67 is a prime number , and it fills my heart with dread.
67% means 67/100, which being an impossible division, multiplies the dread.
68 would have sounded and felt much better.
The difference of 1% is colossal.
Like the difference between the taste of burnt toast , and that of buttered toast.
I got 67% in physics for my school finals.
I stood staring at my shoes and the carpet , in the staff room , as Mrs. Mathew stared at me for one complete minute, lips trembling , speechless with disappointment.
I didn't know then , but Mrs. Mathew was mourning the demise of my future, by keeping in tradition of a minutes' silence.(while I foolishly memorised the roseate patterns on the rug)
The incriminating document rustled guiltily in my clammy hands, growing moist with sweat.
I hated physics , and now I hated the number 67.
67 , like a prisoner's tag number, is branded onto your forehead.
"Physics honours?" The pan-chewing clerk at the college admission table jeers , "67%", kokhono na!"(never!) He guffaws .
The number, has reached the ears of parents of 90th percentile kids' waiting in the snaky queue, for admission forms ,"67%?" they ask , "Peeche jayiye"(go back)
67%. They shrink in horror. They give pitiable , almost disgusted looks .As if I had contracted some terrible , unspeakable disease.
The queue snakes out of the gate . We reach the main road .Millions are ahead of me .
I am just 67. Untouchable.In the rigid world of education , your marks are your caste . 95+ are the brahmins . I am not even a sudra.
67%
67% means 67/100, which being an impossible division, multiplies the dread.
68 would have sounded and felt much better.
The difference of 1% is colossal.
Like the difference between the taste of burnt toast , and that of buttered toast.
I got 67% in physics for my school finals.
I stood staring at my shoes and the carpet , in the staff room , as Mrs. Mathew stared at me for one complete minute, lips trembling , speechless with disappointment.
I didn't know then , but Mrs. Mathew was mourning the demise of my future, by keeping in tradition of a minutes' silence.(while I foolishly memorised the roseate patterns on the rug)
The incriminating document rustled guiltily in my clammy hands, growing moist with sweat.
I hated physics , and now I hated the number 67.
67 , like a prisoner's tag number, is branded onto your forehead.
"Physics honours?" The pan-chewing clerk at the college admission table jeers , "67%", kokhono na!"(never!) He guffaws .
The number, has reached the ears of parents of 90th percentile kids' waiting in the snaky queue, for admission forms ,"67%?" they ask , "Peeche jayiye"(go back)
67%. They shrink in horror. They give pitiable , almost disgusted looks .As if I had contracted some terrible , unspeakable disease.
The queue snakes out of the gate . We reach the main road .Millions are ahead of me .
I am just 67. Untouchable.In the rigid world of education , your marks are your caste . 95+ are the brahmins . I am not even a sudra.
67%
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