The Examination Extinction
Humanity finally succeeded in removing educational stress... and there is a cat behind
This is the fifth story in the Tensor Krishnan Iyer series. Read
first.
Tirunelveli, Tamil Nadu
The television was on.
7:13 PM.
21st December, 2032
The newsreader smiled.
“Exam-related anxiety among Indian students has dropped to its lowest level in decades.”
A graph appeared.
Parents were happier.
Children were happier.
Coaching centres were not.
The newsreader continued.
“Experts attribute the decline to a significant shift in career preferences. Young people are increasingly choosing creative professions over conventional careers in engineering, medicine and scientific research.”
Another graph.
Reel creation.
Digital storytelling.
Music.
Design.
Performance.
Technology Driven Fine Arts.
A generation that preferred creating over calculating.
The newsreader smiled again.
“Supporters call it a creative renaissance. Critics worry that logical and scientific thinking may be becoming unfashionable.”
On the sofa, a cat watched.
Tall.
Slender.
White fur.
Black patches around both eyes, reaching towards his ears.
Like Batman had given up crime-fighting and moved to South India.
From somewhere inside the house…
சங்கரா! சயின்ஸ் சோறு போடாது! ஒழுங்கா ரீலிஸ் போன்ற வழிய பாரு! (Shankaraa! Science soru podadhu! Olunga reels podra vazhiya paaru! -> Sankara! Science won’t put food on the table! Better start making reels!)
“Amma…”,
Shankaran’s voice was broken.
Vector turned his head & touched Shankaran’s bare foot.
Softly.
Shankaran looked at him.
And the sadness loosened.
The communication came.
It always came that way.
Not as sound.
Not as language.
A thought arriving without the inconvenience of being spoken.
“Do not worry”.
Shankaran smiled.
Another feeling.
Warmer.
More certain.
“Your mother is afraid for you. That is not the same as being right.”
“Don’t let her hear that.”
Vector blinked.
Shankaran put his hand on the cat’s head.
Vector leaned into it.
Only slightly.
That was all Vector ever allowed.
But Shankaran understood.
He had been understood.
And the future is here.
22nd Dec, 2032
The day of winter solstice.
The Thamiraparani moved quietly beyond the Agraharam.
Mist floated above the water.
Somewhere, a temple bell rang.
Shankaran turned 14 today.
And already obsolete.
His mother stood at the kitchen door.
“One more year,” she said. “Then you will finish school. What after that?”
“IIT.”
She looked at him.
The way one looks at a relative who has announced that he has invented a perpetual-motion machine.
“IIT-aa?”
“Amma…”
“Last year only half the IIT seats got filled.”
“Not half.”
“Same difference.”
“It is not the same difference.”
“Okay. Eighty percent, sixty percent, ninety percent. You do the mathematics. But tell me one thing.”
She pointed at the phone.
“Your cousin makes four lakh rupees every month making biriyani reels.”
“He reviews restaurants.”
“He eats.”
“He edits.”
“Exactly. Learn that.”
Shankaran said nothing.
Eight years ago, knowledge had been power.
Then artificial intelligence became available to everyone.
Knowledge became searchable.
Then conversational.
Then instantaneous.
Finally, knowledge itself became slightly embarrassing.
Nobody asked:
What do you know?
They asked:
How many followers?
Schools changed.
Children changed.
Parents changed faster.
IIT-JEE applicants had fallen below the number of available seats.
NEET was still alive.
India had not entirely lost its fascination with doctors.
But if you appeared for the examination and remembered your own name, an MBBS seat somewhere seemed likely.
Overall the examination fear and anxiety among the students and the parents, eradicated.
A positive social change.
Meanwhile, schools began offering:
Short-Form Content Creation.
Viral Psychology.
Personal Brand Engineering.
And one school in Chennai had proudly announced:
Advanced Reel Studies.
Shankaran hated it.
Not the reels.
He had no ideological objection to people dancing in front of waterfalls.
But Mathematics…
Mathematics was different.
It did not care if it was fashionable.
It did not need followers.
A theorem remained beautiful even when nobody liked it.
That morning, however, Shankaran suddenly felt very tired.
Not of Mathematics.
Of having to defend why he loved it.
Vector had appeared two years earlier.
During Shankaran’s Class 10 examinations.
One evening, Shankaran had come out of the house after school.
There was a white cat sitting near the gate.
Black patch around the eyes.
He was staring at Shankaran.
Shankaran stared back.
Neither moved.
His mother opened the door.
“Whose cat?”
“I don’t know.”
The cat walked inside.
That was the beginning.
No adoption.
No paperwork.
No consent.
Vector simply decided.
For the next two years, whenever Shankaran doubted himself, Vector appeared.
During examinations.
During arguments.
During nights when Shankaran wondered whether his mother was right.
The cat would sit nearby.
And somehow Shankaran would continue.
Outside, the first sounds of the Bhajanai Goshti drifted through the street.
Vector’s ears rose.
Shankaran smiled.
“Let’s go.”
Vector was already moving.
The winter month of Margazhi belonged to the agraharam.
Both Vector and Shankaran loved the scene and the treats.
Before sunrise, the maamas emerged from their houses.
Bare-chested.
Freshly bathed.
Veshtis tied perfectly. (Veshti is a traditional, unstitched piece of cloth worn around the waist and legs by men in South Asia)
A thundu(towel, usually white) resting over one shoulder.
Some had serious musical talent.
Others had courage.
The distinction was not always obvious.
They walked through the streets singing Thiruppavai and Thiruvempavai.
And from every street entrance, veranda and thinnai, the maamis watched.
They did not join the Bhajanai Goshti.
They had their own arrangement.
They stood together.
Neighbouring maamis.
Hands folded.
Shawls around their shoulders.
Pretending to listen to Andal.
Actually watching the maamas.
“Anga paaru-di Alamelu… Komala aathu maama!” (“Look over there, Alamelu… that’s Komala’s man!”)
One maami screamed in ecstasy.
“Epdi nannaa paadraar!” (He sings so well.)
Alamelu maami replied back and winked.
Her face was lit.
Komala maami turned immediately.
“Who?”
“Who-aa?”
“Unga aathu maama dhaan”.(It is indeed your husband.)
The maamis laughed.
Komala adjusted her saree.
“He has been singing like that for 22 years.”
She was shy and angry simultaneously.
“Then you should have appreciated him earlier.”
“Why should I?”
“Then we will.”
Komala gave them a look.
“He sings for me everyday”.
Pride in her eyes.
“Vera enna panraar maama daily”. (What else he does, everyday?)
There was laughter.
Komala changed her gaze to the ground immediately.
Her feet went drawing kolam. (Kolam is a traditional South Indian floor art made by drawing geometric lines and loops around a grid of dots using rice flour to welcome prosperity and feed small creatures.)
The maamas continued singing.
And they approached the gang of maamis in unison.
Three of the mamas immediately stood straighter.
Tucked in their pot belly.
Nobody knew why.
The entire maami union knew why.
And then came Shankaran.
With Vector beside him.
The maamas stopped pretending they weren’t pleased.
“Ada! Einstein vandhuttan!” (Eisntein is here!)
Shankaran rolled his eyes.
Vector ignored them.
One elderly maama bent down.
“Enna da, Vector? Shankaran padikkaraanaa?” (Hey Vector, Is Shankaran studying well?)
Vector looked at him.
The maama nodded seriously.
“Correct.”
Nobody had heard the answer.
Nobody needed to.
The name had begun as a joke.
The black patch around the eyes made him look like a superhero.
Shankaran named him Vector.
Then one morning, an elderly maama announced:
“If this boy is Shankaran and that fellow is his constant companion, there is only one respectable name.”
Everyone waited.
“Vector Shankaran Pillai.”
The name stayed.
So did the affection.
Shankaran and Vector became part of Margazhi procession.
A small boy who still loved Mathematics.
A strange cat who seemed to understand more than necessary.
For the old people, there was something comforting about them.
The world had moved ahead without asking permission.
Their children and grandchildren lived inside screens.
Nobody memorised poems anymore.
Nobody learnt equations unless a machine could not solve them.
And here was this boy.
Still arguing about Physics.
Still carrying a notebook.
Still asking questions that did not immediately produce income.
The maamas loved him for it.
The maamis loved him more.
They just didn’t say it directly.
That would have been too easy.
After the bhajanai, Shankaran and Vector went to the Murugan temple near the Thamiraparani.
Pepper milk.
Chakkarai pongal.
That was the reward.
Shankaran took his cup.
Vector waited.
“You know this is not nutritionally balanced?”
Vector stared.
“Okay. Fine.”
Shankaran gave him a little.
The temple priest watched.
“Your cat gets better treatment than some devotees.”
“He has influence.”
“Clearly.”
The priest bent down.
“Vanga(Welcome), Vector Shankaran Pillai.”
Vector walked past him.
With the dignity of a man who had been addressed by his full name.
Shankaran laughed.
And for a few minutes, the future did not matter.
The years passed.
Shankaran grew.
Vector didn’t seem to.
That was the first thing Shankaran found strange.
The second thing was that Vector always knew.
IIT Madras.
Electrical Engineering.
Physics.
Quantum systems.
Vector was there.
In hostels.
In laboratories.
Outside lecture halls.
Once, Vector walked into a class, climbed onto an empty chair and alert through a two-hour lecture on electromagnetic fields.
The professor looked at him.
Then at Shankaran.
Then continued.
Nobody complained.
It was as if Vector possessed an invisible identity card.
AUTHORISATION: UNIVERSAL
Shankaran later moved to Lausanne.
EPFL.
Direct PhD.
Quantum mechanics.
Brain simulation.
Where he meets his sweetheart Ayesha Zaidi Kuttimol
Microbiologist.
Cat Mum.
The research at EPFL was difficult enough to destroy Shankaran’s sleep cycle.
Vector remained helpful.
Not by contributing equations.
He had other skills.
He knew when Shankaran had worked too long.
He knew when a failed experiment had become personal.It is indeed your Uncle Aathu.
On such nights, Vector would sit on Shankaran’s notebook.
This was scientifically disruptive.
It was also effective.
Once, after a particularly bad simulation, Shankaran said:
“I think I’m not good enough.”
Vector looked at him.
The thought came.
Clear.
Almost irritated.
That is not a scientific conclusion.
Shankaran laughed.
Then cried.
Quietly.
Vector stayed.
He did not touch him.
Cats understand that sometimes presence is more accurate than consolation.
Shankaran continued.
Finished.
The world outside had become stranger.
People with PhDs struggled for jobs.
People who made thirty-second videos explaining why refrigerators were emotionally unavailable became millionaires.
Shankaran received a job offer.
No company name.
No website.
No social profile.
A government laboratory.
Location classified.
Somewhere in the Himalayas.
Designation:
Qubit Coherence Engineer.
He read the letter twice.
Then looked at Vector.
“What do you think?”
The answer arrived.
Cold.
Shankaran smiled.
“That is your scientific assessment?”
Extremely cold.
For the first time in months, Shankaran laughed without stopping himself.
Then he packed.
Vector watched.
Of course he was coming.
There had never been a question.
Suddenly…
The EPFL campus disappeared.
The Quantum mechanics laboratory disappeared.
Shankaran disappeared.
I was standing in my living room.
My hand was still holding the tea cup.
Tensor Krishnan Iyer sat on the sofa.
“Was I teleported again?”
The television was on.
The clock read:
7:13 PM.
I looked at Tensor.
He looked at me.
My heart was beating too fast.
“What was that?”
Tensor blinked.
The newsreader continued.
Her expression changed.
Slightly.
The way newsreaders do when the next story requires seriousness.
“Examination anxiety among students continues to be a major concern.”
The newsreader continued.
“Experts say academic pressure, fear of failure and uncertainty about careers are taking an increasing psychological toll on students.”
A pause.
Then:
“In some cases, examination failure has led students to take their own lives.”
The screen changed.
“Counsellors warn that the tragedy does not always end there. Parents, too, have struggled under the weight of grief, guilt and the feeling that they failed their children.”
Tensor watched.
Perfectly still.
The newsreader continued.
“Several education experts are now questioning whether the competition itself has become more important than learning.”
Another image appeared.
A classroom.
A child staring at an examination paper.
Then the newsreader said:
“Are we educating children for knowledge…”
A pause.
“…or merely training them not to fail?”
The television continued.
And somewhere…
perhaps six years ahead…
a fourteen-year-old boy named Shankaran was about to hear his mother say:
“Shankara… Science soru podadhu. Olunga reels podra vazhiya paaru.” -> Sankara! Science won’t put food on the table! Better start making reels!
And the future began.
The computer behind me came alive.
The screen was black.
Then white letters appeared.
PROJECT STATUS
I walked closer.
KNOWLEDGE ACCESSIBILITY: ACHIEVED
Another line.
COGNITIVE LOAD: REDUCED
Then:
EDUCATIONAL STRESS: STARTED DECLINING
I waited.
A final heading appeared.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: CREATION OF LLMs & EFFECTIVE DISTRIBUTION
The computer blinked again.
One final line appeared.
PROJECT: CURIOSITY PRESERVATION
Tensor purred.
Outside, the evening became quiet.
The newsreader continued talking about happier children.
Creative careers.
Lower stress.
A better future.
I looked at Tensor.
And for the first time, I wondered…
How many children had a cat sitting beside them when the whole world told them they were interested in the wrong thing?
Tensor looked at me like he knows everything.
Continued in The Causal Corridor.
References
- Academic pressure and suicide risk among adolescents: a dual mediation model of depression and school cohesion
- Labor market impacts of AI: A new measure and early evidence
- Niti Aayog report rings grad job alarm: Graduate unemployment four times national rate
- Meta to pay up to $18bn to settle claims its platforms harm children
- Exam failure suicides and policy initiatives in India
- IIT Delhi Cites Mental Health Support Systems, As Protests Over Student’s Death Continue