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I got into the First Year Arts class-room, not without
considerable trepidation. Indeed, on my way to the platform, I heard my
heart pounding away like mad. You see, a Rottingbrain class means no less
than one hundred and fifty buoyant and bouncing boys and girls all out for
the professor's blood. These young cannibals are absolutely free to deal
with the man on the platform in any way they like. If they eat up one
professor, the authorities promptly supply another.
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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"Ladies and Gentlemen," I quiveringly began, after having taken my
stand on the platform.
A violent bang made me high-jump; it made the class explode in a
volley of laughter and clapping. Everything depended upon the way in which
I kept my nerve now. I took in the situation at once. The door of the
class-room had been wildly flung open so that it dashed against the wall
by its side, and a young mandril had shot in as if fired from a circus
cannon. This simian seeker after knowledge wore what at the moment was
known as the Raj Kapoor style of hair, an intriguingly brief bush-shirt
(jet-black with bright yellow hula-hula girls printed on it), parrot green
velvet trousers and thick soled chamois leather "rogues". He flaunted a
lighted cigarette in one hand and a couple of ragged guide-books in the
other.
"You!" I tried to check the young hope of the land as he was
speeding in the direction of an empty form. He seemed not to hear me. I
was now in full possession of myself.
"You!" I shouted again.
"Me, sir?" the youth asked, breezily, braking up and swivelling
round.
"I mean you."
"What can I have the pleasure of doing for you, sir?"
Another broad side of laughter and clapping and stamping from the
class.
"Order, Order!" I yelled out furiously.
"Order, Order!" the intruder bawled out. "Ladies and Gentlemen,
how can the professor give himself the pleasure of a conversation with me,
if you go on making all that noise? Silence, please. Pray, permit the
professor to proceed."
The class was now quiet. The cord of stillness vibrated in the
room.
"What d'you think you're doing, young man?" I rang out.
"I'm going to my seat, sir," came the placid reply.
"You entered the room without my permission."
"Did I, sir?"
"You did. You ought to have sought my permission to enter the room
and take your seat. That's the rule. Breaking of that rule means gross
breach of collegiate discipline, and that breach means stern disciplinary
action. You can be expelled from college for a thing like that, d'you
hear?"
"Dear, dear!" came a mischievous feminine voice from somewhere.
There was a general titter.
"Silence!" I thundered.
A palpably sardonic silence.
"What's your explanation for this gross breach of discipline?" I
roared at the offender.
"Didn't wish to disturb you, sir," he said, winking at some nearby
friend of his.
"You disturbed me all the same."
"Did I, sir?"
"You opened that door stormily, whizzed in stormily, and were
heading for that form stormily. In the phraseology of a celebrated British
author, the African rhino could have taken your correspondence course in
stormy behaviour."
"I wasn't aware of that, sir."
"We shall hence forward take special care to be aware of such things. We
shall introduce ourselves into our class-rooms in a manner less
reminiscent of a pacific typhoon."
"Hear, hear!" came a masculine voice from one of the back rows.
"What does he mean?" someone queried from the front row.
"Did you get me, young man?" I boomed, ignoring the interruptions.
"Oh, yes, sir," he chortled like an inebriated parrot.
"I see a cigarette in your hand."
"Quite right, sir. Wonderful eye-sight at this age, sir. You must be
taking a lot of Vitamin A, sir."
"What's the meaning of that fag?"
"Quite clear, sir. Smoking, sir. Cigarettes are objects meant to be
smoked. I am smoking this cigarette. Allow me to demonstrate. Watch me.
You suck in the smoke. You then blow it out through the mouth or the
nostrils. Thus...Some trick-smokers can let the smoke out of their ears. I
cannot. It is one of my ambitions to be able to let the smoke out of my
ears, sir. Smoking gives you wonderful pleasure. May I offer you a
cigarette, sir? Excellent make, sir."
"You may not. And I do wish you know as much about your books as you do
about cigarettes. Now I'll request you to take a trip out of this room,
throw away this cigarette, and come back."
"Suppose I drop this period and finish my cigarette outside?"
"We'll suppose no such thing."
"What's wrong with my proposal, sir?"
"Breach of college discipline. You can't smoke within college premises."
"But, sir, won't my cigarette be wasted? We're one of the poorest
countries in the world. What right have we to throw away useful and
pleasing things?"
"The waste of a cigarette is better than the waste of body mind and soul."
"But, sir..."
"We shall now stop arguing and promptly do what we are asked to do. Taking
up the time of the professor and his class also amounts to breach of
discipline."
The young blister hesitated, decided to obey, called up the best face and
marched out of the class-room in the manner of a crack regiment in a V-day
procession. He came in after five minutes. I knew he'd smoked quickly and
to completion. I overlooked this.
"Stop!" I once more arrested him.
"Sir?" he wondered.
"Permission!"
"May I come in, sir?" he shrilled, backing away and standing at the
entrance.
"One more question."
"Fire away, sir."
"The first time you turned up, you were ten minutes late."
"Seven minutes, sir."
"I greatly appreciate that exactitude. And now with your exact frame of
mind, you'll be able to comprehend readily that it does not matter how
little late you are; what matters is that you are late."
"But we must never be automata, sir. Machine-like behaviour is bad for
man, sir."
"Not always."
"Man cannot be always be on time."
"But he must. Particularly when he is a student at college. And you know
my instructions. When you are late, you mustn't insist on getting into the
class-room; you must go to the library and read."
"But there are no detective stories in the libraries, sir."
"Library, not libraries."
"And the exams are approaching, sir. I thought I'd be getting some good
tips today."
"There'll be no tips, I'm afraid."
Here the whole class sighed like a forest in a gale.
"Pity, sir," the young gumboil said.
"And I find you habitually unpunctual these days."
"There's a reason, sir."
"What reason can there be for unpunctuality?"
"The college starts at seven-thirty in the morning, sir."
"I know."
"I'd have to get up at five in order to be here in time."
"Certainly."
"I cannot manage it."
"And why can't you?"
"My wife is ill, sir, and I have to pass wakeful nights."
"Ah. But I'm amazed. A First Year boy, and married?"
"Is it a crime for First Year boys to be married, sir?"
"Oh, no. But rather early days for marriage, eh?"
"There are other married boys here, sir."
"Dear me. That's remarkable. Most remarkable. Incredible. Well, stand up
those who are married."
Two students stood up, blushing richly. A third got on to a form. And a
fourth, of visibly advanced age, was up on the shoulders of a stout boy
who'd stood up on a form, too. The class roared wildly.
"Silence!" I yelled. There was merciful silence. I never asked you to
stand up on that form, young man."
"Sir," he pealed out like a church-bell, "I have a very special reason for
standing up on this form."
"And what may that reason be?"
"I wish to be considered superior to those poor kids standing on the
floor."
"And why?"
"They are merely married; I have two children."
"Ah. And you, sir. What d'you mean by getting atop that boy on the form?"
"Sir," the man of advanced age megaphoned, "I wish to be considered
superior to that stripling on that form."
"Why?"
"I am his father, sir."
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