PEATC Diary: February 16

Dateline: February 16, 2015

Signs of exam morning: "Say, do we write the recipient's name in a D.O. letter, or their designation, or both?" "Is there any problem if we put page numbers on the first page of a note sheet?" "Can't we write the decisions taken in a minutes of proceedings as a list instead of in table format?" We're walking on the jogging track at 'shortPT,' and these conversations are floating around us, most of which are going straight over my head. Their studies spread both indoors and out, while I'm thinking, ah! soon I can go back to my room and sleep! This morning is like any other winter dawn, though the fog is a bit lighter. When thick night fog gathers and drifts about, it seems like ghostly spirits; they're gone now, escaped long ago. Today's PT is excused—just roll call, a short walk, and dismissal. Today is exam day. Ah! Why aren't there exams every day? Back to the room at quarter past six and straight to sleep. What fool ruins sleep with exam worries on such a winter morning! A whole hour and a half of sleep to be had! Ah! PATC, I love you!

I have my own principles about exams. Worrying about exams is everyone's natural instinct. So we must think about exams! When to think? At the exact moment I'm taking the exam. Not before, not after. If there's any desire to do a bit of studying here and there, then sometimes one might think beforehand. But after? Never, never! Exam over, all thoughts about it over too. Under no circumstances should one spend even a moment "thinking" (read: "wasting time") about it afterward. I see many people comparing answers with others after exams. I never do this. I still remember, back in class nine-ten I wouldn't cross-check objective answers after exams. What's done is done. Worrying about it might make the next exam worse. Better to buy two taka's worth of peanuts and munch on them than to match answers after an exam. I've come to today's exam hall with a completely bookish-knowledge-free brain. Modern Office Management exam. No preparation, no fear of losing anything, so confidence is absolutely sixteen annas! I'll get the question paper, there's paper and pen in front of me, I have to write for an hour, fill up the blank pages. That's it! What's the big deal?

The exam started at exactly half past eight. I haven't studied, so no question is unfamiliar to me. There's no such thing as "unfamiliar in exams" in my dictionary. In exams there are only three things: pass, pass well, or fail. What to do when exam questions seem unfamiliar? Write. Simple! When you don't know the answer, you make it up and write. Can't make it up? Imagine and write. Imagination not working either? Force yourself to imagine and write. Whatever it takes, you have to write something and come away! That I'm not writing isn't a problem. That the people around me are writing—that's the only problem. Two options in exam halls: either intimidate the people around you to make them stop, or write. The power to answer unfamiliar exam questions is given by ghosts! Today's exam: the first twenty minutes went on the first page alone! Why? Some fatso wouldn't let me take the exam. Those who've seen Terminator 2: Judgment Day surely remember Arnold Schwarzenegger's famous line delivered in that action style: "Hasta la vista, baby!" Meaning, "See you later. Goodbye!" Those who saw the Spanish version heard: "Sayonara, baby!"

This line became so popular that it was later used in many other movies including 'Main Hoon Na.' In the first of the Terminator series, 'The Terminator,' Arnold Schwarzenegger says to Sarah and John Connor while exiting the elevator, "I'll be back." This line has since appeared countless times in various places. There's something powerful about those words! Old things keep returning: good things, bad things. Today it came too. Who came? My childhood Adnan-Asha. Long ago it said goodbye and left, promising to return. You've come, good, come along. But why at this time? As I'm about to start writing, from somewhere I don't know, it starts playing in my head: "Kabhi to nazar milao..." Meanwhile I have to write minutes informing the Secretary of the Ministry of Disaster Management and Relief about the urgent decisions taken in a meeting about post-flood conditions, and before my eyes floats the girl from that Cat's Eye music video. Supremely torturous! It took a full twenty minutes to banish this sweet calamity from my head.

My only task after exams: pull out those exam sheets from the pile of papers and joyfully crumple and crush them before throwing them in the trash. I feel a certain peace from this. The peace of not giving shelter to what you cannot give refuge. I live like a bird. Whatever I don't need, I leave behind and move forward. What I don't like, I don't keep before my eyes either. But what if I threw those sheets away before the exam? Only one answer: I don't know. Nature doesn't like to answer all questions. I've taken two exams this way now, including today's, and taken them well. Well meaning, not scoring 99, but scoring 33. Better to pass dishonorably than to fail. When there's no guarantee of rice, why worry about pilaf? "If days must pass like this, let them pass. If the mind has flown, let it fly..." I'm thinking, if only they'd take exams for all 23 modules right now in succession, that would be nice. I won't study now, won't study later. Whether I take the exam now or later, same result. Whatever else happens, at least this much is certain: it would be more convenient to pass taking it now rather than later.

The first class is on computer basics. To check how much we know about computer fundamentals, sir asked, "How many megabytes in one gigabyte?" The answer came: "About 1000 megabytes, sir." Hearing this answer I thought to myself, "Good thing sir didn't ask him how many wives he has."

Today's class brought back some old memories. Before getting into Computer Science at CUET, I had never even touched a computer. I passed HSC in 2002. Computers weren't so common then. If we heard someone had a computer at home, we'd assume they were quite 'rich.' I got into CUET. We studied computer basics from Peter Norton's Introduction to Computers. A wonderfully simple book.

After passing intermediate, I wanted to study literature. I came second in the combined merit list for CUET entrance exams. My parents wouldn't let me study literature. I was deeply hurt. Never in my life have I suffered so much for the crime of coming first or second. I could never truly accept CSE. I spent my entire honors degree without writing a single line of code, just copy-pasting. After graduating from CSE, I took nothing but the certificate. On our first day in the lab at CUET, we were told: "Each of you has a computer in front of you. You can do whatever you want with it. If any of you can break the computer in front of you, you'll be given a new computer as a prize. But three things are forbidden: you can't set the computer on fire, you can't throw the computer in water, you can't pick up the computer and smash it." Some of us had used computers before. They started clicking the mouse and keyboard freely. That day I was too scared to properly touch the mouse and keyboard. What if something got damaged! Such an expensive thing!

A few days after enrollment, father bought me a computer. By then I had learned to left-click and right-click the mouse, hunt and peck letters on the keyboard and press them, click the start button to see programs, go to different drives from My Computer, listen to songs, watch movies. On the very first day of bringing the computer home, I got hand cramps from fiddling with it so much. Didn't sleep all night. They had loaded many video songs on the hard drive. The whole night passed listening to them. Back then I'd rush to Salta Computers with that heavy casing for even silly things. Like: Windows Media Player is missing, why did the desktop background picture change, where did the hash sign on the keyboard disappear to—such ridiculous problems. There were no CNG taxis then, I'd pay double the rickshaw fare to take yellow taxis (thinking then that going by rickshaw would damage the PC from the jerking). Now remembering all this makes me laugh.

All this was floating through my mind in today's class. Our class attendant was going table to table showing us different components of the motherboard with the casing opened. That casing looked like a basket of nuts. Gosh! It would be great if there were nuts in there! Someone in today's class asked, "How do we tell if a processor or motherboard is original or not?" Sir said, "These things generally aren't counterfeited." Hearing sir's answer, I remembered a line by Filipino poet-singer Lourd de Veyra: "God created the world, and the rest is made in China." Intel might forget to make processors, but China will never forget to make fake Intel processors.

After today's class, the course coordinator asked, "Who among you needs extra classes in economics?" A few raised their hands—that's not the problem. The problem is we all have to attend during their knowledge acquisition time. Oh, what trouble! Already can't survive the regular class torture, now extra classes on top. I felt like learning economics myself if needed and teaching them, but no more classes please. I beg your pardon, and pray for me too. Is there such a thing as classroom learning? "Every educated person is self-educated." Chaudhury saheb, you didn't do basic training at PATC, that's how you could write such an "utter lie." So far I haven't been able to learn much in two places: One. In classrooms. Two. In group studies.

The next class is in the auditorium. Coming out of the syndicate building, swaying toward the auditorium. I walk slowly and steadily. In a somewhat carefree style. Walking thoughtlessly like a carefree person. I can't work frantically. Can't run like a racehorse, don't want to either. This creates two problems. One. Everyone gets to the auditorium early and occupies seats starting from the back rows. That's not the problem. The problem is many people reserve two or three adjacent seats with their bags, notebooks. I remember something. When returning from CUET to town by bus, boys would save places for friends with notebooks, books, handkerchiefs, even pen caps. Just seeing this would ruin my mood. But I wouldn't say anything. Making trouble and not making trouble—both are matters of habit. Poor me at PATC auditorium, I get punished for arriving late by having to sit in front.

You can't sleep properly if you sit in the front row. Two. Often you run into the professors in the corridors or on the stairs. I walk around in such a relaxed mood that sometimes I don't even notice them. When I suddenly find myself face to face with them, I swallow hard and give a hasty salaam, feeling like Jerry from Tom and Jerry.

No matter! I find joy in this very game of Tom and Jerry! This is how I'll remain. Let everyone else run. I won't run. I find joy in this very act of losing. No one sent me into this world with an oath to win. Why must everyone win? Anyone can win with a smile. How many can lose with a smile? I just don't have to care. It's my own style. I love my style! I want to experience the joy of living without considering anyone my rival and without being anyone's rival. The world would be more beautiful if this competition didn't exist.

Today, on my way to the auditorium, I heard a story. A boy liked a girl. He assigned the responsibility of convincing the girl to one of his friends. The friend was married, hence safe. The story goes that the friend did indeed accomplish the noble task of wooing the girl, but for himself. This reminded me of an incident from CUET. One of our friends asked another friend of ours to propose to a girl on his behalf. While going to propose, that friend thought, if I have to propose anyway, it would be better to do it for myself. And that's exactly what he did. What was the result? Those two friends became enemies for life. And the girl is now the mother of the second friend's only son. Of course, the first friend is also married now and father to two children. But they still don't speak to each other. Let's see how far our waters flow here.

I had heard in Guru Nachiketa's song, "People will be greatly pleased to hear, O Janardan, men are of two kinds: the living and the married. Men live before marriage..." Now I see the opposite! The song needs a remake: "People will be greatly pleased to hear, O Janardan, men are of two kinds: the living and the unmarried. Men come alive after marriage..."

The person who came to teach us about Integrity Concepts today is essentially a man without punctuation marks—meaning he uses no periods, commas, or semicolons when speaking. If you don't listen very carefully, it's not easy to extract the meaning from his words. Working under such a boss would be quite troublesome too. If you can't understand the boss's words, how can you listen to him? And you can't keep saying 'pardon' to the boss repeatedly. When the sir speaks, the words accumulated inside his cheeks emerge as air with lightning speed. While saying a sentence, he rushes toward the full stop as quickly as possible. The words in between get lost in the Bermuda Triangle. I had read in Humayun Ahmed's 'Hotel Graver Inn': "Americans' English can be understood. The British can't be understood. The British say half their words, keeping the other half in their stomach. What they do say, I believe they gargle in their mouths for a while before speaking." Today's gentleman was also hurling words from his mouth in British style, gurgling away.

Just seeing today's class title reminded me of Jerry from Rawlings' 'A Mother in Mannville.' You could easily stretch a 2-hour session just talking about Jerry's sense of integrity. "His name was Jerry; he had been at the orphanage since he was four. I could picture him at four, with the same grave gray-blue eyes and the same – independence? No, the word that comes to me is 'integrity'. It is bedded on courage, but it is more than brave. It is honest, but it is more than honesty." The sir didn't go in that direction. He started teaching. I can't remember having a class as boring as today's.

Someone told me, "Brother, your sleeping style in class is worth watching. You sleep Sukanta-style, resting your cheek on your hand. You don't snore at all." Though I said "Oh, what are you saying!" I was secretly pleased, and when I dozed off again shortly after, that's precisely when I got caught. My name badge spells my name like this: SUSHANTA. Whether due to pronunciation difficulties or some other reason, professors generally don't call my name in class. But today's sir called me by name, woke me up, and gave me some advice too. This was the first time I got caught sleeping in PATC. Then began the torture of having a rifle pointed at my eyes to prevent sleep. I've given lectures in many places for a long time myself. I believe that when listeners fall asleep during a speaker's class, some responsibility falls on that speaker's shoulders too. Either what he's teaching is completely unnecessary, or he's teaching something necessary in an extremely boring way. When I think of a teacher who has to hold a gun in front of students' eyes to keep them awake, I feel somehow helpless for him. I believe, "You are my boss, but that doesn't mean I'm obligated to learn from you."

Today's sir received the lowest marks from students. I generally give all professors good grades. I'm usually not attentive in class anyway, and giving low marks on top of that seems like arrogance to me. Maybe he taught well, but I couldn't understand because I wasn't paying attention. After today's sir woke me up and lectured me, I got stubborn. In anger, I didn't sleep for the next hour and a half. Let's see what the sir teaches! Though I can usually find things likeable quite easily, today I couldn't make myself like the sir's lecture despite trying hard. I gave today's sir average or below-average marks, going against my personal rule. After giving them, I thought they might be too low. Later, talking to everyone around, I learned that I had given the sir the highest marks of all. In the past month, the clock moved slowest during today's two classes. Sometimes I felt like getting up and setting the clock ten minutes fast myself.

Today, hearing some of the sir's words reminded me of a painful experience of one of my younger brothers. I'm sharing that incident and some very personal thoughts I have about it.

A government official was feeling very unwell after working from 8 AM to 9 PM. Just as he was about to leave the office, his boss called. "Where are you?" "Sir, I'm heading home." "Don't go, stay. Go home after 12." Saying this, he assigned him a task that could easily have been done the next day at the office. "Sir, I'll come early tomorrow and complete the work. I've been at the office for almost 13 hours. I'm not feeling well either. My mother is sick at home. Sir, I need to go home for a bit." The reply came in an extremely harsh tone: "You're a government officer means you're a twenty-four-hour government officer. You'll have to work 24 hours if necessary. I worked 70 hours straight the other day. I couldn't sleep for more than 30 minutes at a stretch during that time. If I can do it, why can't you?" That official couldn't return home before 2 AM that day. His mother had become even sicker. The neighbors had come to tend to her. And needless to say about his own condition. He continued working at the office in great physical and mental distress, feeling dejected.

The above picture is a common scene in many officials' lives. "If I can do it, why can't you?" There's no more worthless question than this. Not everyone can do everything. India's former President Morarji Desai used to drink 8 ounces of his own urine daily. If I told you, "Sir, why don't you drink a couple of glasses of your own urine? What's the big deal? Just drink it. What's life anyway? Drink it, Sir, you can do it. If India's most important person could do it, why can't you?"

I believe that person is truly respectable who doesn't need to extract respect from others by showing positional intimidation. (I see many high-ranking officials who get quite annoyed mentally when their juniors don't properly react to or comment on their Facebook posts. Even when they don't deserve it, they desire it! Just by virtue of their position, they feel some attention is due to them! Before retirement, their lives are spent snatching likes, and after retirement, begging for likes. Pathetic!) To those who make their position known through such intimidation, I say: quit your job and see if even the street dogs bother to count you when they see you on the road! After such people retire, even the house maid scolds them when they ask for water. Every man is paid back in his own coin. Whatever you do while alive, you'll definitely get it back in full measure while you're still alive.

Sir, we're not coolies or laborers to work twenty-four hours and salvage the country in a single day. We work with our brains. Intellectual workers need rest to nurture their intellect. In childhood, I read in 'one-word expressions': 'one who gives strength = ox.' I'd call that official who worked 70 hours not an officer but an ox. I'm quite doubtful about what good he can do for the country. Maybe he has no home, no family bonds, but others do. Maybe he enjoys working at the office all day, he's accustomed to living that way, but why must everyone become accustomed to that? Is he single-handedly saving the country while the rest sit around chewing grass? Not everyone's work style is the same. Why must we follow you? What kind of great exemplary personality are you? Can everyone stand with their head high in a crowd? Not everyone wants to be the absolute best everywhere. Sir, you stand alone among the crowd? OK, Sir, let me belong to the crowd, then. You believe, Life for Job. Well Sir, I've my own principle too. It's Job for Life, and unfortunately, I love my principle, Sir!

I've seen that generally such people don't have much of a family life. There's no divorced president in American history. I believe there's no possibility of anyone divorced becoming president in the next 50 years either. How can someone who can't manage their own family manage the country? Similarly, how can someone whose family bonds aren't right serve the country? The country is, after all, a collection of many families.

Let's consider another ugly matter. What percentage of such 60-70 hour 'ox-like' workaholic officers are there? At most 5%!

Among these, 4% are those who can both flatter their bosses properly and also do their work. The remaining 1% simply carry on with their duties, paying no heed to such sordid sycophancy. Not all bosses are good, of course. There are some who are terribly vindictive types. They want publicity more than work, they crave flattery. These vindictive bosses keep trying to trap that 1% of officers. That 1%, possessed of tremendous self-respect, generally believes in the principle of "I'd rather die than bow down." They can never bring themselves to flatter. As a result, their good work receives no recognition whatsoever. The most wretched thing is that this 1% of officers gets punished under various pretexts while the remaining 4% get promoted, and everyone's eyes are blinded by beautiful, public-deceiving buzzwords like transparency and accountability.

I no longer feel like writing about all this. In the middle of this piece, some lines from Humayun Ahmed's 'Hotel Graver Inn' came up contextually. I'm ending today's diary with a few words from that travelogue:

Our lives are brief. For these brief days, how many arrangements we make—degrees, jobs, promotions, money, houses and homes. Does it make any sense? It makes no sense at all.

Have you read the author's 'Rain and Clouds'? The precious people for whom you let your life stumble before career and allowed it to pause for a while—when that time passes, will you be able to find your life again? Won't you lose it all over again?