The Wicked Class of Survival

 DISCLAIMER:

THE CHARACTERS IN THIS PIECE ARE FICTIONAL; ANY RELATION TO A REAL-LIFE ENTITY IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL

[But of course who believes that.]

As you enter one of the sharply colored classrooms of Miles Education (12^th std Science), and if you could still see after the shocking impact of bright neon colors, you can observe a looming figure (mostly in a red shirt) teaching a bunch of non-alarmed brats.

One of the brats is named Steven. He seems to think he knows everything, and makes sure to tell everyone that. Regular inputs (much not needed) pop out of him, at frequencies increasing daily. With his beard growing faster than his intelligence, and the utter refusal to shave it, he seems to one a ghastly money lender with a flair for injustice.

(FYI, shaving did not change that)

Now Steven is a high flier, which implies that he is a tiny fish lifted the highest by a high tide, and floats around in his own misery when not. For example, three right answers might magic an enthusiastic “Yes SSIR!” and a single wrong one will humble him to no bounds.

A rather silent observer John, sits beside Steven; he (John)-- isn’t sure whether to memorize or to understand, as at that moment both processes seem equivalent to him.

The entire classroom is filled tightly, it seems a waste of space has converted to a waste of human. Every bench is filled with three students, and in some cases four, and with the increasing mutual politics being played around by those whose primary interest isn’t studies, the rest seem to be bearing the faults of being those whose is.

Another good visualization can be a string of identical heads assembled in an unfashioned way, waiting and waiting, just to cast a vote. They bear an expression of confusion in their brains, although really there is nothing much inside, and seat themselves in a fixed place, fixed position, and fixed mindset. It is really just robots replicated to fill the empty laboratory; there isn’t any reason to why they are there, other than to compliment the raging ambition of the scientist.

The scientist – I mean prof – starts teaching dielectrics. To know or to not know appear to be indistinguishable. Of course, when it comes to the students, the latter is far more realistic than the former; but still, at the end, they seem to catch a hold of what the professor is saying, and oftentimes the despair in his face aroused due to the holocaustic expressions of the students throws in a little more attention from the (now human, and thus sympathetic) learners.

Six girls sit on two adjacent benches – the first and the second, with three being flopped on either bench. As I mentioned earlier, the air of politics (unknown to those who dare not fling into the irrelevant), now hails its biggest impact.

One of the girl is silent, most of the times. She changes her outlook of life as fervently as the janitor hops in to provide tea for the prof. yet the latter bears a smug outlook, while the former doesn’t have time for smugness.

She gave me her notes one time, much appreciated.

The girl behind the silent one is a rattling chatter-machine. She (her name is Hannah) talks of things the way a bard talks of the old times – the face aroused with pains of the past, and pleasures of the unseen. She seems to laugh at whatever the people around (mostly boys) tell; the sayings range from the crushing of a mountain to the deathly fall of an old toothbrush, both appear equally humorous and derive a layer of plain laughter and a slight trickle of control from the girl.

If one would wonder, “What the hell is the perfect definition of mediocrity?”, it only means they haven’t seen Hannah before. As if a rule set set into her brain long before birth, as well as every code of conduct that is to be followed religiously, she abides by society as a kitten abides by its owner – they do that only because they have to. Since morality has lost its value, it is not needed. Of course, social rules are made so that humans stay integrated, much necessary for their survival. But when it comes to sacrificing goodness and righteousness at a more personal level, it doesn’t do any harm to humanity in general, as it is (though indeed a war) on a much more trivial scale, and thus to some extent, permitted by society.

Therefore a person who believes in morality is advised to shoo away from people like Hannah, than to suffer a conversation with her; although the latter would occur rarely, considering she only talks to wealthy fools (and poor tools).

I hope God himself is there, not another creature of a higher order civilization, because if it is the latter, who knows how moral they are?

It is now the break time. The boys talk as if their voice is on a death row. The roaring pitches of the far east, do not go unnoticeable, for the professor insists on maintaining proper discipline, but what they have done in the name of culture cant be completely ignored.

Often Steven raises his pitch, goes noticed, but somehow, doesn’t bear the consequences. It may be, that showing off isn’t the only reason he speaks too much.

People talk about various things – things I do not find interesting. Whatever the reason is, ‘the sky is cloudy’ should be the end of the talk. Yet you can see people rambling off about their day and how they were late for school, merely because a dog jumped in their way. Thankfully, it was quite alive, but the incident did leave an impact shocking enough to convey it through a magnitude of a tale, better left unread by readers.

Three people spectate the talk. Me, who does not say much, but drop in casual smiles out of politeness, and the other girl beside me, who seems to laugh off every second at what they say. The definition of humor is variable, but the fact that it could drop to such a minima proves that evolution has been set anti clockwise.

Sometime later, we end up getting a new subset of batchmates, who are as likely to be mentioned in this piece, as were the rest. It is, often times, only oneself, that needs to appraise one for the things one does, for only then does it drive the rest to do so.

Carrying this bit of advice in his mind (mind of a size ranging from a minus ten (when in love) to a positive ten, on the scale of measuring dry fruits), Drake makes sure to give a brief appreciation to his own jokes after he risks them in public. In fact, it is his own cackling that serves a cue for the rest to know that what he has said was indeed a joke.

Drake is shipping himself off to Europe next year, the fact made clear multiple times by the boy himself, and he still thinks we don’t know that. So I find it very hard to communicate long-term with Drake, for every conversation seems to somehow channel itself down to the very dogma that he isn’t going to stay here.

A new girl, arrived after days of being “absent”, is now noticeable, because of her visibly bright teeth and the dark complexion that houses them. To say the truth, it is not her teeth, but her smile that brings in the attention from the people – it is always there! Her smile – it doesn’t fade! It seems hard to understand how a person can stretch their mouth meaninglessly into empty space, and yet appear to be as jovial as our professor when smoking. And yet, the sinking feeling of not knowing things because of past sins makes itself clear, when you ask Cretia what was done during the day, and she bluntly shows the textbook.

Finally, there isn’t much left to say, but the hoards of classmates that appear similar, and thus fade into the background, if there is space for any. This takes place to such an extent, that the professor calls one by the other’s name, and the other by the next one’s. and I believe, after days of this mishap occurring over and over again, the students might themselves have identified with their new appellations, and would be insensitive to the names screeched by the parents upon reaching home.

Sure, life is never easy.

Carrying this in his mind, our prof goes for another smoke. He calls us inefficient.

 

-        Krisha Shastri