom, it slipped from our clutches and fell, breaking neatly into two pieces --perfectly shared, as per ajji’s edict.

Time passed and I was in college, but the wish remained. The physics department announced an essay competition on atomic energy -- perfect, as it involved no audience. I spent days in the library and submitted my essay. Weeks later, I saw my name topping the list of prize winners. 

I rushed to collect the prize, only to be told it would be presented on College Day by an honourable minister’s wife. I resolved not to go on stage, but my mischievous friends pushed me forward when my name was called. The dignitary had already distributed dozens of prizes. When I stumbled up, she held a large packet in her shaking hands. Mine shook too. Between the two trembling pairs, the packet slipped, rolled off the stage, and hit mother earth with a loud metallic thud.  

The next day, I collected the prize from the department attender -- a delicately carved brass flower vase, bearing a small dent from its fall. That priceless prize adorned a place of pride in my home.