Post glory

The results of the All India Secondary School Examination (AISSE), better known as tenth boards, in the recent years has been available on the net. A boon of course. No messy phone calls to New Delhi or Chennai and waiting for several days before the result is known. However, when the result threatens once too often, they lose its charm. When the results scheduled respectively for 16th May, 20th May, 23rd May and certain to be on 28th May were finally announced on 31st May, I had just a day to savour the "top of the world" feeling. Passing into 11th standard with a "CGPA" or Cumulative Grade Point Average of 10, was, well, it. It was a culmination of a year and a half worth of effort, rather than the usual month and a half effort, head conspirator being Mr. Kapil Sibal, an eminent lawyer who, being the HRD minister of the Union of India, introduced "CCE", every students enemy and also thought-up the theme of CGPA, "fixing" the good old percentage system, though I never remember it broken, ever. Translated to layman terms, a CGPA of 10 meant 90% or higher marks in every subject. What mattered to me was I had cracked, taken 10 out of a possible 10, and there I was, perched on my throne, surrounded by a whole proud family, a proud neighbourhood, attempting to be modest, struggling to keep the triumph out of my eyes.

It is darkest just before dawn they say. Here, though, all was bright, sunny and someone, presumably god, thought it would be fun to just blow the fuse, just at the wrong time, or right, whichever way you prefer.

Less than two weeks on, I feel battered, bruised and betrayed, by what everyone said would be an ideal life armed with a decent CGPA. Tenth board exam, I thought was this unconquerable mountain, the coveted real estate, the prized possession. And having climbed it, I now have to crane my neck to look at what lies ahead, a whole range, with the mildest done.

And yes, you guessed right. Eleventh took me like a tornado and I'm still twirling in it's midst. A believer in good beginnings, all my plans fluttered and flew like a mere feather, when, on the very third day, I had a good talking to from my new class teacher (read monster), inspite of what in my opinion was a reasonable excuse for the lack of words in my fresh smelling book.

When a mildly pleasant looking person whom you've seen round here and there suddenly surges into your presence and on very first acquaintance demands discipline, decorum and several other Ds, you are slightly apprehensive. When she says she's your class teacher, you are shaken. When she unpredictably differs her tone of voice and the size of her eyes, the high voice and the big eyes curiously coinciding, you feel, with the time intervals when she sees your highly undesirable mass seated in front of her, the fear may just seep in, ever so slightly. When she demands you to understand what she wants with just her look, you are terrified. And when she draws punches, ever so closely spaced, before capping it off, forcing out of you a "voluntary" vow of co-operation throughout the coming year, ending by saying she loves you a lot, it is then you let go of all airs. Messing your pants is all you don't do.

Now, the green pastures of tenth standard, are all blurred against the background. Sharp in focus is the academics, the unknown, untamed wilderness of eleventh grade, where a journey round the edge can break the hardiest, and a small sojourn into it can wreak havoc. It's like travelling on a rough sea, the current and the wind against you, the boat too small and the destination too far. But just hang in there, as they say, for perseverance may not help move mountains, but it certainly helps climb them. (Stolen of a roadside signboard deep in the Himalayas).