Why I hate classes at CU

It is easy to get disillusioned in a place like Calcutta University. Not that my expectations were high to begin with, but only your own enthusiasm for the subject can keep you going if you are in a class like mine. An atmosphere seems to hang about this place, affecting both the teachers and the students of the university (I speak only for my particular department, and specifically my MA 1^st year class). This stultifying atmosphere of disinterest and lassitude pervades the class, dampening the spirit, dragging one down. I suppose this essay stems from a desire to purge myself of this ‘miasma’ through a deliberate act of creation. Where do I begin?

There are more than two hundred students in my class. Half of this lot do not, in the least bit, seem to be interested in literature—or in any of the Arts for that matter.¹ They are here only for a post-graduate degree; they are not here to learn anything. One doesn’t learn only from one’s teacher, but also from one’s fellow students. The only thing I have learned from my fellow students at CU is not to expect the kind of positive influence of talented peers that I’ve been used to so far.

Far from expressing themselves coherently in English, some of my classmates are clearly unable to construct grammatically correct sentences that involve more than six or seven words. We are talking about an MA English class here. It is therefore no wonder that nearly all of them depend entirely on guide-books² for passing the exams (and like I said, passing the exam—getting that degree—is all that matters to them). I’ve noticed that quite a few of my classmates do not read the actual texts prescribed in the syllabus: they merely read the simplified summary provided in these guide-books. Tuition notes provide the supplementary material needed for ‘studies’.³ At the start of the session, among the very first things that us Xaverians were asked by our new classmates was where/from whom do we take tuition, and which guide-books do we recommend.

Further, on being told that a certain novel which is in the syllabus had been read a few years ago, a classmate marvels: O, tui undergrad-ei pore neeyechheesh? That line provides an insight into how a majority in my class look at these poems, essays, plays and novels that are there in the syllabus. These are ‘textbooks’ which have to be studied; one has to study them to get that desired degree. Hence, each ‘textbook’ comes with a tag, a difficulty rating of sorts: school level, under-grad level, post-grad level, and so on.

For literature students, my classmates don’t seem to have read much. After reading the primary text, the studious ones here devour books on criticism instead of reading other works by the same author, or similar works by different authors. Their reading is more often than not restricted to what is in the syllabus. Whatever is not a part of that selected list will not be there in the exam and is hence a waste of time. Extra reading for them comprises other people’s opinions on the texts in the syllabus, which are promptly learnt up by heart. Students nowadays seem to rely entirely on what other people have said on the topic. I feel this discourages originality and independent thinking.⁴ I, for my part, have always tried to avoid quoting critics unnecessarily.

Thankfully, there are at least a few people (though a disappointingly small number) in class who have some idea about music, cinema, painting, and the related arts. I still find it quite astonishing that hardly anyone in a literature class of a reputed university has seen pictures of Greek vases paintings (though if report were to be believed, one of my classmates claimed to have seen ancient Greek oil paintings!) or even heard of Ming vases. They do not recognize the names John Malkovich or Richard Wagner. It’s like they wandered into the wrong classroom, liked the colour of the fans, and so decided to stay. In a lecture on Romanticism and Marx, heads were nodding animatedly, not because they understood what was being said but because they suddenly encountered one name they recognised at last. Among MA students a certain level of knowledge should be taken for granted: people who need to be told that the 1700s are the 18^th century should not be doing their MA in English. Sample this: in the course of a particular class the professor digressed into a discussion on the typical diametrical representation of the woman in art as the madonna/whore. A guy sitting nearby enquired of his friend: Ae, Renaissance Italy-te Madonna koth-theke aelo?

An intelligent lecture is lost on this mob of philistines. Some are pretentious, some are obtuse, some are petty and immature; most of them appear to be downright silly. They laugh at the slightest pretext; they would, in all likelihood, suffocate themselves to death if they sat down to watch a farce. It takes little to make them laugh: on being told that the population of all of Estonia roughly equals that of Calcutta the class spluttered into a prolonged giggling fit. Sudden bursts of laughter at hitherto unknown facts are common. They don’t seem to be sure whether or not the teacher is making a joke, so they laugh just the same to be on the safe side. When engaged in a serious discussion they betray their parochial outlook and limited imagination.

Let me make it very clear that it is not ignorance that bothers me: I am an ignorant person myself. I am the first to admit that I know far less than I should know; that I have not read as much as I should have read; that I get my grammar and syntax mixed up resulting in some tortured constructions. But before I go into what exactly annoys me about being in this class, I need to complete the picture.

The professors of the department, unfortunately, do not make things any better. Some of them say the most ridiculous things in attempting to teach the texts.⁵ The teachers frequently get their facts wrong (nothing wrong with that—except that when it keeps happening over and over again, it seriously undermines a student’s confidence in her/his teacher). Some crack the stupidest jokes, playing to the galleries for applause which is readily given to them. One particular professor’s English is almost as bad as that of the students’. Increasingly, I find myself sitting in class only for the sake of getting my required attendance percentage.

All of them know what they are talking about. But in spite of their obvious scholarship, their lectures are vapid and uninteresting, and they are unable to communicate with the students. I can’t really blame my professors for this. The students don’t show much interest in what the professor on the dais has to say: most are either sleeping or gossiping during the lectures.⁶ I’m sure it is irritating to observe that a lecture which one has prepared for the class being ignored by half the people present. To get through to the class you need to dumb it down a few notches, and explain it twice or thrice in Bangla. The large number of students in the class serves only to compound any problem there is. On those rare occasions when a teacher displays an ardour for what is being taught without resorting to gimmicks, her/his enthusiasm washes over the class like water over plastic: the students’ apathy protects them from absorbing anything. I’m not surprised that the lectures are dull: I’ve been here for just eight months and I feel enervated already; they’ve been here much longer. However, such flat and uninspiring performances on their part further dampen the enthusiasm of students like me who are genuinely interested in the subject. Once the lectures become uninteresting, I’m interested only in my attendance; and when that is all that interests me, I will only be sleeping or chatting in class.⁷

Life in CU sucks the life out of you. Studying literature was never this boring. The attitude of the students and teachers makes the experience quite frustrating as well. Their apathy eventually becomes irksome. Add to that the juvenile pettiness of certain sections of the class, their unresolved inferiority complex a chip on their shoulder. Attention-seekers and approval-seekers, windbags and wannabes, pedants and sycophants: you have them all here.⁸ There are some specimens that specialise in indiscriminately asking questions at the end of every class, the purpose being to ingratiate themselves with the professors. They merely make the teachers repeat whatever they have already said in class. Further, when they do ask something which was not already mentioned they want this new information spoon-fed to them. The answers to most of their questions are ones that can be figured out with a little thought, but nobody seems to be willing to put in the effort to think things out for themselves: they want the processed final product, a simple easy-to-digest summary. Since I always mind my own business, the puerile inadequacies of imbecilic batch-mates would not merit a mention here if they didn’t keep throwing themselves in my way. They can behave in any way they like—but why on my time? They just can’t seem to keep themselves happy without involving me in their silly self-deceitful games.

1. I don’t know why these people fritter away two years of their life in this manner. Why waste your time doing something you do not care about? If a post-graduate degree is all that they are interested in then they should at least enrol themselves into a course that they would enjoy. Or do a vocational course which will help one get a job.
2. Simplicity of language is the characteristic feature of all guide-books. Every book stall on College Street stocks up on guide-books.
3. I have nothing against tuitions for I have come to realise that quite a few of the texts in the MA (and some in the BA) syllabus are too difficult for students to study by themselves, without guidance. The reason for this difficulty, however, is not just in the texts. From elementary schooling till graduation, most students have studied under a system which spoon-feeds information to them. Habituated as we are to such a system, we are unable to develop the independent thinking and critical reasoning necessary for studying without depending on tuitions.
4. It’s a vicious circle: when you start depending on others to do the talking for you, you start losing the ability to think for yourself; the more you lose the ability to think for yourself, the more you will depend on others to bolster your arguments.
5. While this usually leaves me in splits, the rest of the students don’t realize the stupidity of what they are hearing because they neither have a command over the language, nor do they know the texts themselves.
6. These students, as I have pointed out before, are only interested in acquiring a degree. According to the University stipulations, one must attend a certain number of classes to be eligible for the degree. Since these students have their tuitions and their guide-books, they need not pay attention in class: merely show up and be marked present.
7. Another vicious circle. The only solution I see is to reduce the number of students by half (since they’re only interested in a degree, they can get one in any subject). If the University has to take in so many students (because of the demand for the subject) then perhaps it should reduce the required attendance percentage and improve the quality of the teaching. Only those who are interested will turn up for classes.
8. The obnoxious, the ostentatious, and the obsequious can be found under one roof in every institute. But in a class of more than two hundred their number is proportionately higher.