I didn't want my report card. I knew I hadn't done well, I knew I had failed in some of the subjects. I knew I was going to receive a scolding from my class teacher. I felt like crying. What will I tell my mother? Am I going to fail?
Then finally Ms.Sharma, our class teacher, entered the classroom. My heart was thudding in my ears. My hands became freezing cold and my face, pale. My ears were ringing. It felt as if my stomach had turned and I felt like puking. Then she started distributing the report cards, one by one, in descending order. I waited for my name to be called. Our class had a total of forty students. She reached the thirty fifth position. I could not possibly do this bad! I thought. Then finally, she called out my name. I came thirty eighth. I felt so bad. With trembling hands I took my report card. I peeped inside. There were red marks every where. I couldn't believe it. I put my head down on the table and silently cried. My friends were happy. They had done well. Then suddenly I wished I had worked hard. I wished I hadn't wasted my time. I wished I had payed attention in class. Then at least I would have passed in all the subjects.
I went back home with heavy feet. I reached my house door and opened it and inside my mother stood waiting, smiling. I felt as if guilt had stabbed me. I felt like running away from the house.
" How have you done Faiza? " she asked, still smiling
Suddenly, I started crying, warm tears running down my face.
" I haven't done well, mom. I have failed in most of the subjects. I am not going to be promoted to the next class." I said.
" Show me your report card" she said, now with a sad expression.
I handed it to her, still crying.
None of us spoke for sometime. She looked at the report card while I cried. Then finally she broke the silence.
"Crying is not going to help Faiza. You still have two terms left. If you work hard you can be promoted to class nine. You can try.......... Please try."
I looked at her, my mother. She did everything she could, for me. Everyday she woke me up with a smile on her face and a glass of warm milk in her hand. If I ever got hurt, be it a minor bruise or a major injury, she started crying. I comfort her but still she did not let me move about until it was fully healed. Everyday she made my favourite dish for dinner. If I ever talked sharply she did get hurt but still she love me, care for me, cry for me. Can't I do this little thing for her? I asked myself.
"I will, mom, I will. I will try." I told her.
From that day onwards I started working hard. I did not waste my time in silly things like listening to songs. I read the newspaper daily and wrote down the important things. I was attentive in class and answered the questions in class asked to me. I did well in the tests. But the final challenge was still left......... Exams.
I worked harder than ever. I slept late at night and woke up early, I often skipped meals. My mother was pleased with my hard work.
Then finally the day came when the report cards had to be shown. My heart was thudding and my stomach was grumbling, just as it did the last time. The only difference was that I was eager to see my report card. The teacher entered the classroom and started distributing the report cards and to my surprise I achieved the sixth position. My teacher congratulated me and everyone clapped for me. My eyes filled with tears of joy.
'This was for you mom.' I thought.