Exams - The real story

There is something about exams that renders you less human. Especially the exams that we used to write during that period of learning by rote, which went by the name of high school education. It was something everyone of us dreaded, it just made the preceding days less cheerful.

For me the impending exams meant taking on the stress of the examination but not studying for it. The plans began 15 days in advance.

“Ok. 15 days to go, 3 days per subject. Maths will include Trigonometry this time. To mug up those problems would require an extra day. Slash 1 day off Social Science; you always have the day before the exam. SO 4 days for Maths and 2 days for Social Science. Wait a minute!!! Isn’t Physics supposed to have ‘Refraction’ this time. The way Mrs D has taught us this time one may require 5 light years just to understand why the darned beam of light bends when it wanders into water (Light years is a unit of distance, you remember guiltily). Ok 4 days of Physics and let Sanskrit suffer. Whenever in doubt in Sanskrit, put in a few extra ‘Aham’s and ‘gachhami’s”.

“Hmmm. 12 days to go. Havent touched a thing. How can you touch anything when that Social Science text book is a lullaby in between brown covers. And anyways I had overestimated. Why do you require 3 days for 1 subject. That way by the final exam I will require 9 days for each subject. ‘Paranoia’, that’s the word. Ok, 2 days deleted from Maths and 1 from Science. Will give 1 back to Sanskrit.S nowadays releases marks as if he is releasing prisoners. And let English cop it.”

And thus the days pass on. Every passing day reduces by net one day required to prepare from one of the subjects. And no substantial progress happens studies wise, needless to say. The moment I read something through for 5 minutes, a 25 minute TV break is taken to compensate for the effort. And yeah it would be time for lunch after which I decide to study for 3 hours, hmmm, make it 3.5, have been rather lazy nowadays. One needs that kick up the backside once in a while.
I have my lunch and immediately duly sleep. Doctors say that a good sleep after meals refreshes the mind. We should take care of our health. Exams are temporary, health is permanent.
Wake up 2 hours later and decide that now since the mind is refreshed let me study for 4 hours. 15 minutes of turning pages and I hear my friends calling for cricket. I look at the book and look at those glistening bats in their hands, and there ever was only one winner. 2 hours of cricket more, I come back exhausted, guilty and angry. Enough, I say, if there is a time called 12 in the night there would be a guy called ‘Yours truly’ who would be burning the midnight lamp. With that terrible oath, I take a bath and start turning the pages again. In between I steal a glance JUST to confirm if it is time for dinner. As the time approaches 8 pm the glances become more frequent till the point you decide that enough of studies, will watch TV for 5 minutes, have dinner and put my heart and soul into it. I watch TV for 30 minutes, mother interrupts me for dinner and I reluctantly go in to have it. Reluctance, because that takes away my last excuse. I have dinner, decide that I will watch TV for only 5 more minutes and then start studying. I watch TV for an hour more and get back to the study table where my Maths text book is awaiting me with open arms, smirking and at times I suspect laughing at my misery.
I do 2 problems and the weariness because of cricket starts creeping up my legs. I resist but it has already advanced uptil my belly. I am horrified. I look at those 5 text books lying in front of me, I look at my watch, I look at the calendar, I look at everything that needs to be looked at, to no avail. By this time I am neck deep and I run towards the wash basin to wash the monster off. I am too late. It has gripped me by my hair and tossed me onto the bed. I promise to myself that I will wake up in 5 minutes and anyways we have 5 more days. The last statement turns out to be the clincher.

I wake up at 8.30 am next morning.

“Ok, 5 more days to go. 1 day each for every exam and we have a day off for every exam as well. So still 2 days per exam. Why do I need to be tense with so much time? Finish off the big ones first in the next 3 days (‘finish off’, optimism is a strange animal). So Maths, Science and Social Science cleaned up first thing. Then 1 day for Sanskrit and the last day for English which would be the first exam anyways”

I play, sleep and eat next 4 days. Last day I decide to finish at least 1 chapter of Maths That takes up almost 3 quarters of the day which leaves me with a time of 4 pm and the English exam to study for.
Our school believed in the ‘halaal’ format of sacrificing. So we always had the easier exams first. First 2 exams, English and Sanskrit which I duly breeze through. Then come the Big 3. With zero preparation beforehand I start off the day at 7 am and struggle through a jigsaw of problems and formula and paragraphs to mug up. I finish 60% on an average and speed read through the next 40%. Which effectively means I would somehow get an even 70/100 if everything goes well.

I take the school bus for the next day and find everyone looking furiously into their textbooks as if about to excavate some hidden treasures.

Me: Kucch padha kya?
Y : Arre, Kahaan yaar! I had to attend one marriage yesterday. Hardly went through half of the portion.

I am delighted. At least I will have company at the bottom of the heap.

Me: Tune?
X : Mat pooch yaar! Had fever till evening. God knows what I will do today.

Too good.

And the pattern is repeated throughout with everyone moaning and groaning about their lack of preparation and immediately delving back deep into there books. I too take out my book smug in the knowledge that I am better off than most at least.
Book in hand I attend the assembly, and we all troop into the classrooms where we are supposed to write the exams roll number wise. One of the advantages of your name being Arun Prakash is that you can watch the reaction of the Pratyush Aakash’s and Tanvir Abid’s of the world on getting the question paper. You see, the roll numbers were in the ascending order of surnames. So the initial roll numbers always got the question paper first.
There faces betray nothing by the way and I will have to bear it like a man when I get it. I get the question paper, my jaws drop and I get that empty feeling in the stomach. Madame D has wrought her wrath and it’s a stone cold stunner. Next 3 hours pass in listless writing and biting and staring. And you see people all around taking supplementary sheets by the dozen including Y and X. Traitors! What is there to write so much in this anyway. After about 2 hours of struggle I give up and get ready for the afternoon assembly. Others join me an hour later.

Me: Kaisa gaya
Y : Bakwaas tha yaar. Couldn’t understand a thing
X : Same here. Mrs D should be hung from the basket ball ring tied around her knees. Pakka fail ho jaaoonga

I brighten up. At least I wont fail. I brushed aside the issue of so many supplementary papers. Must have left lines in between, I think. Anyways both of them have massive handwritings.

All the exams follow a similar pattern. Y has all his relatives getting married off. X is a chronic patient. And in the bus I am the topper.

However deep down I know I haven’t done too well and I am not looking forward to the results. That does not stop the results from being announced though. The teacher taking up the subject would come with the corrected answer papers to be showed to the students. With the stern warning that no updation of the marks would be encouraged. Only calculation mistakes would be taken into consideration. Everyone goes through there own marks and compares it with his closest competitor. I get 56/100 in Maths. Y and X get 80 odd. I am devastated.
The teacher asks for the answer sheets to be returned. And every person returning the answer sheet bargaining for some increase in marks if possible

‘Ma’am, at least 2 marks for steps’
‘Ma’am, I only missed the intermediate step and you have cut 2.5 marks for it’
‘I have written ‘Hence,proved’. Shouldn’t I get .5 for that’

And so on and so forth.

I don’t have anything much to say. I hope against hope that there is a calculation mistake. There are none. She is not a Maths teacher for nothing.

I quietly return the paper. I postpone telling my marks at home. Mother gets suspicious when I suddenly get very polite, come to temple for Pooja and do all household work without questioning. I even miss my cricket to go to New Market to buy vegetables.
I finally tell the marks 5 days later and get an earful for it. By maintaining an adequate expression of gloom I get them to sign my report card and submit it to my class teacher.

You mug, you get through. You dont, you rot. And thus India prepares an entire generation to face the world.