Testing times

Salaamwa Rahmatullah! If you have the time pls go thru the following article and tell me why you think this particular piece of writing got rejected. Comments, appraisals welcome. Thanks

Testing Times

I am sitting on a chair adjacent to the door. In front of me is a table, and on it, a fountain-pen placed upon a blank sheet of paper. I am in the daunting exam room, taking my Physics final. The pin-drop silence in the hall is intimidating, and a westerly breeze blows in through the door, only to further decrease the temperature of my already ice-cold hands and feet. I contemplate upon answering some of the questions, and in an attempt to do just that, I write e=mc2 slowly on the paper and stare at it, willing a complete answer to grow out of the formula I so graciously supplied. Alas, my ingenious technique will not work, and I consider writing e=mc2 in artistic patterns all over that blank sheet staring reproachfully at me. It seems like a good idea in the circumstances, for, at least that would show some creativity.

I watch my more bookish classmates writing their papers as though something has possessed them, glancing frantically at their watches from time to time. Oh wait; did I just see a friend chuckle with delight upon something in the question paper? It takes extraordinary will to suppress a juicy swear word as I realize that their persistent revision of the syllabus has, indeed, paid off. Feeling very gloomy, I watch the ever-present invigilator as she cruises down the halls, scrutinizing me as though she were spying on me.

Out of the blue, I hear a distinct wail. Someone is just as miserable as I am; in fact, one poor soul is actually crying! With slightly alleviated spirits, I look around me, hoping to locate a friend in distress. Suddenly, I am poked in the eye, and thankfully, I wake up. Whew! That seemed far too real. Thanks to my little girl's cry, and her subsequent jab at the eyelids to yank my eyes open, I am saved from what would have been a rather embarrassing episode (even if in nightmare-world!). Physics and I never really got along, and it was some years ago, by mutual consent, that we mercifully parted ways.

Exam days are trying, to put it mildly. Come exam time, we were given many days off for revision. During these days which were meant exclusively for hitting the books, I often found myself playing cricket, or watching the re-runs of epic matches, or brooding about how nice it would feel if I aced all the papers, much to the chagrin of my well-meaning older sister. Other pursuits included re-reading my all-time favourite novels, (why, I practically memorized good old Sherlock's every excursion) and invariably, scribbling pieces of poetry or prose on my otherwise neglected text-books. These were breaks from studying, which regretfully, ended up eating nearly all my designated time for revision.

Late-night cramming (enabled by cups of strong coffee), speed-reading through cumbersome chapters, and plain good luck helped me get through my finals. I remember arriving at the exam room clutching my things in clammy, perspiring hands, and feeling as if butterflies had devoured the entire area in the general direction of my gut. After the exam had finished and we filed out of the exam hall, a wonderful feeling of relief would sweep over me. But this sensation would be short-lived, for I would now have to endure the painful banter of my more diligent friends outside the exam hall. It went something like this: "Gasp! What was the answer to MCQ 4? It wasn't option A, was it?" To this, a bespectacled genius would reply, "You are absolutely right! It was option B, because if ..." and on it went. I tried to keep aloof in this conversation, for obvious reasons.

Are the exams over when you turn in your last paper? I beg to differ. The next few weeks waiting for the results can be fairly agonizing. As for me, I didn't know which was worse, the wait, or the actual result day. No-one was more surprised than I when I cleared almost all papers with respectable results. (Even Physics! I will, however, not discuss my ill-fated experience with the impossible Additional Mathematics).

The fact that I had topped school-wide in English Language and Urdu (the only subjects which required virtually no studying) was beyond me. I half-expected a letter from the Examination Board would be delivered to me soon, stating that my percentages, 95% and 96% respectively, had been a gross mistake and were actually meant for a much more deserving candidate. Such a turn of events, gladly, did not occur. There were celebrations, but the moments were poignant, filled with a quiet aura of opportunity. Finally, the exams, and their equally despicable successors, the results, were done with!