Seven Days, Twenty Kilometres.. மற்றும் மறக்க முடியாத சில நினைவுகள்!

தேர்வுக் கண்காணிப்பு பணி என்பது ஆசிரியர்களின் மிகவும் வித்தியாசமான பொறுப்புகளில் ஒன்றாகும். வெளிப்படையாகப் பார்த்தால் அது எளிதான வேலையாகத் தோன்றினாலும், மூன்றரை மணி நேரம் தொடர்ந்து நின்றபடியே மாணவர்களை கவனித்து, தேர்வு ஒழுங்காக நடைபெறுவதை உறுதி செய்வது உடலுக்கும் மனதுக்கும் சவாலாக அமைகிறது.

மாணவர்கள் தங்களுக்குத் தெரிந்ததை எழுதிக்கொண்டிருக்க, ஆசிரியர் அமைதியாக அரங்கம் முழுவதும் நடந்து, ஒவ்வொரு நொடியும் விழிப்புடன் தனது கடமையை நிறைவேற்றிக் கொண்டிருப்பார். இப்படிப்பட்ட நேரத்தில் தனக்கு நேர்ந்த ஒரு அனுபவத்தை நம்முடன் பகிர்ந்து கொண்டுள்ளார் ஆசிரியர் வ. துர்கா தேவி..

Among the many duties assigned to a teacher, examination duty is perhaps one of the strangest. It is not difficult in the conventional sense. 

There are no complex calculations to make, no lessons to teach, and no papers to correct at that moment. Yet, standing inside an examination hall for nearly three and a half hours without sitting down can be surprisingly exhausting.

Students write whatever they know and sometimes whatever they do not know. They fill answer sheets, request additional papers after a couple of hours, and continue their battle with the question paper. Meanwhile, the invigilator keeps walking from one corner of the room to another, watching, waiting, and ensuring that everything proceeds smoothly.

The body remains inside the classroom.

The mind does not.

That is perhaps the most fascinating part of examination duty.

After the first half hour, the hall settles into silence. Pens move across paper. Ceiling fans continue their endless rotations. The walls remain unchanged. The clock appears determined not to move at all.

And then the mind begins its own journey.

Without even realizing it, I find myself wandering along mountain roads. Sometimes I am walking through mist-covered hilltops. Sometimes I am standing beside a river hidden deep within a forest. At other moments, I am travelling through landscapes that seem to have emerged directly from a Balu Mahendra frame. The visual beauty captured by his camera comes alive again. The poetic simplicity of another era of cinema revisits me. Somewhere in the background, Ilaiyaraaja's music begins to play—not through speakers, but from memory itself.

A familiar melody arrives.

Then another.

And another.

Suddenly, the examination hall disappears.

For a few moments, I am no longer standing inside four walls. I am travelling through valleys, forests, village roads, rain-soaked fields, and distant mountains. Memories from childhood join the journey. Forgotten faces return. Long-lost moments revisit me. The mind wanders freely through places that the feet have not touched for years.

Perhaps this is how most teachers survive those long hours.

The body performs its duty.

The mind creates its own freedom.

This was exactly what happened during one particular board examination season.

A colleague of mine, who is much more than a colleague and closer to a dear friend, and I were allotted the same examination centre for seven examination days. The centre was about twenty kilometres from our home, and from the very first day we decided to travel together on a single scooter.

Those journeys soon became something we eagerly anticipated.

Every examination morning began with breakfast at a small family-run mess near the centre. The place was simple, clean, and welcoming. The food was good, but more than the food, it was the companionship that made those mornings special. We shared our tiffin, exchanged stories, discussed life, laughed at old incidents, and started each day in good spirits.

The April sun was relentless. The roads shimmered with heat. Yet somehow, we never seemed to notice it much.

After completing our examination duty, we returned to our hometown and stopped for lunch before going home. We chose a comfortable two-star hotel with an air-conditioned dining hall. The moment we stepped inside, the harsh world outside seemed to disappear. We shared meals, admired the ambience, appreciated the oil paintings decorating the walls, and enjoyed conversations that had no urgency attached to them.

In many ways, those lunches became an extension of our morning rides.

One day, during one of our journeys, we noticed what appeared to be a magical stretch of woodland. Rows of tall trees stood together like silent guardians. The place seemed to invite us inside.

Curiosity eventually overcame caution.

Starting a little earlier than usual, we entered the area and spent some time exploring its beauty. Sunlight filtered through the trees. Shadows danced on the ground. The entire place felt untouched and serene. We captured photographs that continue to decorate my gallery even today.

When we later showed those photographs to our colleagues, they were amazed.

Their amazement was not merely about the pictures.

They were surprised that we had managed to find joy in what most teachers considered one of the toughest duties of the year. While others spoke about the heat, the boredom, and the long hours of standing, we spoke about breakfast, journeys, conversations, forests, photographs, music, and memories.

Only later did we learn that the area we had explored was actually a protected reserve where visitors were not supposed to enter. Fortunately, our innocent adventure ended with nothing more than beautiful memories and beautiful photographs.

Today, when I think about those examination days, I do not remember the answer sheets, the attendance forms, or the endless walk between classroom walls.

Instead, I remember Ilaiyaraaja's songs playing silently inside my mind.

I remember wandering through imaginary mountain paths while standing beside examination desks.

I remember the cool comfort of shared lunches after a scorching afternoon.

I remember the forest, the photographs, the laughter, and the companionship.

Life has an interesting way of teaching us lessons.

Sometimes happiness does not come from escaping our duties.

Sometimes it comes from discovering little pockets of beauty within them.

Those examination days reminded me that even inside the most tiring classroom, the mind can still wander across mountains, travel through forests, listen to timeless music, and collect memories that last far longer than the duty itself.

(About the Author: Durgadevi V, Graduate Teacher, GHS Nesal, Tiruvannamalai District)