I had written this article a while back when I had just gone through with my t.y.b.com exams and I really like it. i am also publishing this in the annual magazine this year (of Sydenham) but I thought of putting it up here none the less. Ok… I admit… confession if you will… don’t have any inspiration to write lately so…
TEXT BLUES
I was surrounded by zombies. They feared something, something strange and silent. i knew the shaping hand of providence was closing in on my future and the magical touch was just a silent acquiesce away.
They sat silently. They had a motive to achieve as they stared at black letters on white sheets, smelling fresh with the chemical used for photocopying. It is strange how one person who was possibly sleepy while he was listening to this lady (who does not know what or why she is speaking) is scribbling the letters dropping out of her mouth onto a piece of paper, which suddenly becomes a bible for those masses who never went to 'church' all year. What were they trying to achieve by being atheists for 11 months and suddenly having their sins catching up with them? It is commendable though, these zombies pull it off to say the least.
Those few weeks before the exams may be the glorious festivity of a hated event called “studies”. And the venue, as hated as it may be, is the otherwise haunted, library. The cult gathers at 8 am sharp and the prayers begin with a consistent chant... 'Oh fuck, I’m so screwed!!’. A few discussions with fellow 'believers' rekindle their faith. They open the untouched holy books of unknown subject with fear and spite on an equal balance. The reading begins and the next ten minutes are filled with a religious dedication towards the commitment they have made to this religion for the past 20 years or so. But as I said, ten minutes; then comes along Satan with his overpowering charm. Every one of the seven sins put together in the words that drop out like gospel hymns for these zombies to follow as their new bible… actually they simply revert to their atheism when they here him say “come on guys lets go for Chai!”. The “holy bibles” go for a fantastic toss and the “harrowed” individuals want to go for tea breaks.
It’s not too long (just about two hours) before the pangs of guilt strangle the necks of our refreshed students and they decide to head back to the Mecca. The books open themselves as if it was a favour to mankind to have been read by the youth of our country. Eyes wander on chapters and the “out of touch” memories of the kids can support no data other than the page numbers and chapter headings. Now the fine play of food aftermaths kick in. Drooping eyes and divided concentration make fine excuses for going no farther then where they have stopped (which again is a page and a half). Soporific chants lull them off for a 2 hour knock out and the fearful laughter of friends and screams of the disgusted parents jolt them up in frenzy. Heavy amounts of water and large quantities of mint and chocolates are consumed before faces are washed and we resume. Books spring to life and pages turn like an unprecedented dance of fright and random motions of the hand over letters flow through minds of young bloods. They push to remember as much as they can. Bullet points, paraphrases and highlighted headings are inter woven with thoughts of failing and irritations about why the girlfriend slept off without saying good night to the lover, the night before.
The crows mark the forthcoming of a regretful evening of a wasted day. The realization of not having grasped even 10% of the amount perused is a wake-up call but we decide to press the ‘snooze’ button and get home unperturbed by materialistic thoughts of taking exams to get a degree for getting a job and earning large pays. Sometimes, thoughts of this sort are like reality checks. Questions like ‘Where am I going?’, ‘What am I looking for?’, ‘What’s my future in this field?’; ‘Do I even belong here?’… start making sudden and irrational sense. The questions remain unanswered and the night passes off like a kink in the flow of time. the dawn of a new day of stress, toil, turmoil and pain and friends, food and tea breaks; the ratio being 2 hours is to 8 hours. The same old guilt, the same additional 10% and the same deep, philosophical questions end the day’s disgust.
Every day is a deja vu and the guilt goes to a penultimate tightening before the grip breaks your back bone and you have no option but to reverse the 2 to 8 ratio and make the 10% to 100% absorption. You ignore your girlfriend and the thought of failing is sinful. Eyes water and dare not droop. Food is kept to bare minimum of rice and veggies. Page numbers matter no more and photocopies are handled with perfect honesty. No Satanic interventions and no more distractions to feast your tired eyes on. The nearing of judgment day is time to wash out your sins and bathe in the holy waters of knowledge. The exams are a revelation of a toiling farmer ready to harvest (in this case the farmers decided to use hybrid variety that matures in a month). They (exams) arrive in chariots of fire and you are ready and armed. The soot of the midnight oil is the artillery you posses. Pens raging on the battle field. Printed questions thrown ruthlessly at you by your adversary. The bell sounds like the war horn and the raging bulls attack. Every bit stuffed is regurgitated with utmost precision and the battle culminates with the defendants left in doubt of their victory.
This is the story of a normal student… a story about a young mind fixed in a matrix called education and a small protective world known as a college. The concepts that bind the mind are a matter of legible volumes of unwanted information jammed into the system for a small rapid fire round and then forgotten for the rest of their lives.
Well, I’m through, I’m tired and I’m glad. The legacy is thus passed on to the next batch of degree aspirants… for me; the hunt was more interesting than the kill.
TEXT BLUES
I was surrounded by zombies. They feared something, something strange and silent. i knew the shaping hand of providence was closing in on my future and the magical touch was just a silent acquiesce away.
They sat silently. They had a motive to achieve as they stared at black letters on white sheets, smelling fresh with the chemical used for photocopying. It is strange how one person who was possibly sleepy while he was listening to this lady (who does not know what or why she is speaking) is scribbling the letters dropping out of her mouth onto a piece of paper, which suddenly becomes a bible for those masses who never went to 'church' all year. What were they trying to achieve by being atheists for 11 months and suddenly having their sins catching up with them? It is commendable though, these zombies pull it off to say the least.
Those few weeks before the exams may be the glorious festivity of a hated event called “studies”. And the venue, as hated as it may be, is the otherwise haunted, library. The cult gathers at 8 am sharp and the prayers begin with a consistent chant... 'Oh fuck, I’m so screwed!!’. A few discussions with fellow 'believers' rekindle their faith. They open the untouched holy books of unknown subject with fear and spite on an equal balance. The reading begins and the next ten minutes are filled with a religious dedication towards the commitment they have made to this religion for the past 20 years or so. But as I said, ten minutes; then comes along Satan with his overpowering charm. Every one of the seven sins put together in the words that drop out like gospel hymns for these zombies to follow as their new bible… actually they simply revert to their atheism when they here him say “come on guys lets go for Chai!”. The “holy bibles” go for a fantastic toss and the “harrowed” individuals want to go for tea breaks.
It’s not too long (just about two hours) before the pangs of guilt strangle the necks of our refreshed students and they decide to head back to the Mecca. The books open themselves as if it was a favour to mankind to have been read by the youth of our country. Eyes wander on chapters and the “out of touch” memories of the kids can support no data other than the page numbers and chapter headings. Now the fine play of food aftermaths kick in. Drooping eyes and divided concentration make fine excuses for going no farther then where they have stopped (which again is a page and a half). Soporific chants lull them off for a 2 hour knock out and the fearful laughter of friends and screams of the disgusted parents jolt them up in frenzy. Heavy amounts of water and large quantities of mint and chocolates are consumed before faces are washed and we resume. Books spring to life and pages turn like an unprecedented dance of fright and random motions of the hand over letters flow through minds of young bloods. They push to remember as much as they can. Bullet points, paraphrases and highlighted headings are inter woven with thoughts of failing and irritations about why the girlfriend slept off without saying good night to the lover, the night before.
The crows mark the forthcoming of a regretful evening of a wasted day. The realization of not having grasped even 10% of the amount perused is a wake-up call but we decide to press the ‘snooze’ button and get home unperturbed by materialistic thoughts of taking exams to get a degree for getting a job and earning large pays. Sometimes, thoughts of this sort are like reality checks. Questions like ‘Where am I going?’, ‘What am I looking for?’, ‘What’s my future in this field?’; ‘Do I even belong here?’… start making sudden and irrational sense. The questions remain unanswered and the night passes off like a kink in the flow of time. the dawn of a new day of stress, toil, turmoil and pain and friends, food and tea breaks; the ratio being 2 hours is to 8 hours. The same old guilt, the same additional 10% and the same deep, philosophical questions end the day’s disgust.
Every day is a deja vu and the guilt goes to a penultimate tightening before the grip breaks your back bone and you have no option but to reverse the 2 to 8 ratio and make the 10% to 100% absorption. You ignore your girlfriend and the thought of failing is sinful. Eyes water and dare not droop. Food is kept to bare minimum of rice and veggies. Page numbers matter no more and photocopies are handled with perfect honesty. No Satanic interventions and no more distractions to feast your tired eyes on. The nearing of judgment day is time to wash out your sins and bathe in the holy waters of knowledge. The exams are a revelation of a toiling farmer ready to harvest (in this case the farmers decided to use hybrid variety that matures in a month). They (exams) arrive in chariots of fire and you are ready and armed. The soot of the midnight oil is the artillery you posses. Pens raging on the battle field. Printed questions thrown ruthlessly at you by your adversary. The bell sounds like the war horn and the raging bulls attack. Every bit stuffed is regurgitated with utmost precision and the battle culminates with the defendants left in doubt of their victory.
This is the story of a normal student… a story about a young mind fixed in a matrix called education and a small protective world known as a college. The concepts that bind the mind are a matter of legible volumes of unwanted information jammed into the system for a small rapid fire round and then forgotten for the rest of their lives.
Well, I’m through, I’m tired and I’m glad. The legacy is thus passed on to the next batch of degree aspirants… for me; the hunt was more interesting than the kill.
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