This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 51; the fifty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Red Ink Publishers and “Curse Of The Red Soil” by Durgesh Shastri. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
The white dress was ready, so were my shoes. Amma did ask me to iron the gorgeous net frock before wearing it, but I am too scared. I have a history of burning fragile clothes and I am not willing to take any risk when it came to that angelic white dress. My eyes feasted on them first thing every morning, it was also the last thing I saw every night. I would have dreams of me in that beautiful dress, but they never had happy endings. Either I broke my heel as I walked in or I tripped over the hem of my own dress; the dreams would always end with the audience breaking out into loud guffaws humiliating me and reducing me to tears.
Though I am happy to be walking into the auditorium wearing that dress, the one my mother painstakingly made spending many a sleepless nights, I am also scared because I am consciously giving a chance to all the bad dreams to come true. But it is too late to turn my back now, I know I have to do this and there is no other way about it.
The hall was set, all the invitees were in their designated places. I peeped out from behind the curtains to ensure that I know what is going on out there. The sight was something I had not imagined in the wildest of my dreams. Not only were all the empty chairs in the audi now occupied, but there also seemed like there were many more people who were waiting for more chairs to be brought in. This was not the kind of crowd I had imagined.
For no reasons, my palms were all sweaty. There was something light and fluttering in my stomach. I have never had stage fright, so I am guessing this is something else and not the stage fright that many of my classmates always spoke of. For some reasons, I call my mother. I tell her I have forgotten all my lines and that I don’t want to carry on with this drama. She quickly tells me that it is okay to have a little bit of stage fright before any big event, what she does not understand is, I am not someone who is afraid to go on the stage. In fact, I love being on the stage, when the spotlight is on me. But there definitely was something wrong with me today and I could not figure out what it was.
I ran backstage and told my teacher that something I ate for lunch upset my stomach and that I could not be on the stage today. It seems like my fate is against me, for she quickly arranged for someone to get me a nice tall glass of lime water and told me that I would be okay for as long as the play lasted. She looked intently into my eyes and reminded me that there was nobody else who could play my role and that I had to do it no matter what.
So the play began. One after the other the characters were on the stage, doing their roles exceptionally well. I was next. My teacher gave a little nudge from behind hissing ‘go’. Like I had foreseen it a hundred times in my nightmares, I tripped over something. The carpet. Some idiot hadn’t unrolled it properly and there was a little fold there on which I had tripped. A few giggles arose from the kids sitting in the hall. I got up, held on to what little self esteem I had and walked forward, mouthing the words which I now knew like the back of my hands. The ground shook and I fell again. Nope, not an earthquake, but my heels. They had come off. It was like I had got up on the wrong side of the bed that day.
‘Why today of all days O Lord?!!’ I sent up a silent prayer.
Someone jabbed into my ribcage and hissed at me, “Go Preeta, that’s your cue”
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