Five years had passed, I stood where my friend Aditya had once stood holding a
single piece of paper. “It's just a piece of paper.” “its okay” the results do they
even matter that much?” That's what I kept telling myself while holding my entrance
exam results, contemplating if I should take the same leap as Aditya did, with the
words “I AM SORRY”, constantly ringing in my ears. But in India, this isn't just a
score—it's a verdict on your worth.
Greetings to [Link] chair, the chief judge, and to those who are not SORRY.
I was in 8th standard when I first met Aditya. He was the neighbourhood genius—
heading for greatness.
"Beta, IIT ya kuch nahi." "It's either the glorious Indian Institute of Technology
or nothing." These words haunted Aditya everywhere, from his father's morning
lectures to his mother's evening prayers. Even his coaching center had it painted
on the wall: "Excellence or Nothing." But what nobody talks about is the ecosystem
of pressure that surrounds these words. The coaching centers that promise success
while banking millions. The relatives who ask about your rank before your health.
The billboards of toppers whose smiling faces loom over the city like benevolent
gods.
What I didn't see then- was how the light in his eyes was dimming with each passing
month. Three months before the Joint entrance examinations, Aditya called me to the
roof of his building. Our usual spot above the Kolkata chaos.
"I got my mock test rank today," he said, "213."
"That's amazing, Adi! You're in the top—"
"My coaching center has 400 students, Tiyasha. I'm barely in the top half. And
nationwide? I'm nowhere."
What I didn't understand then was that he wasn't just competing against other
students. He was competing against a system designed to break you. Against teachers
who profit from your anxiety. Against parents living their unfulfilled dreams
through their children. And of course, the omnipotent evil, social media. Where
every success story becomes another weight on your shoulders. Where toppers become
celebrities and everyone else becomes... invisible.
"What happens if I fail, Tiyasha ?" Aditya asked me that night.
"You try again," I said, "or you find another path."
Two weeks later, his mother called me. Her voice hollow. "Tiyasha dear, Aditya is
gone."
The note he left behind had just three words: "I am sorry."
Sorry? What was he sorry for? For being human? For having limits? Or was he
apologizing for a system that measures human potential with multiple-choice
questions?
Five years later, I sat in the exact same spot on that rooftop, staring at my own
results. 113 out of 300. And I made a choice.
I told my parents As I walked into our living room that evening, "I didn't qualify
for IITs," and witnessed how their expectations got shattered into a million
pieces.
"And that's okay. Because there's something I need to tell you about Aditya."
For the first time, I told them everything. Not just about his death, but about the
system that killed him. About the coaching centers that sell dreams without concern
for the dreamers and about the schools that measure success by the number of
IITians they produce.
"This isn't just about exams," I told them. "It's about mental health. It's about
defining success on our own terms. I miss him every day. And I honour him by
refusing to make his mistake." That conversation had changed everything—not just
for me, but for my parents too.
Today, I’m pursuing an engineering degree at a fairly renowned college in east
India. It’s not an IIT but it’s a place where I get to learn new things everyday.
I'm building an app connecting stressed students with mental health resources.
Every Sunday, I visit coaching centers—not to study, but to speak. "Your brain is
not just an exam-taking machine," I tell them. "And your future has more than one
path."
Parents in this room, do you want ranks or happy children? Educators do you want
just exam scores or to nurture minds? Students do you want to earn grades or gain
knowledge?. To the policymakers – we need a revolution in how we measure potential.
In how we value young lives. The true test isn't what you achieve in an examination
hall. It's who you become in the journey of life. We should realise before it's too
late that success is more than just grades and sometimes how innocent lives are
lost because we are blind sighted by the conventional definition of success. And
Aditya, my friend—your story isn't over. It continues through every student who
chooses life over ranks. Through every parent who chooses love over expectation.
Through all of us who choose to change the narrative.
I am not sorry. I am determined.