I'm Indian. That means I'm stuck in the 1960s.

I sent this particular letter to a few newspaper editors in Chennai. One of them asked me to "start speaking like a 22-year old".

*

Dear Mr. Editor,

I am now a holder of an undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering from an esteemed institute in India. I joined it in 2006 after mounting pressure at home; there are many things that contribute to this particular phenomenon — that of persisting in believing that engineering is the ONLY way to go — but a very significant one is that of the obsession with scores.

I'm no longer a student, and whatsoever I say now is not as a result of harassment at home. I say it because it is strange, severely unproductive (if not counter-productive) and, more importantly, it is reinforced year after year by the same establishment that also professes any capacity to put an end to it: the information broadcasting industry.

I don't mean to point fingers at anyone at this point; news is news. However, objectively speaking, I don't see any valid reason for high-scoring students in the state-instituted class XII examinations to merit any prominent mention right on (any of) the first few pages of a newspaper that sells 5+ lakh copies each day. This sort of coverage may have been justified if the examination in question was the UPSC entrance test, which is perhaps more consequential by orders of magnitude.

The Kothari Commission report submitted to the Indian government in 1966 established that India's needs were better met by engineering or medical science degree holders rather than those who had studied the liberal arts and/or the social sciences. However, times have changed significantly. In fact, India has been acknowledged for its scientific output repeatedly in international academic and political circles alike. What more do we want? Is it not quite palpably perceived that we lack the understanding required to bridge the gap between a country struggling under ancestral burdens and a country the greatest resource of which is its burgeoning numbers of youngsters? Is that not a need better met by studying the social sciences?

Why is it not sufficient to only declare the announcement of the results? Why does it seem pertinent to photograph each of the many toppers? Through this process of aggrandizement, scoring high becomes an incentive. I concede the threat presented by over six lakh competitors in each of the examinations, but that fact alone does not validate the celebration of these high-scorers. They have my heartiest of regards, but I think you will agree when I say that their accomplishments are monumentally insignificant when compared to so much as the discovery of an indigenous method to manufacture high-efficiency batteries — something that any engineering graduate will put his mind to if he or she knows any celebration is in the offing.

There is one last question I wish to ask: if there is any celebration at all, why must it stop with the class XII exams? It is popular opinion, and not quite wrong still, that given the voluminous syllabi, most of the students have not learnt anything as much as they have managed to remember it till the D-day. If there is to be any celebration, why not celebrate those exams that have an assuredly formidable practical component? Why not celebrate those achievements the incentivization of which promises tractable good for the nation?

I'm Indian. That means I'm stuck in the 1960s.

I sent this particular letter to a few newspaper editors in Chennai. One of them asked me to "start speaking like a 22-year old".

*

Dear Mr. Editor,

I am now a holder of an undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering from an esteemed institute in India. I joined it in 2006 after mounting pressure at home; there are many things that contribute to this particular phenomenon — that of persisting in believing that engineering is the ONLY way to go — but a very significant one is that of the obsession with scores.

I'm no longer a student, and whatsoever I say now is not as a result of harassment at home. I say it because it is strange, severely unproductive (if not counter-productive) and, more importantly, it is reinforced year after year by the same establishment that also professes any capacity to put an end to it: the information broadcasting industry.

I don't mean to point fingers at anyone at this point; news is news. However, objectively speaking, I don't see any valid reason for high-scoring students in the state-instituted class XII examinations to merit any prominent mention right on (any of) the first few pages of a newspaper that sells 5+ lakh copies each day. This sort of coverage may have been justified if the examination in question was the UPSC entrance test, which is perhaps more consequential by orders of magnitude.

The Kothari Commission report submitted to the Indian government in 1966 established that India's needs were better met by engineering or medical science degree holders rather than those who had studied the liberal arts and/or the social sciences. However, times have changed significantly. In fact, India has been acknowledged for its scientific output repeatedly in international academic and political circles alike. What more do we want? Is it not quite palpably perceived that we lack the understanding required to bridge the gap between a country struggling under ancestral burdens and a country the greatest resource of which is its burgeoning numbers of youngsters? Is that not a need better met by studying the social sciences?

Why is it not sufficient to only declare the announcement of the results? Why does it seem pertinent to photograph each of the many toppers? Through this process of aggrandizement, scoring high becomes an incentive. I concede the threat presented by over six lakh competitors in each of the examinations, but that fact alone does not validate the celebration of these high-scorers. They have my heartiest of regards, but I think you will agree when I say that their accomplishments are monumentally insignificant when compared to so much as the discovery of an indigenous method to manufacture high-efficiency batteries — something that any engineering graduate will put his mind to if he or she knows any celebration is in the offing.

There is one last question I wish to ask: if there is any celebration at all, why must it stop with the class XII exams? It is popular opinion, and not quite wrong still, that given the voluminous syllabi, most of the students have not learnt anything as much as they have managed to remember it till the D-day. If there is to be any celebration, why not celebrate those exams that have an assuredly formidable practical component? Why not celebrate those achievements the incentivization of which promises tractable good for the nation?

I'm Indian. That means I'm stuck in the 1960s.

I sent this particular letter to a few newspaper editors in Chennai. One of them asked me to "start speaking like a 22-year old".

*

Dear Mr. Editor,

I am now a holder of an undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering from an esteemed institute in India. I joined it in 2006 after mounting pressure at home; there are many things that contribute to this particular phenomenon — that of persisting in believing that engineering is the ONLY way to go — but a very significant one is that of the obsession with scores.

I'm no longer a student, and whatsoever I say now is not as a result of harassment at home. I say it because it is strange, severely unproductive (if not counter-productive) and, more importantly, it is reinforced year after year by the same establishment that also professes any capacity to put an end to it: the information broadcasting industry.

I don't mean to point fingers at anyone at this point; news is news. However, objectively speaking, I don't see any valid reason for high-scoring students in the state-instituted class XII examinations to merit any prominent mention right on (any of) the first few pages of a newspaper that sells 5+ lakh copies each day. This sort of coverage may have been justified if the examination in question was the UPSC entrance test, which is perhaps more consequential by orders of magnitude.

The Kothari Commission report submitted to the Indian government in 1966 established that India's needs were better met by engineering or medical science degree holders rather than those who had studied the liberal arts and/or the social sciences. However, times have changed significantly. In fact, India has been acknowledged for its scientific output repeatedly in international academic and political circles alike. What more do we want? Is it not quite palpably perceived that we lack the understanding required to bridge the gap between a country struggling under ancestral burdens and a country the greatest resource of which is its burgeoning numbers of youngsters? Is that not a need better met by studying the social sciences?

Why is it not sufficient to only declare the announcement of the results? Why does it seem pertinent to photograph each of the many toppers? Through this process of aggrandizement, scoring high becomes an incentive. I concede the threat presented by over six lakh competitors in each of the examinations, but that fact alone does not validate the celebration of these high-scorers. They have my heartiest of regards, but I think you will agree when I say that their accomplishments are monumentally insignificant when compared to so much as the discovery of an indigenous method to manufacture high-efficiency batteries — something that any engineering graduate will put his mind to if he or she knows any celebration is in the offing.

There is one last question I wish to ask: if there is any celebration at all, why must it stop with the class XII exams? It is popular opinion, and not quite wrong still, that given the voluminous syllabi, most of the students have not learnt anything as much as they have managed to remember it till the D-day. If there is to be any celebration, why not celebrate those exams that have an assuredly formidable practical component? Why not celebrate those achievements the incentivization of which promises tractable good for the nation?

A tale of an editor

Sometimes, the best way to write is neither with prosaic structure nor with the free-flowing lucidity of poetry but in a way as to conspicuously avoid either of them.

Either form has its demands; prose famously requires the content to be specific, or it doesn't read well, whereas poetry that is long sentences broken down with periods reads like it has been forced. Apparently, volition matters.

If I were to grade the degree to which ideas have been presented cogently in either format, prose would score a 10 and poetry would score a 1. You get the picture.

However, the issue arises when the writer notices that either form of scripture (non-theologically speaking) requires the cogency-grades to be uniform within the piece. When a piece of poetry becomes suddenly specific or when a piece of prose becomes suddenly abstract, and then gives way to a change of ideological concentration, it feels as if the writer him/herself does not have a clear picture of the message being conveyed.

It's only a surprise that so many writers have not embraced the free-flowing style of writing that does not make any such demands as cogency and "the big picture", among other things, because then it means that they know what they're writing about.

However, when writing as if playing a text-based RPG, writing in my opinion transcends the form of being a tool of conveyance to being a lens through which the reader is able to view the writer's thought process. That way, the dialogue is more personal and concentric.

Most of the time, I don't know what am writing. I put pen-to-paper - or the more likely fingers-to-keyboard - and keep writing until I think I might be saying something. When I think I've put down the decisive punch-line, I scroll back to the beginning of the piece and begin editing.

Essentially, it is a detestation of editing. Editing is the formalized sleeve of commercialism that cloaks literary expression. With editing, periods, commas and, regrettably, apostrophes become really important quickly (there's the regret because of the Marxism question). I think they're really rather necessary, like in this piece.

Even so, I'm using it because I know the role they play in the expressionist form of things: I use them because I know what really the apostrophe does, what really the comma can do, and what the period never did. Such an understanding of things, I think, must be internalized at fundamental and essentially pedagogic levels.

When a piece is edited and then published - in a newspaper or in a blog - it reads as if the interaction is being actively limited to the content matter. However, I like it all delimited. Like in this piece.

Like in this piece, indeed.

*

Looks I've delivered the decisive punch-line. Now to get down to some editing.

*

Sometimes, the best way to write is neither with prosaic structure nor the free-flowing lucidity of poetry but in a way as to conspicuously avoid either of them. Either form has its demands; prose famously requires the content to be specific, or it doesn't read well, whereas poetry that is long sentences broken down with periods reads like it has been forced. Apparently, volition matters. If I were to grade the degree to which ideas have been presently cogently in either format, prose would score a 10 and poetry would score a 1. You get the picture.

However, the issue arises when the writer notices that either form of scripture (non-theologically speaking) requires the cogency-grades to be uniform within the piece. When a piece of poetry becomes suddenly specific or when a piece of prose becomes suddenly abstract, and then gives way to a change of ideological concentration, it feels as if the writer him/herself does not have a clear picture of the message being conveyed.

It's only a surprise that so many writers have not embraced the free-flowing style of writing that does not make any such demands as cogency and "the big picture", among other things, because then it means that they know what they're writing about. However, when writing as if playing a text-based RPG, writing in my opinion transcends the form of being a tool of conveyance to being a lens through which the reader is able to view the writer's thought process. That way, the dialogue is more personal and concentric.

Most of the time, I don't know what am writing. I put pen-to-paper – or the more likely fingers-to-keyboard – and keep writing until I think I might be saying something. When I think I've put down the decisive punch-line, I scroll back to the beginning of the piece and begin editing. Essentially, it is a detestation of editing. Editing is the formalized sleeve of commercialism that cloaks literary expression. With editing, periods, commas and, regrettably, apostrophes become really important quickly (there's the regret because of the Marxism question). I think they're really rather necessary. Even so, I'm using it because I know the role they play in the expressionist form of things: I use them because I know what really the apostrophe does, what really the comma can do, and what the period never did. Such an understanding of things, I think, must be internalized at fundamental and essentially pedagogic levels. When a piece is edited and then published - in a newspaper or in a blog - it reads as if the interaction is being actively limited to the content matter. However, I like it all delimited.

Apparently, volition not only matters but also shows.

*

That was simple. Only had to remove the "Like in this piece" bits and group the sentences.

*

What, haven't you met a hypocrite before?

A tale of an editor

Sometimes, the best way to write is neither with prosaic structure nor with the free-flowing lucidity of poetry but in a way as to conspicuously avoid either of them.

Either form has its demands; prose famously requires the content to be specific, or it doesn't read well, whereas poetry that is long sentences broken down with periods reads like it has been forced. Apparently, volition matters.

If I were to grade the degree to which ideas have been presented cogently in either format, prose would score a 10 and poetry would score a 1. You get the picture.

However, the issue arises when the writer notices that either form of scripture (non-theologically speaking) requires the cogency-grades to be uniform within the piece. When a piece of poetry becomes suddenly specific or when a piece of prose becomes suddenly abstract, and then gives way to a change of ideological concentration, it feels as if the writer him/herself does not have a clear picture of the message being conveyed.

It's only a surprise that so many writers have not embraced the free-flowing style of writing that does not make any such demands as cogency and "the big picture", among other things, because then it means that they know what they're writing about.

However, when writing as if playing a text-based RPG, writing in my opinion transcends the form of being a tool of conveyance to being a lens through which the reader is able to view the writer's thought process. That way, the dialogue is more personal and concentric.

Most of the time, I don't know what am writing. I put pen-to-paper - or the more likely fingers-to-keyboard - and keep writing until I think I might be saying something. When I think I've put down the decisive punch-line, I scroll back to the beginning of the piece and begin editing.

Essentially, it is a detestation of editing. Editing is the formalized sleeve of commercialism that cloaks literary expression. With editing, periods, commas and, regrettably, apostrophes become really important quickly (there's the regret because of the Marxism question). I think they're really rather necessary, like in this piece.

Even so, I'm using it because I know the role they play in the expressionist form of things: I use them because I know what really the apostrophe does, what really the comma can do, and what the period never did. Such an understanding of things, I think, must be internalized at fundamental and essentially pedagogic levels.

When a piece is edited and then published - in a newspaper or in a blog - it reads as if the interaction is being actively limited to the content matter. However, I like it all delimited. Like in this piece.

Like in this piece, indeed.

*

Looks I've delivered the decisive punch-line. Now to get down to some editing.

*

Sometimes, the best way to write is neither with prosaic structure nor the free-flowing lucidity of poetry but in a way as to conspicuously avoid either of them. Either form has its demands; prose famously requires the content to be specific, or it doesn't read well, whereas poetry that is long sentences broken down with periods reads like it has been forced. Apparently, volition matters. If I were to grade the degree to which ideas have been presently cogently in either format, prose would score a 10 and poetry would score a 1. You get the picture.

However, the issue arises when the writer notices that either form of scripture (non-theologically speaking) requires the cogency-grades to be uniform within the piece. When a piece of poetry becomes suddenly specific or when a piece of prose becomes suddenly abstract, and then gives way to a change of ideological concentration, it feels as if the writer him/herself does not have a clear picture of the message being conveyed.

It's only a surprise that so many writers have not embraced the free-flowing style of writing that does not make any such demands as cogency and "the big picture", among other things, because then it means that they know what they're writing about. However, when writing as if playing a text-based RPG, writing in my opinion transcends the form of being a tool of conveyance to being a lens through which the reader is able to view the writer's thought process. That way, the dialogue is more personal and concentric.

Most of the time, I don't know what am writing. I put pen-to-paper – or the more likely fingers-to-keyboard – and keep writing until I think I might be saying something. When I think I've put down the decisive punch-line, I scroll back to the beginning of the piece and begin editing. Essentially, it is a detestation of editing. Editing is the formalized sleeve of commercialism that cloaks literary expression. With editing, periods, commas and, regrettably, apostrophes become really important quickly (there's the regret because of the Marxism question). I think they're really rather necessary. Even so, I'm using it because I know the role they play in the expressionist form of things: I use them because I know what really the apostrophe does, what really the comma can do, and what the period never did. Such an understanding of things, I think, must be internalized at fundamental and essentially pedagogic levels. When a piece is edited and then published - in a newspaper or in a blog - it reads as if the interaction is being actively limited to the content matter. However, I like it all delimited.

Apparently, volition not only matters but also shows.

*

That was simple. Only had to remove the "Like in this piece" bits and group the sentences.

*

What, haven't you met a hypocrite before?