It’s the first day of exams. Nothing particularly engaging yet it’s very memorable since my firstborn is answering his very first public exams. It’s strange this thought of him answering and claiming his rightful place in the world of young adults. For some strange reason I can’t seem to recall the intervening years. Those years simply seemed to have vanished. In the hallway, he stands close to his father and the resemblance is uncanny practically miraculous. How the two are almost same in more ways than one. God seemed to be in a mighty hurry. Did he just photocopy? I chuckle to myself.
A day prior to the exam, we had gone to check his centre and seat number. As my eyes scanned the numbers on display, realisation dawned there are three other kids with the same name but invariably different destinies. They would be answering together, huddled together in the same block, in the same classroom, same school complex and yet they will go ahead seeking their individual destiny. Ironically, the grades on the certificate would be just one of the multi-means to an end.
End or “Success” is so very subjective. This fascination for success saw me earning innumerable degrees and awards, hoarding them, almost as if it’s a disorder of sorts. Fortunately, I’m over it. Today, success is just peace of mind, nothing more nothing less. In the dead of the night, his entire life flashes before the mind’s eye. Teachers who build him for the pure joy of seeing him soar, teachers who believed in his childish dreams and proved to be wind under his fragile wings and another set of teachers who intently judged and virtually ruined him. Rest assured, I pacified myself, God has plans for everyone. All will be well, a voice assures as sleep overtakes.
The long night is finally over and a new day dawns. We reach nearly an hour prior to the recommended time, and I sheepishly check once again his seat number, as if in one night it would be magically erased. We stand for a moment or two wondering what to do next. There are hardly any students in the campus, with the vacations on, it bears a desolate look. At the far end of the ground I see a set of girls play cricket. Howzaat, they suddenly scream in unison as if demanding – How’s the josh? Tanked I whisper.
I know I will pass on my stress to him. Stress is contagious and is probably a learned behaviour, children are basically blissful by nature. I steal a glance at his young face, and I can see stress building up. The idea of coming early was pointless. Just then his principal arrives and I see through her, her acknowledging smile evaporates, my son nudges me and helloes her, and I follow suit. I realise by now a small crowd of youngsters with their not so young parents have gathered. Some familiar faces, some ain’t. By and large they all have the same standard look. Fear certainly had almost everyone in its grip.
The bell rings, seeking everyone’s attention. A lady appears at the head of the stairs, screaming instructions and good wishes. Impulsively, I hug my son and plant a quick kiss on his neck. He has grown taller than me, I tell myself. He squeezes my hand reassuringly and starts to climb the stairs. He climbs determinedly turns around and waves at his father. I see the fleetingly invincible connect between the two. Then he disappears as he sets to race with his destiny. God be with him, a silent prayer escapes my lips.
