A contestant by chance, a champion by choice

An article I wrote for my Toastmaster club's newsletter in March 2014. My journey from nervous wreck to content speaker. :)

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When I first joined Toastmasters, giving a speech itself seemed an insurmountable task. So when I gave my project 6 after almost a year of joining the club, I felt as if I’d completed a milestone. However, my sigh of relief was short lived. That very evening, the then Club President Yashoda Satya suggested I take part in the International Speech Contest at the club level which was the following week. I gave her a look that very clearly suggested I thought she was insane! “I take weeks to write a normal project speech, and you want me to come up with a contest speech in less than a week!? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Yet she persisted, and I tentatively agreed, though what would I write, I had no clue.

Just 5 days before the contest, I was still wondering what could I speak about. I had an idea, but writing a speech in a short duration was not my forte. After nearly 2 days of racking my brains, I came up with a speech I felt was contest-worthy. Now came the tough part. My mentor too was contesting, so it felt wrong on my part to call him to review it and trouble him. However, I definitely wanted to get the speech reviewed. The only person I could ask was the champion speaker himself. Having not spoken much to Deepak Justin (DJ) at that point, and being terribly in awe of, I was hesitant to contact him. Timidly, I dropped him a mail asking if he could review my speech. A few minutes later, my phone rings and DJ on the other line suggests we meet. I was surprised since I did not expect the champion to take that much interest in a mere fledgling like me. As we met the next day, DJ went over my speech and literally helped me overhaul it, bringing to light minor details that I had not even thought of! He suggested I touch the audience emotionally by enacting the character I was talking about instead of merely describing him. Sceptical as I was of such a drastic change, more so of the dramatics I would need to do, I decided the least I could do was give it a try. On Friday, I felt the need to rehearse my speech in front of him, yet did not want to burden him with my apprehensions. Torn between my desire to value his time and my need to rehearse my speech, I finally decided to give him a call. He immediately suggested we meet the following day to practice my speech. “Wow!” I thought, “Here is someone who makes time for others”. Awed by his presence, I found it difficult to rehearse, yet he calmed me and instilled in me the confidence that I would deliver a great speech.

The day of the club contest, I was fraught with nerves. Being pitted against champion speakers Prasanna Kumar and Mala Mary Martina does that to you! I just wanted to deliver the speech and be done with it – I was that petrified! I didn’t care about the contest, I was more concerned about not messing up my speech, I just wanted to deliver it the way I imagined it. I distinctly remember telling Prasanna and Mala, the only other contestants, that I wanted to go in first because if I saw them deliver their speeches, I’d be too nervous to deliver mine. As the contestant order was being drawn, I prayed hard that I got the number 1 (yes, I was that scared of giving the speech). And to my good fortune, 1 it was! The relaxation on my face had all of them grinning, as they too tried to calm me down.

As the contest master called out my name, and I walked up to the lectern, my hands were trembling, my feet were quivering, and my fingers were ice cold. I delivered my speech and returned to my seat, still trembling, but visibly relieved. I barely heard the audience clapping and a few people congratulating me on a supposedly wonderful speech. Across the table, Mala looked at me, and simply said “AWESOME!”. I could see many others giving me a thumbs-up sign. To me, it did not matter what the outcome was, I was just glad I delivered the speech and it was now behind me. So imagine my surprise when the results were announced and I got to know I had made it to the Area level!

My confidence boosted a teeny bit, and now I wanted to do well at the Area level. From just wanting to “get it over with”, my aspiration now became “Give it a proper shot at winning”. I had asked Sunil S. to record my speech and when he sent it to me, I was eager to watch my “award winning speech”. This was the first time I was watching a recorded version of any speech of mine, so I hoped it would be good. I opened the video, and by the end of 7 minutes, I was horrified. Except for the first minute of the speech where I was impersonating a mentally challenged child, I was as still as a statue, just narrating the rest of the speech! I knew I had a lot of work to be done if I even wanted to win the third place at the area contest. I sent the video of my speech to a few others and received feedback on areas of improvement. I worked on improving my delivery, the body language, making the speech more interesting. Now that I’d cleared one level, I wanted to clear the next level too.

The day of the Area contest too, I hoped to win, though I wasn’t cocksure about it. I was competing with experience speakers from other clubs, which made me wonder if I would make it to the next level. As I delivered my speech, I hoped that I would make it to the division level.

“And the winner of the International Speech contest, for Area L1 is…… Pearl Fernandes” – probably the best words I’d heard. They made my day – who am I kidding! They made my week! :D

2 weeks to the Division contest, and I had picked the brain of every Toastmaster in the club I could to receive feedback. I watched the video of the area contest, and observed the areas of improvement again. This time, I thought I’d take the help of a good friend, who was at that time a non-Toastmaster, so that I would get a neutral view. And so I called on Kynan D'souza, who helped me practice for the division contest.

I delivered the speech at the division contest, and though I did not win, I was elated that the speech was very well received. I delivered it the way I wanted to and had given it my best shot. That I did not win did not bother me as I knew the speech had touched people’s hearts. And I guess I was not ready to move to the District level yet :P

As I look back on that time, I’ve learnt that

1.      People are always willing to lend you a helping hand, you just need to ask.

2.       You’re never too new to Toastmasters to participate in anything. You need to atleast give it a try before you say you’re not good at it. Who knows, you might be a lot better at it than you think!

3.       The best critic of your speech is you. So preferably record your speech (and watch it as well later! :P).

4.       As a Toastmaster, we’re always encouraging. But if you want to contest, you have to learn to critique and work things out to the tiniest detail.

5.       It does not matter how senior or junior a person is, there is always an insight they can provide you.

6.       You needn’t incorporate every idea into one speech. You need to choose what goes in, and what stays out. Keeping it simple is quite a complex job!

7.       Practice, practice, practice! Famous film producer Samuel Goldwyn said “The harder I work, the luckier I get.” I find that to be true.

8.       Make sure you record your practice sessions – this was something I failed to do, and something I think would definitely help anyone planning to contest.

9.       Believe in yourself and your message –you can’t convince someone else to believe if you don’t.

A Telephone Call

One of the speeches I delivered was about capturing the essence of a monodrama and delivering it effectively (Interpretive Reading Project 3). The below work is that of the American poet, short story writer, critic and satirist Dorothy Parker. Thanks to Chandramouli G. who referred this piece to me! :)

This short 'story' captures the angst of a young woman, waiting anxiously for her beloved to call her. It is the voice of her inner turmoil, and her desperate pleas to God to 'let him telephone me!'

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Please God, let him telephone me now. Dear God, let him call me now. I won't ask anything else of You, truly I won't. It isn't very much to ask. It would be so little to You, God, such a little, little thing. Only let him telephone now. Please, God. Please, please, please.

If I didn't think about it, maybe the telephone might ring. Sometimes it does that. If I could think of something else. If I could think of something else. Maybe if I counted five hundred by fives, it might ring by that time. I'll count slowly. I won't cheat. And if it rings when I get to three hundred, I won't stop; I won't answer it until I get to five hundred. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty.... Oh, please ring. Please.

This is the last time I'll look at the clock. I will not look at it again. It's ten minutes past seven. He said he would telephone at five o'clock. "I'll call you at five, darling." I think that's where he said "darling." I'm almost sure he said it there. I know he called me "darling" twice, and the other time was when he said good-bye. "Good-bye, darling." He was busy, and he can't say much in the office, but he called me "darling" twice. He couldn't have minded my calling him up. I know you shouldn't keep telephoning them, I know they don't like that. When you do that they know you are thinking about them and wanting them, and that makes them hate you. But I hadn't talked to him in three days - not in three days! And all I did was ask him how he was; it was just the way anybody might have called him up. He couldn't have minded that. He couldn't have thought I was bothering him. "No, of course you're not," he said. And he said he'd telephone me. He didn't have to say that. I didn't ask him to, truly I didn't. I'm sure I didn't. I don't think he would say he'd telephone me, and then just never do it. Please don't let him do that, God. Please don't.

"I'll call you at five, darling." "Good-bye, darling.,' He was busy, and he was in a hurry, and there were people around him, but he called me "darling" twice. That's mine, that's mine. I have that, even if I never see him again. Oh, but that's so little! That isn't enough. Nothing's enough, if I never see him again. Please let me see him again, God. Please, I want him so much. I want him so much. I'll be good, God. I will try to be better, I will, If you will let me see him again. If You will let him telephone me. Oh, let him telephone me now.

I must stop this. I mustn't be this way. Why can't that telephone ring? Why can't it, why can't it? Couldn't you ring? Ah, please, couldn't you? You damned, ugly, shiny thing! It would hurt you to ring, wouldn't it? Oh, that would hurt you. Damn you, I'll pull your filthy roots out of the wall, I'll smash your smug red face in little bits. Damn you to hell.

No, no, no. I must stop. I must think about something else. This is what I'll do. I'll put the clock in the other room. Then I can't look at it. If I do have to look at it, then I'll have to walk into the bedroom, and that will be something to do. Maybe, before I look at it again, he will call me. I'll be so sweet to him, if he calls me. If he says he can't see me tonight, I'll say, "Why, that's all right, dear. Why, of course it's all right." I'll be the way I was when I first met him. Then maybe he'll like me again. I was always sweet, at first. Oh, it's so easy to be sweet to people before you love them.

Maybe I could telephone him. Oh no! I mustn't. I mustn't, I mustn't. Oh, God, please don't let me telephone him. Please keep me from doing that. I know, God, just as well as You do, that if he were worried about me, he'd telephone no matter where he was or how many people there were around him. Please make me know that, God. Maybe he isn't going to call--maybe he's coming straight up here without telephoning.

If he doesn't telephone me, I'll know God is angry with me. I'll count five hundred by fives, and if he hasn't called me then, I will know God isn't going to help me, ever again. That will be the sign. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty, forty-five, fifty, fifty-five. . . It was bad. I knew it was bad. All right, God, send me to hell. You think You're frightening me with Your hell, don't You? You think. Your hell is worse than mine.

I won't telephone him. I'll never telephone him again as long as I live. He'll rot in hell, before I'll call him up. You don't have to give me strength, God; I have it myself. If he wanted me, he could get me. He knows where I am. He knows I'm waiting here. He's so sure of me, so sure. I wonder why they hate you, as soon as they are sure of you. I should think it would be so sweet to be sure.

It would be so easy to telephone him. Then I'd know. Maybe it wouldn't be a foolish thing to do. Maybe he wouldn't mind. Maybe he'd like it. Maybe he has been trying to get me. Sometimes people try and try to get you on the telephone, and they say the number doesn't answer. I'm not just saying that to help myself; that really happens. You know that really happens, God.

Maybe he said for me to call him up, at five. "Call me at five, darling." He could have said that, perfectly well. It's so possible that I didn't hear him right. "Call me at five, darling." I'm almost sure that's what he said. God, don't let me talk this way to myself. Make me know, please make me know.

I'll think about something else. I'll just sit quietly. If I could sit still. If I could sit still. Maybe I could read. Oh, all the books are about people who love each other, truly and sweetly. What do they want to write about that for? Don't they know it isn't tree? Don't they know it's a lie, it's a God damned lie? What do they have to tell about that for, when they know how it hurts? Damn them, damn them, damn them.

God, aren't You really going to let him call me? Are You sure, God? Couldn't You please relent? Couldn't You? I don't even ask You to let him telephone me this minute, God; only let him do it in a little while. I'll count five hundred by fives. I'll do it so slowly and so fairly. If he hasn't telephoned then, I'll call him. I will. Oh, please, dear God, dear kind God, my blessed Father in Heaven, let him call before then. Please, God. Please.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twentyfive, thirty, thirty-five. 

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I have trimmed this piece to suit my needs. You can read the unabriged version here.

The Greatest Gift

I found this story on a different site, and used it. It was really heart warming and so I decided to post it for all to read.

This is a real story, and happened in December 1997 in Wisconsin, USA. 

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Santa Mark Lenonard sat at his Santa seat at The Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin that bright December morning. “Ah! Today’s going to be another great day” he thought, “Giving gifts and toys and playing with little children. I hope I don’t get any pesky kids though.” Just as he was lost in thought, he felt a tug on his pant. A little boy and his grandmother had come to see Santa. The child climbed up on Santa’s lap, holding a picture of a little girl.

“Who is this?” – asked Santa, smiling. “Your friend? Your sister?”

“Yes, Santa.” – he replied. “My sister, Sarah, who is very sick.” – he said sadly.

Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

“She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!” – the child exclaimed. “She misses you.” – he added softly.

Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy’s face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas. When they finished their visit, the grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.

“What is it?” – Santa asked warmly.

“Well, I know it’s really too much to ask you, Santa, but ..” – the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa’s elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors.

“The girl in the photograph… my granddaughter well, you see … she has leukemia and isn’t expected to make it even through the holidays.” – she said through tear-filled eyes. “Is there anyway, Santa, any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That’s all she’s asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa.”

Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do. Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do. 

“What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying?” – he thought with a sinking heart, “This is the least I can do.”

When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked Rick, the assistant location manager how to get to Children’s Hospital.

“Why?” – Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face. Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah’s grandmother earlier that day. “C'mon….I’ll take you there.” – Rick said softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa. They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said he would wait out in the hall. 

Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah on the bed. The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the grandmother and the girl’s brother he had met earlier that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah’s mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah’s thin hair off her forehead. Another woman who he discovered later was Sarah’s aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with a weary, sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.

Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho!”

“Santa!” – shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed to run to him. Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug. A child the tender age of his own son — 9 years old — gazed up at him with wonder and excitement. Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears. Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah’s face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room. As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa’s shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering “Thank you” as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes. 

Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she’d been a very good girl that year. As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl’s mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah’s bed, holding hands. Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels, “Oh, yes, Santa… I do!” – she exclaimed. “Well, I’m going to ask that angels watch over you.” – he said. Laying one hand on the child’s head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing, softly, “Silent Night, Holy Night…. all is calm, all is bright…” The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all. 

When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah’s frail, small hands in his own. “Now, Sarah,” – he said authoritatively, “you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time next year!” He knew it was risky proclaiming that to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he ‘had’ to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could — not dolls or games or toys — but the gift of HOPE. “Yes, Santa!” – Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room.

Out in the hall, the minute Santa’s eyes met Rick’s, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed. Sarah’s mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa’s side to thank him. “My only child is the same age as Sarah.” – he explained quietly. “This is the least I could do.” They nodded with understanding and hugged him.

One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap.

“Hi, Santa! Remember me?!”

“Of course, I do.” – Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a ‘good’ Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the ‘only’ child in the world at that moment.

“You came to see me in the hospital last year!”

Santa’s jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. “Sarah!” – he exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy — much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before. He looked over and saw Sarah’s mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.

That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus.

He had witnessed –and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about — this miracle of hope. This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, “Thank you, Father. ‘Tis a very, Merry Christmas!”