Confessions of a copy-paster

By Maimoona Ejaz

My father once taught me to “look left then look right, again look left and then look right.” This is what I was doing, looking left twice and then looking right, then I took three more steps “[Ctrl C], [Ctrl V], [Ctrl P].”

The next day while holding it in my hand with remarks “excellent work, 9/10”, I was over the moon. I could not believe it, these three actions made my life easier, happier, and yes, meritorious.

After three to four experiences, I got so confident on my random clicking on the Google options, that it became fun to close my eyes, and moving the cursor randoml, then stopping it anywhere that would becomee MY WORK.  Irrespective of the original writer I would murmur “how dare (s)he get the whole credit of the amazing writing, its my turn now!”.

My friends used to warn me, but I know they envied me for not using their brains on the right time and not having the confidence to copy-paste. Soon I was the outstanding high achiever of the class. A lot of people used to run after me for assignments.

I loved my monopoly, and when my competitor stepped in, it was a hard competition. Now I spent hours and hours searching and working hard on Google. The competitor gave me a true taste of hardwork. He used to charge as well, which made people think that his work is authentic. I said to myself “I am such a fool, why didn’t I get the idea of charging people?”. I also thought of a merger, but why would he merge with me and distribute his profits for my good?  Soon we became the bitterest of enemies, finding ways to put the other one in trouble.

After a lot of competition we were tired and the finals started. Now we were working on our own assignments. Our teacher gave us an assignment and like always, I did my three favorite steps. When I submitted the 20 marks assignment the teacher turned to me and said, “this is my very own article published in DAWN newspaper on 13^th august last year.”

So the best way to go about it is “start menu, Microsoft office word, write your own article, [Ctrl P] and then submit.”      

You can’t have your cake and eat it too!

By Atiya Abbas

Celebrating a birthday in KU is a huge rite of passage. As soon as the clock strikes twelve, the Wall is flooded with birthday messages and the ever-popular demand “Treat paki?” The friends of the birthday person in question plan on chipping in to buy a cake. This whole cake thing is more a girly activity than a guy’s although some instances to the contrary have also been seen.

Now the cake is an extremely efficient crowd attracting device. It says out loud what people otherwise would never have found out. Yes, it is my birthday and I have CAKE! People who have never even met your gaze come flocking to have a morsel of the delicious confectionary and in doing so bring along their posses. Of course, nobody wants to seem greedy and the birthday person plasters a huge smile on their face and offers the cake to the clamoring crowds, all the while thinking, ‘Who are you?”.

What left the bakery as a piece of culinary art is never the same once the cake attackers get their hands on it. The cutting implement is a plastic spoon or even more primeval, a piece of cardboard ripped from the cake box. The meaning of recycling acquires a new meaning when bits of the cake box are used as “plates” for “squares” (read: lumps) of cake. None of that matters, because once the cake is in your system, no one’s the wiser.

This year I came to know that an interesting celebration took place at the Karachi University. A political party celebrated, “drumroll please” Cake Day! What is Cake Day and why it is celebrated is not exactly certain, but really, are people that starved for amusement that a day had to be named after confectionary?

Marie Antoinette was right when she said, “Give them cake.” When it comes to marking special moments in one’s personal journey in this university, nothing does it better than sharing a cake with friends.

                                                                                                                                  

Taking a Stand...

By Ayesha Ahmad

" Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair"- a quote from the The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom.

I have read a lot of fiction but this statement is one of the most powerful things I have read so far. This bitter truth reminds me of the fact that I, after being a part of the legendary department of Mass Communication of Karachi University for almost two years now, never meant to belong to it!

Yes, I know that this is an extremely mean and an ungrateful way of paying gratitude for all the skills and opportunities that this department has bestowed upon me, but it is time I got this out of myself.

Going back in time, I remember how my mom had always wanted me to give priority to subjects like Biology, Physics and Chemistry. I, on the contrary, after dipping myself into short stories of Enid Blyton, horror fiction of R. L. Stine and Francine Pascal's Sweet Valley, had developed a love affair with English.

Because of this reading habit of mine, which my mom had always loathed, not only did I use to find myself at an advantage from other class fellows of mine but I had also developed this ornamental style of writing which was always admired by my teachers and had often helped me in scoring the highest in English.

Therefore, while filling the admission form to get enrolled into Karachi University, it was only very natural of me to pick English as my major as I certainly knew that I was not eligible for departments like pharmacy and biotechnology although I had been a pre-med student. Hence, I opted for English.

However, after that day on, my life had become a living hell because my mom could never stop throwing her temper tantrums at me as she thought that getting married was definitely a better option than having a bachelor's degree in English.

Therefore, after spending two wonderful weeks in the department of English, I was forcefully made to switch to Mass Communication which, in my mom's eyes, was surely a much better choice.

After adapting to Karachi University and expanding my social circle, which almost took me one and a half years, I, unluckily, discovered that I was not the only victim who had fallen prey to their parents' aspirations.

" My parents, especially, my father, had always wanted me to be a pharmacist as he himself could not be one. I really did want to fulfill my dad's dream and that was the only reason why I spent the worst two years of my life in the department of pharmacy. When I could no more take in the dryness of that subject, I got myself transferred to English and started from scratch again," relates Mahwish Khan, a student of the department of English at KU.

On the other hand, Ifrah Khan, from the department of Mass Communications, reveals, " I openly call myself a rebel! I had my whole future marked out in front of me and I simply could not afford to listen to my parents and get myself enlisted in the department of Biotechnology."

I completely understand the fact that every parent on this planet tries to choose elements which, he/she 'thinks', is best for his/her child's interest but one thing they need to comprehend is that the selection of careers should be left solely in the hands of their children.

This might be offending but parents really need to stop nagging their kids when they have reached a mature level of education. Instead, they can play a much better role if they start encouraging their children and making them believe that all the success in any career actually depends upon initial struggles.

The Ass in the Assignment

By Sidra Rizvi

Trying to kill the hours before the class starts I cannot help but catch the juicy scraps of conversations that are picked up by my ears from my immediate surroundings. On one such encounter I came across a frantic woman telling her friend how she was doomed because the teacher had given her a 15 page assignment to write on. The friend tried to comfort her by telling her to explore the incredible world of internet. To which the poor soul replied that her internet connection has been disbanded for a while so she had to write it by hand. An expression of pure horror was now etched on the friend’s face and indeed everyone within the earshot immediately sympathised with the ill-fated young woman. Writing a 15 page assignment by hand is an achievement deserving the ‘ultimate perseverance award’.

From the beginning of the first semester teachers prepare us students to start making a 15-20 page assignment that holds 20 marks in the total percentage. The subject whether Islamiat or Urdu or even Maths , we are asked to kindly bring our assignments on the day of the final exam or else…!

The assignments themselves are very interesting. Mostly when teachers do not feel like teaching a particular topic they ask the students to gather up information on it themselves as their ‘assignments’. Or if the teachers really are in the mood they ask us to write a three, four page essay over why who did what.

My most memorable assignment is that of Urdu. The teacher asked us to take any Urdu writer as a topic and discuss his work. The day before the assignment was due I cried and begged and pleaded my father to help me with it. He kept telling me to write it and he’ll help me correct it. In the end he gave up and wrote most of the thing himself. As a punishment from God Almighty by the time he was finished with it, it was almost 3 am and my already drooped eyelids could not even figure out what he had written. In the end utterly disgusted with myself I handed in the miserable piece of paper I called an assignment and gave it to the teacher. It’s a miracle I passed. Thinking over this incident I realized that the ‘ass’ in the entire assignment saga was me. I didn’t learn a word. I kept cursing the poor writer all night for making my life miserable. I believe at one point I even sang a song titled ‘How could you be so heartless’ which depicted my exact situation.

However I am clearly not alone. The university is full of other ‘asses’ like me. These assignments that are so frowned upon are not even harvested from our own ‘fields’. We steal them from the neighbouring farms (read internet). We don’t know a word of what is written in these thick thick bundles of paper we proudly file and hand out to the teachers. We don’t even have a clue of what the question asks us. Religious as we are we just close our eyes, take God’s name and copy paste everything onto our blank ‘ms word’. Websites like ‘google’, ‘wikipedia’, ‘about’ etc become the formerly popular ‘pencil’ used to fill empty the paper. At times we asses of these assignments also do not even care to remove the citations or the links present in the original articles. With just a click of the mouse we the real ‘rats’ are able to complete the entire assignment in minutes. Considering how everything is handed out to us on a silver platter, students still fail to come up with them on time is beyond my comprehension.

The general attitude is who would read anyway. The teacher has over a hundred students. How many copies will he/she read? This is true to an extent. Don’t teach; don’t learn is the motto everyone adopts upon entering the university. With this attitude it is not wonder we are plagued by diseases like ‘fake degrees’ and ‘plagiarism’.

Surviving boring lectures

By Maimoona Ejaz

Around the world, students have different perceptions about different subjects. Some like to learn about a specific topic, some may find the same class equivalent to eternity in prison. One thing, however, students across the globe have in-common: they hate boring lectures!

Most teachers have the habit of constantly talking about their subject in a monotonously without any interaction with the class. The consequence:  A bunch of quiet, heavy-eyed students who can’t wait to leave the class. Neither do they comprehended anything from the long lecture, nor can they bunk (due to a limited number of absences allowed). The solution: Pretending!

Pretending is something that comes naturally to students regardless to their age, class, color or creed. For students, it’s effortless. Getting through a strict teacher’s boring lecture might not be as hard as it seems. The key lies in just a little dramatization, intelligence and, not to mention, creativity. Some simple steps need to be followed in order to get through the boring class without the displeasure of the teacher:

·         Nodding: This is a little automatic reaction produced by students which proves that they are paying attention. In case you’re not- act like you are. Nodding during the lecture after certain intervals will make the teacher think you’re actually attentive when in reality you’re not. Okay, don’t overdo it. Just nod as if you’re listening.

·         Scribbling:  Scribble on a notebook in front of you. The teacher may think that you are actually comprehending the lecture and taking notes. Draw something, but the trick is to draw in a way that will remind you of what the teacher talked about in the lecture. Make it funny and useful.

·        Ask questions: Listen to a small portion of the lecture and start questioning the teacher. This will give the teacher a good impression and who knows you might just understand the basic idea of the lecture.

·         Multi-task: Use smart phones/MP3 sticks for games/songs/texting/emailing etc, but try remembering to look at the teacher and the black/white board once in a while, otherwise you'll be caught. It is critical that when you do look at the teacher, you make clear eye contact. In this way, you'll make sure that he/she saw you paying attention and, after his gaze moves away from you, you can go right back to whatever you were doing.

G   Good luck!

Of False Airs and Language Barriers

By Sidrah Roghay

When I first told my mother that I planned on enrolling in Karachi University I was met with a lot of resistance. My argument was that the degree is recognized, she said it’s a war zone.

I was still made to sit for a test at a private university offering media sciences as a bachelor’s programme. I messed up the test majorly. Mainly because till the night before I was sitting in a mall in Dubai watching Arab women with their puffed up hair and overly done eye make up, wondering why men think they are pretty. Surprisingly, I still got a call for an interview. The panel was less interested in what I can do and more in what my daddy does for a living. A week later I got an acceptance letter that I threw down the bin.

I assume my parents never got to know about it.

Adjusting at Karachi University was never easy. Here I was in the middle of a never ending campus where Grey’s Anatomy was unheard of and designer labels were spotted once in a blue moon. People got offended if you talked in English. Un-made eyebrows and untamed hair was a common sight. Even women stared!

I remember the first time my chair person wanted me to go on stage. She insisted I host in Urdu. I would stutter and stammer every time. I was scared of making a major mistake and forgetting my sentence midway. After several failed rehearsals she gave up and told me to continue in whatever language I was comfortable in. I took a sigh of relief. The third time I took the mike I was able to make an announcement in proper Urdu (with some help from Prof Mahmud Ghaznavi).

In my first year Urdu was a compulsory subject. My teacher mastered his subject, and spoke in Urdu I had never heard before. The first three classes or so, I sat at the back bench like an idiot not grasping a word of what he said. But he was a kind chap, he went easy on me and encouraged me to make mistakes. While many other students from the same system of education opted for “easy Urdu” I took advanced Urdu as a challenge. Here I was being introduced to people like Putras Bukhari, Ibn-e-Insha and Nazir Akbar Abadi. I cursed my education system for hiding such treasures from me. These were great men, and in no way less than Dickens, Hardy or Orwell. The six months of Urdu classes served as an appetizer for me. I tried to look into Urdu literature more. I bought Iqbal and Umera Ahmed.

At KU I realized that language was just a mode of communication, and not knowing a particular language does not in any way make you less learned. Here, I pushed aside all false air of belonging to “a certain system of education”. I learned to look at people behind their bushy eyebrows and black robes. I was meeting people from such diverse backgrounds. I made friends with a Somali, Sudani and got to know an amazing Italian teacher. Through interaction with people from interior sindh I began to understand the Sindhi language.

I learnt about real life stories and struggles people had made, and were still making to get to this place.

While previously I would step aside from all political discussions, politely saying “I’m non-political”, here I unknowingly absorbed a little bit of each political party. I know each of their songs by heart, and with that outlines of their political agenda. I formed an opinion of my own.

In a nutshell I got a taste of what real life would be like, mass culture and aspirations and teachers and friends who have shaped me into a better, more aware individual.