Failure is Alright

Me, back in 11th grade

It was the month of September in the year 2001. I had just moved to Calicut from Muscat, after completing nearly 2 months into my 9th grade. It was a rather gloomy evening. I particularly remember the month and year, because, on that particular day, the world had changed forever. America was under attack, and that is all you could find on the television channels. Even the rather bland national television channel Doordarshan was blaring the news into the drawing-room at my grandparents' home through the old yet reliable Aiwa TV.

As the world changed, so did my life. Earlier in the day, I was handed the news that I could not continue in 9th grade, and would have to repeat 8th grade. It was pretty shitty news to digest, considering that it is ingrained into the psyche of a typical Indian kid that failure is never an option. It took me one whole year to comprehend the fact that failure is nothing but a detour to bigger, better things.  

The reason I decided to write on this topic (I have discussed this with a lot of people but have never disclosed in writing) is because of all the hullabaloo behind the CBSE question paper leak (https://bit.ly/2WlbjXC). After the news of the leak broke out, the very next day, newspapers carried out full-length copies of how the students were mentally unprepared and how stressed out they were thinking about having to write the exams again. To the poor souls out there, I would like to ask you to relax. Examinations are never the end of the world. Let me tell you a small anecdote.

A little backstory: My two brothers and I had been born and brought up in Muscat, Oman. Due to circumstances, except my dad, all of us moved back to our hometown of Calicut, India, in 1997. After completing my 6th and 7th grades, my mom, younger brother, and I moved back to Muscat in 2000 to be with Dad.

When I moved back, I really wanted to get back with my division 'F' classmates in ISWK, whom I had last met in '97 (5th grade). But as luck would have it, that very year, the 'F' division of the 8th grade was split up into the remaining divisions. After much lobbying, we got back our 'F' division and spent one more year together in the same class. But the honeymoon was short-lived. Come 9th grade, we were all split again. But it was a fresh start, with Mr. Dragwidge, our English and class teacher creating an atmosphere unlike any I had been in before. All was going well until I was broken the news that we would be moving back to India again. I was heartbroken. Just as I was getting ready to settle in, we were back on the move.

After packing our bags, nearly a year after we moved back, we were on our way to Calicut again. Then, it was a marathon to get me admitted to a possible school in the 9th grade. Naturally, our first stop was the school from where I had left a year back - Hill Top Public School. I do not remember the reason why, but I was not able to secure a seat there. We went to a few other schools. But everywhere we went, we were met with some excuse or the other - some financial, others genuine, some academic and yet others - random ridiculousness.

Finally, we went to MES Raja Residential School in Pavangad. I was asked to write exams in all subjects if I had to secure a seat in the 9th grade. I wasn't a particularly bright student, nor were my marks from my previous year warranting immediate admittance. I thought it was fair for them to test my aptitude in the subjects I would be taking up. And boy, did I show them? I failed in all, except English. I even scored a zero in Hindi and Maths. I still remember sitting in the Vice-Principal's office, with my mom and grandfather pleading to admit me into the 9th grade. But, the Vice-Principal was adamant that I be admitted to the 8th grade instead of ninth, because of my 'brilliant' test results. Well, something was better than nothing. And the deal was done - I would be enrolled in 8th grade. Again.

I do not think I cried that evening, but I was definitely disappointed. But more than that, I was sad to have let down my parents. They had done everything for me, and I could not pass a simple all-subject test. While I did sulk a bit, thinking of having to repeat an entire year, and remained moody through the rest of the year, I took it in my stride and marched on.

I always had a feeling that 9th grade would make something out of me. It was Mr. Dragwidge's effect, I reckon. It was in 9th grade that I engrossed myself in extracurricular activities. It was also the year that I actually started writing. Having forged new friendships, I was able to balance academics and extracurricular with relative ease - something I had rarely done before.

My final five years of high school were spent in that very school. And let me set the record straight - I was still the typical student with average results in all tests, except in the languages where I scored well. While studies put me in the ordinary bracket, I had an excellent rapport with the teachers, be it on their Bruce Banner or Hulk side.

My moment of redemption for the disappointment and humiliation I faced in 2001, came on a sunny morning 3 years later. After our 10th grade CBSE exams, I decided to continue in the same school on account of really close friendships and the familiar routine. Around June or July, after our 11th grade had begun, I was summoned to the Vice-Principal's office. I seldom got into trouble, and it was somewhat surprising to learn that I was being asked for, and that too to the Vice-Principal's office. I went along with our docile English and class teacher Ms. Jalaja, who kept insisting that I wasn't in trouble. We made it to the lair of the Vice-Principal. The room was filled with the class teachers of 11th grade, the headmistress, and a couple of other teachers, if I remember right. The atmosphere in the room almost always felt drab and gloomy to me. And then the Vice-Principal spoke: "So I've spoken to the teachers, and they have recommended your name for the School Captain. Are you up for it?" (Our school didn't have student elections, and our teachers recommended names for a captain and vice-captain. And, generally, they would be selected from the 11th and 9th grade, respectively.)

The general disdain for me was visible when those words came out of her mouth, but boy, was I up for it? Before you know, the boy who was almost denied admission three years back had become the captain of the very same school. The boy who failed every subject except English had somehow rooted himself and spread his wings. That was redemption. That was satisfaction.

But, being the school captain never stopped me from flunking my annual chemistry exam that year or retaking some other paper. I did somehow scrape past my 11th grade and eventually 12th grade as well, but failure never stopped me.

To all the boys and girls out there, I want to tell you - do not be afraid to fail. Failure is not the end of the journey, but it is the beginning of a whole new story. You never know the course of your life, and hindrances are just a part of it. What matters is not what has happened in the past, but what you make of yourself in the future.