Board to death

It’s been several months now. The entire house has revolved around one event. Everyone has talked about it in hushed whispers. We have avoided holidays and social occasions. We have spent less and talked less and laughed out loud less. We have tiptoed around the house, cut the cable connection and watched with slight envy as friends posted about their vacations or the movies they saw. The only thing that mattered was — my son’s board exams.

The alarm rang in the morning. One of us crept downstairs to see if coffee was required, only to be greeted by the sight of a snoring son under the sheets. “Hey! You wanted to wake up early?” we reminded him sleepily. The only ones who finally ended up sleep deprived were the hapless parents. It’s a generation that seems to take exams in their stride and multi-tasks memorising Mendelian laws while listening to Ariana Grande, checking Twitter, giggling at memes, petting the family dog and wolfing down an aloo parantha.

“Chill, Pa!” became the new mantra. Whenever I started up like a stuck record with the refrain of “In our days, we used to…,” he would shut me up using the mantra. Whether he was watching the nth rerun of Friends, or chatting with his completely clueless friends, or peeping at my phone to see what some stand-up comedian had said about politics — it was always justified by the mantra. “Chill, Pa, I’m just taking a break!” His cumulative breaks seemed to far exceed the proportion of time actually spent reading a textbook with focus.

Then every evening, just before bedtime would begin the hour for existential questions. What is the purpose of all this? Will it really make a difference in my life? Tell me honestly, at least one time have you used Algebra or Trigonometry in real life? Why do I have to be educated when most successful people have been school drop-outs? Followed by a list of names of rich achievers who never completed school. After unloading those questions on us, he would go off to catch up on sleep. While I sat up most nights, pondering on the possible answers to his profound questions.

Then D-day arrived. With us scampering to find his Hall Ticket or geometry box or a set of colours or a map of India. The exams went by in a flurry of prayers, post-mortems of the questions asked and preparations for the next exam. Meanwhile, mothers grumbled, fathers glared, family hugs became routine and the mad melee became mundane.

Results are out. Sweets have been distributed. Relatives and friends have made the appropriate congratulatory sounds. Forms are being filled. Subjects being chosen. With earphones firmly in place, my son sits down to decide what course his life will take. And as I begin to get agitated by his nonchalance, I remind myself to chant the calming mantra, “Chill Pa!”