Exam Time

Wishing banner

Darla school exams start today. Students are cracking their brains inside the rooms. Hopefully not literally—the cleanup would be terrible.

It is the outcome of a year's worth of learning. A whole year. Countless hours of classes,  homework, and pretending to understand algebra. And now, finally, the moment of truth: will they remember anything? Or will they simply stare at the paper and hand over the blank paper?

I wish them a bit of good luck. Not a lot—just a bit. Too much luck would be unfair to the students who actually studied. But a small, respectable sprinkle of fortune? Yes. May the guessed answers be correct. May the handwriting be legible. May the invigilator's stomach not rumble too loudly.

And here's the secret joy: it is good for students because they will be getting a long winter vacation. Weeks of sleeping in, eating endlessly, and forgetting everything they ever learned. By January, they won't remember what a noun is. And frankly, neither will I.

But Wait. There's a Catch.

This will be the busiest time for teachers.

Because while students are out building snowmen and enjoying warm ara by the bhukhari, we teachers will be locked inside rooms, surrounded by mountains of answer scripts, red pens bleeding onto pages, and our will to live slowly evaporating.

Lots of correction.

Alas.

Not just one alas. A thousand alas. A stack of alas so high it reaches the ceiling.

We will read essays about "My Best Friend" that somehow turn into conspiracy theories. We will decode handwriting that looks like a chicken walked across the paper after drinking too much ara. We will award marks for answers that make absolutely no sense but are written with such confidence that we hesitate to deduct.

And when we finish? More papers. Always more papers.

So yes. Good luck to the students. But really, send your prayers to the teachers.

We are going to need them. And possibly more red pens. And ara. 

Alas.