Friday, 25 October 2013


This time your entry has to have one sentence that is repeated at least thrice in your post.

“Whatever we plant in our subconscious mind and nourish with repetition and emotion will one day become a reality” -Earl Nightingale

Staring at my S.S.C (Senior Secondary Certificate) mark-list , I was aghast and the next thought that came to my mind was how I would face my mom. The figures reflected the quantity and quality of effort put unwillingly by me while my classmates regaled with satisfied smiles and laughter at their score-card. My teacher gave a scornful look while handing over the piece of paper as if the judge had awarded me a death sentence. My classmates  said nothing to me but Shreya , my best friend , squeezed my shoulder as a sign of paying condolences to  me.

With poor statistics ,  the prestigious junior colleges refused entry into their tall gates. My classmates and me were segregated by a barrier , a barrier caused by a wafer thin paper called mark-sheet. Only I was to be blamed for this situation. I wish I had made better use of time and my potential.

                         I WISH I HAD LISTENED TO MY MOM

 I came to the city of my dreams much against the wishes on my mom. I had to prove to her, to the world and to myself that I could achieve a lot and was not a failure. I wanted my mom to be proud of me.

Endowed with good natural looks  and a towering personality , my entry into the modelling profession was smooth. This fraternity embraced me lovingly with open arms as much as I embraced it into a tight hug. 

Print advertisements , ramp walks and photo-shoots came up my way and Ma Laxmi paved my road to success. Here the statistics of my SSC mark-sheet was not valid but vital statistics mattered. 

 I saved enough money to buy a 2BHK flat in Mumbai while my classmates were preparing for exams and spending pocket-money.  I was living in and out of suitcases and I had become a gypsy, globe-trotting the world, condensed to a village.

Missed calls from Shreya accumulated in my cell-phone . The varying time-zones made it difficult for me to keep in touch with my loved ones. Intention to do so was weaker.

The glitz and the glamour of this make-believe world made me lose my self. I had the world at my feet but mom cautioned me of the path strewn with thorns. But the melody of the jingling of the silver coins made me turn a deaf ear. 

                        I WISH I HAD LISTENED TO MY MOM 

The daily booze , drugs and fame was a deadly concoction and I had injected it into my veins. My devil-care attitude , arrogance and  lack of respect for the very people who propelled to stardom , caused my downfall. 

The flood of modelling offers started to trickle down and eventually dried up. But I refused to see the signals and saw red in all advises hinted by the well-wishers.

I was alone in my Mumbai flat. With time to while away and negative thoughts crowding my head , I became a slave to my daily dose.

The telephone rang. Shreya had to attend a  job interview for the post of a trainee engineer at a reputed firm in Mumbai and would stay with me for two days. How would I face Shreya?  I would be branded as a failure.

 I consumed an extra dose of barbiturates.....................

Shreya turned on the television set in her living room. The news of suicide of a famous model was flashing on the screen. 

A note was found  I WISH I HAD LISTENED TO MY MOM               
                                                                                                      was scrawled on it.

P.S. :- This story is purely fictional and does not intend to show disrespect to any person or profession nor aims to glorify the figures on the report-card.Any resemblance to a person or incident is purely co-incidental.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. We give out themes for creative writing each weekend for Indian bloggers.