I saw myself in a classroom with lots of other people of my age, sitting scattered across the room on their classroom wooden desks (a chair with a fold-able table like surface). It looked like post-sunset as the old asbestos roof classroom was dimly lit by a couple of light bulbs and the mood in the room was lethargic, as if this was a night class of some sort.
So while everybody sat there scribbling down, some with gusto, some with pride while a few with pleasant delight, I just sat there trying to recall all that I had done in the last few years ever since I started working. Apparently our teacher had asked us to write down about our job, what we currently do, what are our roles and responsibilities etc. and I was not just at a loss of words but also at a loss of thoughts!
So I decided to sneak peek into someone else's "essay" which is what it looked like everyone was writing since they all seemed engrossed in thinking, and scribbling, and thinking again. I saw one guy had "designed" a template in that one page space so as to fit as much information as possible and at the same time keeping everything as visible as possible. I liked it! And I slid it from below his hand, to his utter amazement of course.
"Make another one." I said with a straight face, then added, "I really appreciate your help, thanks."
Few minutes later the teacher started looking into everybody's paper while they still continued to scribble. I say scribble because that's what it sounded to me like. She looked into my paper and somehow identified that it wasn't my work. Perhaps she saw the difference in the two handwriting. Without telling me, she pulled the paper from below my hands while my pen wasn't touching the paper, and looked at it closely. I looked up at her, hoping that she'd just return it and get back to looking into others' papers.
"This is not your work, whose work is this?" She said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
The guy sitting beside me raised his hand hesitatingly while looking at me as if for my permission.
She returned it to him and gave me a new fresh plain sheet of white paper and asked me to start all over again. I was scared, angry and hurt.
"Look at his work." She said, pointing to Kautuk, who suddenly looked up when he realized that everyone was looking at him. I did look and yes, it was very well done, or very well written, same thing I guess. He had his own template and the teacher later left the remark, 'stylish' in red near the top right corner, where she found some space to scribble.
Next I saw myself walking into that classroom but from the other door, not the main door. Perhaps I had gone out for fresh air, or this was the next day and I had taken another route to this place so used the other door to enter. That blank sheet of paper was still in my hand while I looked around for vacant chair to sit. I asked someone sitting in the first row if the seat beside her was vacant. She replied in an affirmative, looking in the direction of the projector screen, waiting for it to come to life.
So while everybody sat there scribbling down, some with gusto, some with pride while a few with pleasant delight, I just sat there trying to recall all that I had done in the last few years ever since I started working. Apparently our teacher had asked us to write down about our job, what we currently do, what are our roles and responsibilities etc. and I was not just at a loss of words but also at a loss of thoughts!
So I decided to sneak peek into someone else's "essay" which is what it looked like everyone was writing since they all seemed engrossed in thinking, and scribbling, and thinking again. I saw one guy had "designed" a template in that one page space so as to fit as much information as possible and at the same time keeping everything as visible as possible. I liked it! And I slid it from below his hand, to his utter amazement of course.
"Make another one." I said with a straight face, then added, "I really appreciate your help, thanks."
Few minutes later the teacher started looking into everybody's paper while they still continued to scribble. I say scribble because that's what it sounded to me like. She looked into my paper and somehow identified that it wasn't my work. Perhaps she saw the difference in the two handwriting. Without telling me, she pulled the paper from below my hands while my pen wasn't touching the paper, and looked at it closely. I looked up at her, hoping that she'd just return it and get back to looking into others' papers.
"This is not your work, whose work is this?" She said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
The guy sitting beside me raised his hand hesitatingly while looking at me as if for my permission.
She returned it to him and gave me a new fresh plain sheet of white paper and asked me to start all over again. I was scared, angry and hurt.
"Look at his work." She said, pointing to Kautuk, who suddenly looked up when he realized that everyone was looking at him. I did look and yes, it was very well done, or very well written, same thing I guess. He had his own template and the teacher later left the remark, 'stylish' in red near the top right corner, where she found some space to scribble.
Next I saw myself walking into that classroom but from the other door, not the main door. Perhaps I had gone out for fresh air, or this was the next day and I had taken another route to this place so used the other door to enter. That blank sheet of paper was still in my hand while I looked around for vacant chair to sit. I asked someone sitting in the first row if the seat beside her was vacant. She replied in an affirmative, looking in the direction of the projector screen, waiting for it to come to life.
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