By Vishesh Kashyap
Imagine two lakh students battling fiercely for just a thousand seats—it's like trying to win the lottery while juggling chainsaws on a tightrope, blindfolded. Forget sleeping; the syllabus demands you know every comma in the Constitution, as if punctuation is the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe.
It's no longer about proving you're smart; it's about surviving a gladiator match where the odds are worse than betting against Usain Bolt in a sprint. "Oh, you studied hard? How quaint. But did you solve that math problem faster than a Formula 1 pit stop?" The stakes are unbearably high.
Stress is a constant, monstrous presence—like being chased by a hungry T-Rex with a stopwatch. "Tick tock, your future hinges on recalling the president of Uganda!"
And don't even get me started on the dehumanizing feeling of being reduced to a barcode. It's as if your entire life's worth is measured by how perfectly you can fill in bubbles on a sheet of paper, without collapsing under the pressure.
Meanwhile, your grandma prays harder than ever, hoping you'll be the next Einstein because, apparently, her blessings are the secret ingredient for getting into a good institution. The weight of generational hopes and dreams rests on your exhausted shoulders.
But here's the tragic reality we don't talk about enough—suicides. This pressure cooker environment has pushed many students to the brink, with some feeling that ending their lives is the only escape from this relentless, high-stakes game and some folks still think these students were weak. Each year, we lose brilliant minds to a system that values speed over understanding, and rote memorization over genuine learning. It's a heartbreaking reality that screams for urgent change.
Sure, measuring students' abilities is important, but let's be real: countless bright minds are left behind simply due to a lack of seats. We're talking about kids who might have missed out because they didn't solve one extra question. Does that really mean they deserve to be written off? Are we really that blind to potential?
Maybe it's time to rethink this entire circus. Success shouldn't be about who can regurgitate the most facts in the shortest time. Let's celebrate resilience, creativity, and the ability to think outside the box—especially when that box feels more like a coffin. Education should be about nurturing potential, not suffocating it.
Because honestly, education shouldn't be a sequel to the Hunger Games. It should be a sanctuary of opportunity for all, not just the chosen few who can crack the code. Let's measure capability, not just the ability to outpace a million others in a race to the finish line.
And maybe, just maybe, we can let grandma relax and enjoy her chai without worrying if you're the next math prodigy. Education should be a beacon of opportunity for everyone, not just the lucky few who survive this brutal selection process.
But who are we expecting this change from? The generation that remains sitting in their homes scrolling through social media, with zero understanding of the pain students endure? The generation too lazy to raise their voices against corruption in the very exams students prepare for years? The same generation that has brought us to the verge of climate change, yet feels entitled to lecture us on life? It's tragically ironical.
Let's demand a system that values each student's unique abilities, fosters genuine learning, and recognizes that every child has potential beyond their exam scores. It’s time for change, for the sake of our future, and the well-being of us students. It's time to raise our voices and insist on an education system that doesn’t manufacture machines.
By Vishesh Kashyap
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