Many times in the past have I sat and wondered if my grasp of the Queen's tongue would hold a candle to the mastery of those who speak it natively. People always told me taking the TOFEL exam might go a considerable distance in helping me answer that question. So that's precisely what I did, some two weeks ago. There was also the added incentive of clearing said exam in order to be eligible for applying to Institutes of Excellence in countries other than my own.
4 and a half hours of reading long passages that wrecked the bejesus out of my brain, listening to contemptible audio records of American profs lecturing at an embarrassingly languid pace, speaking to a computer screen that wore a constant but imaginary look of smug delight on its face and writing essays about Hari Seldon-knows-what later, I came out dazed, ever more insecure as to my English language prowess. It would have been infinitely better to live in denial (or hope) than subject myself to this terrible inquisition that a thinking mind like mine scarcely deserves (or needs).
But in the days and nights that followed, especially the nights, I was regularly haunted by images of being awarded a certificate of incompetence from a headless man representing ETS- a dubious distinction for someone who is regarded in some circles as a well-read man. Not just that- the two Maddus who wrote it along with me, true to their genes and IITR tradition, would pass the exam with flying colours and thus sprout wings and fly away happily to slave under the Obama administration till the end of eternity while I rot in a corner of my poor country. Maybe I am just not good enough.
What an absolute nightmare. No amount of encouragement from my friends, admittedly far less pedantic than me, could shake me out of this cloud of melancholia. But very often in times of despair, we take refuge in our own imagination. So I built a chimerical construct around myself in which I wasn't quite as rubbish as my horrific fantasies. I mean, come to think about it, how bad could I be? Who made the Educational Testing Service the authority on English language anyway? Am I not the author of a not-too-unpopular blog? Was I not the English topper in school? What about that Spellathon competition I aced in front of a drooling crowd of students and teachers alike all those years ago? Hell, wasn't I the ed-in-c of a none-too-popular news magazine till some time back?
My optimism was attaining dizzy heights now. That is when I realised I had misspelled TOEFL in the very first paragraph of this post.
Back to square one then.
P.S. For those who found even a modicum of interest in the above drivel, this discourse on his beloved vernacular by Stephen Fry would make them positively giddy.
P.P.S. Remember, remember.
4 and a half hours of reading long passages that wrecked the bejesus out of my brain, listening to contemptible audio records of American profs lecturing at an embarrassingly languid pace, speaking to a computer screen that wore a constant but imaginary look of smug delight on its face and writing essays about Hari Seldon-knows-what later, I came out dazed, ever more insecure as to my English language prowess. It would have been infinitely better to live in denial (or hope) than subject myself to this terrible inquisition that a thinking mind like mine scarcely deserves (or needs).
But in the days and nights that followed, especially the nights, I was regularly haunted by images of being awarded a certificate of incompetence from a headless man representing ETS- a dubious distinction for someone who is regarded in some circles as a well-read man. Not just that- the two Maddus who wrote it along with me, true to their genes and IITR tradition, would pass the exam with flying colours and thus sprout wings and fly away happily to slave under the Obama administration till the end of eternity while I rot in a corner of my poor country. Maybe I am just not good enough.
What an absolute nightmare. No amount of encouragement from my friends, admittedly far less pedantic than me, could shake me out of this cloud of melancholia. But very often in times of despair, we take refuge in our own imagination. So I built a chimerical construct around myself in which I wasn't quite as rubbish as my horrific fantasies. I mean, come to think about it, how bad could I be? Who made the Educational Testing Service the authority on English language anyway? Am I not the author of a not-too-unpopular blog? Was I not the English topper in school? What about that Spellathon competition I aced in front of a drooling crowd of students and teachers alike all those years ago? Hell, wasn't I the ed-in-c of a none-too-popular news magazine till some time back?
My optimism was attaining dizzy heights now. That is when I realised I had misspelled TOEFL in the very first paragraph of this post.
Back to square one then.
P.S. For those who found even a modicum of interest in the above drivel, this discourse on his beloved vernacular by Stephen Fry would make them positively giddy.
P.P.S. Remember, remember.
Finally, what happened to the exam, if I may ask?
ReplyDeleteOh, a slight bit of V-esque English was meant as a tribute, eh?
I think I have shamed the whole of South India (and one particular region in the North-East) with my abysmal score. Let's leave it at that.
ReplyDeleteI didn't realise the English was in any part V-esque. Tribute you say? Sure, why not.
Who would have guessed you'd be wasting so many words on TOEFL? If it's of any consolation, I believe Mallus have the highest average T scores in the country.
ReplyDeleteAnd Chinks.
Just the point I'm trying to make, innit? I feel I've shamed both Mallus and Chinks somehow. As for words, I did get a 30 on 30 in Writing, mind you.
ReplyDelete