Today I delivered my 6th speech in the Competent Communicator manual. The speech was titled - "Inquilab Zindabad or Long Live the Revolution". Since I was also participating in our club's humorous contest, I decided to tell a funny personal story. The contest was an eye opener and I learned a lot about voice inflections and body language. I will definitely recommend it to anyone who wants to polish their speaking skills. Here is the speech transcript.
When I was 8 years old, I did something that few 8 years do - I decided to assassinate my grandmother! I was not alone in this endeavor. I was ably assisted by my trusted comrade Reshma, all of 10 years old. This was not a plan that was made in haste, on a whim or fancy. No Sir! This was the result of years of tyranny and oppression.
For you see, every year during the summer holidays, our parents would drop us at our grandparents for some quality time. And quality time it was indeed! Out went the TV and games and in came the daily toil. We had to feed the cows, cut the grass, clean the stables and go to bed by 9. To add insult to the injury, we were supposed to pray daily and thank God for all the good things we had - Yeah right!My cousin in America would taunt me with how she visited Disney World and the Magic Kingdom during her vacation. And here I was stuck in Tragic Kingdom, working as a slave for an evil, tyrannical Queen. The worst part was that her right hand man or rather woman was none other than my mother.Was there any hope for us? Reshma being 2 years older than me, was the strategic thinker. She had read about Gandhi in her school textbooks and how he had fought against another oppressive regime and won. The ideas were simple - noncooperation and fasts unto death. I was skeptical. Unlike the British Empire, my grandmother was made of sterner stuff. But Reshma was all gung-ho and I decided to tag along.As the next day dawned, we put our plan into action. We were on strike - no more feeding the animals and no more food for us until our demands were met. My aunts pleaded and begged with us. We refused to budge. Even my grandmother looked concerned. Victory was finally at hand. And then came the reign of terror. Two swift whacks on the rear and all the spirit of revolution disappeared into thin air. Clearly Gandhi had met his match.That is when we decided to become radicals - out went Gandhi and in came Che Guevera - the patron saint of Communist revolutionaries. There was only one way to throw away the yokes of oppression - assassinate the feudal elites! We had our first clandestine meeting behind the bathroom away from the prying eyes of the adults. Assassination sounded great. But wait, there was a problem - we didn't really have much experience in killing old ladies. Don't look at me - I am only 8 years old! Maybe we could use poison? But we didn't even know how it looked like. How about bombs? - No.. too loud. My grandfather had taught me to fire an airgun. But can it really kill someone? Not really sure. Like all good Communist revolutionaries, we decided to defer our decision to the next meeting.
As soon as we came out of our secret hiding place, I was greeted by a crowd of angry aunts. Someone had leaked our plans. Seems that all the while we were discussing our plans, my mother was in the bathroom eavesdropping. Damn! We were soon paraded before the jury, our accusations read and judgements passed. Read the Bible twice a day and ask God for forgiveness. And no airguns for Bobby.I must have looked really miserable because as a consolation, my grandfather gifted me a chemistry set. You know test tubes, beakers and other harmless stuff. Or was it? - take some fertilizer, add in a pinch of sugar from the pantry and pretty soon I have a revolution in my hands. So guys join us tomorrow - we are going to have a blast!