Chasing Shadows, Catching Stars My CLAT Constellation

My CLAT Constellation

“JEE tumse nahi ho payega.” (You are not capable enough to crack JEE)

In the echoes of August 3, the day my 10th-grade results whispered disappointment, my father's words loomed. The daunting declaration echoed through my mind as I yearned to dive into the enigmatic world of PCM in the 11th grade. A mere 90% in a sea of 95 percenters left me disheartened, yet my curiosity to unravel the mysteries of JEE persisted.I ended up with Commerce and Maths— not for a love of Economics or a hatred for Humanities, but because Dad pitched the idea of me becoming a corporate lawyer. That kicked off my journey into corporate law, complete with joining a local CLAT institute by year-end.

Lo and behold, Dad was right again, and I found myself falling for the world of law. Suddenly, I was writing articles, debates became my forte, and late-night Google searches of 'Harish Salve’s most epic cases' became my habit. Thank goodness I didn't binge-watch Suits; who knows what chaos that would've caused!

Mom, though, wasn't sold on this legal drama. Not because my choices were wild, but because Dad resisted my PCM plans. She suggested becoming a forest officer, which sounded like a monotonous drumbeat to me but promptly vetoed it. Therefore, she proposed focusing on 11th and 12th grades first.

'But when do I prep for CLAT then?'

'You'll take a gap year after 12th'

Man, that was a tough pill to swallow.

Devoting a whole year to an exam I wasn't even sure I could ace, and the constant gossip behind my back from society, well, that was a real headache. It's not like I doubted my abilities, but that darn "Log-kya-kahenge syndrome" (What-will-people-say syndrome) was getting to me.

Maybe I was scared to take the risk and make my life even riskier than it already was. Who knows? But then, one day, after a heap of persuasion from my parents, I decided to take the plunge.

Step one: focus on 12th and all the extracurricular stuff to beef up my CV. And you know what? Nailed it. Bagged a cool 96%, snagged the title of my school's Music Captain, and became a household name. Everybody knew Adamya Rawat. The funny thing is, I was probably the only one still clueless about myself as I eyed the last and crucial step.

The Drop

Sure, I had a plan. Thought I'd use my time wisely—internships, finishing my folklore fiction book (which, by the way, got delayed and is now set for a 2023 release), daily Sitar practice, you name it. Why? Because I figured CLAT was a cakewalk, just a breezy 6 hours of study per day.

Well, guess what? It didn't quite go down like that.

Ended up studying more than 8 hours a day, said goodbye to my social life, forgot about novels and books, had to push back the book release date again, zero internships—the whole shebang. Officially kicked off the grind in May 2023. I had the highest score in my class, attempting 2 mocks every day, scoring more than 100/120 in mocks. By the start of October, I had already completed more than 250 mocks!

But then it hit me. The worst nightmare for a dropper.

Burnout.

Drowning in the tide of materialism due to a sudden disinterest in studies, my scores took a nosedive to 70/120. Technically, it's still a decent score, but for me, it was a cause for major concern. I gave up on mock exams and indulged in city strolls, movie nights, and whatnot with my friends. Oddly enough, even amid all the fun, a subtle sense of depression crept in. Not because of studies, mind you, but something else entirely.

Things spiralled out of control to the point where the institute's director had to summon my parents. Ironically, not to scold me, but to discuss my having a break for three days—three days devoid of any study-related thoughts! The idea was for me to rest and let my mind unwind.

It was honestly the first time I witnessed an adult handling a child's situation in the most adult way possible!

So, I commenced my three-day hiatus from studies on October 3rd. Soon enough, I was back on track. Scores improved, practice sessions resumed, and yet, something remained amiss within me. Perhaps it was the fear of not making it into my desired NLUs or maybe the lingering judgmental stares from my classmates and society. I couldn't put my finger on it. Maybe that's why I turned to prayer. Meditation became a refuge to calm my mind before the exam. Still, the echoing voice inside me persisted. What if...?

So I picked up the best motivational book that exists in the world. The book that will teach you how to deal with life.

The Bhagavad Gita . . . as it is.

That changed my life as a dropper. I became even more of a worshiper, not demanding from the Gods a vardaan (boon). I just worshipped for peace of mind. I wanted it to become ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.

Ever experienced that heart-wrenching moment when the veil is lifted, and the true source of agony is laid bare?

It happened to me. The cataclysmic revelation arrived with a resounding thud—failure.

December 3rd marked the day of reckoning, the day the paper unfolded like a scripted tragedy. The consortium, perhaps bowing to the Bar Council's pressure, decided to make the paper deceptively easy. Little did we know, this ‘benevolence’ would launch the cutoff to the moon. To add salt to the wounds, the CLAT arena witnessed an influx of over a whopping 1 lakh students this year, dwarfing the usual 60K-70K participants.

Yet, amidst the swelling sea of competitors, I believed I held my own. With a score of 90.25, my institute's director exuded confidence that a coveted spot in the top 3 NLUs awaited me. Even other prep institutes were nodding in agreement by releasing their cutoffs for the paper.

Ah, if only fate adhered to such benevolence.

As fate would have it, the cutoffs soared, reaching an unfathomable 95 for the top 3 NLUs! I can still vividly recall that ill-fated day when I sat with my institute's director, anticipation hanging thick in the air as we unveiled my scorecard.

Marks: 90.25

Rank: 1075

The figures stared back at me like accusatory ghosts, a stark reminder that destiny had played a cruel hand. The numbers, once promising, now etched a narrative of shattered dreams and unfulfilled aspirations.

The distance between my score and the coveted top NLUs felt like an insurmountable chasm, casting a shadow over the confidence and hope that once thrived within me.

Every hope, every expectation, crushed under the weight of that brutal truth.

Feeling lost in the aftermath, I had no clue what to do next. Failure blindsided me, and now I'm standing at a crossroads without a roadmap or a shelter to ride out the pain. It's like I got hit by an unexpected storm, and I didn't see it coming. No backup plan, just a gut-wrenching realization that I wasn't ready for this heartache.

Rolling home with my buddy, my phone buzzed with friends sharing their scores. Not a single one topped mine. But there was still this nagging feeling...

Even with the highest score among them, I couldn't shake off a weird mix of emotions. It's like telling them, "Yeah, whatever went down, went down." Yet, deep down, it felt like I was wrestling with a whirlwind of disappointment.

As the miles passed, I kept that smile plastered on, reassuring my friends that we just gotta shift gears and look ahead. "The past is what it is," I'd say. But behind the words, there's this undercurrent of uncertainty, a lingering ache that refuses to fade away.

The toughest moment came when I had to break the news to my parents.

Stepping into my house, I found my parents in the bedroom. With each step feeling heavier than the last, I made my way to the corner of the bed. I met their gaze, my eyes swollen, and uttered, "I couldn't do it." A heavy silence hung in the air, carrying the weight of unspoken disappointment.

When I spilt the beans with my parents, there was no scolding, no anger, and no disappointment etched on their faces. Instead, my mom wrapped me in a comforting hug, assuring me that it was all okay as long as I poured my heart into that exam hall. I didn't burst into tears or sob uncontrollably. Stuck in a daze, I struggled to wrap my head around the result.

That night, I hit the hay early, but my mind refused to slip into slumber, wrestling with a storm of thoughts that kept sleep at bay. The darkness in my room mirrored the turmoil within. As I lay there, the silence of the night seemed to echo my unspoken fears.

My mind replayed the scenes of disappointment, the "what ifs" echoing in the quiet corners of my thoughts. It was a long night, with sleep dancing just out of reach, leaving me to grapple with the aftermath of shattered expectations.

The following morning, I stirred from my slumber to discover a book resting on my table—the Bhagavad Gita. With a page caught in a gentle dance with the wind, I opened the sacred text to stumble upon a profound verse:

The Supreme Deity said to Arjun: The nonpermanent appearance of happiness and distress and their disappearance in due course, are like the appearance and disappearance of winter and summer seasons. They arise from sense perception, O’ scion of Bharata, and one must learn to tolerate them without being disturbed.

Fearfulness and loss of mental equilibrium take place in persons who are too affected by material conditions.

Give up such weakness of heart, and arise O’ Parth.

As those verses sunk in, a quiet calm settled in the room, like a balm for my battered spirit. The Bhagavad Gita wasn't just a book; it was like a cosmic pep talk sent my way. In the quiet aftermath, a subtle reassurance began to dawn, urging me to embrace the impermanence of joy and sorrow, much like the ebb and flow of seasons.

As I reflected on the profound teachings, a newfound resilience sprouted within, a seed of strength amid the debris of disappointment. I could hear the whispering of the verses, “This too shall pass.” In the cocoon of those ancient words, I found a glimmer of hope, a silent promise that, like Arjun, I too could rise above the tides of adversity.

And in that quiet room, it felt like forgiveness—both from the cosmos and, maybe, a bit from myself.