I have often pondered at a statement emanating from the 19th century French mathematical genius Evariste Galois. I recall with distaste that the best French mathematicians of his time failed to recognise his abilities. Having been failed more than once in an entrance examination, Galois had remarked somewhat to the effect that a person of higher intelligence is always lost with a person of lesser abilities. Something similar had happened to the Indian mathematical genius Srinivasa Ramanujan when Madras University failed to recognise his extraordinary gifts as a mathematician and struck his name off its rolls. This action was prompted by the fact that Ramanujan had failed to obtain the required minimum marks in the English literature course. Einstein too went through a similar ordeal. To begin with, none of Einstein’s university professors recognised his potential as a genius. After having secured a doctorate, he repeatedly failed to obtain a teaching position. In desperation, he took up a job as Patent Clerk Third Class at the patent office in Berne. During this phase he solved three of the greatest mysteries of nature including one that later fetched him the Nobel Prize. Yet, when he applied for promotion to Patent Clerk Second Class, he was rejected. All of these illustrate the veracity of Galois’ assertion as above.
This brings me to the business of student examinations. My inferences and beliefs are based on experiences ranging from my own days as a student to a myriad learnings across geographical and institutional boundaries. I have come to the firm and clear conclusion that most student examinations are designed in a standard and mostly unimaginative fashion that do not reveal the real abilities of a student. I recall with some clarity the time when as a grade 1 student at school, I carried a letter from my teacher informing my parents about my poor abilities in mathematics and due to which I was to be detained in the same grade for another year. My mother managed to browbeat my teacher with the simple logic of the foolishness of judging so harshly the raw intellect of a grade 1 student. Such a situation recurred in grade 6 again. My teacher repeatedly compared me with my best friend in unfavourable terms. Later, I wrote my first research paper while still a teenager; for the record, my best friend was struggling to clear his school leaving examination at that time. Lest the reader reads unintended meanings into my story, all I am trying to say is that examinations generally do not tell us useful things about a student.
However, my real worries arise from the futility and harm that mark the current practices of examining students for academic abilities. I have never fully understood why we indulge in the habit of using an examination to disable a student. If at all, an examination must be so designed that it leads to a student being enabled. For instance, instead of asking students if they know the answer to this and that question what prevents an examiner from asking a student to write what he knows? Yet, most examinations that I have encountered are designed to establish how little a student knows. This matter of establishing how little a student knows is what caused harm to Ramanujan. They established his lack of interest in the English literature course but failed to establish his mathematical genius. The other worry that causes much concern stems from the fact that we are examining our students out of their minds. This practice of heaping one examination after another begins at the stage of near infancy and continues unabated year after year. My fear is that the day is not far off when India shall appear like one giant examination centre from outer space. In contrast, the National Education Policy, 2020, talks of assessing a student through a pedagogy that relies on project-based problem solving, and which looks at many aspects of the project to judge a student.