“Nothing is more tragic than failure to discover one’s true business in life….” reads one half of a statement made by John Dewey in his Democracy and Education. I am proud to say that I have after a lot of minimal effort discovered my one true business and hence my life is no more tragic. (My life could be a joke but that’s not saying much either.) My one true business in life is to complain about things, all things in an academic method and hope that someday I will be able to fashion a career out of doing precisely that. “Why this career, you ask?” I arrived at this choice after a long, tedious two weeks. Read on and you shall know.
To start off, it is important to acknowledge that discussing professors outside classrooms is neither unique nor a recent phenomena. People have done it for “oh so long” that now, it is eye roll worthy. But in the interest of academia and humanities and well, myself I choose to embark on this well beaten path nonetheless in the hopes that I have a career (or even a degree) at the end of it. I will also add that these men are luckily the rule and not the exception. You see, the exception is not worth mulling over. They invariably have their heads buried behind big books and conduct painfully choreographed classes. So what’s the point? We might as well get to the ones worth talking about.
One fine day, a certain professor who I have had the privilege of knowing, let us all know in class that “Literature is about friendship and love and togetherness”. Now if this isn’t odd in of itself owing to its factual inaccuracy, it’s made odder by the fact that the class in question had gathered to discuss post colonial literature. Irony hung in the air pregnant as yesteryear post colonial theorists rolled in their graves. Unless our man thought that colonialism painted a pretty picture of Wordsworth’s Daffodils, one cannot help but wonder what surreptitious thoughts lurked beneath his throaty laughter and rich baritone.
But let’s get back. This was the start of many such glorious statements which needed; nay begged documentation. What followed were adorable sexist statements and delightful racist slurs. All of a sudden, the use of the word “colored” and “slaves” was no more pejorative. Stating that “women need to take care of the family” also went. “Anything goes in academia.” the voice in my head informed me. “Anything goes, but these academics. They just simply refuse to leave.”
Not to isolate our man, I’ll add other men to the list. Another lovely gentlemen informed my class, that what separated lit majors from others was their “higher understanding of things”. If the lovely gentleman was speaking about cannabis, I would whole-heartedly agree and also furnish proof, if need be. If not, I confess, I am lost. He also went on to add that we all were stuck in the present and did not pay allegiance to the past. “Presentism” he called it. I couldn’t help but wonder how everyone who accused me and my peers of being presentists, looked and dressed the same. You know, the saffron clad, proud types??
You could turn around and say that “All of this, is none of my business.” But you would be wrong. Like I said my one true business is to complain, to write words and hope and pray that at least ten people read them. What else could I possibly do? I cannot teach in this day and age. Neither do I have a single garment of saffron clothing, nor do I have the uncanny knack for making glorious sweeping statements. I cannot hold a broom right, let alone sweep statements.
And so I’ll just let the glorious men do their job of paying homage to age old notions as they stand on the graves of all things liberal and whatever else is left. I will just stick to complaining. Now don’t frown. It is better than protesting, isn’t it?
*dedicated to UGC, all things saffron and all those who didn’t clear NET.
asifwordssuffice 
Lol.
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