The Call of Nature

By Maimoona Ejaz 



A tiring day in class, a boring lecture, a self-praising teacher; combine them all and you get the usual university day! Every student has been through this regardless of his age, gender, country of residence or grade. Its days like this when you wish you could run back home, take a break or a nap in class, or, if conditions get real bad, you may even want to BUNK.  These are some of the instantaneous solutions that might come in a normal student’s brain. Doing so, however, can get them in a lot of trouble. They need a place where they can be free, Utopia, a safe haven, going to which won’t even be a problem-The washroom!

This is a fact throughout the world; no teacher can deny their student from going to the washroom. Students these days misuse this “weakness” of teachers. Going to the washroom is a mere excuse to get out of class these days. Students tend to take “the long way” from and back to the classroom so that they can escape more time of their lecture.

Some students, however, think differently. They wish not to miss even a fraction of a second of their class as even an atom’s bit of information may come in the examination. They go to the washroom just to respond to the call of nature and try to do it as fast as they can.

The worse part of the day for both types of afore mentioned students: An engaged washroom! What will the ultimate nerd of the class and the backbencher do now? Neither can the studious kid go back to his class until he accomplishes his “mission”; nor can the non-serious one find a good place to spend his time without being in danger. The even worse part for both of these types of students- they have to be with each other, unwillingly, in the same place, for the same purpose: waiting for one of the occupied ones to become vacant. The intellectual and the non-serious of the class are most likely to despise each other. What could be worse for them than being together? The uninterested type may answer this one themselves. As for the serious type, they may end up crying by something that most would consider a plain practical joke; being locked INSIDE the washroom!

Reading between the lines

By Aden Dahir Salad 

The art of reading between the lines is as old as civilisation.

 The brain we have is unconscious.  We read a lot of handouts during mid-terms and terminal papers but after the paper all the handouts and dates are automatically eliminated from the brain storage. The reason is clear... WE ARE NOT READING BETWEEN THE LINES... There is a number of students who are reading between the linestoo, but the majority leads.

The intensity of reading is strong, we have internet, online library,traditional library and so on. But the internet is for Facebooking, Twittering, Live messenger chatting, and Yahoo! chatting. That means Wikipedia has no chance until the assignment submission date is near, and at that time you see the students are texting each other and asking questions like, "what did Sir Moons say in class? What is the submission date of Sadia Mehmood’s assignment? What about Sociology paper?", etc. After that, Wikipedia and Cyclopedia are their best friends till the assignment is submitted. After that the students will go back to Facebooking and Twittering.

Being a student is a fantastic job. I am proud to be a student, I am also very proud  to be a Mass Communication student. Dear classmates this article is just about the funny life that we are in. The encouragement comes from Aden, your classmate from Somalia, that just reading  between the lines and not out of them.

                                                     

Every single student in the department caring some books or handouts along with his/her cell phone, the handout is carried but not cared while the cell phone text message is carried and cared.

H.I. & I

By Ayesha Ahmad

It was the dawn of another typical, slow-moving day in the department. Our valued seniors were either busy cracking up on every lamest joke by their idle peers, sitting on the benches which now have mites stuffed in their matresses, or getting tea/coffee from the canteen which is always suffering from food deficiency . While, us, the know-it-all juniors were busy strolling the entire department for the sake of increasing our public relation or to have some brainless tete-a-tete with the newly arrived juniors (except for me, that is).

As for me, I was 'almost' busy sofa-napping when all of a sudden, without any such warning, we all saw Humair Ishtiaq on his way for his 'media and society' class- our major course for the third semester. 

Now for people who are not familar with Sir Humair Ishtiaq, he is an asset to our department. Besides being one of the most esteemed teachers, he is also frequently talked about amongst the Mass Communicators to be as the only teacher who actually makes them do something practical.

Alright, I wholly acknowledge the fact that this teacher of ours is an expert in his crafts but, in my eyes, he is also an expert at being EXTREMELY boring. And to top it off, the moustache under his nose hardly help in understanding the words mouthed by him.

So getting back to where I was, I told my partner-in-crime, Sidra, that I was in no freaking mood of taking his mundane class that day. However, she managed to pull me inside the class nevertheless, and made me sit cozily on a seat next to hers. I was sleepy as it is.

Actually, I am one of the biggest sleepy heads you can find. I sleep whenever I can, whether I am bored, sad or angry as I find it relaxing and all my worries just seem to fade away. Sleeping is my hobby and I find nothing weird about that.

So, while Sir Humair continued with his 'unidentified' approach towards politics, I ably engaged myself in being driven to a  world of wonderland which was filled with fields of daffodils and houses made out of candy canes. Yes, I had fallen asleep once again! And that too in front of Sir Humair...imagine the complexity of the situation.

 I was the pointed out, humiliated, and was asked for giving my face another wash as if that would have made any difference. Simply put, I was kicked out from Sir Humair's class. I, being helpless, first apologized and then eventually left the class for a cup of coffee from that food deficient cafe.    

 

The “sense” of touch

By Sidra Gufran

It was a “farigh” day at the university when after the Math paper I was perched on a bench at the smoker’s corner talking, to some class-fellows about regional politics, coffee and organ donation. Across the glass door, inside the department, there was another group sitting, discussing “Aafia Siddiqui”. It was one heated discussion. On the stairs by the canteen a blog meeting was going on. And somewhere (I heard) a group of girls with a complaint about a teacher was vowing to go to the chair person and get its rightful share of marks which they thought they deserved.

As the clock struck twelve, (the sub-continental superstition attaches special meaning to this) a “kho kho” wave spread through the department. Within seconds two teams were formed, queries about the rules and “what is kho kho?” to Bengali born friends were answered, and people were dragged to positions.

The game began.

“Kho per kho” was the strategy adopted by the standing team. The kho was passed on to the “plan starter bhai”, then a short guy who is also famous as my twin, and then a fair, spiked dude. He reached out to grab a tall, bespectacled girl and then stopped in mid air and declared, “Isko pakrun kaisay?”

There were torrents of laughter. And then a well respected senior solemnly proclaimed that he could pat her on the head. Like Muslims comply to Mufti sahibs we nodded our heads in unison and got back to our positions. The game resumed.

The same spiked fair dude was running. Amidst the hullabaloo of people shouting “kho karo” he stood behind a girl and announced “kho!”.

She remained unmoved.

He shouted “kho” again, this time louder.

She did not budge.

 “Why are you not poking me?” came the innocent reply.

Laughter broke again. While the former remained adamant on the fact that he will not touch a female the latter insisted that this was against the rules.

Negotiations began. To touch or not to touch, that was the question! Suggestions of using a ruler and handkerchief were thrown at the poor guy. After much hue and cry the game began with renewed fervor...and then the “guardians of faith” propped up  and declared “kho kho” was “fahash”.

We all dispersed.

My ‘mid’ life crisis

By Sidra Rizvi

During the first semester around the month of February when everybody was just settling in, a bomb was dropped on us unsuspecting creatures. Mid terms. And that too in the first week of March. Surprisingly that was the only semester I remember in which we had a proper schedule for mid terms which got postponed a few times, of course, due to the cricket matches. But, every time that happened a new timetable for them was announced. The classes were off during this period, and we also had a mini spring break.

After that the mid term situation transformed into a tangled web of confusion. We were told that the dates for the mid terms will be announced by the teachers themselves and regular classes would take place as well.

Now the scheduling of the mids, our affection filled word for the mid terms, is entirely at the student’s disposal. Heated discussion lasting 15 to 20 minutes take place in which every date the teacher announces is whined over, refuted and finally discarded. Eventually the exhausted teacher takes matters into her/his own hands and gives a final verdict. Astonishingly all the students who previously had issues with the particular date, now are well prepared to have a mid that day.

The attitude towards the mid itself is gravely non serious. It is just a mid. Even if we don’t do well we can always give a make up (a retest). Speaking from personal experience, there are people who believe so religiously in neatness, they don’t write a single word on the paper. ‘There’s always a make up’ is their motto. I humbly ask the people whom I just quoted to forgive me.

However on the day of the mids, the class strength is incredible. People you didn’t even know were your classmates can be seen sitting right next to you, asking for help. Blatant cheating can be witnessed whereas idle chit-chat can be heard in the background as well.   While the mid terms themselves aren’t that blog worthy, some events that have taken place during them are instant classics.

Below are some of my favourite mid term moments:

1)      Urdu: The teacher brought along someone to help with the invigilation. I am not really proud of my Urdu handwriting but it’s still legible. Boldly I wrote my name and my father’s on top of the paper, and began making the Urdu teacher’s life miserable when the guest teacher came to me and said: ‘your father’s name is Sidra too?’ Apparently he couldn’t differentiate between Sayed and Sidra in my handwriting.

2)      Maths: ‘Sir I need another copy’, ‘no you will not get any more copies. You must be doing something wrong. Write in the empty spaces.’ ‘Sir what if you don’t understand what I have written?’ ‘Don’t worry, ill call you if that happens’. This conversation recently took place between a friend and the teacher during the mid term.

3)      Sociology: ‘I don’t remember anything. What shall I write in this paper?’ moaned a friend. Before I could answer, a total stranger sitting next to her said ‘Oh, you are welcome to take a peak from my copy.’

Mid-terms are simply a vision of generosity, entertainment and to some extent an assessment of where we stand. Therefore it is no wonder that nobody, well the majority, doesn’t bother studying for them.

Foot-in-mouth disease

By Atiya Abbas

I have had a lot of trouble thinking about what to write this week. I have noticed that everyone writes about what they feel strongly about, and most importantly, what they know; which is the rule numero uno about writing. In these two years at Karachi University, I have found out that I suffer from an ailment known as foot-in-mouth disease. This disease has only one symptom: a divorce of the mind and the mouth.

 Yes, I can see you smiling tolerantly. Let me elaborate. In this techno-driven age we want to say anything because we feel so powerful behind our computer screens to diss, appreciate, slag off, what have you, to our friends and our “not-so-close” friends. The “Like” button on Facebook under every single thing allows those to side with people who expressed what they wanted to say but didn’t actually have the guts to say it. This attitude has manifested itself in our everyday conversations when those whom you don’t know that well come up and say whatever they want to.

I am one of these people as well. And throughout my life I’ve had many opportunities when circumstances conked me on the head and Heaven cried, “Please, shut up!” For example, before my International Relations paper last semester, I was right outside the exam room, mouthing off about how easy it will be to pass the exam and to just write what the “holier-than-thou” teacher espoused. All in a very obnoxious tone. And then Tooba, my class fellow went, “He’s right behind you!” Oh, and did I mention that he remembered me because of my reading habits? In that one second of loud-mouthed obnoxiousness, I ruined the sliver of a rapport I made over the few classes we had. After the exam I went and apologized, foot in mouth (metaphorically).

So moral of the day: Keep any diabolical thoughts to yourself. This wisdom has been handed down from the ages but it is quiet hard to follow. Perception overrules reality, homies, remember that.

50 Minutes in Lecture Room

By Saman Hashmi
 
Being a true Kurian, you cannot deny the fact that, we, poor students have to spend our time enduring many stomach churning and mind boggling lectures in university. So far, I have observed (and personally experienced), no matter how intensely a lecture may start, it capture your interest at the beginning and then how hard you may try not to lose track, you will end up stretching and yawning within 10 to 15 minutes. So when nothing works out, students like me- the back benchers, take out our equipments (cell phones, iPhones, Game boys) and get started to keep ourselves away from yawning our jaws wide.

            A couple of months back, I "accidentally" got to attend my major course. Fortunately, I succeeded to claim the last seat in the last row. An advantage of having the back seat is that you can watch every single move of your classmates. So during the class I watched my mates engrossed in multifarious activities. Believe me, I have never witnessed anyone so smooth and efficient at multitasking, as my classmates. Let me share those attention-grabbing activities with you. 

            When I looked up to see what’s happening around I found majority of student busy texting and hiding their cell phones under desks, pockets or in purses to avoid getting caught by teacher. At the same time they kept their eyes on the teacher to pretend to be vigilant listeners. I also spotted two of my social networking-addicts-class fellows logged on to Facebook through their cellulars, just to have a look on the news-feed on their homepage, and to update their statuses. Few students took out their music gadgets to not to let their ears rust. Last but not the least, I and likes of mine were busy munching on a nutritious breakfast, like having fizzy drinks or a steaming cup of canteen’s favorite aromatic chai along with snacks.

            All in all it proved to be a productive class as it let us all have our way. Nowadays,the like of mine don’t bother to pay attention to what’s going on in the class even if we accidentally took the class. It’s all because of not having a healthy educational environment. I don’t mean to sound like an arrogant nerd  (because I’m not one anymore, anyway) but I had to blame someone or something for this hopeless situation,Ab yaarr kisi ko toh blame karna paray ga na . So again it’s administration's problem, you see?