One of the most quoted lines about examinations was originally stated by Mr Tom Vianna, a rockstar teacher who was responsible for the success of thousands of young men back in the day. Mr V is famously quoted as saying, “Treat the ICSE as a pleasant interlude in your learning journey!” I’m not sure I got the words right, but the sentiment was clear: don’t bother yourself too much about the exams. And, true to this sentiment, his students literally breezed through the exams, having been there, done that a dozen times in class. There were batches of Xaverians who actually organised end-of-exam parties during the exams. They passed chits around with lists of goodies to bring to the party, much to the dismay of the invigilator who felt he had landed a whole class using unfair means!
MUMs, DADs and SADs
Switch to the present day. Families undergo a curious transformation during exam season, giving rise to three species: Matter Unearthing Mommies (MUMs) and Data Addicted Daddies (DADs) whose sole effort is focused on their momentarily transformed child — a Syllabus Acquisition Device (SAD). You might catch MUMs engaged in extensive note-swapping sessions so that their kids can get a 360-degree work schedule of sorts. Meanwhile, DADs can be found on a quest to download model question papers, preferably with answers, turning the SAD into a subject expert-in-the-making. The Tutor adds yet another dimension to the ever-expanding problem of Exam Stress. The School is another pleasant interlude in this frenzy.
Exam season sees the rise of new species in the family: Matter Unearthing Mommies (MUMs), Data Addicted Daddies (DADs) and their momentarily transformed child — a Syllabus Acquisition Device (SAD) Soumyajit Dey
Come January and there’s a kind of hush all over the academic land. MUMs and DADs become dedicated helicopters to ensure that their kids are transported from their books to the dinner table and back. In the realm of exams, performance on paper is all that matters. This means temporarily putting non-sedentary activities, like sports, on pause. The outcome? Picture this: Barber-allergic, unshorn, shaggy beings with buttons popping and waistlines stretching — behold, temporarily transformed academic monsters, poised to conquer the exams!
Board or Overboard?
As we navigate the phases of the academic journey, those bound for the “Boards” find themselves in Phase 3. In Phase 1, a gentle (or not-so-gentle) reminder echoes — “This is the Board Year.” All parties, games, social media and movie nights stand cancelled. Phase 2 kicks it into high gear, where the mission is to ‘finish the syllabus’ — at school, home and perhaps even at the local tutorial. Phase 3 is the preparation for the pre-Boards — a form of torture devised by schools to ensure that no one can enjoy Christmas, New Year or the nippy winter picnic.
Glued to their chairs and desks, and surrounded by time charts on pinboards, the SAD is reminded there is still a Syllabus to be Acquired. Some schools like to refer to these pre-Boards in a flippant, less threatening term. They call them “Rehearsals” — reminiscent of the enjoyable first day, first show of a delightful dramatic production that will have people on the edge of their seats — a thriller by all accounts. The only thing they neglected to tell you is that the lines you rehearse may not be the lines you are expected to declaim in the Finals (another name for Boards). Curtain calls for some, curtains for others.
Phase 3 of the exam journey is the pre-Boards — a form of torture devised by schools to ensure that no one can enjoy winter holidays or activities! Amit Datta
“Where do I begin …?”
In another Love Story, this would have been the title song, but for our little SADs, this story begins long before childhood. Toddlers spend equal time in thinly disguised factories masquerading as “play schools” and in potty training at home. For both these activities there are no “exams”, only feedback. “Your child managed to place all the blocks correctly” is balanced by “Clean diaper! Good boy!” And the target objective is still the same. Said child has to get into a good school without diapers and by the ripe old age of two. Then starts the cycle of passing exams, exam stress, fever and all the other symptoms.
There’s a crossroad from Singapore where the equivalent of a Board exam is held between level 6 and 7, called the PSLE - Primary School Leaving Exam. Nope. No one is leaving school just yet... they are graduating from Primary to Secondary. And it’s a toughie, I hear. Because you need to do very well to be allowed to choose a school for the next step in your academic journey. A person — probably several — actually took a whole three months of L-WOP (leave without pay) to get her child through the exam.
In Kolkata we hear, as elsewhere in the country perhaps, there are points of entry at which schools actually induct new students — pregnancy, pre-Primary, Kindergarten, Primary, Secondary and Higher Secondary. Each of these are preceded by complicated entry procedures, including admission tests. L-WOP doesn’t help with some schools where there is a matching fee Over The Table (OTT) and another UTT, at various points of contact from Darwan to Director. So one can understand the need for performance stress once there is a financial investment — too bad the buck stops with the child.
Toddlers spend equal time in thinly disguised factories masquerading as “play schools” and in potty training at home Shutterstock
Love, learning and sacrifice
This year is particularly unhappy for examinees. The exams overlap with Valentine’s Day (FOMO reigns supreme), which also coincides with Saraswati Puja (no books, good for examinees) and Ash Wednesday when Christians begin a period of sacrifice (no food, bad for examinees). You soothsayers out there can make what you like of it — I haven’t checked phases of the moon or the stars though — and predict what might happen. But through it all, those kids are going to be studying, and praying too.
In all this excitement, I asked my graduate son, “So, when are you planning to do your Masters?” No prizes for guessing his answer. “It’s pointless,” says he. “I’m not going to study for exams when everything required at the workplace is available from Google, ChatGPT and other resources.” No one needs to ‘know’ anything anymore, leave alone spew it out on paper. He refuses to be a SAD.
So, let me end this brief examination of exam fever, with a small anecdote from my own dad. He hadn’t studied too high, but being in the airlines, 35,000 feet was good enough for him. He had a healthy disregard for degrees. So when all the other parents were asking their kids, “How did you do in the exam?” — meaning, how did WE do as parents? — he would ask us, “Will you pass?” And when we failed, he would quote the Bible. “This too shall pass!”
We understand that the journey through exams can be a rollercoaster of emotions, and the playful descriptions are in no way intended to trivialise the very real challenges students face. Every student’s experience is unique, and we want to emphasise that the anecdotes in this article are a lighthearted take on a shared reality. It’s crucial to approach exams with a healthy mindset, seeking support when needed, and remembering that a dash of laughter can sometimes be the best study aid. Wishing all exam-tacklers out there the very best – you’ve got this!
The author is a Goan living in Kolkata and a learning and development consultant who plays music, writes blogs and teaches whenever he can.
