While people enjoy their summer travelling or learning new things, we waste ours mugging up old trivia and facts to sit for the summer attempt of NET. NET, a word that sends a chill down a scholar’s spine, is an entrance test that willing candidates must pass, to be able to profess in India. Calling the test “difficult” would simply be misleading the reader. If the absurdity of the whole ordeal was as simple as “difficult” one could deal with it. It is absurd, almost ludicrous.
Often, the night before the test is spent contemplating the foretold misery of the next day. I spent mine questioning the choices I made in life which led to that point. It was simultaneously- soul, identity, confidence and life-crushing. I woke up in despair, did the everyday rituals of brushing, bathing and having breakfast and then finally booked a cab to the centre of this examination, which, much to my dismay, but not surprise, was located in a place in Delhi called Nangloi, completely alien and unfamiliar to me as to most others, I am sure.
The drive was long and when I almost reached, I realised, the street leading to the centre was narrower than the bicycle lanes on highways. I alighted from my cab and began to snake my way through in the scorching Delhi heat. A house was located right opposite, precisely three paces away from the centre. The basement of which was being used to submit our bags and belongings. Unable to fathom the intricacies of this setup, I thoughtlessly submitted my bag, took out my admit card, proof of identification and pen and joined the queue for the security check. The board that holds the NET exam takes their security check very seriously, often preposterously.
Often, the night before the test is spent contemplating the foretold misery of the next day. I spent mine questioning the choices I made in life which led to that point. It was simultaneously- soul, identity, confidence and life-crushing. I woke up in despair, did the everyday rituals of brushing, bathing and having breakfast and then finally booked a cab to the centre of this examination, which, much to my dismay, but not surprise, was located in a place in Delhi called Nangloi, completely alien and unfamiliar to me as to most others, I am sure.
The drive was long and when I almost reached, I realised, the street leading to the centre was narrower than the bicycle lanes on highways. I alighted from my cab and began to snake my way through in the scorching Delhi heat. A house was located right opposite, precisely three paces away from the centre. The basement of which was being used to submit our bags and belongings. Unable to fathom the intricacies of this setup, I thoughtlessly submitted my bag, took out my admit card, proof of identification and pen and joined the queue for the security check. The board that holds the NET exam takes their security check very seriously, often preposterously.
Standing in queue, I spotted a bird on a tree and my eyes started following its trail. My thoughts metamorphosed with the actions of the bird and while I was busy locating the appropriate size of twigs to build a nest, I heard an unpleasant voice near me, “Madame ID card, oh Madame ID card”, bewildered, I emptied my hands into hers. Pointing to my watch, she said, “What is this? You’re not allowed to wear a watch inside the examination hall.” I took off my watch, put it aside and started moving forward when she commanded, “Don’t rush, and untie your hair.” I said, “You can’t be serious.” She looked at me with utter disgust and said, “But I am. Let down your hair.” I untied my long, thigh-length, dense hair on an unbearably hot Delhi morning and moved forward. Two other women sent me to a room for the last step of security check. Confused, and wondering if I was about to enter an exam hall or the Pentagon, I kept on walking and reached a dark room.
I entered the door to the room which stood ajar. A visibly-angry and insolent woman said, “take off your dupatta.” For a second, I didn’t quite comprehend. I asked, “what?”. Quite used to the ‘what?’ she just responded with a nod. I took off my dupatta, she touched me around my neck, pressed my bosoms, to check for hidden chits or the firmness, I couldn’t tell. By now, quite immune to this crude public humiliation and encroachment of personal space, I left as the next girl entered. My eyes met hers, probably communicated the ridicule that was to follow, and then, awkwardly separated. A couple of moments later, I heard the same command, “take off your dupatta”, the subsequent ‘what?’, possibly the nod, followed by silence and then a deafening smack. Startled, I looked back and saw the woman’s face red with anger and her palm resting on her left cheek, while, the girl bolted out the door with fiery eyes and walked into the examination hall. I turned around, grinned and finally entered the examination hall with an inexplicable sense of sadistic pleasure.
