How does three hours of continous walking, distributing paper, thread and collecting answer scripts everyday for a week feel....let me tell you, BORING!!
Add a stray student who thinks that she can get away referring a book hidden under her kameez....yawn!!
I never really appreciated what my invigilators underwent all these years when we all gave countless semester exams and not to forget those terrifying boards......trust me, today as I stand in their place or hobble (owing to marathon invigilation sessions) I completely empathize with them. God bless their souls!!
And also understand why the research scholars at the University looked so haggard.....doing invigilation for our profs must have seriously addled their research findings.
So, how does one enliven these sleepy times.....Applied Research comes in handy. Say for example....36 students out of 44 in a hall wear jeans (Whoever said dress sense at colleges are creative??!!).
And then the primary colours of the chumki clad brigade.....bright pink, shocking yellow and bright blue, with default silver or gold chumkis ofcourse. (Courtesy- a colleague who shares similar academic pursuits)Other hypothesis that have been proved right are that:
1. for every 10 students there is one who carries a cell phone inside the hall.
2.creativity runs riot when there are law and history papers, so be prepared to give each one a dozen additional sheets.
3. when you are totally on the verge of dropping asleep and decide to check that three months old frayed newspaper at the back of the hall, the dean or the controller will walk in to check on some question paper.
4. You burn more calories by simply invigilating rather than giving the actual test.
5.Once has to retie atleast 7 out of every ten answer scripts, as the students never learned their knots as girl scouts.
After heavy academic research the other activity that provides some relief is snooping answer scripts.....where else can we glean valuable information like Gandhiji started the Indian National Congress or that Prasar Bharati is the secretary to the Vice President Vajpayee or TOI stands for Trust office of India and UNI for United Nations of India.
Actually after this first ordeal of mine, I would wish invgilation only on someone I really want to torture painfully and slowly.Doesn't one envy that blessed student in the last row who completed her paper in half an hour and is now enjoying blissful dreams??!!
sigh, sigh!!
romila.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Updating things....
Growing up with siblings can be one helluva fun. At times, I imagine myself without my brother and sister. How boring can life get? Personally, I am the sort of person who would have never cut classes to go to a cinema. Yet I am quite the antithesis of what I used to be….thanks to my siblings!
So now I go nostalgic as I prepare myself to go down the memory lane, trying to relive some of the moments while growing up. But I seriously dunno where to begin. Shall I begin with how my sister, elder to me by two and half years, when she was a eleven year old broke [ahem…sorry smashed…with a stone] my mother’s brand new ‘HMT’ watch that was gifted to her by her brother. Amma walks in from office to find my sister busily smashing the watch. Aiding her, watching and applauding the action was my brother. And when amma asked my sister why she did it, her reply was “simply, I felt bored.” And my mother, being who she is left it at that!
My sister was particularly popular with the male cousins…the reason, she loved cricket, she used to throw herself completely into the game, could recount any statistic detail involving the game [ despite the fact that she is severely allergic to numbers, a trait that she has successfully passed on to me] Me being me, just used to sit and watch. [Thank God that I was not that girlish to play with dolls.]But I do remember one attempt in which I tried to ape my sister, I actually tried to play cricket! This was about when I was eight years old. I remember this incident with a clarity that amazes me, probably because it was one of the cruelest things that I ever did.I was declared out within the first few moments after I started to bat. As usual, I could not take defeat that easily. I argued till my throat was soar that I was not out, but when I realized that the support for me was next to non existent, I threw the bat in the air, and just my luck, it hit one of the players on his nose. His nose broke and you can imagine the rest!!! That was it.
Immediately after that we tried table tennis at home. We had been a to holiday at my uncle’s house in Ernakulam. It was a Government quarters that had a badminton and tennis court, a TT table and all such things. So after that wonderful summer vacation which included learning that detested TT, we returned to our base determined to extend our holiday mode at our home. It was the time when a new term was about to begin and appa had got all our books freshly bound. My sister being the generous soul that she is, decided to use the bound cover of her books as the TT bat.[ although I do remember having a TT bat at our home…okay lets just say that my sis was a creative person] So within the first week of the term her bound books were unbound! Amma was aghast and appa being the optimistic person that he is took some of the books for rebinding. But my sister’s passion for the game continued until she was sent to formal table tennis coaching!
A hundred events similar to these marked the years that I am spoilt for choice over which to recount. But I will remain grateful to her for making my under-grad college life simply wonderful. She was my senior at college [was in her third year] and her friends had laid down a strict clause to others not to rag me. Although it did not help me at first [people were openly antagonistic] things gradually improved.“College is gonna be boring,” I said to her on my first day at college. “No, it is not” she said and took me backstage to watch the fresher’s performance.[Generally that kinda privilege is allowed for the biggies of the college and first years are almost never allowed.] And a week she literally dragged me to the union room to say to the literary secretary that I would participate in college debates.She helped me perfect the art of never attending class but still maintain a 96% record in the register. Thanks to her and her friends notes my class never bothered taking down notes during lectures. I was quite generous with the photocopies of her notes and generally prevented any of my friends from taking notes.
So now I go nostalgic as I prepare myself to go down the memory lane, trying to relive some of the moments while growing up. But I seriously dunno where to begin. Shall I begin with how my sister, elder to me by two and half years, when she was a eleven year old broke [ahem…sorry smashed…with a stone] my mother’s brand new ‘HMT’ watch that was gifted to her by her brother. Amma walks in from office to find my sister busily smashing the watch. Aiding her, watching and applauding the action was my brother. And when amma asked my sister why she did it, her reply was “simply, I felt bored.” And my mother, being who she is left it at that!
My sister was particularly popular with the male cousins…the reason, she loved cricket, she used to throw herself completely into the game, could recount any statistic detail involving the game [ despite the fact that she is severely allergic to numbers, a trait that she has successfully passed on to me] Me being me, just used to sit and watch. [Thank God that I was not that girlish to play with dolls.]But I do remember one attempt in which I tried to ape my sister, I actually tried to play cricket! This was about when I was eight years old. I remember this incident with a clarity that amazes me, probably because it was one of the cruelest things that I ever did.I was declared out within the first few moments after I started to bat. As usual, I could not take defeat that easily. I argued till my throat was soar that I was not out, but when I realized that the support for me was next to non existent, I threw the bat in the air, and just my luck, it hit one of the players on his nose. His nose broke and you can imagine the rest!!! That was it.
Immediately after that we tried table tennis at home. We had been a to holiday at my uncle’s house in Ernakulam. It was a Government quarters that had a badminton and tennis court, a TT table and all such things. So after that wonderful summer vacation which included learning that detested TT, we returned to our base determined to extend our holiday mode at our home. It was the time when a new term was about to begin and appa had got all our books freshly bound. My sister being the generous soul that she is, decided to use the bound cover of her books as the TT bat.[ although I do remember having a TT bat at our home…okay lets just say that my sis was a creative person] So within the first week of the term her bound books were unbound! Amma was aghast and appa being the optimistic person that he is took some of the books for rebinding. But my sister’s passion for the game continued until she was sent to formal table tennis coaching!
A hundred events similar to these marked the years that I am spoilt for choice over which to recount. But I will remain grateful to her for making my under-grad college life simply wonderful. She was my senior at college [was in her third year] and her friends had laid down a strict clause to others not to rag me. Although it did not help me at first [people were openly antagonistic] things gradually improved.“College is gonna be boring,” I said to her on my first day at college. “No, it is not” she said and took me backstage to watch the fresher’s performance.[Generally that kinda privilege is allowed for the biggies of the college and first years are almost never allowed.] And a week she literally dragged me to the union room to say to the literary secretary that I would participate in college debates.She helped me perfect the art of never attending class but still maintain a 96% record in the register. Thanks to her and her friends notes my class never bothered taking down notes during lectures. I was quite generous with the photocopies of her notes and generally prevented any of my friends from taking notes.
To her expert tip, I owe the experience of sitting in the last bench for three years of my college. [and what fun did we have] One of the best things about sitting in the last bench in a class of almost a hundred girls, a class that has two entrances is that it is easier to crawl out when the class is on. This was a common feature during the poetry class, although I’ve never attempted it [found it extremely stupid…it is much easier to walk out] it was hilarious to watch the girls in action. So, her I am, what I am today and at least a part reason of me being me goes to my siblings! [will continue about my brother some other time after I’ve obtained the copyright permission]
Vini.
Vini.
Turning into an absent minded professor
Well, teaching is quite a strain on one's nerves and grey cells, not to forget those strained vocal chords......
look at me, three months into college teaching and am already turning into the conventional absent minded professor.Wake up one fine sunday and you think of calling a university senior and congratulating her on her wedding......five minutes after talking to her, realisation dawns that it isnt your senior but another accquaintance of the same name who was the one who tied the knot.
Thank God, I didnt embarass my senior and managed to hold my ground with the other pal. Though she was confused why i repeatedly asked her about days at Madras University, while she is from MCC. Much confusion arising from the fact that both of them have names like Rachel and both were working with the Indian Express. but, how did I not notice the difference in the mobile numbers??
A few hours later, another misnomer......I mistake an old pal from a common writer's workshop to be my junior from college and rave about old profs....the poor fellow is totally confused, smiles politely and walks away......realisation dawns later and I look around to apologise to the fellow, but he is nowhere to be seen. Feel really sorry for him.When one is teaching, one generally tries to remember the names of all the students with disastrous effects.......often confusing them. But what is the poor teacher's fault.....how does one remember a name like Prateeksha, say when there are two girls in different classes of the same name but of totally different characteristics.
Worse still, a battallion of Priya's, Priyanka's and Archana's in every class are just beyond comprehension. Why can't parents think of anything unique and different......how can one blame the poor professor for turning absent minded.And to top it all when you think you have almost memorised their names and identify them with their places, they have a trifling argument or quarell amidst themselves and change places.....lo, it starts all over again!!And then the guilt tripping, call a certain Vidyasri as Anuvidya.....and the crest-fallen, 'Maam, you dont know my name??!!' looks are sure to haunt you for the entire day!!Whoever says teaching is a safe vocation....the mutitude of students, the galaxy of youthful high-strung emotions, raging hormones and complex psychologies......whoever can blame the poor, blundering, confused, absent minded college professor for mixing up socks or leaving one's spectacles in the freezer??!! As for me laughing over my Professor dad's idiosyncrasies (wearing a mixed pair of black and brown shoes) and forgetfullness (of whether he locked his car or not) are halycon days that can never come back, all I can do is hope to remember that I locked my bike!!
Sigh, sigh....!!
Romila.
look at me, three months into college teaching and am already turning into the conventional absent minded professor.Wake up one fine sunday and you think of calling a university senior and congratulating her on her wedding......five minutes after talking to her, realisation dawns that it isnt your senior but another accquaintance of the same name who was the one who tied the knot.
Thank God, I didnt embarass my senior and managed to hold my ground with the other pal. Though she was confused why i repeatedly asked her about days at Madras University, while she is from MCC. Much confusion arising from the fact that both of them have names like Rachel and both were working with the Indian Express. but, how did I not notice the difference in the mobile numbers??
A few hours later, another misnomer......I mistake an old pal from a common writer's workshop to be my junior from college and rave about old profs....the poor fellow is totally confused, smiles politely and walks away......realisation dawns later and I look around to apologise to the fellow, but he is nowhere to be seen. Feel really sorry for him.When one is teaching, one generally tries to remember the names of all the students with disastrous effects.......often confusing them. But what is the poor teacher's fault.....how does one remember a name like Prateeksha, say when there are two girls in different classes of the same name but of totally different characteristics.
Worse still, a battallion of Priya's, Priyanka's and Archana's in every class are just beyond comprehension. Why can't parents think of anything unique and different......how can one blame the poor professor for turning absent minded.And to top it all when you think you have almost memorised their names and identify them with their places, they have a trifling argument or quarell amidst themselves and change places.....lo, it starts all over again!!And then the guilt tripping, call a certain Vidyasri as Anuvidya.....and the crest-fallen, 'Maam, you dont know my name??!!' looks are sure to haunt you for the entire day!!Whoever says teaching is a safe vocation....the mutitude of students, the galaxy of youthful high-strung emotions, raging hormones and complex psychologies......whoever can blame the poor, blundering, confused, absent minded college professor for mixing up socks or leaving one's spectacles in the freezer??!! As for me laughing over my Professor dad's idiosyncrasies (wearing a mixed pair of black and brown shoes) and forgetfullness (of whether he locked his car or not) are halycon days that can never come back, all I can do is hope to remember that I locked my bike!!
Sigh, sigh....!!
Romila.
Getting started....
What I am trying to write here is about everything in general and nothing in particular.It is about the everyday routine of our mundane lives, where each day seems to merge with yet another and the boundaries of days and nights blur admits the burning intensity of neon lights to pave way for days, weeks and years that just roll by without any significance!
It starts with the coffee that we take everyday morning, which has become more of a habit and a ritual that has to be religiously followed instead of something that can be relished. This routine just spills into every facet of our daily lives. We have become more of zombies, operating mechanically as if we are programmed to do things. The more we do something, the less we involved we become in doing it.
When we debate at one level about the cons of science, at another level we have become addicted to the use of technology that we cannot imagine a life without it. Is it a paradox? Or have we just forgotten to savour the little things in life that could give us genuine happiness.I think the concept lies in finding something new in everything that we do. The monotony of our life in itself can become monotonous if we don’t do something about it.
I think, the idea lies not in finding exciting things to do everyday, but in seeing something new in the mundane things that we do. Personally I can never get tired of watching the sea because the pattern of waves is never the same. Each day is a revelation in itself, which holds something new that we can look forward to. As each day dawns we have the same sky that rises above us, the same sand beneath our feet, yet they are never the same as they were the day before. When we look at the sky above us, the pattern of clouds keep changing before our eyes. Yet how many of us care to notice it? I believe the secret lies in thoroughly enjoying the little things that we do. But again, how many of us do care???
Vinitha
It starts with the coffee that we take everyday morning, which has become more of a habit and a ritual that has to be religiously followed instead of something that can be relished. This routine just spills into every facet of our daily lives. We have become more of zombies, operating mechanically as if we are programmed to do things. The more we do something, the less we involved we become in doing it.
When we debate at one level about the cons of science, at another level we have become addicted to the use of technology that we cannot imagine a life without it. Is it a paradox? Or have we just forgotten to savour the little things in life that could give us genuine happiness.I think the concept lies in finding something new in everything that we do. The monotony of our life in itself can become monotonous if we don’t do something about it.
I think, the idea lies not in finding exciting things to do everyday, but in seeing something new in the mundane things that we do. Personally I can never get tired of watching the sea because the pattern of waves is never the same. Each day is a revelation in itself, which holds something new that we can look forward to. As each day dawns we have the same sky that rises above us, the same sand beneath our feet, yet they are never the same as they were the day before. When we look at the sky above us, the pattern of clouds keep changing before our eyes. Yet how many of us care to notice it? I believe the secret lies in thoroughly enjoying the little things that we do. But again, how many of us do care???
Vinitha
About us.......
That's us.....vinitha and romila.A mad twosome.
For two years thrown into each other's company, we have scrounged every gali and nukkad of madras managaram in search of news stories. Not to forget tea-shops for that life saving brew...lime tea!!
Lovely, sleepy days at the University of Madras were primarily spent at the MSS tea stall, watching movies, haunting places around like triplicane, reporting a little and generally thinking that we wrote extremely well.....well, actually we still do believe the last bit, except that there is no time for the rest.
So, a place where we can rant our thoughts and let them flow recklessly.....muddle in unconcerned issues, rip apart movies, bemoan over the country's affairs, ponder philosophy, make small talk and generally engage in abstract conversations....trespass at your own risk!!
- romie ;)
For two years thrown into each other's company, we have scrounged every gali and nukkad of madras managaram in search of news stories. Not to forget tea-shops for that life saving brew...lime tea!!
Lovely, sleepy days at the University of Madras were primarily spent at the MSS tea stall, watching movies, haunting places around like triplicane, reporting a little and generally thinking that we wrote extremely well.....well, actually we still do believe the last bit, except that there is no time for the rest.
So, a place where we can rant our thoughts and let them flow recklessly.....muddle in unconcerned issues, rip apart movies, bemoan over the country's affairs, ponder philosophy, make small talk and generally engage in abstract conversations....trespass at your own risk!!
- romie ;)
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