Classroom No. 201

I’m going to miss college.


It’s all very fascinating how students of the same standard are mindfully allocated to their respective divisions at the start of each academic year. A delicate design not to be tampered with. It’s a skill really because it must ensure that each class is balanced in the sense that every classroom must have the scholar, the clown, the Kardashian, the bandboy (Kardashian’s boyfriend), the rowdy bunch, the loner with negative vibes, the loner with positive vibes (What? You don’t know the difference? Really!? Well, okay the earlier is the one you know you shouldn’t mess with and the latter is harmless, sweet and probably just shy), the loner ‘no suffix’ – not by choice because everyone ignores him anyway and of course those admirable people who make monthly appearances – Hello again, we always welcome you back after we’re over the thought that you’re either a new admission or belong to the next class, did you lose your way?

Now imagine if the guy sitting among the perpetually busy people who constitute the office staff, that specially qualified guy (for it requires a great deal of classroom-no-teacher-present-knowledge to carry out this task) to whom this task is assigned to, wasn’t hired at all because well, who cares as long as the portion gets completed, right? What happens then? Only one thing and that is DISASTER. The confusion! What would be right in the world?

It would be terrible. Imagine all the duds in one class alone with that poor poor teacher. She’d have no response, no sanity and no hair by the end of those slow 50 minutes. When she asked for silence, this wasn’t what she had in mind. And just to retain her sanity or ensure whatever was left of it, she asked, “At least tell me what subject I am teaching you all? What, class, what?!” were her last words as she sobbed her way out of class in search of the overachiever.

Imagine every student in class is a girl. That’s perfectly delightful. But what if they all belonged to the category of “Kardashian”. Yes, red lips, pink nails and blackened eyes – kajal so overused they don’t even take it off at night only retouch it every morning.

Or if every student, a guy. Category: Bandboy. Okay, let’s not go there. Even teachers have weak spots.

What if all the overachievers, every bespectacled child were to be allotted to one class. If you ever saw a creepy smile on your exam partner’s face, smiling at you or to themselves not because they’re crazy but because you’re sitting next to them, if they look upward gratefully and ever so earnestly because they have been blessed with an opportunity to copy and get all the answers right (have their cake and eat it too), then you, my friend, would be in that classroom among your own breed. The outcome, however? Not good. Why? Okay picture this – one teacher, one hundred kiss ups. I repeat, one teacher. Doom. Oh, smothering doom.

Thus, I tell you, never underestimate the equilibrium your class holds and always appreciate everyone. The loner, the clown and that guy at the back who brings dabha (everyone appreciates him a little too much though). This creates a perfect balance where everything makes sense. It’s not hierarchy, it’s heterogeneity. And it is good.