College From The Eyes Of A Desk

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I’m a means of production probably and nothing more.
Kids, meek and sharp, running around like uniformly made boxes of glass in a factory.
Teachers, bright and enthusiastic, Walking about in uniforms dressed for safety, wearing eye
goggles for protection in case a box tries to break. All the workers, on the aim of producing 50
similar looking boxes per year.
Today’s classroom was a dull and weary series of hours tied together.
I could see the stories getting on with kids coming in into the labs.
Chattering, as they do. A thousand different colours, a hundred different shades and so many
stories, so many of them.
Probably my most favorite part of the day.
And it lasts until a lecture starts, painting all the kids the same shade.
White, but a little chapped out.
The teacher holds a paintbrush and keeps forming strokes.
Over red, black, yellow, gold and blue.
Sometimes.
To my utter most moments of joy, I do get to see some colours, trying to make their space.
I hear a little, “I can change the world” and another “Maybe I am not meant for this” from
here and there,
And I’m happy, their colours shine too bright somedays.
But sometimes I hear a little, “Damn, I need to study for 6 hours in a single night” or another,
“I know I’m better than everyone here.”
And that’s fine too, because at least their black shines bright than all the white does
collectively.
Same routine, everyday, and I’m stable. But I would be lying if I say that they all were just
boxes and glasses because sometimes the colours were so intense and constantly changing it
got hard for me to keep track.
And some days, some good days with a cup of ‘chai’ rested on me I hear social justice being
discussed.
I hear them talking politics, life, philosophy, music, wars, leaders, ideas and I try to keep their
chai as warm as their blood.
And on some days, I see breakdowns, I hear them talking suicide, families, friends, love,
hearts and I pray.
Pray to rumble and break down the exact moment even one of the kid has to sit alone on me.
But they make up,
Some days I’m loaded with food and makeup and I watch them dancing, talking and laughing.
And I wish I could produce music to never let it stop.
Some days I’m loaded with sheets and I see teachers discussing. I see them understanding
and loving.
I see education, in it’s most vulnerable form and I feel like showing this to every bench.
I have seen and I’ve heard. The dullest and the brightest words.
Education, in it’s most beautiful and most disgusting form.
I have seen discussions and I have seen cramming.
I have seen colours and I have been painted white.

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About the Poet:

Pragya Pasricha (Dept. of Economics, PU Campus)

Pragya Pasricha
(Dept. of Economics, PU Campus)

Constantly shifting from super energetic to unimaginably lazy while watching Sherlock episodes all day. I’m an enthusiast for good food, great music, enthralling conversations and of course, beautiful literature. Trying to make a difference, one word and one place at a time.

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