PS? Punishing session? Prayer Sermon? Police Superintendent? Personal Secretary? Party Shoe? Post Script? No. It is Practice School. This was what I learnt in my second semester of engineering. Practice school?? What the hell is that, I wondered.
It is a sort of internship wherethey make you slog your guts out is what one senior gruffly replied before turning back to her friends, who were busy declaring allotments. Allotments? Preference numbers? It all seemed too familiar. I had just been through all that gruelling iteration to gain admission to where I was. ‘Oh no! Not again..’,I groaned.
My second and third semester passed away at super speed. They always say, time flies when you are having fun. True. They were the best times I ever had. In fact, my fourth was also going pretty smoothly and infact was turning out to be the busiest with all fests ,till the pink notice was sprawled all over our notice boards. It was the PS. It had arrived.
What followed were fifteen days of chaos. Everyone was discussing accomodations, previous feedbacks, places, cgpa cut offs and everything related to the grim ps. Even meal times only involved everyone asking me repeatedly where I was filling in my allotment and comments like “ooh why not this place?” and ‘I heard it isnt that great’ or ‘Where is your accomodation?’ . We had to fill in our priorities online and with minimum consulting (since I wanted a station which was relatively not too much in demand), I filled them sitting alone in the computer center during waves and just fifteen minutes before my event. Everyone convinced me that I was sure to get the station.
Then waves(our cultural fest) and Quark(our tech fest) followed. They chewed up my time and made the days fly past. Unintentionally, I ended up in two major events which took away most of my time and energy away from books. I knew my forthcoming tests were going to be a fiasco. They were.
Then 6th April dawned. It was a normal sloppy day till at around 4pm whensomeone announced that the Ps allotments were out. My heart began to thump and I began to relive my post class 12 days when any results were scary and made me extremely nervous. More than me, everyone was confident that I’d be alloted my homewtown (which was my first preference). With trembling hands and a prayer on my lips, I opened the mail. I was sent to Chennai. A hospital, my 9th preference! I couldnt believe my eyes.I was shocked.
After nearly two years, I broke down. Tears just kept flowing. I kept asking myself ‘Why me?’. I wasnt supposed to be getting this. Comparisons and the glee of my friends only made me unhappier and I had no second thoughts in declaring myself the unluckiest person ever.
Little did I know what fate had in store for me.