Lesson from IIT-M suicide: Life is a test, but you don’t have to be a topper
November 18, 2019, 3:17 PM IST
Arun Ram in Chennai Talkies | India | TOI
Fathima Latheef has left her family shattered, her institution shaken and the rest of us furiously punching in messages in WhatsApp groups. The IIT-Madras student’s suicide had my group of St Joseph’s schoolmates taking a break from discussing Indian economy, politics and such jokes to share concerns about academic pressure on students and parents. Most of us in the group have college-going children, and it was but natural for us to exchange notes on how our kids are coping and how good we are at supporting them.
A friend living abroad spoke about his daughter’s fear that her dean in her college in Kerala has something against her and would give her a raw deal in the internals. The friend said he flew down to spend hours with his daughter, explaining that her fears may be unfounded and that it doesn’t matter if she scored less. He spoke to the dean, too, but the daughter continues to be worried about her marks.
Mohanan in Bengaluru said he is relieved his daughter is not so fixated about high marks. “If all students who don’t top the class end their lives,” he quoted his daughter, “there will be mass suicides on all campuses”. Alex spoke about how he managed to convince his daughter to not yield to peer pressure and to choose her favourite subject economics over computer science, which most of her friends took up. Joseph reminisced how his parents were proud that he scored better in cricket than chemistry, and how he has left his children to choose their own paths.
As the discussion progressed, we were all slowly realising a few common things that we had never spoken about: One, our parents never pressured us to choose any subject or field. Two, we were all ‘average’ or ‘above average’ students; our parents were OK with it. Three, all of us have been successful, if success is doing jobs that we love, living lives that we choose. Four, we have different faiths and political beliefs (over which there have been intense arguments), but those streams of differences merged at the confluence of humanism.
What stood out was the law of averages: When we scored just average marks, we were happy that we passed the exam, so were our parents. When our children get average marks, we are happy the same way and tell them that is good enough to be successful in life. It is good to be a topper, but it isn’t bad to be an ‘average’ or a ‘below average’ student. Those who drop out of schools have also made it big, but I can’t talk for those great men as I somehow made it to college and beyond.
While my parents never interfered with my studies (sometimes I wondered if my dad knew which class we three children were in – something that I wouldn’t recommend parents), I keep a distant watch on my son’s. All I would like to hear him say at the end of college is the same as a 1990 Tamil film title: ‘Aatha naan pass aayittaen!’ One of my fond memories of clearing school boards is not my parents congratulating me for my 70% score, but the way my friend Suresh’s father, a toddy shop owner called Sivanandan, did on the day of the results. “Pass aayoda,” he asked me in Malayalam. When I replied, “Yes, I’ve passed the exam,” he poured me an earthen pot of toddy – fresh with dead spiders and coconut palm dust – and said: “Now you can drink!”. It was a great beginning.
Fathima Latheef has left her family shattered, her institution shaken and the rest of us furiously punching in messages in WhatsApp groups. The IIT-Madras student’s suicide had my group of St Joseph’s schoolmates taking a break from discussing Indian economy, politics and such jokes to share concerns about academic pressure on students and parents. Most of us in the group have college-going children, and it was but natural for us to exchange notes on how our kids are coping and how good we are at supporting them.
A friend living abroad spoke about his daughter’s fear that her dean in her college in Kerala has something against her and would give her a raw deal in the internals. The friend said he flew down to spend hours with his daughter, explaining that her fears may be unfounded and that it doesn’t matter if she scored less. He spoke to the dean, too, but the daughter continues to be worried about her marks.
Mohanan in Bengaluru said he is relieved his daughter is not so fixated about high marks. “If all students who don’t top the class end their lives,” he quoted his daughter, “there will be mass suicides on all campuses”. Alex spoke about how he managed to convince his daughter to not yield to peer pressure and to choose her favourite subject economics over computer science, which most of her friends took up. Joseph reminisced how his parents were proud that he scored better in cricket than chemistry, and how he has left his children to choose their own paths.
As the discussion progressed, we were all slowly realising a few common things that we had never spoken about: One, our parents never pressured us to choose any subject or field. Two, we were all ‘average’ or ‘above average’ students; our parents were OK with it. Three, all of us have been successful, if success is doing jobs that we love, living lives that we choose. Four, we have different faiths and political beliefs (over which there have been intense arguments), but those streams of differences merged at the confluence of humanism.
What stood out was the law of averages: When we scored just average marks, we were happy that we passed the exam, so were our parents. When our children get average marks, we are happy the same way and tell them that is good enough to be successful in life. It is good to be a topper, but it isn’t bad to be an ‘average’ or a ‘below average’ student. Those who drop out of schools have also made it big, but I can’t talk for those great men as I somehow made it to college and beyond.
While my parents never interfered with my studies (sometimes I wondered if my dad knew which class we three children were in – something that I wouldn’t recommend parents), I keep a distant watch on my son’s. All I would like to hear him say at the end of college is the same as a 1990 Tamil film title: ‘Aatha naan pass aayittaen!’ One of my fond memories of clearing school boards is not my parents congratulating me for my 70% score, but the way my friend Suresh’s father, a toddy shop owner called Sivanandan, did on the day of the results. “Pass aayoda,” he asked me in Malayalam. When I replied, “Yes, I’ve passed the exam,” he poured me an earthen pot of toddy – fresh with dead spiders and coconut palm dust – and said: “Now you can drink!”. It was a great beginning.
DISCLAIMER : Views expressed above are the author's own.
