Reasons

Long time. The blog was dead. I am in the process of writing a book, loosely based on the blog. Thought I would share with you guys. A small excerpt from the as-yet-unfinished work. Ideas and your experiences are welcome. Post it in comments or mail me at tirumalakv@gmail.com. If ever the book gets to see the light of the day, the acknowledgements would be due. Here it goes: 

"It's only the idiots who decide to appear for this exam. Look at the probability of success. Of a million who appear, less than a thousand qualify and only a hundred make it to the IAS. If the goal is to be an IAS, you are talking about a probability of around one in ten thousand. And knowing that atleast a third of them are good and deserving, and prepare well while taking up different subject options, it is difficult to predict who would get that one seat. That, my friend, makes this exam a function of sheer chance than any preparation or talent. It is irrational for a young graduate who can start in some decent job to waste years in pursuit of a goal with such abysmal success probability. There is no reason for a rational person to be here." 

The first one opined. The second one scratched his stubble and disagreed. 

"There is a reason. In this vast populous country, life usually ends up in the grind of misery and loses itself in frustrations of living. Mild success and stoic pursuit of linear growth in life can fascinate only the philosophers and lazy, not the restless young who want to change the world. This, the exam that you call unscientific and chance driven, gives a graduate a chance at doing  a lot better in life, probably ending up as someone who changes the course of things for millions. There is a meaning to life, and this exam gives a chance at unraveling it. Your life achieves a meaning and you get a reason to exist meaningfully, while you do good to others as an IAS, being an administrator or a policymaker. That's what attracts the youth to this exam And when you are young, you are ready to fight for that one chance in a million, and by that standard the odds are better here, one in ten thousand. Why wouldn't a reasonable graduate take it?" 

The third one smirked, he rolled his eyes and said, 

"How pompous you aspirants sound. I will tell you the bitter truth. Most of those who appear at this exam have no idea about what else to do. They are mediocre people. They choose such goals with low probability of success in order to justify the failure that they ultimately become. And among the remaining who come across as not-so-mediocre, or even talented, they all are here because they are insecure people. They have succeeded earlier, at IITs, IIMs, their universities, at their private sector jobs or even abroad, but in a very narrow sense of academic achievements or in a cloistered environment cut off from the daily realities of poverty and hardship. They yearn for challenge to satisfy their egos. An improbable goal like civil services, appears to them as something that shall seal their successes and take away their deep seated insecurity about themselves. Ha! They fail to recognize the chimera, yet again. The second types are psychological nutcases, in search of tangible success, to frame and hang it on the walls of their insecure self.  Chance probability and such calculations do not matter to either types. Failure is success for the first types. Success is just another step in the journey of an insecure self for the second types."

Mishraji slurped his chai, and took the next drag. He smiled and said, 

"Don't get so serious kids. This philosophy and theories are fine, but you must understand that there is lot of money to be made on the other side if you become an IAS. Seven generations need not work if you succeed at this. And add to it the prestige in the society. You are mai-baap for your district as an IAS. You are worshipped if you do some good. When you compare to the success, what are two or four years of your life? And look at the alternatives. Slogging as a second grade clerk or behind project deadlines or obnoxious bosses in private sector. Dog's life for paltry money. If you want to escape, this is the chance. What's wrong if all of us are here. Some of us will make it. Most won't. And if you make it and I don't, please don't forget me. I will be your secretary and will help you hide the ill-gotten money. You earn respect, I will earn money for you. He he." And he took another drag. Everyone smiled, but fell silent soon after. None agreed with Mishraji, but couldn't point out the exact reason of their disagreement. They shuffled around. 

The chai was over and they dispersed. Mishraji looked at Sharmaji behind the tea counter. He was putting the second mug of tea to the steam. It was getting colder by the day. A light mist was descending on the surroundings, giving a soft damp smell to the narrow gullies where the IAS aspirants lived. Jia sarai was not a place to prepare anymore. Many who worked at private sector had made it their home. But years ago, this place buzzed with mostly IAS aspirants, especially those who came with engineering background. Mishraji was a relic from that era, though he majored in philosophy. He had hung on, giving attempts after attempts. As one more winter dawned, he was feeling worn out and old. Sharmaji was singing an old hindi song from behind the counter. 

"Duniya banane wale…." 

"Teesri kasam Sharmaji. What a song. Keep it up." Mishraji egged. Sharmaji continued. The song got over. 

"You know Sharmaji. None of these idiots will make it. They are too theoretical and serious. You need to be practical and easygoing here. Come, read the relevant stuff, practice, write the answers in a certain way and go out successful. There is no point hanging around and philosophising. And none of them thought of being an entrepreneur, doing social work, excelling in their own fields and so on. They clung to this exam and are theorizing about reasons to do so. Its as if they themselves are not convinced about the reason of being here. They all will end up as failures." 

"How do you know Mishraji? How can you judge others like that?" Sharmaji asked. 

Mishraji took a while to finish his cigarette. He didn't speak. He threw the butt on the ground, rubbed it under his feet and started walking. He stopped, looked around at Sharmaji and said, 

"Because Sharmaji, I was just like them."