Precocious Professionals

"I want to be successful....A successful anything."
—Amit Sikdar, a Class XII student of Ramjas School in Delhi.

 THIS is the voice of the late-'90s adolescent. There's little romanticism. Little idealism. If any ism exists at all, it's careerism. Even as Sikdar fervently pens answers in the ongoing Board examinations, he is simultaneously preparing for joint entrance tests to the IITs, medical institutes and defence services. They leave nothing to chance these days. The premium is on silver, success, status. 

"I don't know if I should be impressed with today's kids, or feel sorry for them. We too wanted to do well, but weren't obsessed with reaching the top so early in life. We explored many options, took our time deciding, were fuzzy about most things...these guys are so focussed," says Abhay Kant, a bank officer in Chandigarh, whose 14-year-old daughter has already decided she wants a career in architecture.

The intensity of modern India's career and competition at times startles. So does the clarity of youngsters' thoughts.

Ashita Agarwal, studying at Bharatiya Vidya Bhawan, has chosen an apparently obscure discipline to specialise in. The 16-year-old is bracing to be an orthodontist. "Putting kids in braces is easy and prof- itable. One can charge Rs 200 per session and there are no emergencies or night duties," exults the teenager, adding that while it takes over a decade to become an MD, this field of specialised dentistry takes half the time. "Besides, doctors are under the Consumer Protection Act nowadays. So I chose a safe category where the chances of being sued are minimal," she asserts.

Having chalked out his future in similar detail, 17-year-old Kartik Krishnan, a Class XII student of the capital's Mother's International School, keeps a 14-hour day, shuttling between school, IITJEE and Exce -llent coaching centres, in addition to putting in a few hours of study at home. Asked what he does when hanging out with friends, Kartik nonchalantly replies: "What else? We discuss career. There's little time to think of anything else."

 It's not that Kartik's generation has entirely forgotten how to relax. Why, even Kartik picks up his guitar and starts strumming whenever he thinks he is losing concentration. But unlike their predecessors, today's youngsters are meticulous planners even when it comes to having fun. Kartik's revision schedule for the Board exams has a few gaps: he's set aside a few days to watch some important World Cup cricket matches on the box.

 "I am nonplussed by the way my daughter organises her life. At 15, she naturally attracts a fair amount of attention from boys. But every day, for the period that she's studying, she doesn't allow her boyfriends to call up. Going to the movies, outings, everything is planned. When my husband and I were courting some 20 years ago, we never planned these things. The idea was to 'spare' as long as you could," reminisces parent Manjushree Sinha. But then, life was far less competitive in Sinha's time. As one Stephanian from the mid-'70s recalls, in his time those who scored above a certain percentage in their school exams received direct admission to Delhi's prestigious St Stephen's College. Today, not even topping the Boards can guarantee admission to many premier institutions. "

The tag is everything. Once you've got that from a topnotch place, life's made. Although I am being groomed to join dad's firm, I want to modernise it completely by studying management at Harvard. And for that, many years of slogging lie ahead," says Aditya Bagaria, the 14-year-old heir-apparent of a flourishing, Calcutta-based export company

If the civil services held many generations in thrall, and management was the mantra of the enterprising '80s, the approach to career today is marked by catholicism. It doesn't matter where you excel, as long as it translates into money.

At 18, Zai Kipgen, a Class XII student ofDelhi Public School (DPS), is a keen golfer. So much so, he has secured admission at Rollins College in Florida, US, because it's in the top 10 of America's division two colleges in golf. "If you are good in maths or chem you go in for science. I'm good in golf and want to be a pro. Do you know how much dough Chiranjiv Milkha Singh made last year? Easily $500,000," says the exuberant youngster.

Son of a bureaucrat from Manipur, Zai has already represented India at the 1994 Asia-Pacific championship tournament in Seoul, where his team bagged the fourth place. Last year, he played in Scotland as well as the US. "What's the big deal about studying? You study, study, study, and end up collecting your measly pension," says Zai dismissively, asserting the philosophy of his generation.

Selling one's strength is today's credo. And hype comes almost naturally to the career-conscious kids. Chiya Singh, also a Class XII student of DPS, doesn't mince words when it comes to self-promotion. "I am creatively blessed and artistically inclined. Lots of people tell me I look good," declares the teenager who's already assembled an impressive portfolio of photographs in pursuit of a career in modelling.

A lot of calculation has gone into Chiya's career planning. Conscious that modelling is mercurially short-lived, the 17-year-oldhas even worked out fallbacks. Accessory and fashion designing constitute her postmodelling objectives. It's a measure of changing role models that Chiya's parents are proudly grooming her for this career. "One must assess a child's aptitude and help her along in building a career. If a kid is interested in something, why restrict her," argues Chiya's mother Bela Singh, a professional psychologist.

In the case of 11-year-old Jeto, dad Dinshah Sanjana isn't just supportive, he's also the inspiration. The Bombay kid has just cut his first album. When he was just six, Jeto was spotted by his musician dad fiddling with a drum set. Unconventional Dinshah had, in any case, decided not to bring up his children in the "normal" way. Jeto and his elder sister Ambika don't attend formal school. Instead, they have private tutors and since their musician parents work from home, there is a great deal of togetherness. This upbringing seems to have contributed to Jeto's ambitions. "I would like to be an entertainer and act in English movies," he says.

But ambitions grow even without parental nurturing in the consumerist '90s. Busy trading vegetables at the capital's Azadpur Mandi, 14-year-old Taslim Arif's father has never found time to discuss his son's future plans. "But I have worked out an agenda. I want to have a standing in society and earn more than my father. I am going to be a doctor," says the frail youngster. A Class X student of Government Higher Secondary Boy's School (Model Town), Taslim claims to study seven hours a day, the bulk of which is devoted to biology. "Later, I'll persuade my father to enrol me for specialised tuitions. There is so much competition, one can hardly cope without extra help," he says.

And there is enough "help" to shop from. "Over 200 tuition and coaching centres have mushroomed in Delhi alone in the past few years," estimates Rajiv Minocha, a civil engineer and owner of the Excellent Coaching Centre in Delhi. The tuition business is obviously thriving. Firm goals and determined resolve implanted in their young minds, hundreds of students sit huddled in the makeshift 'classrooms' on Minocha's small terrace, absorbing lessons that will help them occupy swank cabins one day. "We guarantee them good results in maths," pronounces Minocha.

And promises are at a premium. "It is because of the excellent results of our students every year that we have grown so much," asserts V. Gopalakrishnan, general manager of the Madras-based Brilliant Tutorials. With over 100,000 students of classes X to XII from all over the country on its rolls this year, Brilliant is perhaps the most apt manifestation of adolescent aspirations today. Ten years ago, says Gopalakrishnan, barely 35,000 tutorial packages were being mailed out of his Madras office. "But times have changed, and now we even have special packages to groom students of classes IX and X for the IITJEE and medical entrance exams," he says. And, at Rs 1,285 to Rs 4,300, the various Brilliant packages are finding many a student buyer.

Price tags don't deter children or parents anymore. Dr Amrita Das' Institute for Career Studies in Lucknow has at least five students coming in to seek guidance every day. While students within the city are charged Rs 75 per session of career-counselling, charges are doubled for those outside. "With so much information floating around and reservations becoming the order of the day, children want to know how to maximise their opportunities to get into a good career," says Das, adding that the institute's services are increasingly being hired by schools all over the country.

According to Father T.N. Joseph, vice-principal of Patna's St Michael's School, which hired the institute's services last year: "Career-counselling is a must in schools these says. Children nowadays are so keen on doing well in school that that it becomes our duty as educationists to encourage them achieve their goals."

Not that others are unwilling to share this burden with the teaching community. The past few years have seen the inclusion of special career pages in most mainline dailies, television has taken to airing popular career-related programmes like Hum Honge Kamyab and many a publishing house has jumped onto the counselling bandwagon.

Penguin India's book on careers by Usha Albuquerque has been a success and UBS' The Career Guide has gone into three reprints in eight months. "Aimed at schoolchildren, Career Guide has done so well that the fourth reprint is going to see the book revised and enlarged. Our barometer is sales—the demand for information on careers is huge," says UBS publisher Ashok Chopra.

Bombay-based career-counsellor and author of The Career Guide, Jayanti Ghosh, sees globalisation and liberalisation as the propellant of this trend. "The big bucks are in and sitting for the UPSC exams alone doesn't constitute career plans today. There are many more avenues and money matters," she observes. But money has a price. As does intense desire to beat all others to it.

And many a young mind breaks under the pressure. "I have seen school children cry and beg for a mere one mark. The competition is killing and the system, with its 'achievement sections' and emphasis on results destroys the self-esteem and spontaneity of many a child," says Anju Dias, counsellor with Delhi Administration's Education Department.

In agreement, teacher of psychology at the Delhi University, Dr Aushim Gupta, points out that for the achievement-orientated generation of the '90s, competitiveness has perhaps become the instrument of survival. "As lakhs of children sit up nights and prepare fervently for exams hoping that one of the 2,500 IIT seats in the country might be theirs this year, something is dying in them," the expert avers. Adulthood takes over adolescence and conduct disorders are perceptible. Concentration problems, delinquency, hatred for parents who pressurise and even the urge to run away from home have become commonplace.

Indeed, a majority of India's urban youngsters seem to have mortgaged a carefree childhood to the prospect of future affluence. But it is, perhaps, a smart investment. Also, it's probably because of their intense competitiveness that Indian professionals are increasingly acquiring a cutting edge in the world. Maybe, the glow of the midnight lamp will add to the brightness of the coming dawn.