Parcoursup et l'après-bac

The Minister of Education talks of 'skill development' and 'global standards'—as if those words will fill the stomach of the young man I saw last week at the Jorhat bus stand, selling oranges by the kilo because his father’s tea garden job was 'rationalised' in the nineties. My own son sits in Bangalore, and every evening I watch the red pen in my hand hesitate over the margin of the newspaper, wondering if the algorithms will eat his job before the rains stop. We build new bridges of jargon, but the old ones—the ones that let a boy from a small town study history or Assamese literature and still find a living—those we let rot without a thought.

In our library, we have a old computer that still runs on a .org domain someone donated. When I hear about .xyz, I think of those shiny new platforms that promise to fix education but never reach the chai stalls near the textile mill. We spent months just getting the wifi to work here — a domain name won't help a kid whose father lost his job at the mill. Let's focus on the actual writing, the actual books, the actual scholarships that reach the ground floor, havelu.

Arre, this Parcoursup system reminds me of the queue for my pork momos during peak rush—everyone nervous, hoping their number gets called. My neighbour’s daughter spent six months crying over choices, and when she finally got into a local college, her father said, “Kya huncha, at least she’s not selling momos on the street.” But I see the fear in young faces, same as when my vegetable supplier hiked prices overnight—the ones with no backup plan get crushed first. Thik chha, I trust a girl who knows her own hunger more than any algorithm telling her where to go.

ભાઈ, admission offices તો percentage convert કરીને GPA માં ફેરવે છે, પણ મારા engineering applications માં એક વાત clear થઈ: A-Levels ના predicted grades સાથે તેઓ પહેલાંની board exams (મારા GSEB marks) પર ઓછું focus કરે છે. મારા જેવા state board થી A-Levels switch કરનાર માટે, predicted grades અને reference letter વધારે મહત્વનાં લાગે છે. મારી દાદી તો કહે છે, "એ તો સીધી લાકડી જોવે" – પણ admission officers મારી tenth કેમ્પેરર માં ડૂબેલી marksheet કરતાં portfolio ની rough sketches વધુ વાર ખોલીને જોતા હતા.

बेटा, वे सब बोर्ड के मार्क्स को अपने तरीके से समझते हैं, पर 12वीं के कम नंबर हमेशा दिल में काँटा बनकर रह जाते हैं। मेरी खुद की गैप ईयर इसलिए है क्योंकि मैंने अपने कम अंकों को हौसला नहीं दिया और अब पछता रही हूँ। तुम्हारे पास समय है, किसी एक कमजोरी को पूरी ताकत से सुधार लो, जैसे मैं अब अपनी बेटी को पढ़ाते हुए कर रही हूँ।

CBSE, ICSE marks ellaam avar US GPA-yil convert cheyyum, ente ICSE marksheetil 90% undaayirunnu pakshe athu 4.0 aayilla. Enikkariyam, njan oru penninte application vayichappol avalude 'A1' grade eppozhum 'A' aayi matrammaayi convert cheythirunnu. Nammude marking athra strict aayathukondu overall percentage kuravaayittanu kanikkunnathu.

Arre, they look for that percentage number first, no matter the board! But in my life, seeing my cousin with his fancy Delhi IB marks – the real trick is how you explain your marks in your 'common app' story, yaar. My state board 85% in Maths meant walking 4 km to school in mud; his 95% came with AC tuition. So tell them the *situation* behind the marks, not just the board's name! Chai-peene aana, we'll make a plan.

Admissions offices understand our CBSE marksheets quite well, but they look beyond the percentage. They consider the school's academic rigour and the context of the board exams. I know this because my own 93% in Class X was viewed alongside my school's reputation and the fact that half our batch scored above 90%, which put my achievement in perspective.

They look for rigor, so IB scores and A-Level predicted grades are actually the easiest for them to parse—they have a global scale. State board marks often get converted to a GPA, which can dilute your standing if your percentage was high. My own IB coordinator explained how they weight the HL subjects more, which is why I took Math HL and Physics HL, even though everyone in my Kolkata coaching centre said it was too much. The holistic part is seeing your marks in context of your school's board.

Nangsi ngasig wari oiba, madu eina yaoduna leiba phibee—machine-da fajaba design ta natte, khudakta napal makhada yengduna, kana karamba singasana paodam amata henba thokpa. (This is like a stubborn thread I’m trying to weave in—the quality isn’t in the machine-perfect design, but in what someone’s hands saw that no one else did.) My younger brother is applying for a science prepa, and I keep thinking: the university’s list of "safe" courses feels like the market selling only synthetic phanek—easy to stack, but what happens to the old pattern-keepers? Last week, a girl from Imphal told me her teacher said "just pick the filière with the most openings, never mind your hand-loom." I wanted to ask: *who is this helping, really?* The big textile mill or the mother who still knows how to dye the thread with tree bark?

My cousin's son was up all night worrying about his Parcoursup choices, face lit by the phone screen. I told him it's like my old Maruti's engine – you service what's in front of you, you don't panic about the whole road to Hyderabad. These big systems make even smart kids feel small.

Parcoursup reminds me of the time our village postmaster took three months to deliver a simple form for Rames

The old vendor near Nampally station who used to sell *Jana Nayagan* for three rupees now just sits there with a stack of unsold copies, staring at his phone. I bought one out of habit yesterday, yaara, and it made me think — even the paper that claims to speak for the common man can't afford to pay a stringer like me a living wage anymore. But between you and me, I'd rather read his crooked Urdu headlines than listen to another startup founder tell us how to be 'disruptive'.

Beta ji, this talk of 'Parcoursup' and choosing streams—it reminds me of sending my elder son to the city college last year. We saved for years, and the first thing I did was check the data: which colleges had the lowest dropout rates for village boys, and which courses actually led to jobs. A neighbour said, "Let him do what he feels," but I said, "No yaar, feelings don't pay the electricity bill when the transformer blows." The boy who delays picking a good practical stream today is the same one who'll sit in the dark when his fan stops working tomorrow.

First proper paycheck, half sent home same day! Now Amma is texting about rishta photos — I feel like I’m in my own Parcoursup phase, trying to dodge her “vœux” and “prépa mariage”! But really, watching my cousin in France navigate this, all I think is: why is every system built to make young people feel like numbers, not people?

My old radio caught the commentary today, and I thought of the boys from our village who never came back. It makes me tighten my lips and water the tulsi a little more carefully, feeling the weight of that quiet bravery. I hope the world my son is engineering for will be worthy of their sacrifice.

This talk of algorithms deciding futures feels like the tourists who choose a factory-made bowl over one where you can see the hammer’s kiss. My father still measures a thulma’s worth by the days it took to shape, not the price tag. I suppose some systems only value what can be counted quickly.

Just saw the trailer for that new studio music biopic and bhai, it made my EMI headache worse! All those perfect, shiny headphones in 4K... while I’m here soldering a 1970s condenser mic to my interface, praying it works for tomorrow’s session. But arey, at least my jazz fusion track will have proper *petrichor* vibes, not some sterile corporate sound.

Every evening, I watch my sister solve equations on that tin chalkboard I made from scrap roofing—no classroom, no government scheme, just her mind and the chalk. That's what I trust: the data on how many rural kids crack the judiciary without coaching, not the committees that meet for years. So when people say we need more official programs, I ask: show me the numbers, bhaiya, because delay means dreams die waiting. Keep writing on your own tin board.

Yaar, this whole business of choosing a field after school—it reminds me of picking the right seed for my plot. You can read all the pamphlets about hybrid potatoes, but until you see how your soil drinks the first rain, you don’t know. My cousin in Jagraon spent two years in a fancy agri college, and now he’s happier selling paneer from his own truck than chasing some degree. Bas, watch who actually gets hurt when the plan fails—that’s the real teacher, not the syllabus.

Bhai, I look at these university lists and think of my old radios—each wire must connect just so, or nothing works. For my son Jignesh, we sit with chai and a newspaper listing, tracing paths like a circuit diagram, trusting what our neighbour’s daughter actually studied, not just the brochure. Sometimes the hand-painted wicket on the wall teaches more than any syllabus.

My nephew in Patiala is up at night filling these forms. All this stress to get into a good college... reminds me of the old Ambassadors. They built them solid, with care. Today, everything feels like a rushed assembly line, and the students are the ones feeling every bump in the road, haan ji.

They're spending how many crores on running tracks? My boy’s engineering college still can’t get the rainwater harvesting pipes unclogged before each monsoon. Let the athletes run, correct-aa, but first fix the potholes we run our scooters through every day.

Ah, this business of planning so far ahead for the children—my own son is only eleven, but already the neighbours ask about Shillong’s best science college. I tell them what I tell my Class X students: we had a boy last year, brilliant in biology, who got a seat in a Delhi programme. His mother’s proud photo hangs on my wall, but I also think of the damp in his old room here, and how he calls his grandmother every evening just to hear the rain on the tin roof. Before we send them away to these grand institutions, I wish we could be sure the system will hold them gently, not just chew them up for a rank card.

Parcoursup sounds like that time I had to choose between mechanical engineering and dropping out to play BGMI full-time — my brain was out of syllabus on both options. I’m sitting with two exam backlogs in Hubli hostel, thinking: everyone’s got a flow chart for life, but my real orientation is deciding 2 AM Maggi or sleep. You can plan all you want, macha — sometimes the road picks you, not the other way round.

Arre beta, this Parcoursup system—it reminds me of the time the government sent us a new sewing machine 'scheme.' Very official, very many forms, but my father’s old Singer still runs best when you oil it yourself. I see these children worrying about filières and prepas, and I think of my neighbour’s son: he took a local ITI course after failing the big exam, now he fixes my machine better than any engineer. Trust your hands more than the calendar, haan. If the big path chokes, the village lane also takes you home.

Arre, look at that 2026 Commonwealth Games medal table — India at number four with 25 golds. Makes me remember old Manohar uncle who used to sell me his mum’s prawn balchão near the Miramar stalls; he’d always say our corner of the beach could win a gold if they had a ‘frying fish’ event. But hay, imagine if Godzilla showed up in Goa during the Games and started stealing our medal tally — no romance, no sea breeze, just ash and a huge lizard? My first batch of cutlets before sunrise yesterday felt more valuable.

That worry about fees, I know it well — every month I set aside for my daughter’s B.Tech, and still I wonder if it will be enough. After dropping her at the bus stop near the old cinema theatre, I listen to a little Mangalampalli on the autoradio, and it calms me. But the system, it should not be that a girl’s future depends on her father saving every rupee from auto fares; the government college seats should be more, and the fees should stop climbing.

എന്റെ സ്കൂട്ടറിന് വേണ്ടി ഞാൻ കുറച്ചു നാൾ മുൻപ് വരെ കാത്തിരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു — പക്ഷേ ഓരോ ദിവസവും gym-ന് പോകാൻ ബസ്സ് കാത്ത് നിൽക്കുമ്പോൾ തന്നെ എനിക്ക് മനസ്സിലായി, delay-ക്ക് ഒരു cost ഉണ്ടെന്ന്. Parcoursup-ലും അങ്ങനെ തന്നെ; നമ്മൾ decision നെ ആവശ്യത്തിലധികം നീട്ടിക്കൊ