I wish to start this piece thanking the poor souls who have read my blog posts over the last couple of months. The stats available on blogger say that this blog has been viewed 290 times in the last one month (accounting for repeat views that should give us a reader base of about 30 people). Not a very impressive number, but enough to keep my hopes up. As one of my school teachers reminded me the other day, in the days gone by when driven by the romanticism of being a rebel, the energy that having a slim frame more often than not endows one with and naivete of a 16 year old; I would tell anyone who was willing to listen that - All it takes is small spark inside one individual, the rest will follow!
But times have moved on and though things dont look as simple as igniting a spark inside one individual, I still consider it a goal worth of aspiring for. While the goals might be praiseworthy, I realise that my writings suffer from a worsening short term memory, lack of energy and remnants of mild dyslexia. For these and other issues that you might have observed with these posts, I apologize..
A particular incident, thinking about which has consumed most of my waking hours this past weekend, concerned admission interviews at my current place of work. I had been asked to be part of an admission board which conduct admission interviews; though why someone who has barely taken7-8 classes be accorded such a privilege is beyond the realm of my understanding.
My opinions on being an interviewer was for a long time predicated on experience gleaned from the times when I was the interviewee and I had arrived at the conclusion that taking an interview would be a lot of fun. After having been part of three such admission interview board remains unchanged - taking an interview is a lot of fun. Though I am not sure but I think the release of endorphins is caused by the sadist inside me, or maybe by a feeling of gratification brought about by putting others through what I had been through or maybe it is the knowledge of the power that you command sitting across the table. However, irrespective of the source, I have found conducting interviews to be a very joyous experience.
This time however, I came across a student who woke my conscience, rather rudely too, from the stupor that it has fallen into off late. Visually he wasn't much, as unremarkable as they come, but rarely have I seen someone be so tense and calm at the same time. The first sign of trouble was signaled by his silence following the usual - please introduce yourself request. It was followed by a half hearted attempt by him to partially cover his face with sweaty and trembling hands.
I sat there, across the table (with the chair person of this 2 person board sitting next to me), transfixed, unable to figure out what to so next. My colleague, who was apparently not so afflicted, continued his investigations and discovered that the boy had travelled for 2 days, on foot, car, bus and train to get to delhi from his small town somewhere in the great hinterland of India. He was tired, could not converse in english and had not known how to prepare for this interview as no one he knew had ever taken an interview. All of these answers came from behind the thin, sweaty and shivering hand that had created an inadequate veil almost as if to shield himself from us.
He was taut like a drawn bow string during the course of the interview, which lasted not more than 7-8 mins. He left dejected with our brief interaction, but did not seem disappointed, maybe he knew what would happen. I on the other hand, reflect on the incident with a lot of disappointment.
Did I pity the boy? Maybe. Did he pity me? Maybe. Should either of us pity each other or should we carry on reveling in the possibilities that our society offers for such interactions..
But times have moved on and though things dont look as simple as igniting a spark inside one individual, I still consider it a goal worth of aspiring for. While the goals might be praiseworthy, I realise that my writings suffer from a worsening short term memory, lack of energy and remnants of mild dyslexia. For these and other issues that you might have observed with these posts, I apologize..
A particular incident, thinking about which has consumed most of my waking hours this past weekend, concerned admission interviews at my current place of work. I had been asked to be part of an admission board which conduct admission interviews; though why someone who has barely taken7-8 classes be accorded such a privilege is beyond the realm of my understanding.
My opinions on being an interviewer was for a long time predicated on experience gleaned from the times when I was the interviewee and I had arrived at the conclusion that taking an interview would be a lot of fun. After having been part of three such admission interview board remains unchanged - taking an interview is a lot of fun. Though I am not sure but I think the release of endorphins is caused by the sadist inside me, or maybe by a feeling of gratification brought about by putting others through what I had been through or maybe it is the knowledge of the power that you command sitting across the table. However, irrespective of the source, I have found conducting interviews to be a very joyous experience.
This time however, I came across a student who woke my conscience, rather rudely too, from the stupor that it has fallen into off late. Visually he wasn't much, as unremarkable as they come, but rarely have I seen someone be so tense and calm at the same time. The first sign of trouble was signaled by his silence following the usual - please introduce yourself request. It was followed by a half hearted attempt by him to partially cover his face with sweaty and trembling hands.
I sat there, across the table (with the chair person of this 2 person board sitting next to me), transfixed, unable to figure out what to so next. My colleague, who was apparently not so afflicted, continued his investigations and discovered that the boy had travelled for 2 days, on foot, car, bus and train to get to delhi from his small town somewhere in the great hinterland of India. He was tired, could not converse in english and had not known how to prepare for this interview as no one he knew had ever taken an interview. All of these answers came from behind the thin, sweaty and shivering hand that had created an inadequate veil almost as if to shield himself from us.
He was taut like a drawn bow string during the course of the interview, which lasted not more than 7-8 mins. He left dejected with our brief interaction, but did not seem disappointed, maybe he knew what would happen. I on the other hand, reflect on the incident with a lot of disappointment.
Did I pity the boy? Maybe. Did he pity me? Maybe. Should either of us pity each other or should we carry on reveling in the possibilities that our society offers for such interactions..
you mentioning what exactly he did, said or conveyed that woke you up from your stupor, would not be in vain.
ReplyDeleteor perhaps I missed it.
what interview was this? did he make it?
Admission interview. He did not. Nothing that he could have done or said would have had anywhere close to the impact that he had by just being there. Although his story did add to the effect:
ReplyDeleteThis was his first time traveling outside his town. He had spent the last month helping out with his sisters marriage and liked playing cricket. He wasn't underprivileged, in fact for all i know he might be financially better off than I am, but he was from a different world and the world that I am a part of, takes pleasure (consciously or sub-consciously) in making these boys from other worlds uncomfortable..
A very insightful reflection!!! Plus a great blog!!
ReplyDelete@Shiv: Thank you..
ReplyDelete