Result Fever

(Hindustan Times, 26 June 1989)


With my office located not very far from that of the Central Board of Secondary Education, I cannot but sympathize with my neighbouring colleagues at the hardy annual that announcement of examination results has come to mean.

Going down memory lane, I still recall vividly the anxious moments I had when the result of my school final examination was round the corner. Hardly had I disentangled myself from the examination fever to enjoy a few days of respite, when the result fever struck me. The unanimous forecast of the elders in the village was that all the five boys from the village would re-visit the examination hall later in the year. In the case of the two girls, the opinion was divided - would they pass with distinction, or just in first class?

We had heard that the results would be announced in Madras at 2 pm. They would be flashed to a Coimbatore newspaper which would bring out a special evening edition to reach us in Palghat by seven the same evening.

In preparation for the event, I got up early morning, bathed in the river, went straight to the temple and recited Vishnu Sahasranamam (the thousand names of Lord Vishnu - the rescuer, friend of the needy, protector of the weak, etc.), and, for a good measure, chanted slokas in praise of Saraswati, the Goddess of Learning.

Towards the evening, my friends and I left for the bazaar to wait for the Coimbatore bus. The bus which generally came in unnoticed, received a rousing reception that day. The evening news arrived, and in a few seconds the newspaper vendor displayed the board: "All copies sold out", and got busy tallying the day's takings. I managed to get one copy and we checked the results. Yes, the girls had passed. And so had I!

The village boys were very joyous over the fact that it was after all not an 'all-girl' show and that one from the boy's groups had also made it. They collected some money, bought a garland, hung it around my neck, and raising me on their shoulders, took me to the village shouting, "hip, hip, hooray".

As was customary, on the way home, I bought 108 coconuts (on credit - not customary), and offered them at the wayside temple to Ganesha, the Lord of Obstruction, for having cleared my way.

At home, my mother was immensely pleased to hear the news, and she prepared some instant sweets and distributed them to friends and family members. My father happily accepted the congratulations of the villagers and discussed with them my future plans.

Later, overcome with emotion, and responding to the enthusiasm of my friends, my mother unknotted her small savings from the tip of her saree pallu and handed them over to enable me to entertain my friends to a picture that night.

Feeling on the top of the world, I went to bed. My sound sleep was disturbed by a commotion early next morning. I rushed out to enquire, but was greeted with sudden silence. They all had the morning newspapers in hand.

When I insisted on knowing the problem, an elderly person took me affectionately to a corner and patted me: "Printer's devil does occur once in a while, as has happened in your case yesterday's evening news. But let me assure you young boy, you will definitely pass in your next attempt."