Studying at Oxford: What I Wish More Parents Knew

Chandini Misra is the Principal of Repton Al Barsha and an Oxford-educated educator with extensive teaching and leadership experience in the UK and Dubai. She is passionate about academic excellence, innovative teaching and creating a supportive environment where every student can thrive.

There are few places quite like Oxford.

It is a place where students wear academic gowns to examinations, where the arrival of spring is celebrated by staying awake all night to hear a choir sing from a tower at dawn, and where the colour of a carnation pinned to your gown tells everyone how close you are to finishing your exams.

It is also a place where you can find yourself being lectured by some of the finest minds in their fields, where conversations over dinner can take you in entirely unexpected directions, and where centuries of history sit rather comfortably alongside the everyday business of being a student.

I studied Chemistry at Keble College, Oxford, and when parents ask me what Oxford is really like, I find it difficult to separate the academic experience from the sheer excitement of being there.

Oxford was challenging, certainly. But it was also fascinating, frequently intimidating, wonderfully eccentric and enormous fun.

I was born in Odisha, India, and moved to England as a young child without speaking English. I grew up in Yorkshire, attended school in Wakefield and eventually found my way to Keble College to study Chemistry.

I was the only woman studying Chemistry in my college on my course. I was also a northerner and in an environment where, at times, I felt distinctly different from those around me. I had earned my place academically. That did not automatically mean I felt I belonged.

Oxford still carries a particular image in the public imagination. We picture a certain accent, a certain background, perhaps someone who has always known that Oxford was where they would end up.

My experience was rather different. I arrived excited, determined and, if I am being truthful, a little uncertain about whether I quite fitted the picture. But what an extraordinary place in which to discover that you did.

Friendships formed, confidence grew, and I came to understand that I did not need to become somebody else to deserve my place there. That is something I feel strongly about now as a school Principal. Children are remarkably perceptive about which ambitions adults consider realistic for them. Sometimes, without meaning to, we place ceilings on their aspirations before they have had an opportunity to discover their own capabilities.

I would never want a young person to rule out Oxford because they believe it is a place for a particular sort of person. Equally, I would never want them to feel that attending Oxford is the only measure of academic success. The point is to make the opportunity visible, not to turn it into an obligation.

The wonderful absurdity of Oxford life

Oxford has an extraordinary ability to make the most unusual things feel perfectly normal.

Take May Morning. Every year, on 1st May, thousands gather around Magdalen Bridge and the surrounding streets to hear the choir of Magdalen College sing from the top of its Great Tower at six o'clock in the morning. As students, staying up all night to be there was part of the experience. There is something wonderfully ridiculous about spending the night awake with friends, only to stand in the early morning air listening to choral music in the outdoors.

And somehow, it makes perfect sense when you are there.

Then there are the examination carnations. Oxford students traditionally wear academic dress, known as sub fusc, for examinations. As if sitting a demanding university examination were not enough, you do so in formal clothing and a gown, with a white carnation for your first examination, pink for those in between and red for your final one.

I have always loved that tradition. The red carnation announces that you are finished, and everyone knows it is time to celebrate.

Oxford is full of these peculiar rituals. Matriculation ceremonies, formal dinners, academic gowns and an academic year divided into Michaelmas, Hilary and Trinity terms. Oxford takes its history seriously, but student life has always had a healthy capacity for silliness.

Keble College is distinctive even by Oxford standards.

While many of the older colleges are built from honey-coloured stone, Keble stands out with its striking bands of red, cream and dark brick. Its architecture was a deliberate departure from the older colleges. It has divided opinion over the years, but I have always loved that Keble looks unapologetically like Keble. And then there is the wonderfully literal tradition of Keble graduates receiving a souvenir brick. After years of intellectual endeavour, academic challenge and personal growth, what better way to remember your college than with a brick?

College life also encourages you to try things you might never otherwise consider.

For me, one of those things was rowing.

I had never rowed before arriving at Oxford, but somehow found myself in Keble's women's third boat. Third, I should clarify, also meant bottom. We were enthusiastic, if not especially accomplished. I remember one training session on the river when I genuinely thought I was giving it absolutely everything. Arms aching, legs working, utterly convinced that we were making tremendous progress.

Then I looked across and realised our coach was travelling alongside us on his bicycle.

He wasn't even pedalling.

I think that tells you everything you need to know about my rowing career.

But I loved that I had tried it. There was no expectation that I would be brilliant at everything, and certainly no danger of that in a rowing boat. University should be a place where young people discover new interests, make mistakes, laugh at themselves and occasionally find that they are considerably less talented at something than they had imagined.

Those experiences are every bit as important as the academic ones.

Learning from extraordinary minds

For all the wonderful traditions, the greatest privilege of studying at Oxford was undoubtedly the academic experience. One of the remarkable things about a research-intensive university is that the people teaching you are often actively shaping the very subjects you are studying. There is a particular thrill in sitting in a lecture theatre and realising that the person explaining a concept is also contributing to the research advancing our understanding of it.

At school, textbooks can sometimes make knowledge appear settled and complete. At university, you begin to appreciate how much remains unknown. You encounter questions to which nobody yet has a definitive answer. You see that scientific knowledge is not simply a collection of established facts, but something developed through evidence, experimentation, debate and occasionally spectacular mistakes.

The tutorial system adds another dimension. You prepare work independently and then discuss it in a very small group with an academic specialist. You are expected to explain your reasoning, defend your ideas and recognise when your argument does not quite stand up to scrutiny. There is nowhere to hide behind a room full of raised hands.

It can be intimidating, especially when you have been accustomed to doing well academically. At school, you may be one of the strongest students in your class. At Oxford, almost everybody has been one of the strongest in theirs.

That can be humbling. It can also be enormously healthy.

You learn that being challenged is not the same as being criticised, and that admitting you do not know something is often the beginning of a much more interesting conversation. Those lessons have stayed with me throughout my career.

The people are as important as the place

One of the things I remember most fondly is the sheer range of people you meet. You encounter people who think in ways you have never considered. People who challenge your assumptions. People who are extraordinarily talented, wonderfully eccentric or both.

And somewhere amongst all of that, friendships form. Some of the most important things we learn at university have very little to do with our degree subjects. We learn how to live alongside people who are different from us, how to disagree without falling out and how to become more independent.

Education happens in lecture theatres and laboratories, certainly, but also over dinner, during long conversations with friends and in the unexpected moments that no curriculum could ever plan.

What does it actually take to get in?

Parents understandably want to know what distinguishes students who are successful in gaining admission to Oxford.

There is no simple formula, and I would be wary of anyone who claims to have one.

Academic achievement matters enormously. Oxford courses are demanding, and students need strong foundations in the subjects they wish to study. But there is a difference between being good at examinations and being genuinely interested in a subject.

A student who wants to study Chemistry should find something compelling about Chemistry itself. Not simply the prospect of a prestigious degree, but the questions the subject raises and the satisfaction of trying to answer them.

The same principle applies across disciplines.

Oxford interviews, which attract a great deal of mythology, are intended to explore how applicants think about academic material and approach unfamiliar problems. Students may be asked to explain their reasoning, reconsider an assumption or respond to a new idea.

There is no shame in needing time to think, or in changing your mind when presented with a better argument.

I would be cautious about excessive coaching that teaches children to sound like somebody else's idea of an Oxford student. Preparation is useful. Rehearsing a personality is not.

As a Principal, I sometimes worry that our understandable desire to help children succeed can make learning too transactional.

We ask what grade they received, what qualification they will earn or how an activity might strengthen their university application.

These are reasonable questions, but they should not become the only questions.

Sometimes the most valuable thing a child can do is read a book that has nothing to do with an examination or pursue a question simply because it interests them.

Curiosity does not always produce an immediate measurable outcome. That does not make it any less valuable.

What I would tell parents

If I could offer one piece of advice, it would be this: do not begin by trying to create an Oxford applicant.

Begin by embracing that all children are different. Read widely with them. Allow conversations to wander. Encourage them to explain what they think, and ask why.

When they ask a difficult question, resist the temptation to provide an immediate answer every time. Sometimes it is far more powerful to say, "I'm not sure. How could we find out?” Give them opportunities to become good at things, but also to be beginners.

Let them experience the frustration of not succeeding immediately.

Children who are constantly protected from difficulty may come to associate struggle with failure. Yet the ability to persevere when an answer is not obvious is precisely what demanding academic study requires.

As children grow older, thoughtful subject choices and conversations with teachers become particularly important. Students considering Oxford should investigate individual course requirements early, using the university's official admissions guidance.

But beyond meeting those requirements, the most valuable preparation is developing genuine intellectual curiosity. The purpose is not to accumulate impressive activities for a personal statement. It is to become more knowledgeable and thoughtful about something that genuinely interests them.

There is a difference.

Oxford opened doors, but it didn't write my story

My own career took a route that I doubt I could have predicted as a Chemistry undergraduate. After university, I worked in journalism, before finding my way into teaching in East London.

What began as a change in direction became the profession in which I found my purpose.

I have since worked in schools across England and Dubai, and now have the privilege of leading Repton Al Barsha. My Oxford education was an important part of that journey, but it did not determine its destination.

An Oxford degree can open doors. It can provide a remarkable academic experience and bring young people into contact with ideas and individuals who shape their thinking.

But it does not remove uncertainty, guarantee fulfilment or replace the need for hard work and good judgement.

Some of the most accomplished and interesting people I have met did not attend Oxford or Cambridge. Others followed entirely unconventional educational routes.

I would never want a child to believe that one university's decision determines the limits of their future. It is an opportunity, not a verdict on their potential.

What stays with me

When I think back to Oxford, I do not think only about the degree. I think about friendships, conversations and the strange combination of intellectual seriousness and youthful silliness that makes university life so memorable.

And, of course, I think about that bicycle travelling effortlessly alongside our rowing boat. I am immensely grateful for my years at Oxford. They stretched me intellectually, challenged my assumptions and gave me opportunities that shaped the course of my life.

But the lesson I carry most strongly into my work as a Principal is not that every child should aspire to follow the same path.

It is that no child should be discouraged from exploring a path simply because it seems unfamiliar, difficult or reserved for somebody else.

And if their talents and interests lead them somewhere entirely different, I hope they will pursue that with equal conviction.

Our responsibility as educators and parents is not to decide which doors children should walk through.

It is to ensure that as many doors as possible remain open, and that they have the knowledge, courage and judgement to choose for themselves.