"I Studied for Months. My Result Felt Like a Roll of the Dice."

A Student’s Quiet Fear About RGUHS Exams

Let me tell you something that a lot of us talk about in hushed voices — between library shelves, in WhatsApp groups at 2 a.m., or while staring at a result page we can’t quite believe.

It’s this:

Sometimes, it doesn’t matter how hard you try.

Sometimes, your marks feel less like a reflection of your knowledge…

And more like luck.

Now, I’m not saying this to scare anyone. I’m saying it because it’s real. And it’s time we talked about it — not with anger, not with blame — but with honesty.

This is about RGUHS. About the exams that shape so many of our futures. And about how, for too many students, the evaluation process doesn’t feel fair. It feels… unpredictable. Like rolling a die and hoping for six.

The Same Paper. Two Different Worlds.

Imagine this: You write an answer. Carefully. Thoughtfully. You cite the right terms, draw the diagrams, follow the pattern. You hand it in feeling proud.

Then your marks come.

One evaluator gives you 70. Another — for the same script — gives you 10.

Yes. Ten.

That’s not a typo. That’s someone’s actual experience. And no, it’s not rare.

This kind of wild variation — sometimes over 15%, sometimes even more — means your paper gets sent to a fifth examiner. Then, depending on which batch you’re in, they either take an average… or the “best of” two. Wait, best of? Since when is medical education a reality show?

But here’s what stays with you:

Why the gap?

What did I even do wrong?

Was it the handwriting? The keywords? Did one person just have a bad day?

And the worst part?

You’ll never know.

Who’s Grading Us? And Are They Guided?

You’d think, in a system that decides who passes and who doesn’t, there’d be strict training for evaluators. Model answers. Clear rubrics. Something.

But often, there aren’t.

Courts have pointed it out. Students have pleaded about it. And yet — evaluators sometimes mark without proper orientation. Without even a standard answer key to refer to.

No wonder two people read the same sentence and see two different scores.

And when there’s no model answer, every examiner becomes their own syllabus. Some are generous. Some are strict. Some mark fast. Some read every word.

And you? You’re just hoping your script landed on the right table.

Rules That Keep Changing

Remember when they said, “From now on, it’s average of four”? We breathed. We believed.

Then it changed. “Best of two.” Then back to average. Then something else.

Each shift came after protests. After court orders. After students broke down, reappeared, fought.

And now, digital evaluation — which was supposed to bring transparency — often just brings confusion. Delays. Glitches. And still… no clarity.

We wanted fairness. We got updates.

The Real Cost? Our Peace.

Let’s not pretend this is just about marks.

It’s about the student who studied 12 hours a day, only to fail by 3 marks — with no way to know why.

It’s about the one who cleared the exam but can’t celebrate, because they wonder: Did I earn this? Or did I just get lucky?

It’s about anxiety. Sleepless nights. The fear that no matter how hard you work, the system might not see it.

And yeah — some of us have taken it to court. Not because we want special treatment. But because we want consistency. We want to trust that our effort means something.

So What Now?

Look, I love this university. I respect the teachers. I know many are doing their best within a broken system.

But love doesn’t mean silence.

Calling out flaws isn’t rebellion. It’s responsibility.

We need:

Proper training for examiners.

Standard model answers for every paper.

Transparent, stable evaluation rules — no more flip-flopping.

A chance to review scanned scripts, not just final numbers.

Not because we’re entitled.

But because we’re investing our lives here.

And no student should feel like their future was decided by a lottery.

I don’t have a solution. Not a perfect one.

But I do have hope.

Hope that one day, when a student opens their result, they won’t whisper, “Was it fair?”

They’ll just smile — and say, “I earned this.”

Until then?

We keep talking.

We keep asking.

We keep believing that better is possible.

Because we deserve it.

All of us.

💛

— A student who cares.

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