Some days are less ordinary than others. On some days, we discover new experiences and
reasons for happiness. And then, there are some days which completely change our lives.
I like to think that we were all put on earth to fulfill a purpose which will somehow make a
difference in the grand scheme of things. After all, life is such a precious gift. The probability of being born is one in 400 trillion. Those are some impossible odds that we had to beat just to exist! If our existence is based on such a minute probability, then how on earth can it not be precious? I was right. At least, I was proven to be right in my own case. One particular day of my life suddenly put me on a trajectory that I could have never imagined. It led me down a path
which brought the purpose of my life into the spotlight. It led me to discover that I was born to write. You see, it all began ten years ago. I was a little girl studying in the third grade. I was also a decent enough student, or at least, so I have been told. Unfortunately, I was quite an inattentive student as well. So it was no surprise that the events which occurred in my life transpired the way that they did.
One fine day, when I was in the third grade, my class teacher brought to class a box of pictures. She then asked us to form a queue at her table. One-by-one, each one of us went up to her table, closed our eyes, dug our hands in the box, and pulled out a picture. When it was my turn, I got a picture of a baby. It was a young lad in his nappies, smiling up at the camera with twinkling eyes. I took the picture and went back to my desk for further instructions. The teacher
asked us to look at the picture and write whatever comes to our minds. It was the
Comprehension period, and so the activity, as odd as it was, didn’t raise my suspicions. I sat at my desk and scrutinized the picture long and hard. What could a little girl of nine know about babies? She is herself a baby! And yet, lo and behold! I did know quite a lot. I grinned as I kept on staring at the picture. I did not consider myself a lucky person, yet, fate had decided to smile upon me and bestow a huge blessing for a change. You see, I have a younger brother who is eleven as I write this. But at that point in time, he was an adorable little nugget of two. This meant that at the age of nine, I had spent about two years living under the same roof as a baby. I had seen my brother grow from a newborn who barely opened his eyes to a toddler who spoke gibberish every moment he was awake. I was also an inquisitive little girl. With every milestone that my baby brother achieved in his growth and development, I would ask lots of questions. I was sufficiently well-versed in the art of looking after a baby. And even though my tiny size because of my age meant that I was not the one actually looking after my baby brother, I knew the theory of looking after him very well. I grinned at the picture one last time. And then I picked up the pen and began writing. It was like magic. The words ebbed and flowed. It was like my pen was a wand and it was spawning pearls in the form of words, which I was then stringing together into a beautiful piece of art. As I wrote, the world around me ceased to exist. There was no class, no classmates, and no class teacher. At that moment, I was just a writer with a pen and a notebook within my reach, and a short piece of writing about babies which I had to write.
The ringing of the bell brought me back to reality. Suddenly, I had a nice little write-up about babies. I had poured into it all the golden nuggets of information that I possessed. I submitted the paper with a sense of satisfaction that I had never felt before. The real magic happened about two weeks later. It was just another day at school. I was bent over some multiplication problems that were boggling my mind. That was when the
loudspeakers came alive to make an announcement. “Good morning, students. These are the results of the creative writing competition.” I know many of you might realize now where this is going. Regardless, I should continue. Now, I must repeat that I was not a very attentive student. Until this point, I had thought that the write-up about babies that I had submitted was a regular class activity. So you can imagine my surprise when they announced that I stood first among third graders in the creative writing competition. The events that transpired immediately after this announcement remain a blur for me. I think someone patted me on the back? Did my class teacher smile at me? I must have been congratulated by classmates, yet I do not remember any of it. It was too big a surprise for me to process immediately. I didn't even know I had entered into a competition! And now, suddenly, I had won it.
I really hope, dear reader, that you can understand the state of my mind. I got a certificate, and my write-up was published in the school magazine. I still hold on to that magazine, and I probably will all my life. That one competition opened up a plethora of possibilities. It sparked my interest in writing. It also led me down the path of reading. My dear school teachers, bless their souls, nudged
me towards more writing competitions and workshops. Over the years, I won many competitions and performed excellently in many workshops. The year 2020 saw my essay stand in the top 13 of a national essay writing competition. I got published in two books. I got certified as an advanced content writer. I started doing some freelance and part-time work as a content writer. I enrolled as a student of Literature at Indraprastha College for Women. And, it all happened because of that one moment of serendipity over ten years ago.
- Sambhavi Mishra
English Department
Second Year
[Edited by Tushita Chaudhary and Shreya Jathavedan
Art curated by Ritika Mittal]
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