T S S - Tenth Standard Syndrome

(This article was published in Citadel magazine, 1995. That year, my nephew had appeared for his Board exams)

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Hereby hangs a modern tale comprising of all the elements of drama - hero, a villain in the shape of The Maharashtra State Bureau of Textbook Production and Curriculum Research, Pune, and a proper tragi-comic ending.

Once upon a quite recent time, here in the city of Mumbai, lived the Pigg family. Mr. Pigg Sr. worked hard for a living, selflessly supporting his dependents that included Mrs. Pigg the homemaker, and their three children - Clever Pigg, Could-do-better Pigg and Satisfactory Pigg. Their actual names were long forgotten by everybody and only their report card remarks remained on their lips, for the family was very examination-oriented, as is politically correct to be these days.

Satisfactory Pigg, the youngest, was generally satisfied with his far-from-satisfactory results in the Unit tests and exams. Could-do-better Pigg decided it was too early to try and do better academically since she was only in Grade Seven;  she therefore devoted all her time and energy towards looking good and feeling great.

Clever Pigg, the oldest one and the hero (or perhaps the victim) of our story was a freak. He studied hard and mugged much all his waking hours since he was in the Tenth Standard. Clever had his own past reputation of standing first in the division to live up to, which, coupled with peer pressure, parental pressure, and tuition-teacher pressure, made him see mathematical formulae and chemistry equations even in his dreams.

Clever Pigg nurtured this secret ambition to work as a Systems Analyst in an IT Company. He had been highly impressed by the ambience when he had once visited such above-mentioned premises with his father, and ever since he couldn’t wait to get into well-creased executive trousers, don an executive shirt with a button-down collar, wear socks to match an executive tie, tuck a monogrammed executive handkerchief into the pocket of his executive trouser-pocket, wear executive shoes, grab an executive briefcase plus sport a neat, executive haircut.

Clever Pigg often visualized himself ensconced in an air-conditioned office, surrounded by computers and respectful staff, earning a multi-digit salary with perks to perk up his eligibility. With this yuppie goal in mind, he worked diligently and studiously in order to secure a respectable 99.99 % in the Secondary School Certificate Examination.

For our friend Clever Pigg, all had been hunky-dory till the ninth grade. Gifted with superior intelligence, quick grasping power, a good memory, and an inborn desire to gain his teachers’ approval, he had worked hard and scored well all along, giving his competitors sleepless nights.

But suddenly, in the Tenth Standard, all had been thrown out of gear for this teenager. He couldn’t first of all accept the fact that he would be a mere statistic on the S.S.C. Board and that his academic fate would be decided by some unknown, ignorant examiners who tend to assess papers arbitrarily (information courtesy: his classmates who often said: “If the examiner has had a fight with his wife, he’s sure to slash your marks,” or “If the examiner is in a good mood, you’ll be awarded full marks.”)

Our misguided missile believed all this to be true, and when he was told to learn up his textbooks from cover to cover and to mug up the guides, Clever Pigg was perplexed, puzzled, and consternated.  For how could he learn up the textbooks just like that - with all the spelling mistakes and factual errors that they contained?

Clever was in a dilemma. Being of a scientific temper, he questioned facts, counter-checked statements, verified equations, and got his formulae corrected by alternate sources of knowledge. Now that he was advised to blindly memorize his books, he felt a little disoriented.

Clever Pigg couldn’t believe that for the next few months, he would have to spell ‘little’ as ‘pissle’, nor could he bring himself to write the lens equation as 1/f = 1/v = 1/u when his logic and previous learning told him it was 1/f = 1/v – 1/u.  It was punishment for our hero Clever to spell to write ‘ZnS’ as ‘Zns’ and to spell ‘oedema’ as ‘odoma’, but this child nevertheless tirelessly wrote out the wrongly-spelt words and equations a hundred times every day in order to familiarise himself with them, so as to not make silly mistakes like writing the actual, correct spellings in his Board Exam.

Clever sure was confused. According to his books, aluminium was ‘the most abundant element’, ‘the third most abundant element’, and also ‘the third most abundant metal’. Clever Pigg bit the skin off his fingers trying to decide what he should really mention in his answers – should he write that one gram of fat provides approximately 9 kilocalories of energy as stated in his text book, whereas in actual fact, all it provides is approximately just 9 calories?

With so many confusing multiple choices, Clever Pigg gradually developed anxiety, poor concentration, and lack of appetite. Mrs. Pigg busied herself concocting delicious savouries for her first-born who was at such an important threshold in life, but Clever declined to partake of the most mouth-watering delicacies. His appetite remained below par and his sleep little and fitful. He developed symptoms of stress, lost a considerable amount of weight, and jumped when he was spoken to.

Mr. and Mrs. Pigg suffered in silence at first this parental angst. Later, their family physician recommended Clever to a teenage specialist who in turn recommended him to a psychotherapist who on his part recommended him to a psychoanalyst who, during the course of many expensive sessions (Mr. Pigg had to pledge most of his blue chip stocks to his bank in order to obtain a loan to meet this domestic need ) attempted to delve into his psyche and after long talks with the by-now babbling student, pronounced that his present stressful condition was directly related to certain unpleasant early childhood and even foetal memories, deeply and firmly rooted in the subconscious.

“Doctor, you’ve not spelt this word correctly – ‘appetite’ is spelt as ‘a-p-a-t-i-t-e’,” said Clever Pigg to the psychoanalyst while reading the doctor’s prescription.  “What makes you say that, Clever?” the good doctor asked him kindly. “My Science II text book cannot be wrong”, answered Clever, “see page 97 that clearly states, “In ber-beri, there is loss of apatite.”

The brilliant doctor consulted others of his profession, went through several imported books, and finally decided upon a suitable line of treatment for this high-strung youngster. He managed to convince Clever Pigg that a clever kid like him could easily unlearn the wrong spellings, equations, etc. and learn up the right ones. So with a lot of positive support from his doctor, parents, teachers, and friends, Clever Pigg slowly regained his appetite for food and learning. He managed to do very well in his preliminary exams, out beating his nearest rivals by a little over 3 %.

Our friend now studied with renewed enthusiasm. So while others dreaded the unknown format of the new syllabus exams, Clever prepared to face the challenge, hopping from one coaching class to another, continually pestering his teachers. Like Oliver Twist, he wanted more: more question papers for practice, more self-study books, more mathematical problems, more essays, and more grammar work. He clocked himself and solved three papers a day, working so hard that everyone was sure Clever's name would be on the merit list.

The scenario at home resembled a curfew-imposed area. Clever’s siblings were told to keep away and not disturb him in any way. A low decibel level was maintained and the cable T.V. disconnected. All pleas and tantrums from the other two kids were ignored. Mrs. Pigg made available milkshakes and sandwiches and idlis and coffee and snacks and soft drinks and fruit and nuts and juice to her offspring round the clock. The pastry shop across the street registered a fantastic sale of chicken-cheese croissants and Black Forest pastries during the month of March.

D-Day saw Clever fully prepared to tackle even the toughest questions. While his friends cursed and cribbed and whined, Clever Pigg was enthusiastic and confident. When the question papers leaked and he did not obtain any, Clever was upset for a while, but felt he would score full marks in Maths and Science, anyway. When there were rumours of re-examinations, Clever welcomed the idea: he did not mind studying all over again, as long as justice was done. But when he heard that the model answers were all wrong, and that the paper assessment had begun even before the inaccuracies were detected, Clever felt extremely let down.

His despair knew no bounds and he slowly slipped into melancholia. He developed symptoms of depression and lost appetite. His sleep was little and fitful, he lost a considerable amount of weight and jumped when he was spoken to. He did not watch television or listen to music. He avoided meeting friends and was caught talking to himself many times.

However, the tale ended with the psychoanalyst taking off after three sessions with him. He recommended Clever Pigg to another doctor, having decided to leave the country and educate his own children in another part of the world!

--Sunita Kripalani