Here I am, posting after such a long time. I guess the low frequency is more due to the very nature of this blog. I created this blog in order to poke fun at things I don't like and vilify them. So I have to first codify my hates, because they are manifested in many subtle ways, and it takes time to actually find out what is actually the cause of this dislike.
Like see what happened recently - well, before that, some introduction for the un-initiated. IIT Kanpur, my place of study, has a system called the counselling service, which helps new students adjust into the place. One of the ways they do this is to appoint Student Guides, who are senior students selected by a process. I am one of these Student Guides. The service organizes a workshop, where the guides are "trained".
When I was sitting in these training sessions, which consisted, for a large part, of Group Discussions, I felt bored and irritated. I couldn't believe that I could not sit through mere three hour sessions.
I started thinking why. After a few minutes, I realized why. During the Discussions, the guides and everyone just blabbered inanities. Yes, they just blabbered inanities. I can't think of a more appropriate way to say it.
They went through a whole session with the same, expected, saintly answers, and discussed these dumb things to death. Stereotypical thinking was in full view. Was something wrong with the counselling service? Yes, there was. To put it simply, the workshop was redundant. The counselling service is a sort of pious thing, so go ahead, be pious. Nothing wrong with that. But why discuss the obvious thing to death? So the trouble was in the group discussions. Aha, not just THE group discussion, but all group discussions.
A group discussion is a democratic thing. Yes, everyone has his say. And the mob comes to a conclusion. So like a democracy. But a democratic process is not what great ideas come from. Great ideas are not born by making a couple of dumb people sit and chew cud together for hours. Neither are they by making intelligent people sit for hours and chew cud. The same thing holds for both groups, simply, because a group's ability is constant and infinitesmal, that is, as small as you can think, whatever be the composition of the group. It is not even equal to the least of the abilities of the individual members. It is an oft observed fact that in a group, people just lose their faculties.
In fact, the whole group discussion circus can be described to a very good degree of accuracy by a theory, which I would just call the Pavlovian Theory of Group Discussions, based on Ivan Pavlov's experiments on mental conditioning. In this analogy, the experimenter is the fellow who puts forward the question, who knows the "saintly" and "preferable" outcomes already, just like the real experimenter, who knows that the dog will salivate in the end. The participants are like the dog under testing, continually exposed to the stimulus, that is, the question, until they get "conditioned" to give the right response, i.e the "saintly" response, just like the dog learnt to salivate. At the end, they all agree to give the conditioned response, i.e, the "saintly" response, after which the committee "after deliberations", "arrives" at a "consensus". Who are you trying to fool with all these flowery euphemisms?
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
A menace called Coaching
In this post, I am going to introduce my views about IIT coaching through a play, at the end of which my views will be clear enough -
It is around 5:00 pm on a hot monday. The sounds of the street faintly filter into a peaceful room, with grandpa sitting on the couch, relaxed after an afternoon siesta. Granny brings warm tea.
Granny: Munna intiki vacche time ainda? (is it time for munna to come home?)
Grandpa (glancing at his watch): Ippudu vasthundali. (Yes, he should be here now.)
(The sounds of an auto halting at the gate and the gate slamming shut are heard. Munna comes into the room and throws his bag on the sofa)
Grandpa: Entoi, baga kopamga unnattunnavu? (What, you seem to be in a fury now?)
Munna: Thathayya, ma friends andaru IIT coaching ki velthunnaru. Classlo nenokkadine coaching ki vellatledu. (Grandpa, all of my frienda are going for IIT coaching. I am the only fellow of my class who is not attending any coaching classes.)
Grandpa: Ee golantha manakendhuku raa? (Why do you want all this nonsense?)
Munna: Meeru em chestharo naku theliyadhu. Kani ee varam lopala nenu coaching ki vellali. (I dont know what you will do, but I must start attending classes within this week.)
Grandpa: Sare nanna. Ippudaithe nuvvu tiffin thinuraa. (Ok dear. For now, have food.)
(Granny brings piping hot dosas to eat)
It is the next morning. Munna has gone to his school. Grandpa has got up early and had a bath. He is preparing to go to town to check on IIT coaching centres. He goes out of the house, with a newspaper in his hand, resigned to his fate.
He reaches the busstand. As he waits for the bus, a young boy, not more than 9 yrs old, comes to the busstand and starts distributing pamphlets, shouting "IIT coaching, IIT coaching" at the top of his voice. He manages to reach grandpa and hand him a few before he is shooed away. Grandpa climbs the bus, clutching the newspaper and pamphlets in his hand.
After sitting, he starts reading the pamphlet. It is of A4 size, with a huge red border, and thick, high quality cream paper. On the top, huge black font says "excalibur IIT coaching". On the front side, it has three photos. The first photo shows a young boy with a crestfallen face, with the caption "before: failure in class ten". The second photo shows him with a wide smile, with the caption "after: state topper in class ten". The third photo shows him with the chief minister of the state (a badly created photoshop fudge), saying "hereafter: IIT first rank". The reverse side shows a lot of mug shots, with unbelievable IIT ranks below. The people in the photos appear as if in their mid and late twenties. Grandpa throws the pamphlet out of the window in disgust. The first doubts begin to assail his mind, but he pushes them away.
Grandpa the gets down at the town centre. He looks around in a lost manner for a while, before a huge balloon looming over the skyline attracts him. It has "excalibur IIT coaching" wriiten in huge letters, with a logo of a smiley grinning on the surface. For the umpteenth time, he thinks "Peru excalibur enti? Artham unda? King Arthur enduku vachchadu? (why is it named excalibur? Does the name have any meaning? Why is king arthur here?)" He pushes these thoughts to the back of his mind, and starts walking towards the huge balloon.
When he reaches the building, he is startled and looks around in confusion. The building is more like a glass box, reminding him of photos of the parisian louvre which he had seen. It looks like a lot of things, but certainly not like a place of education. While he's thinking these muddled thoughts, a burly security guard approaches him.
Guard: Emaiyya, musalaina, ikkada emi chesthunnavu? Ikkada undaniki kudaradu. po po. (Hey old man, what are you doing here? You're not allowed here. Go go.)
Grandpa (with an affronted air): Entee darunam? Evarithonaina ilanena matladalsinadhi? (What is this? Is this the way to talk with anyone?)
Guard: Povayya musalaina. neelanti vallani chala chusanu. (Go old man. I've seen many like you.)
Grandpa: Enti idhi? Nenikkada naa pillavadini cherchadaniki vasthe nuvvu... (What's this? I've come to join my child here and you...)
(The guard's behaviour totally changes, and he cringes in a servile manner.)
Guard: Babbabu. Meeru thappuga theesukokandi. Evaro anukuni ala matladanu. Loniki vellandandi. Ikkade cherchandi babu. (to another man who is standing there: Eh povaiyya. Poddunnunchi neelanti vallu ikkada nunchuni champukuthintuntaru.) (Sir sir. Please do not interpret what I said in the wrong spirit. I thought you were someone else and spoke in that manner. Please join your child here only. (to another man who is standing there: Eh, get lost.
From the morning people like you are standing here and killing me.))
The guard opens the door and ushers a bewildered grandpa into the building. A blast of cold air from the centralized air-conditioning hits Grandpa in the face as the sounds from the street fade away, to be replaced by the impatient clicks of new footwear on the impeccably polished marble floor. Its as if he has entered a whole new world. A world which conjures up images of lazy people staying in their sheets for bed coffee - that of a five star hotel. College? something's not right here. He summons courage and walks in.
As Grandpa steps into the lobby, he is staggered to see the transparent lifts plying on one side and the polished granite of the reception on the other. He somehow collects his thoughts and walks to the reception. A tired girl looks up and sizes him up in a glance. "Admissions second floor. Lift behind that fountain." She looks back at her work, and continues clicking the mouse of her PC. As Grandpa walks past, he catches the reflection of a solitaire screen on the girl's glasses. He rubs his eyes. "Optician daggariki vellali. (I need to go to the optician)" he forces himself to think.
He goes to the lift's door, and presses the button. It immediately opens to reveal a plush lift, with a familiar face inside! It's Ramu as the liftman! Ramu, who serves tea in the neighbourhood teashop in the evening! Grandpa smiles. Ramu doesnt show any sign of recognition. "Where to Sir?" He asks in an impersonal tone, with no expression on his face. Grandpa hastily converts his handshake into a meaningless gesture and says "second floor."
As the lift opens, Grandpa steps out and sees a sign saying "admissions closed". He sees another sign beside it, which says, "For admissions, contact the Director. Room 241" The apparent contradiction between the signs doesnt trouble Grandpa, whose long experience of Indian offices tells him what to do. He walks straight to room 241. The guard outside the room sees Grandpa with a pamphlet grasped in his hand, and waves him in. He walks into a gleaming lobby, with comfortable sofas and a good collection of newspapers. He sits and looks around. There are other parents sitting there, who throw a cursory glance at him and ignore him.
After a long wait, during which time all those parents go in anxiously and come out with smiling faces and hands caressing their wallets. Then the peon sitting there tells Grandpa to go in.
As Grandpa goes in, he throws a cursory glance at the Director. In astonishment, he throws another glance. The face is faintly familiar. As Grandpa struggles to place the face, the Director speaks some inanities. Then in a flash, Grandpa realizes who the man is. He makes no secret of his shock. His surroundings come into focus again. He hears what the man is speaking for the first time.
Director: Excuse me, Mr.... Er. May I have the pleasure of knowing your goodname?
Grandpa (with a smile on his face): Era Mannaya. Goppodivaippoyavu okesariga! English lo matladuthunnavu? (Hey Mannayya! You seem to have become great all of a sudden! Speaking in English?)
Director (with a confused look on his face): Pardon?
Grandpa: Veshalu veyyakoyi. Gurthupattaledhu nannu? (Dont act. Havent you recognized me?)
Director: Excuse me. There seems to be a misunderstanding here.
Grandpa: Misunderstandinga na bondha. Tiruchunapalli lo moddu mannayya ga uranthatiki appudu parichayam kadha ra. Ippudedho Deshmukh ani peru pettukunnav? Nalugu sarlu matric lo fail ayyi, aidho sari naa paper choosi pass ayyavukadhara. Okka saari ga mayam aithe oorantha kangaru padindhi. Gurthu ledhu ra, apudu teacher intlo okaroju nuvvu nenu velli pariksha patralu kotteyyali ani cheppave, ippudu coachinga, (wink) hahaha! (Misunderstanding my foot. The whole town of Tiruchunapalli knew you as Dumb Mannayya. Now you seem to have changed your name to Deshmukh? You failed the matriculation (equivalent to tenth class) four times, and passed the fifth time copying from my paper. The day you disappeared, the town panicked. Dont you remember that day, you suggested that we two steal the paper from the teacher's house? Now you are giving coaching? (wink) hahaha!)
Director: Hey peon! This old man seems to be quite mad. Throw him out. Fast!
Grandpa (as he is being dragged out by the peon): Orai! Orai! Donga vedhava! Apara natakam! (Hey you cheat! stop this drama!)
Finally, the peon succeeds in dragging Grandpa out of the room. As the door slowly closes, shutting out all the ruckus from the office, giving way to a stark silence, the Director collapses in his chair. He opens the venetian blinds a wee bit, and watches the old man being shoved out of the building. He reaches for the glass of water and drains it in one huge, thirsty gulp. He is profusely sweating. He delves into his pocket and takes out a kerchief and wipes his face vigorously. He shuts out the voices in his head, thinking "AC mari thakkuva ga unnattundhi. (The AC seems to be too low.)"
It is around 5:00 pm on a hot monday. The sounds of the street faintly filter into a peaceful room, with grandpa sitting on the couch, relaxed after an afternoon siesta. Granny brings warm tea.
Granny: Munna intiki vacche time ainda? (is it time for munna to come home?)
Grandpa (glancing at his watch): Ippudu vasthundali. (Yes, he should be here now.)
(The sounds of an auto halting at the gate and the gate slamming shut are heard. Munna comes into the room and throws his bag on the sofa)
Grandpa: Entoi, baga kopamga unnattunnavu? (What, you seem to be in a fury now?)
Munna: Thathayya, ma friends andaru IIT coaching ki velthunnaru. Classlo nenokkadine coaching ki vellatledu. (Grandpa, all of my frienda are going for IIT coaching. I am the only fellow of my class who is not attending any coaching classes.)
Grandpa: Ee golantha manakendhuku raa? (Why do you want all this nonsense?)
Munna: Meeru em chestharo naku theliyadhu. Kani ee varam lopala nenu coaching ki vellali. (I dont know what you will do, but I must start attending classes within this week.)
Grandpa: Sare nanna. Ippudaithe nuvvu tiffin thinuraa. (Ok dear. For now, have food.)
(Granny brings piping hot dosas to eat)
It is the next morning. Munna has gone to his school. Grandpa has got up early and had a bath. He is preparing to go to town to check on IIT coaching centres. He goes out of the house, with a newspaper in his hand, resigned to his fate.
He reaches the busstand. As he waits for the bus, a young boy, not more than 9 yrs old, comes to the busstand and starts distributing pamphlets, shouting "IIT coaching, IIT coaching" at the top of his voice. He manages to reach grandpa and hand him a few before he is shooed away. Grandpa climbs the bus, clutching the newspaper and pamphlets in his hand.
After sitting, he starts reading the pamphlet. It is of A4 size, with a huge red border, and thick, high quality cream paper. On the top, huge black font says "excalibur IIT coaching". On the front side, it has three photos. The first photo shows a young boy with a crestfallen face, with the caption "before: failure in class ten". The second photo shows him with a wide smile, with the caption "after: state topper in class ten". The third photo shows him with the chief minister of the state (a badly created photoshop fudge), saying "hereafter: IIT first rank". The reverse side shows a lot of mug shots, with unbelievable IIT ranks below. The people in the photos appear as if in their mid and late twenties. Grandpa throws the pamphlet out of the window in disgust. The first doubts begin to assail his mind, but he pushes them away.
Grandpa the gets down at the town centre. He looks around in a lost manner for a while, before a huge balloon looming over the skyline attracts him. It has "excalibur IIT coaching" wriiten in huge letters, with a logo of a smiley grinning on the surface. For the umpteenth time, he thinks "Peru excalibur enti? Artham unda? King Arthur enduku vachchadu? (why is it named excalibur? Does the name have any meaning? Why is king arthur here?)" He pushes these thoughts to the back of his mind, and starts walking towards the huge balloon.
When he reaches the building, he is startled and looks around in confusion. The building is more like a glass box, reminding him of photos of the parisian louvre which he had seen. It looks like a lot of things, but certainly not like a place of education. While he's thinking these muddled thoughts, a burly security guard approaches him.
Guard: Emaiyya, musalaina, ikkada emi chesthunnavu? Ikkada undaniki kudaradu. po po. (Hey old man, what are you doing here? You're not allowed here. Go go.)
Grandpa (with an affronted air): Entee darunam? Evarithonaina ilanena matladalsinadhi? (What is this? Is this the way to talk with anyone?)
Guard: Povayya musalaina. neelanti vallani chala chusanu. (Go old man. I've seen many like you.)
Grandpa: Enti idhi? Nenikkada naa pillavadini cherchadaniki vasthe nuvvu... (What's this? I've come to join my child here and you...)
(The guard's behaviour totally changes, and he cringes in a servile manner.)
Guard: Babbabu. Meeru thappuga theesukokandi. Evaro anukuni ala matladanu. Loniki vellandandi. Ikkade cherchandi babu. (to another man who is standing there: Eh povaiyya. Poddunnunchi neelanti vallu ikkada nunchuni champukuthintuntaru.) (Sir sir. Please do not interpret what I said in the wrong spirit. I thought you were someone else and spoke in that manner. Please join your child here only. (to another man who is standing there: Eh, get lost.
From the morning people like you are standing here and killing me.))
The guard opens the door and ushers a bewildered grandpa into the building. A blast of cold air from the centralized air-conditioning hits Grandpa in the face as the sounds from the street fade away, to be replaced by the impatient clicks of new footwear on the impeccably polished marble floor. Its as if he has entered a whole new world. A world which conjures up images of lazy people staying in their sheets for bed coffee - that of a five star hotel. College? something's not right here. He summons courage and walks in.
As Grandpa steps into the lobby, he is staggered to see the transparent lifts plying on one side and the polished granite of the reception on the other. He somehow collects his thoughts and walks to the reception. A tired girl looks up and sizes him up in a glance. "Admissions second floor. Lift behind that fountain." She looks back at her work, and continues clicking the mouse of her PC. As Grandpa walks past, he catches the reflection of a solitaire screen on the girl's glasses. He rubs his eyes. "Optician daggariki vellali. (I need to go to the optician)" he forces himself to think.
He goes to the lift's door, and presses the button. It immediately opens to reveal a plush lift, with a familiar face inside! It's Ramu as the liftman! Ramu, who serves tea in the neighbourhood teashop in the evening! Grandpa smiles. Ramu doesnt show any sign of recognition. "Where to Sir?" He asks in an impersonal tone, with no expression on his face. Grandpa hastily converts his handshake into a meaningless gesture and says "second floor."
As the lift opens, Grandpa steps out and sees a sign saying "admissions closed". He sees another sign beside it, which says, "For admissions, contact the Director. Room 241" The apparent contradiction between the signs doesnt trouble Grandpa, whose long experience of Indian offices tells him what to do. He walks straight to room 241. The guard outside the room sees Grandpa with a pamphlet grasped in his hand, and waves him in. He walks into a gleaming lobby, with comfortable sofas and a good collection of newspapers. He sits and looks around. There are other parents sitting there, who throw a cursory glance at him and ignore him.
After a long wait, during which time all those parents go in anxiously and come out with smiling faces and hands caressing their wallets. Then the peon sitting there tells Grandpa to go in.
As Grandpa goes in, he throws a cursory glance at the Director. In astonishment, he throws another glance. The face is faintly familiar. As Grandpa struggles to place the face, the Director speaks some inanities. Then in a flash, Grandpa realizes who the man is. He makes no secret of his shock. His surroundings come into focus again. He hears what the man is speaking for the first time.
Director: Excuse me, Mr.... Er. May I have the pleasure of knowing your goodname?
Grandpa (with a smile on his face): Era Mannaya. Goppodivaippoyavu okesariga! English lo matladuthunnavu? (Hey Mannayya! You seem to have become great all of a sudden! Speaking in English?)
Director (with a confused look on his face): Pardon?
Grandpa: Veshalu veyyakoyi. Gurthupattaledhu nannu? (Dont act. Havent you recognized me?)
Director: Excuse me. There seems to be a misunderstanding here.
Grandpa: Misunderstandinga na bondha. Tiruchunapalli lo moddu mannayya ga uranthatiki appudu parichayam kadha ra. Ippudedho Deshmukh ani peru pettukunnav? Nalugu sarlu matric lo fail ayyi, aidho sari naa paper choosi pass ayyavukadhara. Okka saari ga mayam aithe oorantha kangaru padindhi. Gurthu ledhu ra, apudu teacher intlo okaroju nuvvu nenu velli pariksha patralu kotteyyali ani cheppave, ippudu coachinga, (wink) hahaha! (Misunderstanding my foot. The whole town of Tiruchunapalli knew you as Dumb Mannayya. Now you seem to have changed your name to Deshmukh? You failed the matriculation (equivalent to tenth class) four times, and passed the fifth time copying from my paper. The day you disappeared, the town panicked. Dont you remember that day, you suggested that we two steal the paper from the teacher's house? Now you are giving coaching? (wink) hahaha!)
Director: Hey peon! This old man seems to be quite mad. Throw him out. Fast!
Grandpa (as he is being dragged out by the peon): Orai! Orai! Donga vedhava! Apara natakam! (Hey you cheat! stop this drama!)
Finally, the peon succeeds in dragging Grandpa out of the room. As the door slowly closes, shutting out all the ruckus from the office, giving way to a stark silence, the Director collapses in his chair. He opens the venetian blinds a wee bit, and watches the old man being shoved out of the building. He reaches for the glass of water and drains it in one huge, thirsty gulp. He is profusely sweating. He delves into his pocket and takes out a kerchief and wipes his face vigorously. He shuts out the voices in his head, thinking "AC mari thakkuva ga unnattundhi. (The AC seems to be too low.)"
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