Opinion

Whereas most families were cheering this exam season with victory celebrations over top marks and highest success, one family in Karnataka is being appreciated for celebrating something much stronger—resilience and determination in the face of failure.

Abhishek Cholachagudda, a student of Class 10 at Basaveshwar English Medium School, flunked his board exams this year, scoring zero in all six subjects and 200 out of a maximum of 625 marks. But instead of reacting with anger and disappointment, his parents did something incredible: they hosted him a party.

Yes, a party to celebrate his effort.

With cake, sweets, and smiles, the family met to recognize Abhishek's efforts—no matter what the results were. "Our son worked really hard and gave his best. Marks will not decide success," said Abhishek's father. "He might have failed in the exam, but he has not failed in life."

In a nation where exam results tend to burden low-esteem students, this act has struck a chord so deeply. Abhishek's parents wished to convey to him very strongly: that learning comes with failure and not a dead-end.

They vowed their son: "You failed the exams this time, but that doesn't mean your future is fixed. What you have to do is keep trying, keep learning."

For Abhishek, the urge was a wake-up call. "Although I failed, my parents did not humiliate me. They inspired me. I will study harder and pass my exams next time," he replied, ready to stage a comeback.

The family's optimist outlook prompts one to realize that patience, kindness, and encouragement can lead failures to act as stepping stones. Their journey is a beam of hope for an atmosphere of academic pressure too often being mighty—and it is encouraging many people to rethink how success is really defined.

Students Regret Exam to be Long and Cruel; Stress Levels High In Spite of Unwavering Preparation

The city known as India's coaching capital saw an incident of panic covering thousands of NEET-UG aspirants on Sunday, as students leaving examination centers were talking about this year's paper to be one of the most challenging ones they've faced.

Most of the aspirants, even after months-long hard work, complained that the difficulty level of the National Eligibility cum Entrance Test - Undergraduate (NEET-UG) 2025 might put their possibility of crossing the cut-off and getting a medical seat at risk.

"It was not just difficult, it was tiring. There were too many long questions. It was suffocating even after proper preparation," said one student coming out of an exam center in Kota.

Even though certain students labeled the paper as being moderate, they were hopefully convinced that the incredibly high toughness level would lead to a reduced cutoff this year.

The National Testing Agency (NTA) that administers NEET-UG has not made any official comments regarding the toughness of the exam. Teaching mentors and coaches, however, were among those who added their voice to the remark that the 2025 paper was one of the toughest they had ever come across.

In a welcome gesture, Kota district administration, in coordination with the #KotaCares initiative while mentoring the stakeholders, also arranged special buses to transport students to and from exam centers free of charge. Special security and crowd management was also arranged for smooth conduct of the exam.

With the city waiting anxiously for the official cut-offs and answer keys now, the atmosphere among students remains taut. For some, this examination could determine not just their academic destiny but also their emotional strength.

How do we know that this article wasn't written by artificial intelligence? You may trust the rhythm, the subtlety of the argument, or the lack of robotic phrasing. But here's a more profound question: can we ever be sure that the logic behind these words was born in a human brain—or was it simply sewn together by an algorithm?

For centuries, creative work—writing, painting, or philosophizing—has been bound up in human struggle and refinement. Creativity is not just about product; it's the process, the struggle with ideas, the late nights, the flashes of insight. Invention has always been imbued with work and sense.

Technology devices have always complemented this work, never replaced it. The calculator sped up arithmetic; the typewriter sped up writing. But these machines never had the audacity to take on the role of authorship.

Generative AI revolutionizes everything. Large language models can now generate essays, paintings, and sophisticated ideas at the speed of lightning, skipping the path of creation that lends art and thought their depth. What we have is a refined product—but one cut from the sweat that used to infuse it with authenticity.

Immanuel Kant's perspective on genius—as talent providing rules to art rather than following rules—is a reminder that authentic creativity is about giving birth to the new, not recombining the old. Generative AI, on the other hand, is an imitator: it rearranges patterns from data, regardless of how spectacular the outcome.

And here is the existential paradox. As AI increases in power, we move toward a time when the distinction between human and machine creation is erased beyond distinction. The act of creation is at risk of being boiled down to choosing from a menu of machine options—certainly not the same as the labored process of imposing meaning upon the void.

Yes, AI is a tool. And unlike any other, it undermines the very nature of what it means to create. As we adopt its usefulness, let's not forget what's at risk: the rich human act of authorship, and the unforgivable loss of labor in giving something meaning into the world.

Jadavpur University (JU)'s campaign of erasing graffiti once again ignited fires on campus yesterday, bringing to the fore issues of political contestation and free speech. The administration did erase the flammable "Azad Kashmir" slogan, affirming Registrar Indrajit Banerjee, acting on behalf of the university, on a broader programme of campus beautification recently. Banerjee reported that the move was taken in March and was among efforts to sanitize all campus walls, though he conceded there were delays in following through.

The campaign, which was launched on March 24, initially focused on slogans against education minister Bratya Basu, following violent clashes on March 1. Among the earliest to be removed were graffiti featuring injured student Indranuj Roy and former student Sahil Ali, who was arrested in connection with the violence. Students took back walls within days of their removal, painting over the destroyed messages with new slogans, making it clear that they wanted their displeasure out in the open.

Interestingly, the next "Azad Kashmir" graffiti was to be followed by the administration opting to suppress less inflammatory slogans in weeks to come. The latest round of sanitizing, however, saw even the newer slogans painted over, denoting a clampdown on campus expression. One JU TMCP member termed the removal a "moral and political win," citing the factional quality of campus politics.

This graffiti cycle of erasure and re-emergence points to a deeper struggle at JU, wherein walls have long served as backdrops for ideological battles and student activism. While the administration would frame the clean-up as a value-free beautification effort, ongoing student resistance speaks to an ongoing struggle over who will define the narrative—and hold space—on the university's historic grounds

In a vehement and long-awaited declaration of medical independence, the Orissa High Court has rejected criminal proceedings against Dr. Rabindra Kumar Jena on the grounds that doctors cannot be subjected to criminal prosecution for choosing more costly medications unless they are inferior in quality, harmful, or otherwise proscribed by the state authorities. It is not a judicial directive in isolation—it's an appeal to the health establishment to maintain at arm's length the continually shifting thin line between accountability and professional independence.

The complaint filed against Dr. Jena, a prominent haematologist and former HoD at SCB Medical College, Cuttack, was filed on allegations of having unduly favored certain drug companies by using costlier medication under the Odisha State Treatment Fund (OSTF). The fund, established to benefit indigent patients, was what was at issue—not that the medication prescribed was unsafe or would not work, but that they were not the cheapest options on the market.

The ruling of Justice Aditya Kumar Mohapatra cut through the hubbub: issuing a costlier drug that is superior medically is not the same as misconduct. His observation that "if such kind of proceeding is encouraged, no doctor would ever try to treat any patient justly and fearlessly" gets to the very heart of the matter. Should a doctor be fearful of coming under legal fire for choosing a superior drug, even if the drug costs more?

Let's be honest—transparency in public healthcare is not an option. But this should not be at the cost of medical discretion. The quality of treatment, and not merely the cost, should decide on prescriptions. Justice Mohapatra was right in pointing out that the OSTF guidelines do not necessarily mandate less expensive medicines by default. Medicine is not a deal in the market—it's a matter of life and death.

The real failure here is in how prematurely the vigilance system criminalised a medical decision without expert scrutiny. As the court noted, no initial expert inquiry was made. The arbitrariness of the prosecution has the potential to create a chilling precedent for India's doctors.

This decision must be an eye-opener. In the interest of guarding public money, let us not criminalise the judgment of individuals who are professionally trained to preserve lives. Physicians must be made accountable—but not bound by suspicion.

Medicine cannot be practised in terror. Justice here has not merely defended a physician—it has saved the sanctity of patient care.

West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee has issued a monthly allowance for dismissed non-teaching officials at government-aided schools, with ₹25,000 and ₹20,000 allowances going to Group C and Group D employees, respectively, till the case gets judicially disposed. The cost to the state would be ₹15.3 crore a month. The employees lost their jobs after a Supreme Court order in the SSC recruitment case, and the state intends to move a review petition by early May. Though considered a relief of sorts, a section of employees is still upset, citing they're being paid allowances, even as others accept the development as a step forward.

Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee's declaration of a monthly ex gratia payment to the dismissed Group C and Group D employees in state-aided schools is a temporary balm to an open wound. But don't be fooled—this is not justice, it is damage control, and it is uncomfortably raising questions about governance, responsibility, and equity.

Let's be precise about the figures. More than 7,000 support staff were rendered jobless after the Supreme Court directive in the SSC recruitment scam. The top court, on conclusive evidence of widespread irregularities, took the drastic measure of invalidating these appointments—not on a whim, but to safeguard the integrity of a flawed recruitment process. The state, which had not ensured transparency in the first instance, is now firefighting the consequences.

The grant—Rs 25,000 for Group C and Rs 20,000 for Group D employees—is a huge expense of Rs 15.3 crore a month. While one can admire the government's desire not to let there be a humanitarian crisis, we cannot let this fiscal largesse take the place of accountability. These workers, such as clerk Satyajit Dhar who aptly remarked, "This is not salary, it's allowance," are being paid to wait and not work. It's like distributing umbrellas once the storm has gone, never having repaired the roof.

Worse is the failure to differentiate between tainted and untainted candidates, which not only goes against the SC's position but also compromises the integrity of future hiring. Banerjee's observation that no list of tainted names was filed may be politically prudent, but legally and ethically, it adds to the murkiness.

What is the message in this? That irregular appointments, having been made, can be "managed" politically despite rejection by the courts? Or that institutional deception can be covered up with packages of compensation?

The state's decision to move a review petition is welcome, but one hopes it is done in the spirit of legal propriety, not political opportunism. In the meantime, for the thousands of affected people, the allowance provides survival—not certainty, not dignity, and certainly not justice.

Until then, this is not closure—it's just reprieve