Year: 2005
Location: Principal’s office
Attendees: Principal, my dad, me.
Occasion: To warn my dad that I was an academic failure, and wouldn’t be given a hall ticket to write the board exams unless I scored above 60% in the mock exams.
School life in 11th and 12th was very difficult for me. Despite an average show in the 10th boards, I still took science group (CBSE) because I loved computer science, but I was stupid enough not to take into account the tormenting trio of PCM: Physics, Chemistry, and Mathematics.
My problem was that when something was being taught, it seemed like I could understand. But when I re-read it later or tried to solve problems based on the concept, I couldn’t. I would go back to the basics again and again, but it seemed that no matter what I did, I ended up being stumped during the tests and exams. It was such a helpless feeling.
I had no real interest in academics to begin with, and in Class 8, I wrote a letter to my father saying I didn’t want to pursue academics and wanted to go into theatre instead. The letter ended up in the trash, along with the intent behind the letter. Middle-class families in the late ’90s and early 2000s did not allow their kids to entertain such ridiculous notions.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Letter-writing became a part of my repertoire. In Class 11, I lamented that there were no overnight excursions and wrote a sappy letter to the principal requesting that in the last year of our school life, we would love to go on a trip that helped us hold on to our school memories forever. I left it on the receptionist’s desk. It didn’t land me in trouble, and the vice principal assured me that the letter landed in the trash.
Coincidentally, right after the letter incident, the school organised a trip to the Himalayas, and my sense of self-worth soared higher than Mt. Kanchengunga. In my head, I assumed that this excursion was organised because of my letter.
When my friends asked if I had already given my name for the trip and paid the required money, I brushed them off, saying, “What’s the hurry? As if they would do this trip without me. This whole trip was organised because of my letter.” I gloated to everyone I could, especially the girls.
When I finally did go to register my name, they said the registrations were closed, much to my disbelief. “What? How is that possible? We are going on an excursion because of my letter! How can you not include me? I should’ve been the first person on the list by default!” etc. But the office admin just shrugged and said he didn’t know about any letter. The slots were full and payments had been made. End of story.
This really broke my heart, but in hindsight, I definitely deserved it.
As a school kid, I was an attention-craver. Since my brother was autistic, my parents poured all their energies into training him and caring for him, and I felt really lonely. My mother literally dedicated her entire life to him. He’s doing great now. He is trained in weaving, and he weaves beautiful, sturdy doormats and stoles.
Anyway, 12th was good, I somehow passed (with flying colours in my opinion) with a whopping 67% in Math, Physics, and Chemistry. (And an 80-something in computer science, and 90-something in English).
Straightaway, I got into English literature at a local college near my house. That’s when my uncle decided to take matters into his own hands.
My parents were just ecstatic that I managed to pass the board exams, and they were like do whatever you want. So English Literature was the first and last thing on my mind. My uncle, however, had other plans.
In an emotional blackmail session that seemingly lasted for hours, I was locked up in a room like an interrogation suspect with him and my parents while he explained how “English cannot feed you”. He also explained that given my brother’s condition and dad’s advancing age, I needed to don the mantle of a breadwinner by studying engineering.
My resolve to study English began to crumble, and I accepted that engineering was a good way to support the family–and hey, I loved computer science, so that would be good, right?
I paid my way into a pretty decent college in Chennai (Thanks, uncle). Looking back, I actually have fond memories of the place. Leafy green campus, diverse set of friends, Rotaract Club activities, etc.
But on Day 1 of college, I was raging. A fan in our classroom didn’t work; the water cooler expelled air at high velocities instead of water; the benches were dusty, and the computers seemed to have been around since the time of Raja Raja Chola I.
This is when the letter-writer in me resurfaced. I penned a strong letter to the principal explaining the shortcomings, and how there was a mismatch between the fees paid and the facilities offered.
I immediately got summoned to his office, and we had a good conversation.
“Thambi (Younger brother),” he said, “You raise some valid points. But you joined this college to study and get a degree, and there’s not a word about academics in the letter!”
“Ok sir, I’ll write another one that includes that,” I said, but he shouted for me to get out and start studying instead of wasting my time. However, I was happy to note that the fan was repaired, the water cooler started giving us water, and well, the benches and tables remained dusty (You can’t get everything in life, right?).
What did I do in four years of engineering? You’ll find out if you stick with me. Until next time.
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