Why are you studying?

 Yesterday as usual, I prompted my students to probe into why they were studying and shockingly most of them mentioned that they did not like to study. On being probed further, they admitted that they came to College only to satisfy their parents. Most of them were first generation learners whose parents had never stepped into the portals of higher education and hence wanted their children to be at least a B. A. pass. But the students who had the least interest in studying were unsatisfied with the courses that they had to study.

What are we doing as instructors?

Many students expressed that they would like to become artists - sketching, painting, etc. while some wanted to become professional cricketers or actors. Well, I did explain to them the other side of the 'passion' part which among many other choices of professions does not give them money! They seemed to have a fleeting knowledge of the struggles but I don't think that they thought deep enough about what they really wanted. Unlike our time, where we had a goal and a path planned ahead, the Gen-Z does not seem to take the whole idea of 'ambition' seriously. Money features as an integral part of their plan unlike our generation which did not discuss money that much. The Gen-Z also seems to discard many values that we held dear, which is understandable given that each generation has its own design and path. 

I still hold on to the question of 'How are we to motivate the present crop of students as instructors?'

While the students realise that becoming an artist is not an easy endeavour, they are willing to try. One student has several side hustles to earn money which I thought was quite fascinating. But unlike our generation which did not give much thought about money, the present one seems to focus a lot of energy into thinking and making money.

Well, there are exceptions in every case and this is also another. What have you to say on this topic?

Stray thoughts compiled

 I wanted to eat an orange,

but you weren't there,

So, I asked my help who was mopping,

Both of us shared an orange,

and both of us spit the seeds.

Afterwards,

She mops

And I mope!

At least the words sound similar!

Things that I might never experience again

This post is an inspiration from an Instapost which left me melancholic and nostalgic. I thought that I would make my list before I forget some of these things completely. This is an age of forgetting, you see.

First love, visit to the corner shop run by a Nadar, receiving letters, MTV when it first began, leisure to wake up in one's own time, crispy vadai and tea without thoughts of cholesterol, homework, birthday cards, swings, mystery film endings, running to find a meaning from a dictionary, 90s vibe, time to travel without thinking of work, patience with predicting what people would say, not overthinking, eating ice-cream because I wanted to, MCC life, WCC vibes, the beauty of landline phones, the running to the phone booth to make an 'urgent' call, the magic of taking a flight, the slowness of a train journey, the sharing of tiffins, the happiness of five rupees, drinking paneer soda for one rupee, radio, intellectual arguments of my young mind, meeting random people and talking to them . . .

Do you resonate?

Let me know in the comments.

Leaving you with a poem by Mary Oliver

                                                         Don’t Hesitate

                                      BY MARY OLIVER

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case.
Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

      

               Picture courtesy: My own