IIFT Diaries #104: The warriors of Section A

 Disclaimer

All the characters and events appearing in this work are in no way fictional. They have all kinds of connectivity to real life. Any resemblance to persons living or dead (inside) is totally intended, not coincidental. 

  The winter so dreaded has now come and gone. Following it, comes Spring, the most confusing weather of all. Playing a game of hide-and-seek, it makes people hang off their woollens, then catching them off guard blows a wind which shakes them to their cores. During breaks between classes, students rush to sunnier places like Babloo’s café or the adjoining balcony.

  The weather takes a turn. Room 101 becomes uncomfortably warm. A request is put on the WhatsApp Group to the people in 102 to turn on the fans. While this architectural glitch appears weird to the outsiders, it has become a normality for us.  The guys in 102 somehow assume that they have higher ground and demand to be called 'the best section', in lieu of switching on the fans. As if they haven’t been proved wrong, so many times already. Upholding our honour, we resort to the ACs instead. The room soon turns chilly.

   The semi-hexagonal room isn’t uniformly occupied. Most of the populace is concentrated at the back of the room. While some listen tentatively to the lecturer, a few others project a straight face towards him, they physically in the class, but mentally far away. Midway through the lecture, there is a collective demand, led by the CR, for a short break. It gets firmly denied. Their longing for a cup of coffee and warmth of the Sun is put on hold. They go on with their routine: nodding their heads in affirmation without actually comprehending what the professor says. The lecturer is not even a bit deceived. He is used to this. He has long back overcome the veil hanging on his students’ faces. Nonetheless, he carries on. It's his job, for which he is paid adequately and he performs it honestly every other day, no matter what the students do. Thus, he sways in his continuous flow of words, unmisted by the temperament of the students. But even then, a teacher desires at least one sincere student in his class. And therefore, his eyes rummage through the class, finding his ideal student.

   The lecturer’s eyes rest on the lone warrior. Sitting in the first row, he bears the mantle of leadership for the entire class. A leader not born, but forged. His eyes remain focused throughout the class. He remains steady. Taking a look around, his resolve grows firm. A born fighter, he fights for his people. He messages his brow, adjusts his glasses. Every shot fired by the lecturer, he wards off the blow, effectively. At times, he even questions the authenticity of the lecturer’s questions. He grows weary. He stretches his back, and then withhold his stance. His eyes scrutinize the lit screen, deciphering every puzzle in his mind. He has fought numerous battles. In a recent battle, he was part of a team which crushed a rival neighbour. Before his next battle, he has come home to hone his skills, further; not that he needed it. His classmates, mere humans, revere him as a God, the FinGod.

   Behind the God, is the second line of Defense. People in the second row pick up whatever is left by the God. These constitute personnel, gentlemen and ladies, who are well versed in particular fields. They reserve themselves for the adversaries who do not match the level of the FinGod. When male warriors fall flat to the charms of a beautiful adversary, their female counterparts assist the God in the battle.

   Far away from the eyes of the teachers, in the most sought after seats, sit the Backbenchers. They doze and they gossip in their own peculiar manner. Indulged in smartphones and laptops, they remain oblivious to the ensuing fray. Most teachers totally forsake these students, assuming them to be a part of the rear wall, while some shower them with furtive glances, loaded with a great deal of disgust. And there are those few, strict ones, whose most sought after goal is to ‘straighten-out’ the backbenchers. Backbenchers are warriors too, in their own right. Every cruel jape and taunt aimed at them, they withstand without a wince. They remain unmoved, dauntless, and henceforth emerge out as heroes of the class.

   “Last for today….”

   A collective breath of sigh emanates from the class. Everyone’s awake now, eyes on the screen; those who have passed off are brought back to life. They voice their presence, one by one, all accounted for.

  The class gets over. While everyone rushes to their awaited refreshments, the lone warrior, the FinGod, stays behind. He sheathes his weapon. This battle is over but he has many more to fight.

******

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