You have to give a presentation,” my lecturer said. “It’s an annual tradition.”Me? In front of a sizable alumni audience? A real speech? With a real podium and a mike? I felt a little queasy. It’s not that I have trouble speaking my mind. I’ve taught school students only once that too a nursery section and have been reading news at the school assembly. I’ve opened my mouth more than a few times with an alumni crowd, and I usually do pretty well. But a presentation like this is different. It’s formal. I’ll be standing and everyone else will be sitting, dissecting my every word and wondering just how the college could hire a doofus like me. I won’t even be able to temper my nerves with a glass of coke.”Just get up there and say a few words about the past twenty years,” my friend went on, “and talk a bit about next year.
It’s not a big deal.” Maybe for you, pal.And I certainly can speak intelligently about alumni relations and fund raising. I figured I would embrace the chance to show folks what I know, and to demonstrate leadership qualities. That is, after all, my job. Later that day I went about the business of writing my speech. I knew I had to be informative, inspirational, and insightful, all in the course of 10 minutes or so. I couldn’t appear indecisive or — heaven forbid … insipid. Trite as it is, we all know what they say about initial impressions. This would be mine, at least with the alumni who had never met me. So I wrote that message into my speech like a script writer in film industry does (i imagined myself to be Trivikram) , along with some nuggets about the importance of giving back and paving the way for future generations of students.
All things considered, it wasn’t bad. Perhaps a bit mushy in parts, but effective nonetheless. Or so I hoped. Before delivering it the next morning, I figured I would run it by my harshest critic. My hubby read it, changed a few words, and asked me to do a practice run right there in our living room. A few words into the speech, he stopped me cold. ‘You’re rushing,” he complained. “Slow down and talk. Don’t read. And you’re not making good eye contact.”Other than that, I was flawless.I took a deep breath and started again.This time I did better, but I still wasn’t entirely comfortable. I went to bed worrying about how badly I would screw up the next morning. Afew hours later I was pacing outside the seminar hall, fine-tuning my oration and gnawing the end off my ballpoint. I wondered ho wthese film stars do it in front of the camera reeling out dialogues in long pages, how did NTR manage it with emotion? I greeted alumni as they arrived and made small talk with a few alumni board members. They probably sensed I was agitated, or maybe they figured I’d had too much coffee. So I did. I stood up, absent any hint of fanfare, and delivered my speech. I spoke slowly and didn’t read to my audience. I made frequent eye contact all along. My talk was laced with self-deprecating potshots, some of which elicited giggles; other remarks constituted inside jokes to which only my friends responded. As I spoke, I became more comfortable, more confident, and I hit a stride. I even veered off script without dire consequences. Speaking in front of a crowd — especially a presumably friendly one — isn’t so difficult. As long as you convey confidence and don’t take yourself too seriously, it’s not so bad.I’m sure I’ll get better at it because I’ll have plenty of practice. It’s now an important part of my job — a part I no longer dread. It certainly beats death. And by the way thanx to all the film stars…they are my inspiration.