The Draft: Online Classes
The following article was initially written sometime in August, 2020. I was still getting accustomed to online classes and had no idea that I would finish the whole of 11th grade without ever stepping into the school campus.
I wrote this piece as a submission for the Open Page in The Hindu Magazine that’s printed every Sunday. The articles published were usually of septuagenarians or even older citizens, narrating their memories or insights gained over the years. I hadn’t read any article by a teen and I felt I could make use of the opportunity. Writing about the trials of the “new normal” seemed to be a fit.
So I submitted it and thus began an eight week wait. The Hindu’s policy said if a piece wasn’t printed in that time period, consider it a goner. Every Sunday morning, my mother, sister and I would rush to see if my article was published.
To cut the story short, no it did not get published. It was the “first rejection” of my writing phase. It was a cold one, having to wait eight long weeks.
It’s a sweet memory though, and on via a new medium (pun intended) I have decided to put out there in the world.
The emotions expressed still resonates, only more desperately. A whole year of online classes have worn us down, the normalcy of going to school is a fading memory.
Hues of a Classroom
I miss those de facto breaks we had in between periods in school. Those few minutes were lively, summing up all the things I loved about physical schooling. The class would erupt to life in the short span a teacher left the door till the next walked in. Conversations would pick up pace and the noise could apparently be heard even in the other end of the corridor.
My classmates would find much to do in those spare minutes, with water fights and pranks spurring out of thin air. Class works were quickly exchanged in the hope of completing homework; or maybe even for copying whole chapters of notes. The numbers of times I have finished math sums at the very last minute are countless, giving the mundane task of completing motes an exciting edge.
People used to stand at the door own their accord, alerting everyone of the teacher’s stride towards our classroom. They always seemed to enjoy doing this, and with time no one saw this as a favour. It just became a part of the person’s repertoire which we all accepted.
Yet trouble never really eluded us, our teachers were well accustomed to our mischievous ways. They often announced their arrival by proclaiming that our voices echoed across to other classrooms.
My friends and I would wait till a teacher was just inches away from the door, and then spring out heading towards the washrooms. This caused much annoyance to the teachers, but we took these leisure strolls almost every period.
This jocund spirit carried over to the first few minutes of the period, with mockery and chuckles wafting through the air. We always found something humorous about the opening sentences of our teachers and their greetings, which we unfortunately saw as a mere formality.
During the classes we would heartily munch on snacks, under the table of course. Quick actions dictated the exchange and crunching of junk food. I believe the teachers turned their heads the other way at times as they realized there was nothing they could do about it. No amount of admonishing could correct us, we were what we were.
Today there is nothing I can do to lift the sepulchral mood of the online classes. I can sit in any position I want, listen to music and goof off in the background if I prefer to and eat any snacks as I please. Yet, nothing beats having friends around you.
The liberty and the absence of consequences make the acts less fun, and I am likely to shy away from it.
The environment of classrooms is irreplaceable. All that I can do today is quietly giggle at my teachers’ mispronunciations or at someone accidentally leaving their mike on, paving way for me to have little insights on what’s happening around them.
The classes are a tad excruciating, but I’ll take this over not having any classes at all.
