An End To Colours

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My hands were shivering as I typed my roll number; my heart was pounding so hard that I could hear every beat of it. I entered the last digit of my roll number and hit enter, a disc started spinning in the center of screen, blackness covered my eyes, I stopped breathing and sweat started appearing on my forehead.

 

Finally, the blue screen appeared.

 

Student’s name: Siddharth Malviya

 

Fathers name: Shekhar Malviya

 

Roll number: 24478912

 

I skimmed to check the aggregate, it appeared as 280/500, pass.

 

A sudden relief ran through my body that was taut in stress one second ago. I was now relaxed and leaned deep into the chair. I felt a sudden ecstasy, like I was the happiest person on the earth right now.

 

I stood up from my chair and scooted towards the kitchen.

 

“Mom… Mom! I have passed HSC.”

 

She was cooking something and the aroma had filled the whole kitchen. I could easily guess that it was mattar paneer.

 

“Mom, I have passed HSC.”

 

She smiled and embraced me while holding the spatula in one hand.

 

“Well done my son.”

 

My happiness know no bounds.

 

“Your father will be happy. How much did you score?” She asked smiling.

 

As she mentioned the word ‘father’, my whole happiness shattered and I could only Imagine 280/500. I mentally calculated the percentage.

 

“66%.” I said and ran from kitchen back to my room where the computer screen was still on, showing my result.

 

This time, I read it carefully.

 

English 60, Accounts 54 Business 60 , Ecnomics 56, P.E. 50. Total 280/500.

 

I realized that it was a crap of a result. More than my future, the impeding reaction from my father was frightening me.

 

As the door bell rung, mom opened the door to find dad, looking tired but eager.

 

“What was the result?”

 

Mom tried to calm down his eagerness by asking him to first enter the room and relax. I was standing just beside the door of my room thinking about how will I tackle the anger of my father. Trying to frame everything mentally, his every possible question and my corresponding answer. While I was thinking, she tapped her hand on my shoulder, waking me up from my reverie.

 

“Bring a glass of water for your father,” she said, her voice was calm but serious.

 

I went in the kitchen to bring a glass of water when I heard my dad shouting.

 

“What 66? Only 66% in his HSC. What the hell was he doing the whole year?”

 

I froze up there, my hands were getting cold and body started trembling, the glass I was holding was about to fall but I somehow managed to control myself.

 

I mustered some courage up and decided to face the rage of my father. I entered the room, my body was still trembling of fear as I stood in front of him. I leaned to give him the glass of water with shaking hands. Dad was looking at me like he was about to burst in anger and yell at me.

 

He sighed in agony; despair and sadness can easily be seen on his face.

 

”Look son,” he spoke in a gentle but serious voice.

 

“I work 11 hours a day just to save enough for your MBA, I travel by bus everyday to save more, your mom does all household chores and in free time, she teaches students. Siddharth, we want to give you a safe and secure future but it looks like you don’t care about the efforts your parents are putting in. Do you know how much weightage they give to HSC in IIMs?”

 

I was listening silently with my head down, trying to avoid any eye contact. For a minute, everyone was so silent that even the water dropping from the tap into the kitchen sink could be clearly heard. I gathered some courage and looked up he was still glaring at me.

 

“But father…”

 

“But what?” he yelled, his face turned red with anger. Suddenly a wave of anger ran through my body and tears came trickling down my face.

 

“I want to be a painter, I love painting,” I yelled.

 

At this, my mother approached to calm me down but, I ran to my room, locked it from inside and sat on my bed, looking at the walls where my creations, my passion, my paintings were hanging. On the shelf, I saw all the prizes and certificates that I had won in painting competitions. It made me sadder and slowly, I fell asleep.

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I opened my eyes as I heard mom knocking the door.

 

“Siddharth, dinner is on the table. Come beta have dinner.”

 

I squinted at the clock, it was 09:10. Only 20 minutes had passed since I dozed off.

 

I unlocked the door and went to the dining table to sit beside my mom; she put mattar paneer and roti on my plate.

 

“Where is dad?”

 

“He is sleeping in the room.”

 

“He had dinner?”

 

“No, he was tired so he didn’t eat. Look beta, your father was angry because he was tired and not because of your marks.”

 

I know that she was just saying all this to console me.

 

“You can still work hard and score good in college. They count the score of graduation as well, right?”

 

Now that pinched a lot, but I nodded with a smile.

 

I finished my dinner and went into my room. I was feeling bad for my dad, he had worked every sweat of his to accumulate money for my MBA. I was embarrassed.

 

I promised myself to work hard from now and to make him proud.

 

I stood up, pulled an empty cardboard box from under the bed. I took down every trophy, certificate and painting from the shelf and the wall, put them inside the box and pushed it under the bed.

 

Sitting on my computer desk, I searched for “Top MBA colleges in India”.

 

Kapil Bhawnani | Edited by Nandini

 


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