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The Science/Art of monotony “What are these for?” My grandmother asks queeringly, looking at my mom with a box of sweets.
“Rahul got admission into an arts college.”
She gives mom a mordant look and refuses the sweets. Perhaps because she is diabetic.
I had just cleared my 10th boards with decent marks and if tradition had its way, then the only choice I had to make was between Biology and Computer Science.
“Biology” my grandmother said, a few weeks back. “We don’t have a doctor of late in our family, do we?” she added. “Biology?” I said to myself as my pupil dilated, my respiration and heart rate shot up. And I don’t even remember which hormone that adrenal medulla released during this process. See – I’m not good at Biology.
“Computer. He is good at them.” My grandfather stated.
Yeah, I remember flushing out a couple of loser viruses from his computer. I was Bill Gates to him now.
If my relatives had it their way, I’d end up in a profession where I’d create electronic chips and put them inside the human body myself. And I thought superman was supposed to be only in movies.
Steal a look into the ‘decent’ Indian middle class family and you’re sure to find a potential superman. And if the family is ‘blessed’, you’d come across two (or more) supermen!
Supermen – Doesn’t that sound out of place? May be because we’re used to just one superman and honestly, there can be just one. So there you go – This is the ultimate Indian parents’ dream; that his child becomes that superman – And the recipe for that would be coming first in every class. The meal gets tastier if you’d create academic records, win medals in sports and get acknowledged by some foreign universities.
A toddler here is expected to score 10/10 in his tests even before he learns the basic concept of division which would enable him to understand his marks. He is asked to make his parents proud by reciting the English alphabet in one breath in front of other relatives. And if he knows more numbers than the number of days since he was born, you probably realize what that child is becoming.
The tragic part of this fast paced race is that parents forget that they have given birth to human beings and are not breeding horses. Worse – these children have no idea in which direction they’re running. A recent ‘race’ in New York, USA explains this. It was a toddlers’ race where the participants had to crawl to the finishing point with their mothers coaxing them from the start and the fathers waiting at the other end. The so called winner would win a yearlong supply of diapers. Given a chance, these babies would run back into their arms of their mothers. But well, who gives you a chance these days?
All these kids are taught is to run. And run fast. Even before the child learns to walk, he is taught to run. One slip in between is an unforgiving sin. Right from the beginning, academic excellence is the be all and end all of the child’s life.
Sure, the child should be good at his studies to give him a sound foundation in this competitive world, but this is often rearticulated as ‘expected to be good at his studies’. That’s where the problem starts. The child never has a say in his own education. Rather, he is brought up in such a way that he doesn’t even know that he can have a say in his educational decisions. Nobody cares if the child prefers drawing ahead of maths. Did I say preference? Sadly in this system, expectations weigh heavier than preferences.
However, it’s not entirely the parents’ fault though. It’s this monster system which seems to suck every child into its world of ennui. It’s been tried, tested and has been producing successful results. So the school of thought asks why look beyond it?
The fear of losing their child in the unknown conduit sends chilled waves down the parents’ spine who dare to let their child think for himself. So a ‘practical’ decision is to wade through known waters, however strange it may seem to the navigator than to let him choose his own stream. Market wise, it’s safe to be practical but does anybody realize that the child is no commodity and his dreams do have some material after all which are priceless.
The system will change only if we change. And we would change only if we stop clipping the wings of our children’s dreams and instead let them fly high and assure them that if they ever fall, there would always be more than a couple of arms waiting to cushion the fall.
For the record, I had cracked no IIT that mom was busy celebrating. I had jetted through a school offering arts. I had chosen a school that many in my peer group would apply in, only as the last resort. The traditional reason for one to apply for arts is when science and commerce think your marks are not good enough. So here I am in a college which I would have probably cruised through even if I had not attended a couple of my board exams. Blame the monster. But I had made my decision.
From “Stop-joking”, my grandmother’s tone changed to “Are-you-bloody-out-of-your-mind”.
When she realized I was serious, there was an uncomfortable pressure and a bit of pain in the centre of her chest which lasted for a few minutes. The pain then spread to her shoulders and neck. She seemed to be covered with anxiety and nervousness. Her heart rate increased and she started describing a feeling of impending doom.
“She’s showing symptoms of a heart attack” I said.
See, my biology isn’t that bad after all. But I had made my decision – that I would be a superman, but on my terms.
I stare at the untouched box of sweets. I open it and gobble a couple. Delicious.
- Rahul Mansur
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