Invigilator

I see nervous faces on my way to towards the prayer hall today. The room, previously filled with solemnness of chanting Buddhist prayers, is now decorated with desks and chairs arranged in rows and columns. The trial examinations for grade ten and twelve is here. That explains the nervous faces from early on. I see the students holding either a book or bunches of papers. All of them mumbling and trying to memorize what they learned in class. Occasionally when their eyes meet mine I give them a smile and they smile in embarrassment and look away.

As I open the door to the prayer hall, now their gateway to hell, I hear gasps and sighs randomly. They near the door like the moths to the light in warm summer nights. I leave the door open. It is rather dark inside. It is in total contrast of the environment and atmosphere outside. In the far end the Choecham (Buddhist alter) stands out with its vibrant colors and decorations. The curtains on the window are drawn and that perfectly added to the eerie feeling the students already have had. Obnoxious feelings suddenly sweeps me back to the days when I used to one of them. One of those who mumbles and tries to recollect as much as I can before the teachers called us in. The tables had turned though. I smile at that feeling. I lift the curtains to let the sunlight enter the room and illuminate the smallest doubts the students might have had on their abilities to write the exam.

Outside, the prayer hall being right next to the primary block, has the usual chatter and clamor of the primary kids. Mr. Endras Rai, one of the fellow invigilators is having a tough time keeping the clamor down. Nevertheless, his efforts are as a bucket of fresh water in the ocean. The children kept on with their business and Mr. Endras minded his own. As an invigilator today our primary duty is with the students inside the examination hall and not outside, he would deal with them some other days.

The papers are distributed as all the students find their places in the big prayer hall. Four of us are placed here today. It is one of those afternoon in mid-Autumn. The sun although blazing with all its might have very little effect on the people Drukjegang. The chilly winter breeze have found home in the small hamlet in Dagana district. Yet, as the students bury their heads in their papers to begin writing, pouring everything that they have studied till then, the afternoon turns into another lazy one. That is when I sit, at the end of their queue of tables and chairs, on a plastic chair to find an unused paper and start scribbling. I look at the students occasionally to check that the exams ran smooth and fair. I also look at my fellow colleagues and they are doing their jobs perfectly.

As I check the time, it has been nearly an hour into the writing time. Now I write lesser and look around more for the students would shoot their hands up any moment indicating they need an extra sheet or have doubts. As an invigilator I also have the duty of clearing any doubt and distributing additional answer leaflets. The room is calm with the occasional creeks of wooden planks under the feet of walking invigilators and the coughs of few students. The examinees do not show any sign of raising their hands so here I sit, listening to the sweet clamor from outside, feeling the cool winter breeze on my cheeks and waiting for students to shoot their hands up. It is going to be a long lazy afternoon.

Mrs. Ambika, one of the supporting staff in the school is at the door. She is a delight to every invigilator. She holds a bucket full of cups and a flask. Its tea time for the invigilators. I am feeling rather sleepy and as I look around the students are still writing. Some of them even sweating. English as a subject can make any student in Drukjegang sweat even in winter. Among those, I also see the faces of my fellow invigilators and everyone looks exactly like me. It is as though I am looking in a mirror and the reflection is staring back at me. I chuckle at the thought of this and few students get distracted as they turn to look what happened. I feel embarrassed and apologize silently. Mrs. Ambika pours four cups of hot sugar tea and leave some biscuits to munch on. I hoped earlier that the school would send us some water on this lazy afternoon but we got tea as usual. I fought a petty war with my indecisive mind on the decision to drink the tea or not. The war was short lived as the tea eventually made its way to my tummy as quick as it had been poured in the cup. I feel much warmer now and open the himchu (pocket) of my gho to let the air cool me down a little. I look at my wrist watch, nearly two hours passed. Phew! Another long hour to go.

The children outside have quietened a little indicating the presence of a teacher. Teachers also plays the role of silencer in the school. As I glance outside, the marigold have started to show their colors indicating the arrival of Diwali (Hindu festival). The golden hedges in the school along the footpaths have lost their tender spring green and were now living up to their name. Some of the deciduous trees are already losing their hard earned leaves to the season’s harshness. The leaves free from the clutches of the branches fly free with the cool breeze. Some of the students run to catch them in their childish treble, laughing and running and falling and standing and laughing again. Classes for PP (pre-primary) and grade one is over and now they roam free in the school like the prides of lions in Savana. Teachers are rushing to their classes and the lions bend their heads in greetings as they approach them. They are asked to leave for home and they oblige happily.

Inside, many hands are raising. As the time ticks, it slips through the gaps of their fingers like the grains of sand. My fellow colleagues and I run through the rows. Our eyes much more reactive to any sort of movements assuming it might be a hand going up. The students do not fail their tasks of making us run. One hand shoots in a far corner and when we reach it another goes up in the next corner. As an invigilator you feel as though you are a ping-pong ball bounced back and forth by the players in a rapid fire. We are also armed with staplers. The students raise their hands also to show that they have accomplished their mission and wants us to seal the deal with the stapler. So there we are, carrying sheets of paper in one hand and a stapler in another almost feeling like Narath Muni (Hindu god of messenger).

In the midst of all this hustle and bustle, we find some students defeated by the heat and dozing off, drooling on their question papers. We pat them on their back to remind them where they are and they wake up startled. I find them pitiful when they look at me with confused eyes and the look of seven year olds when they are woken up in the morning to leave for school. With all this, time inevitably comes to end and the students are asked to leave. Some leave before that and some reluctant and sincere ones do not even after.

And so the job ends for today. The filled answer sheets are carefully counted and arranged. The lights are turned off, curtains are drawn and the hall is left again with the peaceful solemnness waiting to be filled again with students with the same tension with different subjects. With the turn of a key in the lock, an invigilator signs off.