Woes of a misfit : Part I

Prelude to the prelude: Have decided will include a prelude to my posts starting today, since I always give redundant information overload at the beginning of each post anyway. Would make much more sense for you to just skip the whole prelude part if you don’t want to read it. Works both ways. I get to talk and you don’t have to impatiently wait for me to get to the point already.

Prelude:  So while going through my earlier posts in Facebook, some of which I wrote way before I started my blog, I realized that all through this time, I have been going on and on about my profound theories and overwhelming emotions on stuff like mood swings, music, marriage, my family, (posts on which I would like to name The Chronicles of the Saharia Family henceforth), books, good smells…and my love life for crying out loud. But sparring the constant cribbing and complaining about a course I hate with dumb lectures added to it, I have hardly written about my life as an MCA student in a university which is tucked away in a sleepy dreamy town which in turn, inspite of being seeped in history, makes you feel like it forgot to grow since then. And then the sudden realization that I have my whole life to write about music and books yada yada…..and maybe I’ll even write better then. But what about when I look back, and find out that I haven’t left any trails of the last three years of my student life in my writings? I can’t let that happen, now can I? And it isn’t like I haven’t got anything to talk about my life out here. I have loads, for a fact. Hence what followed was a conscious decision to write the next three posts about my life as a student.

And since this is the first post out of the three, allow me to give some background information.

Fact: MCA is the only post-graduation course which requires three years to complete. Plus, most often it is mentioned as an afterthought whenever other post-grad degrees are mentioned, in context of eligibility for higher studies and job openings. If at all it is mentioned. Most of the times it is not.

Fact: You wouldn’t find many daughters of the Controller of Examinations of a university studying in that very university. The Controller of Examinations of my university has one such daughter. Namely, me.

Fact: I had contemplated going for a degree in Psychological Counseling after my graduation. I ended up in Computer Applications. Way to go, I know.

And in case you haven’t figured it out by yourself already, I consider myself a misfit. Big time.

In a matter of a three months, our class will become the vestigial organs of this place. All our batch mates who’d enrolled themselves in other much more reasonable two-year degree post-grad courses will have passed out, and our juniors will have taken the place of “seniors”. And we the 5th semester MCA students will have been left behind. Always to be reverentially mentioned, specially in motivating welcoming speeches given by our juniors to the fresher batch, but never really to be considered when taking important decisions. Hence vestigial. We had served some purpose some time in the past, but we’re not really needed anymore. And yet we’re here. You can’t cut us off.

The only silver lining is that we’ll go out of this place in another semester. And I don’t want these to be the only feelings I carry with me. I want to have fond memories too, to be particularly clichéd.

Like one of last year’s notebooks that I found the other day. The doodles I had made on them made for interesting read really. I had hated that course immensely, much more than I normally hate these courses. And in those few pages which had even fewer lines of C++ code written on them, I had vented out all my pent up frustration, boredom and at times outright silliness. My notes had “Duh?” scribbled in pencil all over them. But it was funny, looking at those doodles and thinking of how in that class I would always sit right next to the huge open window with the breeze flowing in, and look out at the lush abandoned greenery near the boundary wall of the university. And then what with the Prof’s continuous monotonous drone growing increasingly distant by the minute, and the low hum of the ceiling fans adding to the ambiance, I’d finally succumb to a state of sweet ignorance and absolute dumbness. No wonder I got a “C+” in that paper. You can’t expect an “A” when the very first page of your notebook says,

“Studies say that students who doodle in their notebooks while in class retain much more of the Professor’s lecture than those who stare vacantly at his face.”

Which is strangely true by the way. I read it in the Readers’ Digest. And I attribute my not failing that course to all the doodles I had made. I swear.

And speaking of the doodles, the most common would be my “Note To Self”s. Here’s one of them from last year’s notebook,

“Go read the book, will you? It’s not meant for just propping up your glass when you heat water in your room. You could try opening it. Sometime in this semester itself.”

I guess that’s when I am at my patronizing best. At times I am outright pathetic. Like this one,

” I am pretending to nod my head in solemn understanding of the lecture while I am actually giving beat to a song inside my head, and I am scribbling this and pretending to take down notes.”

This one is again vintage bored me,

“G’s sitting in front bench and scratching his head. Who knows, he’s found a new way for knowledge to permeate through his skull right into his brain….

D’s looking out the window and checking his nails from time to time wondering whether it was time for his next manicure…

J is like me, except that she’s not writing anything. I’m sure she’s staring at the board just to hide the fact that her mind, like mine, is someplace far far away from here…

M’s doodling too… but can’t say for sure. His drooping eyelids and bobbing head do somewhat indicate he could just be drawing lines unknowingly in his copy…”

Sometimes  in my notes I brag about my limited French to myself. And try come up with a meaningful sentence that will use up all the verbs I know of that language. And the number of such verbs being extremely small, I get bored of that too.  So when everything fails, it is the lyrics of all the songs I know. Painstakingly written in my best handwriting. Or nice paisley patterns drawn on my copy. My pet specialty. And then sometimes all I would do is furiously scribble swear words of all languages that I know. Right on top of the page, to be followed by an insane number of exclamation marks. They are my specialty too you see, swear words.

Then again the “fundoo” (name copyright, R) that I am, I can’t help but come up with “funda”s of my own. So just this semester, I came up with a few. Straight from my doodles:

“Semesters seem to end fast. Classes don’t ever.”

“Dumb Profs should make up for their dumb lectures by giving good grades.”

‘Each class should come with a huge wall clock right in front of the Prof, or there should be an automated system which promptly cuts off power supply once the designated one hour is over.”

And this one I came up with just today while attending yet another boring Software Engineering class,

“All non-nerds should refrain from taking notes and paying attention in class to ensure that nerds can remain nerds. Otherwise there is serious danger of nerds losing their very identity. We can’t have the whole class starting to act nerdy now, can we?”

Enough for today. I could go on so much longer…  I know I will not carry those notebooks around with me forever, and that’s when these posts will help me remember these days. Which is the whole point of this three-post exercise, isn’t it? So let me leave stuff for the next two posts to follow. So long.

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4 thoughts on “Woes of a misfit : Part I

  1. Slimy says:

    Taking the liberty to comment on this one, the making of doodles for “interesting” read is a good idea, at least that would make me read, because studying literary repel me. I’ll do the same right from the next semester till I had finished my post grads. And those sentences are the very thoughts that’d be going through any non-nerd’s head but only “few” writer got the talent to describe them elegantly as you did, depicting every minute details perfectly and with such care. Wish there was a like option like in facebook. Too bad.

    Like

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