The high-tension entrance test

IT was on a sunny morning that I took my younger son to a top school in Delhi to appear in the entrance test for Class I. The road in front of the impressive red-brick building, with its well-laid-out lawns and huge playgrounds, was crowded with cars. Entering the school, I saw a signboard pointing out to a particular room, where the parents were directed to assemble with their wards. The room was already full of anxious parents and children. The parents’ tension-charged faces revealed that it was a test for them too.

I made an estimate that there were about 400 examinees. As most of the KG boys would be promoted to Class I, there would hardly be eight or 10 vacancies. Almost every child was accompanied by both parents; one would have sufficed, but perhaps for this solemn occasion the presence of both was imperative. Was not the fate of the entire family going to be decided that day?

Meanwhile, the fathers, dressed in smartly tailored suits and broad colourful ties, were engaged in an animated discussion about the prospects of admission, while the mothers, in all seriousness, were busy giving last-minute tips to the bewildered young fellows. The walls of the classroom where I was seated were adorned with charts depicting animals, fruits, cars and numbers. The mothers were vying with one another in taking their children near a particular chart and exhorting them to learn by rote their contents within the brief time available.

A couple of grandparents had accompanied the parents and were giving advice and instructions to children, urging them to be brave and face the test like soldiers. However, the ‘young soldiers’ were becoming more and more nervous with every passing minute.

When there were just five minutes to 10 am, a benign-looking teacher came to take the boys upstairs. Some desperate mothers offered eatables and drinks to their kids and a few wisely took them to the toilet before they embarked on a perilous journey.

At the precise moment, when the boys had started marching out of the room, a little one broke into a loud cry. He would not go with the teacher. Exasperation, anger, sorrow and pain were writ large on his parents’ faces. After considerable persuasion, he agreed to go, but his eyes were still brimming with tears. I felt a lump in my throat as I saw my son’s panic-stricken face. With a last look at me, he marched out bravely with the other boys.

The one-hour wait was soon over. Children started coming downstairs one by one. There were no longer pale shadows on their faces. Their radiant faces showed the relief they felt after the ordeal. They shyly smiled and nodded at the anxious queries of their parents. Relief was also evident on the faces of the parents, who felt that for the time being their anxiety was over, and while the outcome of the exam was awaited, there was always a flicker of hope.