ONCE UPON A CLASSROOM

I’m well lodged in a front bench, and there’s this black-haired old-man. A funny face masks a man who I doubt would have ever cracked a joke in the last 20 years of a falling mane. His weak vocal chords betray my hearing. He’s moving his lips. He’s standing some 10 yards from where I write.

He doesn’t seem to be bothered as long as we’re doing whatever we want, and as long as we aren’t sound sources ourselves! We hate interference, don’t we? Harmonics, on the other hand, we love.

I’m bored.

This is when I start acknowledging the presence of the inanimate objects around. It’s an art (that I’ve learnt over 3 semesters). The chalkboard stares at me. I stare harder, so used to competing and competition. Chalkboard retaliates with a gape stiffer still – with a hypnotic effect. Some boys around might notice I’m not paying attention. I fumble momentarily – and wait for a while.

Wires...capacitance...basic principles...and the likes are the background noise that interfere with my thought-tune. Hmph!

Next, I look at my watch. 45 minutes gone already! And this bloke’s drone hasn’t yet distorted or sought creative pitch-variation. Just has paused – Once or twice for breath, maybe. Should I care?

YAWN.

‘The next bridge you deal with would be the Anderson’s bridge...’ oops! Glam-Pam intrudes into my imagination. I must keep a tab, lest I start sketching!

I’ve already counted 8 who have pulled their faces to pass on contagious yawns from one bench to the next, ignoring the possibility of the soliloquist’s chastisement. I believe I spread it.

Ah...I see one missy doing a baboon-yawn! That’s mine, girl!

It’s 4 - and an abrupt end to my reverie. Awake, sonny –attendance routine. And I’m winding up.