There is a voice somewhere in the background. It pleads for my attention. Not because it wants to be heard, but because it speaks of my own good.
It talks to a voice inside me. It says “you paid for this, the least you can do is gain something out of it”. The voice inside me doesn’t reply. It also had a straight face. Well, the voice is mine after all.
All this while, I stare at the professor in front of me. His smiling face struggled hard to keep the students from wondering off.
A scan around the class and you find some interesting happings. A love story blossoming at the corner back seats, a couple of stoned guys staring at nothingness, a poet weaving his imagination, a couple of girls discussing class gossip and a few like me, too bored to care.
Though, there were a couple of students, front row loyalists, who managed to catch every word that escaped the professor’s mouth. The professor knew they were his only hope.
The professor (who seemed like a nice man just that his voice bounced off my ears) smiled brightest whenever a question was raised. The students would do so, well, if announced a break.
Over coffee, tea and kurkure, one overhears some random amusing conversations. What all one does to keep oneself awake. Some others say this class is such a waste.
I wonder why some think that these classes are worth nothing. After all, what else class teaches you to daydream, fantasize and imitate?
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