The Alarm
Samyak slammed the ringing clock that proudly displayed five as the time. Groggy-eyed, he stepped into the bathroom for a shower. In fifteen minutes, he wrapped up the bathing, brushing, and bowel-cleaning rituals. Time was running out, and he had to catch the 7 a.m. local from Diva station to reach a 7:30 a.m. class at Dombivli—a good 8 to 10 km distance.
Getting Ready
Fresh and alert, he wore the parrot-green coloured t-shirt with X coaching classes’ logo on the back and the upper left corner of his chest. He packed his bag with physics, chemistry, and math books, weighing around 3-4 kg. Each had pictures of previous rankers wearing the Ellan uniform. To read their names, one had to peer closely, but their AIR scores were visible from a distance. For a moment, Samyak held the books in his hand and looked at them with a twinkle in his eyes.
Next year, one of these names will be mine.
A deep breath, and
Will I be able to crack JEE Mains in my first attempt?
He brushed aside his thoughts. There was no time for idyllic thinking—no space in his brain for random musings. His mind was crammed with formulas and equations, ready to explode, yet holding onto the edge of the precipice.
Aai’s Instructions
“Samyak, ask the management to give you a new bag today.” Samyak’s aai wiped her flour-smeared hands on her saree pallu while doling out instructions to him.
The X logo on his bag was fading. It was in the eighth standard that he had received this bag. Now, he was in the 12th grade, on the cusp of giving his JEE entrance exams. Just a freak scholarship exam, conducted to check his science skills, had landed him here. Before his 8th grade, the boy was sure of pursuing history in college. He loved watching documentaries on the History Channel and imagined himself as one of the hosts examining an archaeological site in Palestine. And then, the school had distributed pamphlets for talent hunt exams. He hadn’t even fared well, but after a series of counseling sessions, his parents were made to believe that Samyak was the next Abdul Kalam this country needed—an engineer, if not an astrophysicist.
A Sense Of Belonging
Books in place, the bag strung to his shoulders, Samyak felt a little odd in his parrot-green t-shirt. But as he reached the railway station, a few other X-ites joined him, and now, with them, he felt camouflaged—a part of the whole. A part of the tribe.
The Bigger Picture
Can you relate to Samyak’s story? Well, the story hasn’t ended. It will not end with Samyak’s exams or even results. I don’t know when it will end. The end of making children look like walking-talking banners of coaching classes isn’t near.
Before I begin with what disturbs me about the attitude of coaching classes, let me clarify that I’m also the owner of a coaching institute. Yet, I refuse to use my students as my marketing material. Moreover, I’m writing this as a parent who sees my child’s future in danger.
The Role Of Coaching Classes
Coaching classes were initially a humble extension of tuitions run by men and women from their homes. These institutions were meant to support the child in their academic endeavors. They aren’t a substitute for school or college but an allied branch of the same. I’m not opposed to the idea of coaching classes. What troubles me is the way they are using our children as advertising material.
The Uniforms
The current market revenue of coaching classes in India is roughly ₹58,088 crores. Initially, the profits comprised the fees paid by the parents. Now, the institute makes money from outsourcing the uniforms and printing on books and bags as well. Initially, one set of uniforms is given with your admission fees. Is a single set enough for a teenager who attends class regularly? Parents have to then buy two or three sets depending on their child’s requirements. Boys and girls are both given t-shirts. What about girls who aren’t comfortable wearing t-shirts and pants every day? What about those special days of the month when most women prefer wearing their humble salwars over restrictive jeans? Moreover, who checks the quality of the fabric used? Students are fined if the prescribed uniforms are not worn while attending the classes. With no choice left, in the pursuit of becoming a doctor or engineer, parents and students let go of their freedom to decide.
What started as a policy to imitate schools, to bring uniformity in dress code, is now turning out to be an advertising stunt. From uniforms to books to bags, logos are printed everywhere. Where is the freedom to wear what one desires? Just fresh out of school, these children are eager to break the shackles of monotony. They wish to experiment with their look, and clothes form an essential part of their personality. Taking away their right to decide what looks good on them is a crime, murdering teenage ambitions. When we want our children to stand apart from each other, by making them wear uniforms with logos printed on them, we are boosting the economy of the coaching center rather than our children’s individuality.
A Call For Change
Okay, I understand that uniforms save a child’s precious time squandered over what to wear and a parent’s sanity over how much to spend, but what I fail to understand is the need to advertise through uniforms, challenging the whole ideology with which uniforms were invented.
It is my humble request to the coaching industry: let uniforms stay like the good old uniforms with checks, stripes, ties, and bows. Let them show integrity over marketing skills. Let our children look like students of an educational institute rather than cattle huddled to chew on the advertising fodder. Keep it simple and dignified. Allow our children to wear clothes and bags of their choice. Allow them to study subjects of their interest rather than making competitive exams the essence of their lives. Allow them to navigate with the help of their inner compass, not with what suits your goals and ambitions. Become their coach and mentor in the truest sense, not mere horsemen riding on their success.
Aparna Salvi Nagda
Dr. Aparna Salvi Nagda is a consulting homeopath by profession and writer by passion. The Labyrinth Of Silence is her first full-length novel while previously she published Not So Grave, a novella, on Kindle. You can reach out to her at aparnanagda04@gmail.com
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