Hello, there. I’m Tarun.
It’s 2:20 PM on a Saturday. I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, laptop balanced on a pillow, a cold coffee mid-afternoon, untouched at my side, trying to meet this very column deadline before the week closes because I had a test today, and will have four hours of coaching in a few hours, a mock interview and CUET prep.
There’s a stack of Psychology flashcards I haven’t touched since Wednesday, 83, economics numericals pending with a ‘strict’ Tuesday submission date, and my inbox pings with yet another follow-up about a climate change event proposal from Somalia from my mentee.
My brain is fried. I’m running on 4 hours of sleep since 5.30 am. And yet, a quiet voice inside whispers, “Think about it, you’ve not done all that much. Go on, do some more.”
Welcome to the life of the 2025 student: overbooked, overachieving, overstimulated — and slowly unravelling.
Let me say this outright: I love what I do.
Every debate stage, podcast recording, every council meeting, and live arena with 5,000 people booth fills me with a sense of purpose that academics alone never gave me.
But here’s the twist: we’re living in an age where extracurriculars aren’t just passions anymore — they’re performance. And academics? They’ve become the unforgiving metric against which our whole self-worth is judged. There’s no room to slip.
Somewhere along the way, being “well-rounded” became code for being relentlessly perfect. And somewhere along the way, I realised, even if you win the rat race, you’re still a rat.
The myth of the modern “All-Rounder”
You’ve seen the archetype. Maybe you are the archetype. And if you aren’t, trust me, you don’t want to be.
The student who’s headlining the school MUN’s newsletter one day and expected to top the unit tests the next (and not doing that is not a choice, you see).
Here’s a food for thought: How is a 16-year-old running mentorship calls, emceeing events, and founding initiatives, still expected to know the exact wording of NITI Aayog’s composition and objective for tomorrow’s polity test?
It’s a glamorised image — the multitasker, the hustler, the “involved student” who seems to have it all under control.
The alternative, people say, is, “If you can’t manage it, give it up.” But they don’t realise, it’s a cycle, not just of passion but months, sometimes years of consistency. There’s always a voice that says, “If they can do it, why can’t I?”
But let me be honest: it’s exhausting. And it’s not sustainable.
Behind every “all-rounder” success story lies a thousand invisible trade-offs — missed family dinners, sleepless nights, declining mental health, and a creeping fear that if you drop one ball, your whole persona will shatter. Or worse, all that consistency will just be dismissed as a bluff.
Our generation didn’t invent this pressure. But we perfected the art of internalising it.
Because in 2025, your résumé starts in Class 9.
If you don’t have a portfolio filled with Olympiad ranks, MUN awards, podcast episodes, leadership positions, and social impact projects by the time you’re applying to universities, you’re told—explicitly or otherwise—that you’re not “competitive” enough.
What happened to just being a kid?
I just realised this last week, when my dad told me to keep my phone down and ‘go be a kid’, evoking his childhood days of eating amchur on the village banyan tree.
And it got me thinking: I never had that. Never will.
The cost of unrealistic expectations
There’s a saying we’re all familiar with: “You can do anything.” But somewhere along the way, it morphed into “You must do everything.”
And this shift has had consequences.
Burnout is becoming normalised — no, hyped. We glamorise all-nighter study grinds and back-to-back commitments as markers of commitment, of balance, of ‘having it together’ rather than symptoms of imbalance and toxicity.
Passions become performance pieces. A student’s love for theatre or design is suddenly a “USP” for college applications rather than a space for joy and creativity. What started as a genuine interest in public speaking morphed into a stepping stone to every flagship.
Failures feel fatal. One bad grade or missed opportunity becomes a full-blown identity crisis because our sense of self is so deeply entangled with achievement.
Mental health support is performative. We’re told to “take care of ourselves,” but the system rarely makes room for recovery without penalising us for stepping back. Venting out channels don’t exist, and venting out isn’t seen as healthy, but as “ungratefulness”.
I’ve seen peers — brilliant, kind, visionary peers — break down quietly because they feel like they’re constantly racing a clock no one can see.
We rarely talk about how deeply alienating it is to constantly pretend you’re okay. That you’re thriving, not just surviving. The trophies don’t make up for the tiredness.
Whispers in the hallways
Here’s what’s not in the spotlight: the quiet confessions we exchange in empty corridors or whispered phone calls at night.
“I feel like I’m falling behind even when I’m ahead.”
“I don’t know if I’m doing this for me anymore. I don’t know if I want to.”
“I wish someone would just tell me it’s okay to pause.”
I’ve heard these from prefects, council leaders, state toppers, and event heads. The very students others admire.
You see, we’re not asking for the system to be easy — we’re asking for it to be human.
So, what now?
No one’s denying that balancing academics and extracurriculars can be fulfilling. When done right, it cultivates discipline, purpose, and confidence. But it cannot come at the cost of our emotional well-being.
Here’s what we need from parents, teachers, policymakers, and ourselves:
Redefine success. It’s not just about the number of things you’ve done — it’s about depth, impact, and joy. Celebrate students who commit to a few things with sincerity, not just those with crowded calendars.
Make room for rest. Schools must build in breathing spaces that allow students to regroup. No one should have to choose between mental health and attendance.
Create honest dialogue. Stop pretending it’s easy. Start normalising vulnerability. We don’t need more “how do you manage everything?” interviews, sensationalising chaos — we need more “what did you have to sacrifice to keep up?” ones.
Let teenagers be teenagers. Before we are students, we are people. People who deserve curiosity, laughter, mistakes, spontaneity, and not just perfectly curated college applications.
Final thoughts from the edge of midnight
It’s 2.56 pm now. My eyes are stinging, but my heart feels lighter. I still have that CUET crash course and a CLAT session to catch, but maybe writing this feels like reclaiming a sliver of truth in a world that often rewards performance over authenticity.
We’re not machines. We’re not brands. We are teenagers trying to find our place in a world that sometimes demands too much and gives too little room for error.
To everyone out there walking this tightrope — juggling academics, passion, and the quiet ache of expectation — I see you. I am you.
Stop to breathe, stop to catch your thoughts, and then, only when your heart allows it, get back into the swing of the deadlines, the expectations and the growth.
