(This is a short snippet of my life, which I had reserved for my memoirs, but nothing else seemed apt for today’s prompt letter ‘F’ of the A to Z Blogging Challenge, hence posting it here.)
Getting your child admitted into the school of your choice is so fraught with stress and hair-tearing agony that most parents prefer to do it just once. Not me, though.
I prefer to pursue excellence. When the son completed his fourth standard from the fabulous Montessori school he was in, it was time to get him admitted into another fantastic school for the remaining five years till the tenth standard. I had my eye on one particular school and had already begun putting in efforts (no, not money or s*x, think Dale Carnegie) to get admission there. There was no guarantee he would get admission but I persisted with perseverance. Maybe a good feeling about that school helped.
At one point, some of the son’s batch mates applied for the entrance exam for admission to one particular school which I was not keen on since they did not have a campus; just one tall, broad building in which the tiny classrooms resided. But anyway, the son sat for the entrance exam and when the results were announced, he was the only one who was not selected for admission.
I was devastated despite the fact that this school wasn’t my first choice. Conspiracy theories of all sorts ran berserk in my mind and I asked, nay, demanded to meet the trustee. They acquiesced and when I sat down in front of the man (whom I incidentally hated at first sight but can now hardly remember what he looked like) tears ran down my eyes even before I could say a word. I was crying (Out of anger? Out of frustration? Who knows?). I hiccupped and he spoke (me still crying, real tears, not maggar-muchh (crocodile) tears) and I have a sneaky feeling I even pleaded. But to no avail. I failed in my efforts.
Panic set in. All of the son’s batch mates were already placed in some or the other school. On the advice of a well-meaning friend I got the son admitted into a school which had never been on my list at all. This school promised to provide all amenities that other schools did but with brashness and insolence. I cried yet again, questioning my wisdom in having taken this step. I had failed to get my son admitted into the school of my choice. My efforts were wasted.
And then, two days later, I got the ‘phone call’. From the school which was my first choice. My three years of efforts had actually paid off. I was ecstatic. There were a lot of things to be taken care of to change schools but it had been worth all that agony and pain of supposed failures.
Now that the son had completed his tenth standard and is in college, I remembered this story and was struck by the parallels between this and a writing life.
Rejections are an integral part of a writer’s life. A fresh perspective says that they are the Universe’s way of saying, “Don’t settle for second-best. There is something else much more fabulous awaiting you. Keep up with your best efforts, you are nearer than you think.” And when you get the ‘call’ you will be ecstatic but also not so surprised because if you have listened carefully, your heart has already told you the truth. And all those rejections will help you write blogposts, just sayin’.
Do you agree? What has been your experience with ‘failures’?