(20 May ‘07)
I’ve been invited to ‘give a talk’. Have always wondered why
sportspersons, musicians, etc. are invited to give lectures. You can’t build
muscles by watching someone exercise. Worse, hear someone talk about how
exercise should be done, how cricket should be played, how goals should be
scored. People should be more interested in how players perform. Surely there
are professional ‘talkers’ who could do a better job. I couldn’t think of a
single ‘professional’ talker whom I could hire for the evening. Like an MC.
I’ve accepted because there always should be a first time for everything
in one’s life. So I’ve agreed to give this ‘talk’. Now here are a group of
people who are going to allow me to speak without saying ‘shut up’, like my
cousins do. Most of my life people have told me I talk too much. Now someone
comes up and invites me to ‘say a few words’. Why few words? I’ve got the
opportunity and I intend to talk-talk-talk….you asked for it, I’m going to tell
them. But no, I’m not so lucky, I’ve also been told that twenty minutes, no
more. The rest of the time is for them to ask questions.
Why’ve I been invited?
Because, (ahem!!) my second book’s out and hence I’ve been catapulted into the
world of letters. It’s fun. The Rotary Club of a mid-city ‘district’ has found
it good enough to feed me dinner after politely clapping at my yak-yak-yak.
Only thing, now that
the date is staring me in the face, I figured I ought to do some homework.
Years in Administration have spoilt me. I must be prepared. So I wrote out a
speech. Didn’t like it, so wrote it again. Then one more time, and yet another
one until I got truly fed up of typing. I’m supposed to be a writer, not a
talker, so how do I talk this speech, I wonder. I read it out, several times,
sounded worse every time. And my throat began to hurt. A sudden respect for
politicians arose in my heart. How on earth do they yoller and hell….sorry,
that was holler and yell…at meeting after meeting?
Husband, who’s more
experienced at these things, told me, write down the points and expand them.
Sounded simple. I wrote out the points. Stared and stared at the screen and the
printout. But no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t expand. Not on paper,
nor in my mind, certainly not on my tongue.
The fact that I will be
alone and so many people will be staring at me is reason enough for the voice
to squeak. Like when the Principal used to call us to the office in
school/college. I’ve surfed the Net for ‘tips on Public Speaking’. “Make sure
you don’t put your hands in your pockets”. Eh? I wear saris. “Take a deep
breath.” That’s it? That works? Then why is Public Speaking considered so
difficult. Just inhale and let the magic work. The whole thing is turning
nightmarish. At work, I see sniggering expressions on my colleagues’ faces. At
home, I imagine the husband is prying into my mind. As the date comes closer,
life’s becoming miserable. What if I just don’t go? That’d be rude. What if I
feign illness? That’d be dishonest. What oh what’m I to do is the feeling I
often get through the night…..like before a test.
One lesson learnt…..no
matter how old one is, if one has the desire to perform well, there’s always an
anxiety that pushes one to do so. I guess I’m still stuck at age fourteen
somewhere inside. I’m behaving like I’ve an exam to take. It’s a feeling that’s
nice, a bit scary, but hoping to ‘pass’. Once done, I’ll get back to normalcy,
to writing, that solitary occupation that I’ve made my own.
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