Admission Test

In 1970 my parents had a big problem. That problem was me.

We lived in Sylhet and I attended Blue Bird School which went up to Class Five. At the end of 1969 I passed Class Five.

When 1970 came, the main goal in the life of Abbu and Ammu - my parents - was to get me admitted to another school so I could continue with Class Six.

Abbu thought I could attend his old school, Sylhet Government Boys' High School. I needed to pass their admission test. One winter morning in early 1970, on test day, he took me to the school. It was a beautiful setting on the bank of the river Surma. I sat in a large class room with several dozen other boys and took the examination, finishing before noon.

I returned home, had lunch and went about my business. The result arrived early afternoon: I had failed the test.

My parents were stunned and disappointed.

The headmaster of the school, Mr. Syed Amirul Islam, a strict but fair man, was a relative. That very afternoon my parents took me to his house. He and his wife (my Khala) welcomed us.

Abbu debriefed Mr. Islam on the day's events. After showing him my grades from Blue Bird – where I had stood first in class throughout - Abbu asked him if I could possibly take another admission test. Mr. Islam agreed. In the back of their house was a veranda facing a pond. He prepared a fresh test for me. I sat in their veranda and completed the test in the time allotted.

Mr. Islam took away the test to correct it. He returned soon, saying, "He has passed. The school will admit him."

But the day's events had jolted Abbu. While he was grateful to Mr. Islam, my failure that morning had hurt his self-esteem. He decided against sending me to Government School.

This decision had profound repercussions for our family. Abbu and Ammu decided to move to Dhaka to find a better school for me. It took me years to understand the immensity of their sacrifice. The life of my younger brother and sister also changed dramatically.

When we reached Dhaka admission season was almost over; one exception was Dhanmondi Boys High School. I sat for their test. After I had finished, Abbu came to take me home. He scanned the exam and stopped at a Bangla question that was like a riddle. He said, "Oh, this is easy, here is what it means ... I am sure you got that?" Realizing I had completely misinterpreted the question I remained quiet.

I failed the test.

A few days later, Chhoto Fufu, my Aunt living in Dhaka, was able to arrange a one-off admission test for me at St. Joseph's High School. She and I went to the office of Brother Gerald Kraeger, the headmaster. He wasn't there so we sat and waited. When he arrived we stood up and he shook my hand. Then my Aunt and the headmaster sat down. I was bending down to sit when I realized Brother Gerald had not asked me to sit. So I stood up again. He smiled and asked me to sit down. Giving me a test, he pointed me to an empty room to work on it.

To everyone's collective relief I passed the test and started my new life in Class Six at St. Joseph's.

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