A whiff of that sweet scent of success

This time, March 31 slipped past in lockdown but not before sending me down memory lane, like every year. The intoxicating fragrance of nostalgia fills each pore of my being, making me revisit vistas of a day full of anxiety, excitement, anticipation, and a little trepidation.

It used to be the day of the annual examination results during school. I don’t remember any school ever changing the date. But today this date is fixed randomly according to convenience by each school and the result is handed over to the students in the classroom by the class-in-charge at any time during the day. I can empathise with present day kids who don’t know what fun they have missed out!

On the appointed day, after spending the previous night rolling in a labyrinth of dreams and nightmares, we waited for the first light of the day to usher in the grand finale. Filled with new vigour, we took extra time and interest in getting ready, unlike routine days when the only thought would be not to get late.

I remember I would have two tight plaits with big ribbonknots perched on my ears; a stiff ironed school uniform and black shoes with extra glaze. Spending a long time in front of the mirror, I would be ready for the show. I was not the only one, similar figures would move out of their homes around 9am; and instead of the heavy school bags, most of us carried a bouquet – or rather a ‘guldasta’ – made of marigolds.

Those were the times when marigolds ruled the roost; the rose was a rare luxury, and the modern-day gladioli or orchids were unheard of. It used to be a bunch of five-six flowers, tightly laced with thuja orientalis – a fern we called ‘morpankhi’ or ‘vidya-padai’, that we used to keep in our books for the common belief that it made you learn better!

Carrying bouquets in hands, and wishes of the family and neighbours in our hearts, we headed out. From every street, corner, and crossing, a swarm of cheerful children, marched to school. The school greeted us with open arms as it seemed to be sharing our enthusiasm.

The most beautiful part was that the result was declared by the principal in the school assembly. As we stood in classwise rows, the principal would announce the names of the 1st, 2nd and 3rd position holders for each class. When the class teacher pulled out the position holders, myself included quite often, and brought them to the front of the row in advance, our excitement went skyrocketing.

As we mounted the chair to receive the silver cup, a different size for each position, amid applause from the whole school, it was time to hand over the ‘guldasta’ to the principal. Other children presented their bouquets to their class teachers on receiving their report cards. The jubilation after the assembly was euphoric for it included a pat on the back from the teachers, and hugs from friends!

The journey homeward was like an Olympic sprint, and we competed with each other to reach home first. Flaunting the cup with the report card in hand, our quick, excited steps would declare the result to the mothers waiting at the door for their children. “Lo ji wadhaiyan hon… (Congratulations to you),” brought such a glow on the faces of the family members which was bonus.

Every year on this day, I go in a trance; I can smell the marigolds, visualise myself walking with the cup, hear the clapping, and see the happy faces. Yes, there’s nothing like the sweet scent of success.

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL

PART WAS THAT THE RESULT WAS DECLARED BY THE PRINCIPAL IN THE SCHOOL ASSEMBLY