B’s & CUPCAKES

I remember back in fifth grade Rita Ma’am used to give all of us a home-work which was to write one page of any text in Hindi. The purpose of this was to improve our handwriting. Most of the kids copied the same text from the day before, which was the text from the day before, which again was the text from the day before and so on. But for me it was a place where I could showcase what I was currently reading, the new words I learnt, my thoughts on everything under the sun – basically a dark academia journal.

One out of the twelve times I submitted the homework did the teacher actually read what was written, and make a remark, “That is a fun fact, Anshika! Thank you for teaching me this.” So an hour and half everyday was spent going through the dusty titles of Children’s Knowledge Bank or riding seven hundred waves in my little ocean of thoughts to find something worth a five word remark from my teacher. I read about everything ranging from Hippopotamus skin to the first dictionary to Karl Marx to the tricks behind the Disappearing Girl magic show. On other days I would write about Why I think my mother should not give me Bhindi for lunch or about the chocolate cake I had in school that day or what Jacky was doing or character sketches of almost all my family members.

This was the time when I read nearly 30-40 general knowledge books and many more classic novels like Jane Eyre and Sense And Sensibility and the Undergrad Zoology books of my Uncle and Aunts in less than a year. I knew all the craziest facts there were to know. The different heights of a mountain and the varieties of vegetation found, countries with no mosquitoes and why it is as such, even the daily routine of the bug that lives inside a fig! You see, all of this was complicated knowledge. I understood only 70% of what I would read. But it was enough for me. I took immense pride in all that I knew. It was all fun.

But Fifth grade was almost coming to an end. That would mean no more writing practice home-work and no more hours of reading all the random books. Added to that was the annual terror everyone around me would diligently plant in my mind, ‘Fifth grade is easy. When you start sixth, it is going to be real trouble.” I had gotten the same for every school year and I still do. None of it has ever proven to be true but part of me will always be scared of entering a new class.

So, I decided to be prepared beforehand. I borrowed books from my seniors and studied a lot of science, math, world history, civics and geography. I was nearly done with half the course for grade six by the time 3/4th of my grade 5 was completed. This was also the season for Olympiads and quizzes and inter-school tests. And I had always been the kid that signed up for everything happening in school. Be it arts or sports or singing or robotics or maybe even carpentry. It is not like I knew what to do.

I joined it all due to two main reasons. One, it was a good excuse to get me

out of the boring classes. Don’t get me wrong, I loved studying. I still do. But sitting in the classroom, listening to things Dad had already taught me a month before was a torture. Moreover, the teachers took all the time to explain things deeply. They wanted to make sure everyone understood everything well. And I zoned out. I cannot grasp things when I am served with information really slow. I lose track of thoughts. My mind start building countless mind maps and I get lost. Maybe I have an attention span of a peanut and have trouble focusing or maybe I am a glittery cupcake in this world of burnt garlic bread. I prefer the cupcake theory though!

The second reason was that I would get to interact with senior teachers and students. They used to be in-charge of all these activities and it was nice to have them know me. Don’t tell me I am the only one who has been there, I know you will be lying. I really looked up to the senior literature and biology teachers in my school. They had excellent command on languages and literature, as well as were really fun to study with. It used to be a lottery when I was assigned to their team.

So this year too, we had all these activities happening. One of them was the National Genius Search Examination. I did not know it was a big thing then, but I found the name fascinating. Owing my second nature, I signed up for it. I was carefree back then. Nothing really mattered. I never studied for the exam. On a random Thursday, my Social Science teacher called in all the students for the NGSE round 1 and handed us the question papers. It was my first multiple-choice exam. Before this, there were the descriptive assessments in the school. The whole experience was thrilling to my teeny-tiny brain. Three hours passed. To my surprise, I knew almost all the things asked. For the answers I did not know, I chose option B. (Studies and stats say that option C is the safest one in a 4 options MCQ, but the B’s have always worked for me. Take my advice - Go Bee!)

Fast forward to a morning assembly one month later. The Head Mistress announces my name along with a few other classmates. I had cracked the first round with a 97 percentile. Truth be told, I did not even understand the percentile system then. Later I was invited for the second round. This time, I had studied. My red encyclopaedia, Children’s Knowledge Bank, books of my school seniors, everything I could devour. The question paper was handed again. Ten questions. Three hours. All subjective. And not questions like obtuse angle or total internal reflection. Stuff like, What is a pattern? What if the farmers grew only one type of crop? Write a diary entry from a wasp’s life. They were all like 300 word essays, if I remember correct. I knew facts and figures. I was never prepared to write answers to vague questions, where nothing is wrong or right. It was all relative. (Also my first big life lesson.)

I got done, but I was hopeless. I knew I was nowhere near qualifying. A friend’s elder sister read it on the NGSE website (I suppose?) that I was the candidate with 100 percentile. She told me and I did not believe it for a day. I was scared of being embarrassed when I find out that I did not even qualify. So, I did not want to check out my results too. I did not. Soon the certificate reached my school. It was a special afternoon assembly. My Head Mistress praised me. The teachers praised me. The whole school applauded.

I was AIR 1. I was happy.

So the point here was this. I had all the fun doing the things I liked. Reading books, learning for the next class, practising handwriting everyday. All of it came together to help me in the most unexpected and magnificent way. If you ever find yourself struggling to figure out what you want to do in life. Do what you love. Mimicking your mom. Doodling on walls. Digging the backyard for hidden treasures. Running a mile everyday. Researching. Whatever brings you closer to the person you want to be. Everything else will always fall in place.