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It was the opening day.
The long summer vacation of three months and five days was over. How
swiftly the Bird of Time had flown! But a moment back, as it were,
Rottingbrain had closed. And now it had opened according to schedule. The
academic year had started. We had all foregathered in the crumbling old
staff-room. We wore churchyard faces, one and all. We always feel
ineffably wretched on our return to the college after vacations, short or
long. And churchyard expressions invade our countenances on the opening
day. A wag has remarked, not without a modicum of justification, that
compared to the Rottingbrain College staff on the first day of the first
term, old women mourners at an untimely and unnatural death look as bright
and cheerful as adolescent grasshoppers in springtime.
Author Bio
Professor M. A. Majmundar was known for his typical
inimitable style of subtle British humour.
He was a well known professor of English at Bhavan's College, Mumbai.
His literary
freelancing across a span of two decades rendered him a very
affectionate recognition amongst his readers who could never afford
to miss him and were always keen to read and treasure his
contributions in Shankar's Weekly (New Delhi) and Amritabazar Patrika
(Calcutta). Professor Majmundar has made appearances in almost all
contemporary newspapers and periodicals in India. He had
the honour of being reproduced in the British digest 'Parade' (London).
He is also translated into number of Indian languages .
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"So we're all here once more, " sighed Professor L.
"The devil we are, " whined Professor P.
"Ah " groaned Professor H.
"I tried my level best to get out of this hogwash though, " mourned
Professor E. "Yes, gentlemen. I tried harder than ever a gnat tried to
get out of a windowpane, believe me. Propelled applications in all
possible directions the whole of the vac. No response from any quarter.
That's how they engage the college-teachers these days. Unprincipled
guttersnipes. And now where am I? In this stinking old hogwash once more.
There is no justice and fair play in this world. None."
"Professor E!" sounded Professor L in the manner and style of a foghorn.
"Yes, Professor L?" sounded Professor E in the manner and style of a
foghorn that has just completed a course of strength-giving intra-muscular
injections.
"Did I hear you refer to Rottingbrain as a hog-wash, sir? "
"You heard me refer to Rottingbrain as a stinking old hog-wash, sir. I am
sorry I cannot congratulate you on your hearing, sir. "
"What do you mean by that highly offensive observation, sir? "
"I am not interested in talking with you, sir. "
"Well then all I can say is that it is hogs like you that have made
Rottingbrain the sort of wash it appears to you to be."
"You . . .."
A catastrophe of the first magnitude would indubitably have been
precipitated at this point, had not the staff-room peon popped up in our
midst, a notice fluttering in his hand like a banner.
"A notice! " Shouted five professors as one professor.
"A notice eh? " yapped Professor E, as if he was a pup hit in the short
ribs by a jagged stone from a school-boy's catapult. "A notice, to be
sure. Here let me have it." And Professor E snatched away the sheet from
the peon, smacked it face down on the table, and placed on it the big
granite piece which serves us in the superior capacity of a paper-weight.
Rottingbrain is run on wise economic lines.
"The head-clerk wants it signed at once, sir!" the peon said.
"He does, does he? Ask him to be good enough to go boil his head,"
snapped Professor E. "And bring me a calendar, will you? Don't stand
there like a pillar. Go." The menial evaporated.
"We shan't start sweating the first day, " orated Professor E, the steel
of grim determination not to sweat flashing out of his eyes like Hector's
spear. "Not even to the extent of signing any footling notices. The first
day at college is not meant to be wasted like that. It's meant for
relaxation, recreation, and recuperation. It's a bright day to day, and it
must be brightly spent."
"Spoken like a man!" loudly applauded Professor S. "Not a jot of
exertion to-day, not a jot."
"Never heard such nonsense in my life." said professor L. He was
loftily ignored.
"But we'll have to sit out the four hours all the same. You know they're
enforcing the university rule of four-hour attendance." wailed Professor
Z.
"The devil they are. There is no limit to their sadism. But there will be
no lectures for well over a week. They're busy admitting new students,"
said Professor E, hope of prolonged worklessness oozing out of his every
pore.
"It's eight-thirty now. Three long hours to go!" almost wept Professor
Z.
"Here you are, sir," said the peon, whisking in and handing a calendar
to Professor E. " May I have that notice back, sir?"
"You may not," ground out Professor E, boring the man with his eyes.
"But sir, the head-clerk ... "
"Hang the head-clerk! Get out of here. Are we to have no peace of mind
even on the first day?"
The peon vanished.
"H'm" rumbled Professor E, scanning the calendar. "To-day's the
twentieth of June. Dammit. Not a single off day till the end of the month."
"You forget the Sunday." Professor L pointed out with a sardonic leer on
his face.
"Sundays are not to be counted, sir," barked Professor E.
"Certainly not," two men echoed from a corner.
"Frightful situation." lamented Professor P most dolefully.
"Not very frightful, considering the fact that we are all just back from
the enjoyment of the long vac of three months and five days," Professor L
shoved in.
"Don't say 'we'. Confine yourself to the pronoun 'I'. I didn't enjoy
the long vac. I did a job of hard and prolonged work during it. I got
appointed as a university examiner. I spent my life-blood after very
nearly a thousand answer-books." retorted Professor E.
"And I wrote a guide-book," whacked in Professor H.
"And I coached a student," Professor S butted in.
"And you made a pot of money," Professor L let himself go. "Well,
professors who scramble after examinerships are like rats scrambling after
crumbs, and professors who scribble out cribs are like street-walkers, and
professors who privately coach students are like traitors who sell their
souls for a mess of potage."
"So spake the fox in the fable," Professor Z put in. " Grapes are sour! "
"What the dickens do you mean, sir? " thundered Professor L.
"Just this, sir, that we are not unaware of the pathetic fact that you
have been unsuccessfully trying for all sorts of examinerships this
quarter of a century past, and offering your wretchedly cook-up
guide-books to all sorts of publishers who wouldn't look at them, and
trying in vain to hook in students for private coaching."
"You are a liar, sir."
"You are a hypocrite, sir."
"I'll have to complain to the principal against you, sir."
"I don't care a tinker's curse to whom you complain against me, sir."
"You are disrespectful to the head of this institution, sir."
"Is that watch of yours dead or alive?" Professor H tactfully rang out to
Professor S.
"It looks dead." Professor S laughed out.
"Two and a half hours to go yet. Good God, will the closing hour never
come?" bleated Professor Z, yawning.
All of us yawned, individually and collectively.
"I'd half expected some big bug to expire and give us an off day," said
Professor E.
"They aren't so considerate now a days," bemoaned Professor Z.
"They're positively wrongheaded. They have got to die, haven't they? Well
then why don't they die at the proper time?"
"You know very well what happened last year. A big bug did peg off
suddenly, but that was in the middle of the long vac, and we lost a
precious off day."
"Sheer sadistic cussedness I call it. It passes me why these beggars
don't die on our opening days."
"How learned! How wise! How noble!" Professor L interjected.
And then we yawned and yawned, and we slipped a little down our chairs,
and we stretched out our legs under the table. A somniferous quiet reigned
in the room. The peon attempted to disturb us once or twice. We barked him
off.
We came to life at quarter to three in the afternoon.
"Lord, we have overstayed by several hours! " cried out Professor E. "Let's
be off right away." And he left his chair.
Curiosity made Professor L remove the granite paperweight and pick up the
notice. "I say!" he yelled, his eyes jumping out of their sockets and
cruising in mid air.
"What's up?" we chorused.
"This here notice reads: The college will remain closed to-day as a mark
of respect to Mr. P --, a member of the managing committee, who expired in
Switzerland on the 18th inst."
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