It’s one of those morning classes, yup the same morning, the night before of which you were lying drunk in a pool of your own vomit, and you still after a fight with your head and many a failed attempt to screw the top of toothpaste back, manage to turn up for the class at 7:35. But you are thrown out with many an expletives thrown your way, what do you do? Even when you were fuming that you even bothered to take such pains, You mutter an apology, turn back, and go home.
It’s one of those morning classes, yup the same morning, the night before of which you slept in late woke up late had a breakfast, deliberated about going to the class and after a few minutes strolled in the classroom at 8:00. One full hour late! You are allowed in. What do you do? You go in, find a seat in the back, and clap at the every mispronounced word uttered by the hapless professor.
Welcome, sir to IIT.
In the last semester when we were filling the choices for IT breadth I came across the name of a professor (who taught computer software) and numerous anecdotes associated with him. Someone said that he was an AIR 2 of his times; someone told that he is very simple, others claimed that he donates all that he earns to orphanages but whatever the said the consensus was that he is a very good teacher and a great human being. So naturally I was excited to learn from him, and thought people would also have the same attitude. But what I saw in the class was not interest. Student came and went as they wished; they clapped, booed and whistled. Okay this might be condoned but what happened next breached the limits.
Someone started to show his origami prowess by making airplanes from paper and throwing them in the class. It soon turned into a kind of competition. Tear. Fold. Fly. Now one of the planes (I don’t know if it was thrown there or the plane decided to change its trajectory) flew on to the black board and the timing was such that it fell in front of professor as soon as he turned his face towards us. Needless to say he was startled and stepped back. This triggered a peal of laughter amongst the students (with the plane makers laughing raucously). The professor though humiliated didn’t say anything and continued with his teaching. This encouraged them and they started calling him names. Fakir, sentry and some other chosen names. Some even commented on his simplicity.
It shook me. And I remembered word of some philosopher that humans don’t deserve civilization, they are by nature barbaric and hence need to be ruled by force. What could be a better example than what was in front of me? You create chaos in the class because you have a lenient professor who forgives each of your transgressions. But all your guts evaporate once you face someone who doesn’t permit even slightest of jokes.Try flying planes in his class.If you behaved alike in front of both the professor then it would have been commendable. But what you do indicate what idiots you are. And if you are reading it keep in mind that you don’t matter to the professor, that’s why he doesn’t give a shit to your activities in the class. You are not hurting him, you are hurting yourselves. What you are doing is not brave at all. Its the highest form of cowardice.
Adios.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
power corrupts.
All persons,events and places in this article are purely fictitious, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental
“Arey woh tha na ek , jo fruit shop se juice lekar aata tha or common room me, jhapar maar ke chala jaata tha”(Hey do you remember that guy who used to buy juice from the fruit shop, then enter the common room, slap some guys around and leave). “Yeah I remember, what about him?” “Nothing it was just that these kinds of seniors are a bastard”. “I agree, by hitting someone they just want to assert their power.”
I heard these sentences at the beginning of this year when we were recounting our experiences in the orientation programme. And, it was really a painful subject for me because yours truly was one of the guys at the receiving end of the ‘juice’ guy’s wrath. The incident was still etched on my mind. The anguish was still new, the pain was still fresh. And I still cursed my fear, which forced me not to complain about his overtures. I rued the fact that I was a coward. And I rued the fact that I tried to hide my anguish behind my generosity. “arey yaar main isliye complain nahi kar raha hoon kyunki woh fifth year hai, pass out hone wala hai, saale ka year back lag jaayega.(I am not complaining cause he is a fifth year on the verge of passing out, the bastard will get a year back). I don’t want to ruin his future.”
Time heals most wounds they say, but it was still fresh when our turn to be the organisers of orientation programme arrived. Why the hell don’t you go to watch the events? CG doesn’t matter much, work for your CV, if you just have CG the company will think ki bahut bada maggu hai ( that you are only a swot). You can’t remember such small things and you call yourselves IITians . Did you shave today? Are we fools to tell you to shave every day? These were the oft repeated sentences. And the most ironic was “we say all this because it’s to improve your personality. You don’t know how much we put ourselves to risk just for your improvement.”
Me? I was fully enjoying myself, was setting different gags on the second years, was abrasive even abusive at times. How dare he get my year wrong? How dare he call me juice? How dare someone mix up one of my hundred batch mate’s hometown with another?
Then one day when the proceedings were in full flow, I witnessed something. I saw someone manhandling a junior. While slapping the senior was shouting “Abe teri galti hai(hey it’s your fault). Koi kuch bhi kahega toh karega( you will do anything anyone says). Don’t you have a mind of yours.” And then I saw something else. I saw a look of pure revulsion on the face of the junior. He was utterly disgusted with his tormentor. He was angry, not at his seniors but at himself. His face said many things. It cried with the feeling of being helpless, of being afraid. I saw all this and I saw myself reflected in his face.
I remembered my humiliation. I remembered my pain. I remembered the silent abuses I hurled at the sight of the bastard. I remembered my friend saying “do you know they conducted an experiment. They gave money to a group of people and made some of them prisoners and other wardens. The wardens had to do nothing; they just had to sit around. The prisoners could leave any time but they would have to forego the money. Do you know what happened? The wardens established rule of stick. They were mercilessly beating the ‘prisoners’ just because they were give power over them? So power corrupts”. I remembered me saying “all this is bull shit. Nobody is this sadistic”. And then I remembered all those abuses, all those transgressions made by me on someone’s dignity. I myself became the same thing which I hated for the last year.
Power corrupts. Your slapping me wasn’t your fault. I forgive you mister Sharma. I don’t curse you anymore.
Adios….
“Arey woh tha na ek , jo fruit shop se juice lekar aata tha or common room me, jhapar maar ke chala jaata tha”(Hey do you remember that guy who used to buy juice from the fruit shop, then enter the common room, slap some guys around and leave). “Yeah I remember, what about him?” “Nothing it was just that these kinds of seniors are a bastard”. “I agree, by hitting someone they just want to assert their power.”
I heard these sentences at the beginning of this year when we were recounting our experiences in the orientation programme. And, it was really a painful subject for me because yours truly was one of the guys at the receiving end of the ‘juice’ guy’s wrath. The incident was still etched on my mind. The anguish was still new, the pain was still fresh. And I still cursed my fear, which forced me not to complain about his overtures. I rued the fact that I was a coward. And I rued the fact that I tried to hide my anguish behind my generosity. “arey yaar main isliye complain nahi kar raha hoon kyunki woh fifth year hai, pass out hone wala hai, saale ka year back lag jaayega.(I am not complaining cause he is a fifth year on the verge of passing out, the bastard will get a year back). I don’t want to ruin his future.”
Time heals most wounds they say, but it was still fresh when our turn to be the organisers of orientation programme arrived. Why the hell don’t you go to watch the events? CG doesn’t matter much, work for your CV, if you just have CG the company will think ki bahut bada maggu hai ( that you are only a swot). You can’t remember such small things and you call yourselves IITians . Did you shave today? Are we fools to tell you to shave every day? These were the oft repeated sentences. And the most ironic was “we say all this because it’s to improve your personality. You don’t know how much we put ourselves to risk just for your improvement.”
Me? I was fully enjoying myself, was setting different gags on the second years, was abrasive even abusive at times. How dare he get my year wrong? How dare he call me juice? How dare someone mix up one of my hundred batch mate’s hometown with another?
Then one day when the proceedings were in full flow, I witnessed something. I saw someone manhandling a junior. While slapping the senior was shouting “Abe teri galti hai(hey it’s your fault). Koi kuch bhi kahega toh karega( you will do anything anyone says). Don’t you have a mind of yours.” And then I saw something else. I saw a look of pure revulsion on the face of the junior. He was utterly disgusted with his tormentor. He was angry, not at his seniors but at himself. His face said many things. It cried with the feeling of being helpless, of being afraid. I saw all this and I saw myself reflected in his face.
I remembered my humiliation. I remembered my pain. I remembered the silent abuses I hurled at the sight of the bastard. I remembered my friend saying “do you know they conducted an experiment. They gave money to a group of people and made some of them prisoners and other wardens. The wardens had to do nothing; they just had to sit around. The prisoners could leave any time but they would have to forego the money. Do you know what happened? The wardens established rule of stick. They were mercilessly beating the ‘prisoners’ just because they were give power over them? So power corrupts”. I remembered me saying “all this is bull shit. Nobody is this sadistic”. And then I remembered all those abuses, all those transgressions made by me on someone’s dignity. I myself became the same thing which I hated for the last year.
Power corrupts. Your slapping me wasn’t your fault. I forgive you mister Sharma. I don’t curse you anymore.
Adios….
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