image of how to remove a bad teacher

Sometimes I think every failure we encounter is nature’s way of warning us, its way of adjusting us, putting us on the scanner once again till we find a better path. Maybe where we were headed in the first place wasn’t supposed to be our destiny, and that universe furled itself knocking us out of our elusive surefire resolve, asking us to do something else altogether. In a way correcting our moves with its very own ‘Reset’ button.

When you begin to do something that is in line with nature’s big plan for you, you will find yourself succeeding at every juncture. The Universe drops you hints right from the beginning saying:

“You were good at this. Why don’t you keep doing it? You will succeed all the way. You will keep getting results.”

To exemplify it better I could array it with my very own chords – Writing was my first affair. And the reason I consider it my ultimate salvation is owing to all those clues I received growing up. It was inbred in the form of emotions, and it gradually straddled out with my instant love for literature. I swooned over it and lost my heart somewhere between its words.

My first official letter I wrote had my heart out on an application leaf. I was quite young, yet brainy in a way. Its subject read: “Complaint to Remove a Bad Teacher.” It gushed with emotions, pointing out everything that was terribly wrong with the teacher who did everything but teach. It traversed meaning of life, our existence and what not. It digressed a little with lines like: “Children are supposed to be the future.” etc. Pah!

The counselor who had picked it, was giggling stupefied, wondering how could a small child be writing big words for his age. I laughed along with her, believing I was stupid too. But to my surprise it was acted upon, taken seriously. And so began an unending regime of getting things done via letters. Every time I wrote one, the response was always good. Either an action would be taken or my wants would be positively satiated.

My convincing letter was the first inkling I got that had me believe, nature wanted me to write more, that it was nothing but a mere pen and a paper that would get the job done for me. I distinctly remember thinking out loud reassuringly saying, “I write convincing letters!” I would often boast about it – “If you want something done let it pass through the mouth of my letter.” Surprisingly the results were always positive and in the favour of my words.

Those letters took a more tangible form when I began enjoying what I had written at a later stage by rereading them in future. That it was a product of my head made me extremely euphoric and satisfied. I would turn the pages around to read an old written account and would marvel at myself wondering,

“How did I manage that?”

With that it became more than a wont, now my life; my only resounding satisfaction when I pen one good.

Somewhere deep down I think those letters were responsible for hammering that nail in me unknowingly, and for that I am really grateful. It has made me the writer I was born to be. I surmise, it has paved the path that Universe had for me all along.

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