Criticism on my university - I

Rage is at the limit now. One of the easiest things is to blame anything that is not immediate to you: politicians, political parties, the state, the whole world; and be ignorant or quiet at the immediate issues within the four walls. One could visibly perceive their moral convictions breaking at the extremest of points. The groups of students throwing verbal rocks at the few who wish to bring at least a small change in moral outlook, let alone trying to change the giant corporate structures that stand amidst, and not to talk about the widely prohibited Pro-Palestinian protest. Praise to the social media warriors against mass genocide; yet the same minds (not everyone), repressed hostelites, turn towards their hedonism or immediate satisfaction (in the name of societal tradition) and become enraged at the cancellation of a concert. The pretension and its successive materialization of being perceived as, both from within and without, an exchange value, has experientially made many a magnets attract (ready to change morals, beliefs, values) towards any that offer a higher exchange value. On the way to this materalization, it doesn’t matter to him if any moral barriers are there; his fluidity will simply change his morals for him, and he will pass the barrier.

On the academic front, the best of the best fail to convince many a temporary employee (teaching assistant) that a different method can solve an academic problem as well, or that the calculative and conceptual mistakes are widely different things. The chalk-and-board culture is lost. The lost art of student-teacher interaction, discussion on research and ‘life’ in general, is replaced with an email system. The instructor has been reduced to a presentation slide translator; desperately filling the class timings with ‘ethics’ to make up for the incompetence of the subject; but dare you speak against capability! they shall forcefully bury your doubts with their dozens of LinkedIn certifications (confusing it with pedagogy) and an experience in some roman numeral years. Absolutely mad respect for a few Professors, but the exception simply proves the rule, and they too leave fast. An only one book shop with barely any book to read other than the pirated technical textbooks. No way out for an all time low attention level: one course group on WhatsApp, second on Outlook, third on Microsoft Teams, fourth on Google Classroom, fifth on Google Drive. How to hide the emptiness of a structure? Make it extremely complicated, layers upon layers of nothingness, as if wrapping a small object with many cartons. Dozens of reports imparted upon students, never to be read. They are named ‘key to your golden material future’ so that not a single soul shall speak against it. Ideally, your key shall been in your hands (categorically, with Allah). Here, the mark of maturity is the peer-review of two things: use of at least one drug/cig, and prefixing-suffixing of a feminine-gendered swear word in every sentence. The answer to ‘Why have you lost interest in studies?’ speaks of itself. What largely comes out of it is a student who is academically crippled to the point that he needs a calculator even for a two digit number’s square. Yet, in all cases, it is assumed that the student is blaming the boots for the fault of his feet.

The tone of hostel supervisor will change depending upon whether you are wearing Shirt-Trouser or Shalwaar-Kameez. In latter case, he will rarely answer even your Salaam. The warden is happy that the sofa is back to the common room, and it lies dusty and unoccupied for months. It was the same sofa I had brought into my room to study comfortably. For a few months, I had stopped reading in my room because you’d get cramps by sitting on the broken chair. I yearn for an IIT-like Institution, Ken Thompson-like curiosity, Von Newmann-like imagination, and the air and blackboards of Princeton’s Fine Hall. But these are the smallest of problems and yearnings. So the realist headachial demon says: Man, you have not seen anything in life apart from the four walls of two institutions (probably the best of the country). You only have a few months to graduation. The personal material problems ahead of you will fuel mental problems anyway, so why disturb your mental health by hoping for any ‘change’? You have seen how large aesthetic buildings hide the collective mediocrity. Just do your assignments, prepare for the quizzes, be done with your projects, get a job, correct your sleep schedule, be consistent with your Salaat, stop wasting time on social media, and don’t you dare talk about change.

November 18, 2023

Beginning of the Middle Life - I

(Dorm Room) He rolls over the bed and stares at the fan and the window. Gets up, sits on the chair, looks at the mirror. Turns on a song. He feels the hotness in the room, but removing the socks make him feel cold. The hanging clothes haven’t been washed in weeks. He somehow becomes excited, takes a pencil and paper, and sits beside the window. Looks outside and thinks. Nothing. Leaves. He rests his chin on his hands and stares at the wall. Imagines her, recreates the beautiful woman he saw last night at the tuc. Soon it voids out, and he gets aware of himself looking at the wall. He is tired to go out, but the room consumes him. He leaves. Sits on the stairs outside the hostel and waits. People are coming out of the Masjid. A sense of guilt of missing the namaz strikes in his throat. He dissolves himself in the talk. His friends philosophize. Too tired to intervene, he says Okay, Yeah.

The university restaurant is filled with people at night. He diverts towards complex topics to talk to his friends, only to hide the sudden increase in his heartbeat after seeing her with someone. She was the person whom he had shared his feelings with and had gotten rejected. Late night on bed, he keeps weeping in a slow voice until sleep takes over. After a friend knocks at noon, he sits on the bed, rubs the eyes, and scrolls his classes schedule. He feels numb after seeing that he missed the 9am to 12pm’s Lab. He ruminates that she is laughing with that boy over tea. He sheds a tear, and gets up. Stands up and his low blood-pressure makes him dizzy. He sits on the sofa for a while. His memory leads him to his previous semester. Time when he saw her socializing with her university’s society the same evening she declined his offer for tea. He feels an arrow hitting his heart as this memory fades. During a lunch, his friend declares, “I cannot seem to do my studies.” He motivates him. For a long time his heart had been telling him to say her a goodbye. When the exams are over, he types a long message. His hands tremble but he sends it. She replies a short goodbye.

Late night. He feels extremely warm. The cough makes it difficult to breathe. He get up for the syrup but the cap is filled with small ants. He messages for the syrup. Someone replies humorously. He takes his glass, but the bottle is empty. Goes to the second floor but the electric cooler’s water is too cold. Before inhaling each sip, he warms it on his tongue for a while. Sometimes, he thinks of offering Tahajjud; he gets up on time, sits on his carpet, rests the head inside his legs, and weeps like a child. He cannot utter the words for the prayer. They do not reach the tongue. Instead, her image creates in his mind. Once, he threw his mobile at the wall, and upon seeing the broken screen, he could not feel anything but numbness. When a friend asks about it, he says, It just fell. In frustration, he slaps his head. Cheeks. Puts his face inside the mattress, hardly able to breathe, rubs his feet againt the bed-sheet, and weeps. After a whole year, everything still smells of unrequited love. However, it has started to fade. In these few months, his immense consumption of social media emptied his feelings for her, and have made him insensitive.

A religious friend asks, No prayers? … Atheist now? He says softly, will offer the next one. While offering the namaz, he waits for the congregation to end. Utters rukooh’s words in sajdah. He cannot recall the Surah that was recited. Looses track of Ayat-ul-Kursi when somebody starts talking. On a weekend at home, he goes to a Namaz-e-Janaaza. It makes him feel something which he doesn’t feel anywhere else. He holds the Mayyat at different corners as it goes all the way to the grave, takes part in throwing soil, and fixates his eyes on the mountain of soil while uttering Ameen every few moments.

He is on his way back to the hostel. His low-blood-pressured heart aches, back pains, and body hurts. He sits on the rickshaw. His thoughts wash away the moment he starts to record them. He pushes them, pushes himself, but finds himself at the same place. The first love is long gone. He feels he will have to live with all these things forever.

November, 2023

An Interview - Play

Scene: Interview Room. John the Captain. Paul the Executive Council Member. Sarah the Debater.

Tom enters the room, a watter bottle in hand.

John: Hello, this is…

Tom interrupts him halfway and starts speaking…

Tom: Hi, Hi! How are you?

John: We are fine. You can sit.

Tom sits on the chair before John is finished talking. He puts the water bottle on the table.

John: Dear Tom. Welcome…

Tom points out a finger towards John.

Tom: Wait, wait! I just want to express my happiness that you allowed me to come here.

He puts the finger down.

John: Alright. Welcome to our team. I’m John the Captain, and this is Paul.

Tom smiles.

Paul starts asking a question with a stern and serious face.

Paul: Let’s say there is an authoritative gov…

Tom widens his eyes and feels he is sleepwalking through the question. So he interrupts.

Tom: Wait, wait! Please talk slowly. Slowly. I have diffic…

Paul: (In Urdu) Not an issue. We can talk in Urdu.

Tom: (In Urdu) Hey hey! Why do you guys think I do not understand English?

Paul: Let’s say you are the Pakistani Government. How would you defend the killing of Arshad Sharif?

Tom: Ah! Now you have come to the point. Arshad Sharif. Yes, Yes. (He points out at John) You know him? Yes! So! We are talking about that man.

Paul: …and how would you defend his killing?

Tom: (Blushes) What? Are you guys crazy? Why would I defend a murder?

John: Assume you are the government…

Tom: (He smiles, points out fingers here and there, takes a sip from the bottle. Laughs loudly) Aha! Now I understand what you guys want me to do.

John: Yes, please defend from the government side.

Tom: What? Are you guys crazy? I told you (raising his finger towards John) that I will never defend a stupid government.

John: Alright, no issues. This is the end of your formal inter….

Tom: Wait. Wait. Wait. (Raises his hands and then and places them on the chair)

John: Yes?

Tom: I have a question.

Paul: Yes, please.

Tom: (pointing at Sarah) So this person. This person. I told him on WhatsApp that I came late. I also came yesterday. (Pointing out at Paul) Yes, I know Paul. We had tea together. (Paul hides his face. He wants to laugh but is controlling himself). So, can you guys please tell me how was my interview.

John: Alright, so the thing is…

Tom interrupts. He takes his glasses off and starts cleaning with his cloth. He takes another sip from the bottle. He stops John not to speak while he is drinking water.

John waits for a few moments. Tom puts the bottle over to the table.

John: We will tell you the details in a few days. You can now leave. Good Luck!

Tom gets up and moves towards the room. He waves his hand only towards Sarah. He opens the door but he looks back for his bottle. He runs back and takes his bottle.

Tom: Sorry, Sorry. My bottle!

Paul: No issues. (Slowly)

Tom: Yes??? Did you say anything? (He hands over to his ears) I didn’t hear.

Paul: Nothing.

Tom leaves.

Paul throws the form away and sits on the desk and looks at everybody.

John: Thank you guys very much.

Sarah: For what?

John: For not laughing during the interview.