Testing times

While next month is a happy one for me, it couldn’t be more far from the truth for some. And I guess I speak for quite a few students who will be writing their school / college examinations.

Examinations. Arghhhh. That dreaded word that was the sole reason I couldn’t finish my novels and Cosmopolitan (the magazine, silly) at the time I would have liked to. Many were the occasions when I had to unwillingly drag my eyes from the beckoning, glossy pages, to those that promised a worthy mention on the report card / mark sheet.

And when the morning would dawn bright and clear, worried, creasing foreheads would emerge out of rooms that had not been slept in, the previous night, and bleary-eyed students would march, some with sheepish, apologetic faces, to the examination hall.
While some would make their way straight to their designated roll-numbered-chalked-desks, there would be others who would stand outside, looking at the multitude of fellow-students, some of whom were identical in terms of preparation and anxiety levels.

Off the top of my head, the follow are some marvels you are bound to see in / near an examination hall:

• The cool as a cucumber sorts – handing around mints or gum to all who came near, these were the ones who put the ‘C’ in confident. Whether they were prepared for the writing war that lay ahead, or were just doing a darn neat job of imitating – that was ambiguous. To make matters worse, they had even taken out time to brush their glossy manes, apply some gloss, slap on moisturiser (and perhaps even an SPF 30 sunscreen), and remembered to spritz perfume. These are the ones most looked upon at with envy by their classmates

• The-I-have-nails-will-bite-them category – gloomy-faced, these anxious souls chewed whatever was left of their gnawed-nails. Besides kissing the sacred black thread a million times.
Ditto for the evil-eye bracelet.
And the picture of the ‘good luck’ deity
And the little figurine of the Goddess of learning
Needless to say, their confidence level was at their bottom, and any word you might put to them could be the cause of them dissolving into heart-rending tears

• The ashen face ones – looking the mix of a wet puppy and a child whose candy had been snatched, these sorts make you feel almost sorry for them. So much so that you are tempted to hand them a rag cloth. Or maybe some chocolate

• The hearts-aflutter kinds – one look at these constantly gulping sorts, and a giggle is bound to escape from you. They look as if they have swallowed a frog, and obviously, do not like the lingering taste in their mouths. Forever edgy, they look at you out of striking, startled eyes, while for the life of them trying to fathom why you could be so cheerful

• The smug bug sorts – easily the most hated of the lot, these ones have a constantly scornful smile plastered over their sardonic faces. If you look a little closer, what you actually make out to be a thin smile playing along their lips, is actually a half-smirk lurking in the background. A smirk which you would love to club to death – the little twit deserves a hard spanking (and not in the naughty sense of way)

• The crammer – He is the one who religiously attended classes, the obsessive notes-taker, his pen furiously scribbling in a secret handwriting only he could discern. Such was his dedication to attendance that he would even make a prompt appearance on the days when all had decided to mass-bunk (to catch the movie-of-the-year). Needless to say, he would be the butt of ridicule and scorn for the rest of the year. But who cares. He will take some extra credit from the Prof, earning yet more murderous stares from his mates. This kind is also the one to fill page-upon page of continuation sheets, oblivious to the abusive mutters of those who can barely fill-in the first four sheets

• The loo-natic – With a bladder that threatens to burst every five minutes or so (courtesy their interminable uneasness), these sorts are easily distinguishable by their proneness to stand next to the nearest wash room. Their proximity to a washroom is directly proportional to when they have to answer nature’s call (urge within 2 minutes = five paces, urge within 5 minutes = 12 paces, you get the drift, right). Hugging their tummies, standing on one leg, à la cranes, they are top contenders for participating in the 100-metre dash. Heck, they even stand a chance of winning

• The born-with-a-joke-in-his-mouth – a radically different sorts, he fancies himself a mix between Birbal (from Akbar’s court) and Touchstone (from Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Except that his jokes fall flat on these days, his (usual) audience resembles a trickling number, and instead of the mandatory applause and chuckles, has to make-do with snarls, unkind shoves, and loud ‘Oh-shut-up-please’ rebukes
No points for guessing, I would be the one standing outside, looking at the above specimens.

Which category did you / do you fall in?

And which kind do you think I was? Besides being the one with the alternating-between-amusement-and-resentment facce?