A few years ago, a young woman studying at Cotton College came to meet me. She had visited me once or twice before. She addressed me affectionately as her elder uncle, and I had developed a deep fondness for her. She was intelligent, confident, lively, and curious about a wide range of subjects. I enjoyed our conversations, which often moved from literature and education to society and the problems of everyday life.
During one of our conversations, however, she suddenly let out a long yawn. I have always had a peculiar weakness: I find it difficult to tolerate people yawning in front of me. The moment someone yawns, I tend to lose interest in the conversation. Perhaps it is an unreasonable habit, but I have never liked seeing people openly display what I interpret as physical or mental weakness.
To me, yawning has often appeared to be a sign of tiredness, boredom, or a lack of enthusiasm. Therefore, when the young woman yawned, I stopped speaking and asked her, rather sharply, why she was doing so.
"Are you sleepy? Did you stay awake late last night? Or are you tired of talking to me?" I asked. "You should know that I do not like it when people yawn while I am speaking."
She appeared embarrassed by my unexpected criticism. For a moment, she remained silent. Then she replied, "Uncle, I am certainly not tired of talking to you. In fact, I am enjoying our conversation so much that I am afraid you might end it and send me away before I have said everything I wanted to say. I did not stay awake late last night either. But since you have raised the subject, there is something I would like you to understand."
She paused before continuing. "The truth is that I feel tired almost all the time. I yawn frequently, not because I am bored or sleepy, but because I feel exhausted inside. And it is not merely physical exhaustion. It is a kind of tiredness that comes from the mind."
I was surprised by her answer. She looked healthy, energetic, intelligent, and enthusiastic about life. Her face usually brightened whenever we discussed an interesting subject. I could hardly imagine that someone who appeared so lively might be struggling with a deep sense of mental exhaustion.
The Hidden Burden of Young People
"Mental exhaustion?" I asked. "Why should you feel so exhausted? You are intelligent, educated, and full of curiosity. You seem interested in so many things. What could possibly be troubling you?"
She looked at me quietly for a while. I thought she might be struggling to hold back a sigh, but she stopped herself. Eventually, she began explaining what had been troubling her and many other young people of her generation.
"Uncle, perhaps you do not realise that many students of my age are living with the same feeling. I am not saying that every student is unhappy, but a large number of us are burdened by disappointment, anxiety, and uncertainty about the future.
"We have worked hard to reach college. We have studied, passed examinations, competed with other students, and tried to prove our abilities. We were told that education would open doors, that hard work would be rewarded, and that talented students would find opportunities to build meaningful lives.
"But what happens after graduation? That is the question that troubles us most. We look ahead and see no clear path. Government jobs are limited, private-sector opportunities are uncertain, and the growth of industries and businesses does not appear sufficient to provide employment for everyone who completes higher education.
"We enter college with dreams. We imagine that education will help us become independent, support our families, contribute to society, and live with dignity. Yet, as the years pass, those dreams begin to look increasingly distant. We study for examinations without knowing whether our qualifications will lead us anywhere.
"How can we remain hopeful when the future seems so uncertain? How can we concentrate on our studies when we constantly hear that qualifications and hard work may not be enough to secure a job?"
When Hard Work Seems to Lose Its Value
The young woman continued, "Uncle, students are repeatedly told that success comes through dedication and merit. We are encouraged to work hard, perform well in examinations, and compete honestly. But when we hear accounts of favouritism, influence, and unfair appointments, our confidence begins to weaken.
"We see people who have worked sincerely for years struggling to find employment, while others appear to move ahead through connections or political influence. Whether every such story is true or not, the repeated reports create suspicion and frustration among students.
"I know of young people who have performed exceptionally well academically but remain unemployed. At the same time, we hear stories of people obtaining positions through recommendations or influence. Such experiences make students question whether merit is genuinely respected.
"Imagine preparing for an important examination for years, sacrificing leisure, friendships, and personal comfort, only to discover that success may depend on factors beyond your control. How would you feel? Would you still believe that effort alone could determine your future?
"This uncertainty affects more than our career plans. It changes the way we think about education itself. Classes become difficult to attend with enthusiasm. Books lose some of their attraction. Even when we want to study, an uncomfortable question keeps returning: What will happen to us after we finish our education?"
Her words made me reflect on the enormous pressure faced by students who are expected to succeed academically while living with uncertainty about employment and their place in society.
The Classroom and the Weight of Disappointment
"Another problem," she said, "is that college does not always provide the encouragement we need. There are excellent teachers who inspire students, but not every classroom experience is meaningful. Sometimes lessons become mechanical, and students struggle to find the excitement that education should bring.
"Perhaps teachers also become discouraged when they see students sitting silently with tired faces. Perhaps they feel that their efforts are not appreciated. Whatever the reason, the result is often the same: students attend classes without the enthusiasm they once had.
"For many of us, college has become a place where we continue studying because we must, rather than because we can clearly see the opportunities that education may create. The pressure of examinations is real, but the anxiety about life after examinations is even greater.
"The hostel, which should be a place of friendship and intellectual growth, can also become a place where worries follow us into the night. We talk about examinations, employment, family expectations, and the future. Even when we laugh together, our deeper concerns do not always disappear.
"We are not necessarily unhappy because we dislike learning. Many of us love books, ideas, literature, science, and discussions about society. What hurts us is the fear that our learning may not lead to the life we have been working towards.
"When a student begins to believe that neither society nor the world of work will recognise their efforts, motivation becomes difficult to sustain. We are asked to remain optimistic, but optimism cannot survive on advice alone. Young people also need opportunities, fairness, and a reasonable expectation that their efforts will matter."
An Uncertain Future After Graduation
The young woman explained that the approaching final examinations brought little relief. Instead of looking forward to graduation with excitement, many students wondered what would happen next.
"Soon, our final examinations will be over," she said. "We will leave college and enter the wider world. But where will we go? What kind of future awaits us? Will we find work that allows us to live independently? Will we be able to support our families? Will the knowledge we have gained help us build a secure life?
"These questions are not distant concerns. They are part of our everyday lives. We think about them while studying, while travelling to college, while talking with friends, and even when we are supposed to be resting.
"People often look at us and see confident, educated young men and women. They may assume that we are fortunate because we have the opportunity to study at a respected institution. They may not realise how much fear and uncertainty can exist behind a confident appearance.
"We do not expect life to be easy. We understand that competition is unavoidable and that success requires effort. We are prepared to work hard. What we need is a fair chance. We need to believe that our abilities will be considered honestly and that the future is not already closed to us before we have even begun."
She then asked me a question that I found difficult to answer: "If we are surrounded by uncertainty and have little confidence in the future, can you really blame us for feeling mentally exhausted?"
The Burden of a Generation
I listened to her in silence. I had expected an ordinary conversation with a young student, but I had instead encountered a deeply personal account of the fears that can shape an entire generation.
When she finally left, I continued thinking about what she had said. Her words disturbed me because they challenged my assumptions. I had judged her yawning as a sign of boredom or carelessness. I had not considered that it might be an outward expression of a much deeper struggle.
I tried to reassure myself that she could not possibly represent every student in college. Surely, I thought, many young people were still optimistic, determined, and confident about their future. It would be unfair to assume that all college students were suffering from the same degree of disappointment.
Yet, I could not easily dismiss her concerns. She was not merely speaking about herself. She was describing an atmosphere of uncertainty that many students might recognise, even if they experienced it differently.
Young people are often told that they are the future of the nation. We celebrate their intelligence, creativity, energy, and potential. But such praise means little if they are left without meaningful opportunities to use their abilities. A society cannot expect its young people to remain hopeful simply because it repeatedly tells them to be hopeful.
Education should provide more than certificates and examination results. It should help people develop their abilities, think independently, contribute to society, and build lives of dignity. When the connection between education and opportunity becomes uncertain, frustration is a natural consequence.
Young Poets and the Search for Meaning
Apart from the young woman, several other students from Cotton College occasionally visited me. Many of them were talented young poets. Their conversations and writing made me feel that a new generation of voices was emerging in Assamese literature.
Over the years, I had written about poets whose work I believed marked important developments in Assamese poetry. I had tried to recognise emerging literary talent and draw attention to writers whose work suggested new directions for the language and its literature.
That experience had strengthened my belief that I could often recognise genuine talent. It was with this confidence that I began to feel that some of the younger poets I had encountered might be contributing to a new phase in Assamese poetry.
One day, two young poets, Pranab and Navajyoti, came to my office. During our conversation, I told them about the young woman who had spoken to me about mental exhaustion and asked whether they thought her feelings reflected the experiences of other students.
They answered without hesitation. They said that her concerns were familiar to them and that many young people shared similar anxieties. Their agreement made me realise that her words might not have been an isolated expression of personal disappointment.
They were approaching the end of their college lives. Their final examinations were near, and graduation would soon take them beyond the familiar environment of the classroom. Yet, rather than looking forward to this transition with unqualified excitement, they were troubled by the same fundamental questions.
Where would they go after graduation? What kind of world would they enter? Would they find a place in a society that valued their abilities? Or would they have to struggle for years simply to secure the basic opportunities they had expected education to provide?
What Kind of World Are We Leaving Behind?
Every responsible generation hopes to leave behind a better world for those who come after it. Parents want their children to live with greater security. Teachers hope that their students will find opportunities that were unavailable to them. Writers and thinkers hope that society will become more humane, fair, and enlightened.
But what kind of world are we actually preparing for the next generation? Are we creating a society in which young people can pursue their ambitions with confidence, or are we leaving them to confront uncertainty without adequate support?
When I compared the experiences of young people today with the hopes and opportunities that had shaped my own youth, I felt a profound sadness. The world may always have its difficulties, and no generation can expect a life free from struggle. Yet there is a difference between facing challenges with hope and entering adulthood with the feeling that one's efforts may never be rewarded.
Young people need more than sympathy. They need access to quality education, fair recruitment, meaningful employment, opportunities for creative expression, and institutions that treat them with dignity. They need a society in which talent is encouraged, hard work is respected, and public trust is not repeatedly weakened by allegations of unfairness.
Most importantly, they need reasons to believe that the future can be better than the present. Hope cannot be created by words alone. It grows when people see fairness in practice, opportunities within reach, and evidence that their efforts can make a difference.
The Words I Could Not Say
I had listened to the young woman carefully, but I could not offer her a convincing answer. I could not promise that the future would be secure, that every talented student would find employment, or that society would always reward hard work fairly.
When Pranab and Navajyoti expressed similar concerns, my uneasiness deepened. Their words reminded me that the problem was larger than one student's personal struggle. It concerned the hopes, expectations, and anxieties of young people standing at the threshold of adult life.
I wanted to reassure them. I wanted to tell them that their education mattered, that their talents would find expression, and that a better future was possible. But empty reassurance would have been dishonest. I could not offer promises that I had no power to fulfil.
Perhaps the most painful responsibility of an older generation is to recognise when its advice is no longer enough. Young people cannot build their futures on encouragement alone. They need a society willing to address the problems that make hope difficult to sustain.
As I thought about those students, I felt that their exhaustion deserved to be understood rather than dismissed. Their questions deserved serious answers rather than criticism. Their uncertainty was not necessarily evidence of laziness or weakness; it could also be a response to the conditions in which they were trying to build their lives.
I still believe that good days may return. Society can change, institutions can improve, and new opportunities can emerge. But I cannot claim to know when such changes will come or how quickly they will transform the lives of young people.
That day, I could not offer the young woman a message of hope. I could only listen to her, reflect on her words, and recognise the seriousness of the questions she had raised.
And that remains the source of my sadness: not simply that young people are anxious about their future, but that those of us who should help guide them cannot always give them the reassurance they deserve.
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