Good Luck for exams

The CBSE exams are here again and so the kids are in tension with their syllabus presure and ofcourse the presure of good marks and expectations of parents and relatives. 

Well today i read an article in Times of India editorial page written by Madhumita Gupta which remind me of the times of my Board exams and it really made me laugh well those were the golden days never gonnna come again. 

The article was so nice that i can not resist my self writing abt it, kudos to Madhumita Gupta.

The article goes here:

GOOD LUCK

Examination Blues

Madhumita Gupta 

    This is one of the best seasons and the worst time of the year. The flowers are blooming, butterflies fluttering and birds chirruping with gay abandon. But above the heartwarming sounds, the other sounds being heard are muttered oaths. “Why must one know who fought Babar when?” and the placating “This will soon be over, come on, finish the revision.” Spring takes away the spring from many a student’s step as final exams come closer and closer. As children we’d find ourselves fuming at the ironical proximity of the god-awful annual exams and the most rambunctious of festivals, Holi. We would hear the dhols and the shouts of the lucky people who didn’t have exams, while we pored over algebra and chemistry formulae that we knew weren’t going to help us much in life. And then would come the morning of the first exam. Butterflies in the stomach would have, by then, grown to dinosaurian proportions; the formulae and solutions doing a jig in one’s feverish brain and just as one was about to step out to certain doom would come Ma, with the inevitable little bowl and spoon. I would shudder. For one of my extreme nervous disposition, it was an ordeal to have that ‘auspicious’ spoonful of curds and barfi — Ma’s good luck charm.      “How can this help?” i’d fume, “I just don’t remember anything, will this ‘dahi-barfi’ write the test paper?” And Ma would say in her most no-nonsense tone, “It will, open your mouth!” Escape was unthinkable and one complied. Gagging on the sweet-sour taste one would run to the school and later, to college, still muttering, “I’m going to fail.” Ma would just smile, “No problem!” The ultimate miracle was that one did recall all that must’ve been there somewhere in the dim recesses of the brain and wrote frenziedly and eventually managed to score quite reasonably. Was it the good luck charm at work? A mother’s faith? Or just the fact that exams are not as monstrous as they’re made out to be? Years later, when one became a mother herself, the scene is repeated every year. I’m on the other side of the spoon now and my son at the receiving end, that’s the only difference. “I’m going to fail!” he says. “No problem.” I smile knowing with certainty that my ‘dahi-barfi’ would be no less effective in pulling him through.

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