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Vol. XXXIV No. 18, January 1-15, 2025
Navigating a maze: Kindergarten admissions in Chennai
– Priyanka Soman
As the Margazhi season descends upon Chennai with kolams adorning doorsteps and kutcheris ringing through the air, my mind, instead of revelling in the festive rhythm, is caught in a different raga altogether – the overture to the great Chennai kindergarten admission drama. This isn’t your average Carnatic jugalbandi; it’s a nerve-wracking juggle of forms, follow-ups, and frantic prayers to every known deity on the gopuram.
Step out onto any Chennai street this timeof year, and you’ll find an unusual sight: parents pacing like tense performers before a Sabha committee, clutching admission forms as if they were divine prasadam. In auto stands and tea shops, hushed whispers of school names replace the usual IPL banter. “Chettinad Vidyashram polaam… illa Vidya Mandir?” “But Anna, did you try that CBSE school near Anna Nagar? Approm, recommendations mudiyuma?” It’s the city’s most competitive season, second only to the December music festival. The connections game is where the real drama unfolds. Every forgotten cousin suddenly resurfaces like a long-lost relative in a Tamil movie climax. That maama who once stood behind the principal in a wedding group photo? Call him. That akka whose athai’s daughter is married to a PTA president’s son? She’s your ticket to salvation.
The odds? Terrifying. With some schools reporting waitlists that rival MTC bus queues during peak hour, it feels like an epic thiruvizha. Yet, amidst all this chaos, there’s my four-year-old Meenakshi, blissfully unfazed. For her, these “interviews” are just new playgrounds to explore. She marches inside, crayons in hand, and nonchalantly narrates stories about her imaginary elephant friend. Meanwhile, I’m outside, mentally reciting every parenting book ever written, from Dr. Spock to Values in Modern Education.
Then comes the big day. As the early morning Chennai sun bakes the roads outside, I iron a dress that seems respectable yet relatable. Meenakshi skips along, carefree, while I clutch a file stuffed with birth certificates, ID proofs, and enough Xerox copies to make a Mount Road photocopy shop jealous. At the school, the waiting area is a blend of Chennai’s finest diversity – parents decked out in everything from pattu sarees to corporate blazers, united by their collective anxiety. One dad whispers strategies like a T20 game plan: “They like kids who can sing. Did you teach her ‘Twinkle Twinkle’?” Another mom confidently advises, “Always talk about holistic learning. That’s the keyword!”
Finally, it’s our turn. Meenakshi walks in like a pro, her ponytail swinging as she declares to the interviewer, “I like blue. And dosa.” She proceeds to draw something that she insists is a “temple elephant,” though it looks suspiciously like a squashed idli. The interviewers laugh, charmed. Meanwhile, I field questions about “parental involvement in the child’s growth” with the seriousness of someone presenting a project at a Chennai corporate meeting.
As we leave, I can’t help but smile. Sure, it’s exhausting, absurd, and feels like a movie plot. But it’s also uniquely Chennai, this blend of chaos, community, and a dash of humour. For now, I’ll keep the phone charged, awaiting that magical admission call. And when it comes, maybe I’ll finally relax enough to hum a Margazhi tune – accompanied, of course, by Meenakshi’s giggles and her endless stories of temple elephants and blue dosa.
