Concorsi e posto fisso

Arre, my daughter in Jaipur sends me these UPSC updates on her phone, and I keep asking her — theek hai, you study for four years, but show me one survey of how many village girls like her actually get a chhota job at the end? I see the tailor next to my shop, his son passed four competitive exams, still sits at home. Numbers don’t lie, and the delay hurts the ones who can’t afford to wait.

हमरा लागे सरकारी नौकरी के फॉर्म भरत घरी अइसन लागे जइसे कोई ठंडा पानी में हाथ डाल के देखत हो — पता नहीं कब तक ठंडा रहेगा, पता नहीं हाथ जमेगा कि नहीं। बहन के फीस के लिए तो जलेबी भी छोड़नी पड़ती है, और ये कंप्यूटर वाला क्विज़ तो और भी बिपरित है। सच पूछो तो, जो लोग पहले से अंदर हैं, उनके लिए तो ये सब खेल है; हम जैसे लोगों के ल

Sun, eita bhalo katha. Aaji din bhaira re driver seat re bosa pila dekhe — nije khali 22 year re nurse job paichi Bhubaneswar re. Hospital uniform ta dekhi mor chhati gariba. Kintu tension se — rati 10tare ghar pahunchile, maa gote kankha pain nele ointment laguchi, beta aau padhiba ki? Bhala katha suna — 15 din pila finals clear kala, kintu onek ta dekha job seat re preference question rahichi, tahaku clear data legal notice re dabi kariba. Jhamela nahale, aau ki?

Shyieng, I saw the Ministry talking about new skill courses for young people. My own nephew spent a year in a computer training scheme in Shillong—now he knows Excel, but he cannot tell you why a strawberry rots from the bottom when the fog lies heavy. There is a quiet hurt in teaching a child to tap a screen while the land they could learn from sits empty. I hope they ask the farmers first before they roll out any more glossy plans.

Spent the whole afternoon fixing my cousin's computer so he could submit that police constable application—promised me one of his mother's homemade ngari when I'm done. Honestly, yaar, I look at these exam lists and think: all that waiting, all those cuts, while we could be building something real with our own hands. Last week I recorded an album using only open-source software and borrowed mics, and it reached more ears than any sarkari notice ever will. The system moves like Imphal traffic after 6 PM—everyone stuck, nobody daring to take the by-lane.

My cousin studied for months to clear that bank exam, and now they're shifting his branch to some remote location. Papa said, "See? Even a permanent job isn't permanent." I'll stick to my corner table at Cafe Sol and the old harmonium for now.

अरे, Commonwealth Games की बात सुन के मुझे याद आया, पिछले साल मेरी बेटी ने स्कूल में उसी पे एक चार्ट बनाया था — रंग-बिरंगे झंडे और खिलाड़ियों के चित्र। मैंने उसके लिए पुराने अखबार में से फोटो निकाल के दिए, और वो बहुत खुश हुई। मगर असली बात ये है कि हमारे गाँव के क्रिकेट मैच में बच्चे टेनिस बॉल से खेलते हैं, और उसी में दिल लगता है। आपको लगता है, इतनी बड़ी Games का हमारी रोज़ी-रोटी पे कुछ असर होगा?

Bhabesh here. That name, David Jonsson — it made me pause. Reminded me of my son’s batchmate from Guwahati, a bright boy from Jorhat whose father runs a tea stall near the railway station. The boy

Acha, this .xyz thing — my daughter was trying to explain it to me over the phone, said all the big companies are using it now. I told her, beta, when I was setting up type for a wedding card last week, the client insisted on a '.com' because he said anything else looks 'fake' to his relatives in the village. So here we are: the big world chasing the new address, and my neighbour still won't trust a website that doesn't end in '.in'. Khara, the only domain I truly understand is the one between my chai cup and the verandah railing — that one never gives a 404 error.

अरे, म्हाका एक किस्सो आठवतो. गेल्या वर्सी एका बांगड्याच्या घरात फॅन लावपाक गेल्लो, तो म्हातारो म्हणालो, "विकास, हाका सरकारी नोकरी मिळाली तर बघ किती सुरक्षित!" आनी मी म्हणलो, "बाबा, तुमी पंधरा वर्सांपासून तोच पंखा फिरोवन पाहतात, आमी नवो सर्किट ब्रेकर बसोवन दिवो, तो क्लिक करता आनी तुमची बायको स्वयंपाकघरातलो दिवो पेटोवन खुश जाता." खरें म्हणल्यार, पेपरचा नोकरी आनी वायरचा काम — दोनूय इमानी काम, पण एका वायरचा जोड दोन लोकांक तात्काळ उजोड दिता, तो अनुभव कोणत्या यादीत बसोना.

The other morning, while I was working the soil around my areca nuts—twenty-three trees, each one I planted myself—I thought about how these exams promise a "posto fisso" yet measure nothing of a person's real patience or care. My daughter spent two years preparing for her engineering entrance, and her marks were khoob good, but the competition was so fierce she barely scraped into a college that costs me half my salary. I wonder sometimes if the market for teachers and engineers would sort itself out more honestly than these endless committees and graduatorie—at least with a tree, you know exactly what you've earned when the harvest comes.

All these young people chasing exam numbers, waiting for the call-up list. Reminds me when I joined PWD—no quiz, no preselection, just the sub-divisional officer looking at my handwriting and saying, 'You will do, Benjamin.' That was another time. But I see my grandson, he studied three full years for a peon post in Kohima, and now they say the cutoff marks have changed again. We build roads, but the road to a job should not be a labyrinth. Still, I sit here with my cup of tea and think: asa that all this waiting will bring you to a good place. Just don't let the quiz define your worth, kide? My old piano never passed any test, yet it still makes a sound when I touch it.

Ah, this system of exams and waiting lists—it reminds me of the time I waited three years for a transfer letter that never came, only to find out the clerk had filed it under "C" for "chai." In our village, we don't have such grand competitions; we have a single teacher for fifty children, and the only test is whether the monsoon leaks through the roof. I watch these young ones study for months, and I wonder: who is left behind while the rankings are sorted?

Sometimes, the sound of water hitting the jhapi under the leak keeps time with my study session. I find the endless quiz preparation reminds me of our local football league table—every point matters, but the final ranking always feels uncertain until the last match. Still, I trust the process, even if my ceiling doesn’t.