Asif Nawaz needs no introduction to Us readers. He is a brilliant wordsmith whose articles and stories....
COVER STORY
Asif Nawaz needs no introduction to Us readers. He is a brilliant wordsmith whose articles and stories are always a pleasure to peruse. So, readers, can you blame us for being immensely thrilled and proud of Asif’s recent feat? For those who don’t know, he topped the CSS examination in KP and was placed sixth overall in Pakistan! Read on to find out how he aced the prestigious exam…
Your educational background?
As some readers of Us would already know, I have an MBBS degree. Currently I’m under training for FCPS examination in the field of Neurology. I hope the next question wouldn’t centre around my heartlessness on wasting my medical seat for CSS.
(See, our next question isn’t about uh, well, about any sort of heartlessness)
Tell us about your experience in general.
The experience was very enlightening, rewarding and a tad challenging at the same time. I had decided somewhere in my medical years that if I were to stay in Pakistan, I would appear in the CSS exams at least once. That was the driving force, but the CSS experience is a lot more than landing you a coveted job. I don’t look forward to being socially ostracized, but I do feel that everyone should appear for the exams at least once. The process actually titillates those lazy nerves in our brains that are otherwise occupied with sharing Facebook posts and discussing the lives of others.
Any interesting experiences during the process?
Nothing in my life passes by without giving me ample face-palm moments (and this is probably the reason I can relate so well with all the comic characters in TV shows), and the CSS examinations were no different. I would surpass the given word count in a flicker if I start listing all of these, so I’ll just go through the important ones.
My essay paper went so bad that I was sure I would fail. I don’t know whether it was drowsiness or just my natural state of dumbness soaring up that I made certain mistakes with the interpretation of the topic I was writing upon. So I came back home and threw a very hormonal tantrum on how I wouldn’t be sitting the rest of the papers and that was it for me. Thankfully, I decided against doing that.
Fast forward some eight months; it’s the psychological day one, and yours truly is lost in the way towards the FCPS building - cursing his mobile’s GPS while driving and munching on a bar of Twix savagely. I’m from Abbottabad; I can never get used to this eerie idea of so many wide, complicated roads. And then there was a point when I started getting calls from the FPSC staff - telling me that they were holding the examination just for me, and since they were no Mother Teresa, their patience definitely had a limit. And then for the main interview, I was told by many that since it was going to be the most formal interview of my life, I had to be pretty decent and constrained - even if I had to smile, it would have to be one of those fancy, shy ones that a guy gives while wooing a girl in period dramas. But since it’s me, there came a point in my interview that I was actually cracking jokes, laughing to the full of my might (it’s never pretty when I do that), and making all the members of the FPSC panel chuckle while at it. I should be grateful none of these liberties I took were held against me. Also, if you know any gigs for stand-up comedy, hit me up.
Which group have your opted for?
I have been allocated in the Pakistan Administrative Services (PAS, formerly DMG), the top group among the twelve CSS groups.
How did you manage to prepare for CSS being a doctor?
I was fresh out of my house-job when I started preparing for the CSS examinations. I had in about four months to prepare, and those too were marred by various issues: personal, professional and a lot of traveling. But it definitely helped that I wasn’t starting everything from scratch. As the editor of this magazine wrote in a letter I asked her for my portfolio, I have always been “interested in almost everything under the sun”, so that was the key. My English was probably already in place and I had a pretty satisfactory idea about most of the topics in current affairs, Islamic studies, international relations and the like.
Optionals were the trickier (and the interesting) part. A lot of new concepts there (what does a meddie, after all, know about structural constructivism or the Hague conventions or the blase attitude of George Simmel?), but it all was so enlightening that I learnt to cherish this new sea of information. Also, I’m a pretty basic person and accustomed to keeping my expectations at a bare minimum. I wasn’t aiming to achieve what I ended up having; it was just a process I wanted to live thoroughly. Accordingly, my preparation would be in patches. At times, I would finish a new book on American History in three days, while at others, I’d just be hanging out aimlessly with my friends and catching up on sleazy Punjabi stage-shows in Lahore with cousins. I guess I’m not helping, but for me it was more about just living through the experience properly, without any strings of performance or excelling attached.
Did people give you false advice or scare you with their baseless fears (for example people would usually come and tell you merit doesn’t count in CSS; you would need some sort of sifarish to make it through)?
Since I was just aiming for an experience to remember while going for the exams - no life-long, solid plans for me there (insert in a chiding quote here against looking for permanent things in a temporary life), it was easier for me to not look at the bigger (often sensational) picture and have a blinder on my eyes. Regarding the sifaarish part, it’s pretty much out there that the CSS exam system works on merit. I don’t intend to blow my own trumpet here; despite belonging to a slightly influential family - sifaarish has always been out of the question for all my siblings throughout by our parents - they’re so forcefully strict law-abiding citizens that I would have thought such characters were outdated had it not been for them. So there was no point dwelling on that. We’re probably more programmed to give in our best and leave the rest to destiny.
Regarding scares, there were many. From the people who tell you that “you need to study 10 hours daily for 10 months to ace the CSS exams”, to those informing me that since I am a doctor, I needed to put in extraordinary efforts and Einstein brains to get the gist of the CSS syllabus. My survival instinct then was to just shut out the cacophony of opinions, and stick to what I thought was working for me.
The perks and social prestige bureaucrats enjoy in Pakistan (the green number plate as people say) motivate students to register for CSS exam. Is it true?
I guess it’s definitely true to a certain extent. You know I was in the UK when the final results came out, leisurely playing tennis (and sucking at serving the ball) while being ignorant of the cheerful uproar the result had caused among my family and friends in Pakistan - and one of the things I observed in that country (there were a number of observations, expect a cover on that soon) was how entities like authority and power have pretty much been swept under the carpet of history in some parts of the world. In Pakistan and most of the third world countries, though, things are different. And it’s probably saner here (for the purpose of this interview, at least) to just accept the reality as it is in place of debating on its worth. For some in Pakistan, the social security and prestige may even be more of practical necessities than mere flaunters.
You probably need some sort of social privilege to wade through the tumultuous reality of Pakistani life. So I am in no position to judge the people who aim for these things, but what I personally feel is that it’s important to strike a balance. To juxtapose the responsibility with power. (My next year resolution should be to stop quoting The Godfather and Hollywood superheroes everywhere). And it actually gives me immense pride to say that many of the candidates I interacted with during my interview preparation actually looked for the more important things that would benefit our country instead of just aiming for a higher social pedestal.
We all know bureaucracy is plagued by corruption and nepotism. As a bureaucrat, how would you face this?
This is a very tough question, and the one that I have been asked the most. And to be honest, I don’t have a ready-made, feel-good answer to this that can strike away the realistic concern behind this in a go. But then, life is like that. We never know how strong we are unless being strong is the only option we have. And since I am not in the job as yet, I cannot have a first-hand, original view on the good and bad regarding bureaucracy right now. Maybe we are inclined to see things darker than they actually are. Maybe things are worse than we worry they are. Right now, I’m as qualified as the next person to effectively say something on this. So those are things I cannot do. But there are things I can do: to pack on a lot of hope and ready myself to take a leap of faith. Different people have different experiences of the same thing. I can only wish that life is just as blissful for me in the future as it has been up till now, that it gives me the strength, opportunities and circumstances to do the right thing, and that I find people around me doing just the same. I am no Iron Man ready to brace whatever comes, but I guess I owe this iota of determination, resolve and optimism to my country.
What skills one must acquire to succeed?
I can only answer this question citing what helped me during the process. My preparation time wouldn’t have been enough had I not been in the position I was in while gearing up for the exams. Knowledge is key, but all the experiences I have had in my life probably contributed to my success in these exams. It’s not a strictly theoretical exam, no one will ever ask you to write a note on the 14 points of Quaid-e-Azam. It’s all very analytical, general and insightful. So I can only give credits where they are due: my father for pushing me in this direction, my mother for being the inhumanly knowledgable, enlightened, supportive person she is, my siblings for all the things they taught me sub-consciously and consciously, my friends for being there and always giving me new ideas and my teachers who became my mentors. I know it sounds like a fake thank-you speech at the Emmys, but there is no other way I can explain this. And then all of what I’ve read, and watched, and seen, and travelled, and experienced, and lived and met, and attended - it’s probably a blend of all of those. And it’s apt that I should say here that these were the most “natural” exams for me (I can only say it for this magazine, no one else will understand). In the lines of my answer sheets, in the words of my replies in the interview, it was all me. (I have recently taken PLAB-2, and there it was so much about fake emotions that absolutely nothing was me there). So I don’t know the skills to be exact, but to be open to knowledge, opinions, views and experiences; and to deduce effectively and comprehensively from these might be a good point to start with.
Walk us through the examination process.
In February 2017, I sat the written part of the examinations. There are 12 papers, two in a day with one break in total in between if you’re lucky. It’s so taxing that my adrenal glands, my precious little brain and my fingers had risen up in revolt by the time I was nearing the end of the papers. After the written part, I reverted to my medical exams (took IETLS and FCPS Part 1), and gleefully forgot the hefty notion of the results coming out. I had just returned from Sri Lanka when the result of the written part came out and I had passed. Carrying on the banner of ignorance is bliss, I applied for PLAB 1 exams, wondrously thinking that the following process on CSS would start in 2018.
In the last week of October, I got a letter saying that my CSS psychological was scheduled for 3rd November, 2017 (my PLAB 1 date was 2nd November). So you can imagine it was a whirlwind of confusion, angst and fluttering feelings of betrayal. I took leave from my training job the same job, shifted to Islamabad and enrolled in an academy for preparation. The psychological exam runs for two days, and it’s so many things - maths, story-writing, analytical questions, IQ questions, English, public speaking, discussions, task leadership and psychological interview. My panel interview, the final part of the lengthy process, was scheduled in the beginning of December; it comprised a panel of five people. They can ask you anything, can grill you if they want, and for the most part of the 45 minutes that you’ll be sitting in there, it will be an exercise in treading tumultuous waters. But my interview went very well, it probably was the best part of the entire exam for me. My psychological went good as well, except that the panel there thought I was a bit too opinionated and bold to function. And then the final results came out in the beginning of June this year. Oh, and I still took my PLAB 1 exam, a day before my psychological, keeping it secret just to avoid the backlash of people who are always advising me not to be a passenger of many boats - and made through that as well. So I’m not kidding anyone when I say I’m just blessed.
Your message for Us...
And I cannot conclude this without leaving in a note of thanks for this magazine. It’s family for me. I would have stopped writing long ago had it not been for this magazine. And it’s only through the process I’ve enjoyed with Us that I got to learn so much - about myself and in general. And before we’re seen reaching for the tissue boxes, I should just bid farewell. Always very thankful and grateful, it’s yours humbly signing off!
Cover picture credits: Asif’s nephew, Saad Jadoon
