Edited by: Mihir Khanna
There’s a theory about elite colleges: that of being a small fish in a big pond versus a big fish in a small pond. For many high-achieving students (and our parents), we aim to go to the most selective colleges we can get into. Malcolm Gladwell, the person who came up with this theory, argues that chasing elitism in this way sets people up for failure because they compare themselves to their peers at these top institutions, i.e., their ‘self-concept’ suffers. I wish to God Gladwell wasn’t right. But y’all just keep proving me wrong.
As a freshman in my first semester, Ashoka was a strange place. Not only was every senior I talked to miserable, even the suggestion that perhaps I wouldn’t be quickly devolved into “wait till you’re in our year, you’ll be suffering too.” Yeah, perhaps. I just didn’t understand the need to equate hard work, rigour, and passion with misery. I still don’t. Especially more so, because I’ve observed that while seniors work hard, they have fun too. Fests, Thursday parties, people lounging around with their friends like they have no responsibility, clubs. I’ve concluded since that most people here live full lives (or at least a semblance of them) but would rather pretend otherwise. Welcome to Ashoka, where suffering is glorified and self-care is viewed with suspicion.
Before I get called out for being too neurotypical to understand, I’m far from sane. I’m as mentally ill as they come, and like every Ashokan, I’m full of trauma. But the cult of suffering is genuinely appalling.
O-Week felt more like indoctrination: “Welcome to Ashoka, where you’ll hate everything.” I guess because the university is prestigious and great, we’re supposed to pretend this is normal and be grateful to the Ashoka gods? I’m blaming that one person who annoyed the living hell out of me by saying things like “At Ashoka, academics, sleep, and social life are a triangle, of which you can only achieve any two at one time” (if you know who it is, shush). Like, jeez. Just admit you’re bad at time management instead of scaring a bunch of freshmen. I can’t be the only one who sees the irony of hustle culture at an institution that values critical thinking and questioning systems through its unique liberal pedagogy.
Another strange incident occurred when we were talking about our future goals in one of our cohort sessions. Cohort sessions were sold to me as a place where freshmen could meet and interact with seniors who’d mentor them, but somehow my saying, “I want a job that is stable and has good work-life balance,” offended people. I was quickly told I’m too privileged, idealistic, and ‘haven’t seen the real world’ yet. To a lesser extent, this also translated into me talking about my romantic life, which consists of a committed long-term relationship. It almost felt like my happiness was offensive to other people.
Is this another manifestation of the intense competitiveness Ashoka is characterised by? I think so. People who are in the thick of it seem to envy those who have their own goals and aren’t worried about others, i.e., those who sidestep the pressures of the institution and their peers and focus within. And I’m not going to pretend I’m entirely zen and detached, but I’d like to be. I wish to just work on myself. But it feels impossible to do that when everyone around you—and I’m talking about people who are smart and capable and doing a million things—feels like they’re not enough. Then I start thinking: if this incredibly successful, insane girl who I would pay to be my motivational guru is miserable, should I be too? It’s this sort of contagious imposter syndrome. It made my last semester terrible, and that’s after being self-aware and working actively against the doomer mentality.
It isn’t cute or productive to be sad. I know all Ashokans probably know this, but the romanticization of misery here is straight out of mid-2010s Tumblr. Our culture here encourages self-doubt and breeds imposter syndrome, even among high-achieving students. I’ve met startup founders, freelancers who earn like half my household income, people who’ve written science textbooks, and research-crazy maniacs who’ll probably get PhDs, and 90% of these smart freshmen are going to be inundated by a bunch of propaganda that teaches them that academic rigour will ruin their lives. That this place is too elite, that they won’t find friends, that they’re going to regret everything, or that they’ll sell their souls to academia or capitalist corporations. Basically, they’ll be miserable, no matter what.
Something else I’ve noticed is judgement of other people’s personal goals. Whether it’s the social science majors aiming to get into academia side-eyeing those who are grinding for corporate placements and cozying it up with the entrepreneurship department, or the other way around, It’s annoying because diversity isn’t just about identities; it’s also about motives and goals. The point of higher education is to provide students with the skills and knowledge to pursue their own dreams, whatever they may be. It’s counterproductive to judge others simply because their goals don’t align with your own. Everyone has their own path to success and happiness. So why judge? Recognising that everyone’s goals are different and being more invested in yourself is a better idea.
Maybe I’m going to regret this in a year from now, but I’m just going to call all these people out: we’re going to be fine. When you’re surrounded by a bunch of exceptional people, you forget how special you are in the grand scheme of things. Being surrounded by other exceptionally talented and driven people can warp your perception of your own abilities and achievements. Sometimes I bring myself back to my high-school headspace, where I was a high achiever, and remember that even being average at Ashoka is enough. As long as you don’t lose yourself to the soul-sucking cult of misery and push yourself to fulfil your own goals (without the hustle, please), you’ll be fine.
So join me in ensuring that Gladwell isn’t right. I’m not saying you should leave Ashoka to be a small fish in a big pond. Just be your own fish in your own pond. Gladwell might have identified a phenomenon that’s prevalent in elite institutions, but that doesn’t mean it’s unavoidable or irreversible. It’s a lofty goal, but one worth fighting for.