Analogikal

He took a couple of steps towards me. He looked like Bluto from Popeye on a high sugar diet. Arms flailing in the air, his shirt almost bursting from all ends. He adjusted his spectacles like a myopic jailer getting ready to interrogate. The conversation, in verbatim, is as follows:

Bluto: how long have you been here?

Me: two years

Bluto: how many package?

Me: just the one. Works fine too. Thank you for asking

Bluto: i mean, how much money do you make?

Me: <jaw dropped open in disbelief>

Bluto is the epitome of our educator system. A fine man who has the courtesy and elegance to ask about somebody’s package before asking for their name. I’m sure he didn’t get my sarcasm. But i assured him that the package he is asking about is sufficient to sustain my indulgence in my hobby of vintage instant noodle packet collection. He felt he was being subtle and he asked me a second time. This is when i gave the typical cheshire cat grin and politely responded ‘tea and biscuits are ready, would you like to stuff your face?’.

Bluto is one among the fine educators i have the privilege of in interacting with as a part of my work. My job is to teach them stuff which they are in turn expected to teach their students. But the more I interact with these fine specimens, the less hopeful I am of the education system and the already bleak future of this wonderful nation. I had caught Bluto sleeping during sessions and when i woke him up he said he was concentrating hard. Which seemed rather plausible seeing how his books were all shut and his feet were on the handles of the next chair. But, academic osmosis for the win. Yay! Reminded me of my childhood, when our alcoholic arts teacher would come to class and would have difficulties in dealing with being drunk. He didn’t believe in being hung over. So he was always drunk.

During lunch, Bluto could not contain his excitement for the latest changes in pensions and how it was much deserved for putting up with unruly kids. He seemed like the son that Mr. Burns had with Homer Simpson. I was concerned the first time a discussion like this had happened. But Bluto wasn’t the first person to do something like this. The reason why i was concerned in the earlier days was because of the disdain for the greatest profession. At least, in my eyes, it is the greatest profession, after what Ian Wright had in the lonely planet. The constant bickering about students not being motivated, not being present for sessions, not feeling the need to learn. For a while I could not make out whether they were introspecting about their behaviour or lamenting about their students.

I was not the ideal student. Not by a long margin. I was a truant, I was disrespectful, I was rebel without a cause and often I was just not there. But it wasn’t always like that. I remember how i wanted to be a scientist after sitting through the first chemistry session in 8th grade. I remember how my love for psychology was re-ignited by the organisational behaviour session during my masters program. I remember how I was fascinated by Indian history. I want to be an educator, one day. Walk in the footsteps of the eccentric, obsessed, geniuses who ignited my love for subjects and piqued my curiosity. Without whom I would have been lost in a sea of words i mugged up. They were the lighthouses and compasses for the longest time. More than concepts and numbers I learnt to have passion for things. To know how and why things are the way they are. I wish to be a lighthouse. I wish to be a sarcastic, trolling compass to coming generations. One which is concerned, neither about somebody else’ package nor pension.