Furtive Frivolities in a Classroom

Your entrance to the college premises is always on an exasperating note, no matter how well-rested you are for a day’s worth of classes. A quick glance at the timetable beforehand has your back against the wall. It is as if each prof is the living embodiment of the nine rings of torment morbidly depicted by Dante. The gabbing socialites are brimming with ebullience as they wrap their arms around in an embrace, much to your annoyance. 


Since time immemorial, the value of being on time is heavily drilled into you. However, one guilty pleasure undergrad life brings is a laid-back demeanour. To enter the classroom before the clock strikes nine is no small feat. But the prof, who has tenaciously held onto punctuality, acknowledges this with an affronted look. 


Dressing up for a college lecture is the relic of a time gone by. Long, dishevelled hair, complemented by a wrinkled t-shirt begging to be washed and a loose pair of pyjamas has now become the look of an archetypal college student. You aren’t an anomaly, as you indifferently stride across the hall, hoping that your deodorant veils your stinking, soiled t-shirt.


The cacophonous squeak of your wet flip-flops announces your presence, much to the dismay of those who never miss the opportunity of greeting you with a cold look. Grown accustomed to such a rancorous greeting, you place yourself at a strategically advantageous position to carry out your own frivolities. This familiar space has christened you with an identity in the class demographic:- a chronic backbencher. 


Purposefully, you sit comfortably behind a row of students, hoping that it has camouflaged you among the many who have thronged to be marinated in monotony. The prof has swiftly begun with the lecture, with you spending the first few minutes scrutinizing his observational skills. You take your time, waiting for him to be irrevocably engrossed with the people sitting at the very front.


You lay your solitary notebook out on the table. It has an assortment of scrawny scribbles of the occasional notes you took down, complemented with doodles when you were in a mood to explore the artist within you. Your phone is conveniently been put on silent with its speakers silenced, for its presence mustn’t be detected, come what may. 


Midway through the lecture, the blackboard is scribbled with words and diagrams. You are now fully immersed in the book on your phone that you were supposed to complete the other night. Your eye is also transfixed at the clock on your phone. With each passing minute, your misery seems to dwindle a bit. 


“Give me that phone!”

The phrase has startled the entire classroom, with the backbenchers being the first to analyse the situation. Instinctively, you tuck your phone away inside the desk before your eyes roll over at the front. Some idiot in the second row caught the prof’s eye, with his glasses reflecting the screen — a dead giveaway. 


Damn it. You exchange glances with another one of your kin, who gives an equally thwarted look. Some have conveniently dozed off, staying completely aloof of reality altogether. The classroom is still bellowing with the prof’s wrath, and there is too much at stake to use the phone now. 

Pens scribble in unison as the class takes frantic notes. You try joining this frenzy but your imagination floats you away in an instant. Image Credits:- Pinterest

You pull out a hardcover from your bag to catch up on the readings of the other course. A shiver goes down your spine. Here comes the trepidation, you don’t want to be the next schmuck the prof ridicules. You try taking a nap but at the adjacent bench, you see that one garrulous kid who just can’t keep quiet even for a minute. 


There is no choice, you look at the prof, crestfallen. His jargon doesn’t make any sense to you, you look at the clock, ten minutes to go. Your only ray of hope is that the prof follows this clock, which is five minutes ahead. If only he doesn’t notice. 


“Alright, everyone. Attendance,” the class springs to life, as if everyone will be extricated as their name will be called out. This is all those sixty minutes were about, attendance. You anxiously wait for your name, desperately trying to hear his faint voice in the awful din that has now broken out. 


The prof finally steps out of the class, with students rushing behind to get the indispensable attendance. You let out a tiny smirk. The prof is insufferable, he won’t budge. You awkwardly collect your things as you head out for a first out of many cups of coffee you’re going to consume to survive yet another day. 

Featured Image Courtesy:- 9gag via Pinterest 

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