Would you believe it if I told you that I had my first interview at the age of three? Not at twenty-three, as most people might expect, but when I was just a tiny toddler! Back then, I was taken to a reputed English-medium school for my very first “big day.” Apparently, some children of my generation start interviews almost from birth! Of course, I don’t remember much about it myself, but my parents later gave me a detailed account of the entire scene.

It turns out my parents were far more nervous than I was. After all, they were being interviewed by the Headmistress too! My father kept telling my mother what to say and my mother kept correcting him. They even tried coaching me on how to behave and what to answer, but I had no interest in listening. I just wanted to stay home and play.

The day of the interview finally arrived. I was promised ice cream as a reward, but first, we had to meet a “nice aunty” in the Headmistress’s office. After waiting outside for about an hour, I grew restless and began loudly demanding my ice cream. My parents tried to calm me down, praising me as a “nice child,” but it had no effect.

Eventually, we were ushered inside. The Headmistress smiled and said, “So, this is the young man who wants to join our school!” Before my parents could say a word, I shouted in my own language, “I don’t want to be in your dirty school! I hate it! And I don’t think you are a nice aunty! Where’s my ice cream?” That little speech set the tone for the rest of the interview. I refused to answer any of her questions about the alphabet or nursery rhymes. My parents were so embarrassed that they, too, began stumbling over their words.

Needless to say, I failed the interview completely. But I had no regrets. Soon after, I got admission in another school not as fancy, perhaps, but an excellent one where I am now doing so well that I hardly remember that first “disastrous” experience.