The exam had just ended. I was standing near a tea stall, phone in hand, still trying to make sense of how the last three hours had gone. My heart was heavy, but I was trying to stay calm — trying not to let the uncertainty get to me.
Then my phone rang. It was her — my mother.
She didn’t ask how I was doing. She asked, “how was the exam?”
I said, “it was good. But I’m not sure about the seat.”
She didn’t pause. “are you getting a medical seat or not? Just say yes or no.”
I felt a knot form in my chest. “Maybe no.”
That’s when it started. “What were you doing the whole year then?”
I told her the truth — or at least the part I could say without breaking down. “Mummy, I gave my best. But Physics was tough… and needed better time management. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t respond to the apology. Instead, she said, “Do you know we’ve invested more than two lakh on your studies? I don’t want to hear excuses.” I tried to hold it together. I really did. But the tears came anyway.
“Please don’t talk to me like this,” I said, my voice cracking. But she didn’t stop. “Satyam, you’ve wasted our money.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to remind her of everything I gave up. But I couldn’t find the words in that moment. I was just a kid standing outside an exam center, crying quietly on the phone and trying to breathe.
I said, “You told me to give my paper with a cool mind… and now you’re talking like this.” She replied without hesitation. “Yes, because I’ve invested our money in your studies.”
That was it. I said “Bye,” and hung up.
But if I could speak freely… if I could tell her everything I’ve held inside for the past two years, here’s what I’d say:
When everyone else was attending family weddings, we stayed behind for coaching classes.
When our friends watched cricket matches and went on weekend trips, we sat with our Physics modules, trying to stay one chapter ahead.
Our “breaks” were Sunday mess food. That was our outing. That was our joy.
We studied six hours in class, then another five to seven hours at home. Every day. For two years. And yet, three hours decided whether all of that counted — whether we counted.
And when we walk out of the exam hall, unsure, scared, already judging ourselves… the last thing we need is blame.
We don’t need to be told we’re failures. We already feel like one.
Dear parents — when those results come out, please don’t forget the struggle behind them. Don’t compare us to the topper. Don’t measure our worth by a rank.
We’re not asking for celebration. We’re just asking for compassion.
Support us. Trust us. Remind us that our efforts mattered. That we still matter.
We may not be your “topper.” But we’re still your children. And we’re still trying.
— Featuring: Satyam Dharia
Leave a Reply