Reflections

Sometime in February of 2019, in between Meta Madness. There was a rare moment of silence. Events had gotten over earlier. It was a light day. I was at Prof VJ’s table reading one of the new books that were added.

I remember coming across old portfolio of a senior who is a friend now. We share dog reels now so that’s the highest tier of internet friendship if you ask me.

I asked the Professor who was sipping her chai and interrupted her time.

What do you look forward in a portfolio?

She enthusiastically kept her mug down. Moved forward in her chair. Wide eyes and with a big smile says, “Reflections!” and goes back. She said, “People are mad, sometimes they don’t realise where it’s coming from. They say a lot unknowingly and not just to fill space.”

Now that I know Prof VJ likes reading reflections of the semester. I actually put in effort to convey all the things I wanted to say. Mostly funny, Sometimes philosophical. The reflections would be a complain box of the what could have beens, would have beens.

Since I finish my portfolio earlier than the deadline. I would just write what I feel. It is a very weird way of getting introduced to the idea of letting go. If only I followed this letting go business in other aspects. Ooh self burn, those are rare.

This writing whatever I want to say was the reason why my acknowledgment section in my MA dissertation being nine pages instead of the solitary one.

Today, I am on the other side reading these portfolio reflections. I will admit that the students I am associated with, their portfolio submission is giving me stress. But it’s also an enjoyable one. It’s like getting brain freeze but also having a goosebumps moment.

I have been having an oscillating mood on my career choice (something I wanted) and my other decisions (something I only took). This floating around business is nice but when others are zooming through speed boats. Little dhak dhak dhak dhak happens.

Some of these students are mailing their portfolios. I have been up since 5AM because it’s my day off so of course I got up early. But I am equally adrenaline pumped to see these reflections.

I have also been asking these students to write me a review, an anonymous one, so that I don’t do a witch hunt. It’s my first experience, everything else I have wanted hasn’t gone smoothly. The ones I don’t, surprisingly do.

This “teaching” gig too was a learning experience. Brackets because compared to the professors I interact with. Mine is actually easy. I only deal with one batch of students from one class. I have the enormous luxury of being focussed on them. I am just an ordinary man being pulled up by the many profs I interacted with.

It is a thankless job. None of these Dabba fellows got emotional when I said it was my last class with them.

I read some of their reflections. All these people said that I roast them (no comments), I was strict (absolutely denying this statement) and that I am nice (they publish lies these days).

Battling this imposter syndrome is a story for another day. But for those two hours, only the students and their attempts at writing. Mostly bad first drafts and decent second drafts are in mind.

But also you see some changes. I shed this unexplainable happy tears thinking about them.

I remember the boy who stopped feeling inferior about his English. He writes soup boy poetry now but at least he is free of inhibitions in some way?

I like that the girl who was the most silent in class wrote only from her heart on what is my favourite piece this semester.

She wrote about her joint family and how it relegates women to kitchen across generations. Is it a sob story type piece? No. It’s an attempt to document women in the way that is accessible to her.

She just writes. I don’t know how else to describe it. And what writing she did! I am glad writing gave her that space. I will savour her win someday. I still have some more to do. But her win is personal and I will celebrate it the right way.

My Saturdays seem relaxing again after today. My WhatsApp would have less messages now. My inbox would not have unread emails. Can’t believe this is making me a bit sad and teary.

Thankless job, yes. But lots to be thankful about.

I have grown as a journalist. Funnily not in a traditional journalistic sense. I am grateful for that.

Special shoutout to this one student who tore a half page and wrote a one line review.

“No complaints, good roast. All okay.”