Today, I got up very late in the morning... Still, I was feeling sleepy. My eyes told me to sleep for some half an hour more, just for relief. Last night, I had captured one of my old friends in the midnight. It was long time that I met him. He was mountaineering the wall of my room. I did not know whether he wanted to hurt/love me or not. Some times, he may not have meant it. I was not so sober-minded to consider merits and demerits of situation because I was in intoxication. I mean in the intoxication of sleep. I just picked him up and crushed in my hand; a weak, fragile body in wrestlers' hand. But, now I feel sorry for not at least conversing him for some time in view of my old friendship. Those days, we had shared the same bed for long. In the silence of dark, chilly night he would creep in to my body; sometimes he will hold me fast giving a ticklish feeling. At other times, he will explore my private parts. Uncomfortable, convulsive feeling!!!
The Bug. I mean bed bug. Kattinmele Katmal. I will give him a good treat today. I have taken some measures to keep him away because, as per moral instructions, I am supposed to preserve my chastity. How dare he come and tease me like that? rape me like that? or almost rape me? If my would-be cannot tolerate my past!!! Sure I will teach him.... This was my chants throughout the morning.
As usual, I reached in the department on time. Relieved myself. Started referring the short-story for 1st years. Govind (my colleague) walked into my room, wearing a Reebock shoe, grey loose pants, blue, non-insided hanging shirt, showing all English formalities of greeting and asking help." Could you please help O. P. (another colleague who is on leave today) taking his class for the first years?" As I must do, without any serious thought I nodded in affirmative. I could not help remembering the poyalum period of Yusuf Ustad, who was one of my favourite teachers. Hm... a governmentalized, formalized, university- level poyalum period!!!
In the second hour, I am in the class on a poyalmu pi_______.I felt that there was something wrong because there were only few students in the class_ almost ten! I checked with them whether anything special was there on the day. I was soon informed that majority of the students are on strike for the formation of students union, which was repeatedly asked to university authorities, but was many-times-promised, and but- not-yet-realized.
But I wondered why some are sitting in the class protesting against protest! Morality? May not be. Immorality. That too, possibly not. No, there was a solid ground for that. Most class-attended-students were Malayalees, followed by two - three Telanganas, a Yemeni (so-called international student). Malayalees had a recent grudge with UP-Bihar alliance which constitutes the majority of the strikers (outside-strikers).Inside-strikers cannot share the platform with outside-strikers! None the less, they too want the Union, but they want a 'promised justice' before the 'promised Union'. Which of these was promised earlier, I don't know. There were quiet few students who were not informed of the strike or not interested in it as is in everything else.
I started my class boasting myself: "I have never participated in any strike in my life time, I don't want, either". I formally apologized the students for they would have to tolerate me for three hours including the poyaalum hour. On Tuesday, I have two hours for the first years. Plus, Poyalum = Three.
Today, I started quite differently. Talking against the obsolete method of assignment writing, I felt that I enthused students. I pleaded for a sustainable environment, pollution-free world where every student would write assignment in blogs, and would be able to abstain from the use of papers (consequently, abstaining from cutting trees) and would get a wider readability than mere teacher's evaluation.
I was in the thrill of presenting a new (?) idea. Suddenly, we could hear the shouts from outside. The shouts, cries, screams, laughter, (but no constant slogans or demands clearly audible in the class), we felt, were coming nearer. The class room door was bolted from inside. In less than a minute we could hear a shattering kick and repeated, ferocious knocks on the door. Quickly, I told my students to offer solidarity, if they wanted. Otherwise, I promised them, that I would allow them sit in the class. But we could not resist the majority terrorism. The door was opened from inside. Shouters burst in to the class. I had no way but to stop. I but managed to keep a bold face. From the middle of crowd, feeling alone, I sneaked to HoD’s room where he was sitting quite uncomfortably. The anger, contempt, discomfort... and what else were writ large on his face. His first question was that: " Is there any of our students among those shouters?" I said: "I didn't see any one". He continued: " what are these students studying?... where are they going to?......." His sadness and anger were fighting a duel on his face. But his consciousness was struggling to hide it.
Soon I felt that there broke out skirmish between students. Probably, between protesters and protesters against protesters... outside strikers and inside strikers. I rushed to the place where I could find three of my lady colleagues. The crowd had almost deserted when I reached there. I just checked with one of my students what the issue was. Strikers wanted participation of entire students but some wanted to be aloof from the strike. Forced participation had ended up in the skirmish. Soon one of my students (student of English Proficiency class) came to me and told: students students ke saat... teachers teachers ke saat....
I felt sad. I am always labelled. teacher. student. Keralite. Indian. Asian. and others. But nobody liked my label as human. They wanted to cut me it to pieces and see the soulless self of mine. I felt ashamed of my (human) linguistic properties with which I (human) keep on labeling.
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