Class act

Earlier this week I went to guest-teach a class in a journalism course. I had done it before, many years ago, and have done my share of teaching everything from dance to English to how to deal with recalcitrant veggies in an Indian curry (that was pure fantasy, believe me!) over the years and enjoyed it all thoroughly. So much so that when people told me that I should consider teaching as a side-line to journalism, I did spend a little while thinking about it…and then decided I liked wandering in to classes, spending time with students and then wandering out again, unfettered by the arduous responsibilities of setting exams, correcting papers, formulating assignments and – perhaps worst of all – maintaining a modicum of discipline in young people that I always hated to have imposed on me. In other words, eating my cake and having it too, playing and not putting my toys away, having fun without the fuss of being grown up about it.

So when my friend asked me whether I would be guest lecturer for her class, I agreed. This, in spite of the fact that I was not first choice for it, something that would normally have ticked me off enough to growl peevedly at both friend and idea when we met again…if ever, considering my usual mood about not being asked before anyone else. But this was a close enough friend, this was a fun enough request, and this was indeed something I could enjoy doing with a clear conscience and lots of potential for laughter. So after checking on the dress code – colleges in this city are getting strangely tough on what is considered ‘decent’ clothing – and making sure I was on the same track as my friend and her class, I was up and out bright and early Tuesday morning, with due apologies to my trainer for missing my gym regimen that day and the day before for different reasons. The ride was oddly easy; not much traffic to get my frazzle level up and not too hot to make stepping out of the air-conditioning of the car an unpleasantly sticky chore. We got there in time, cool, calm, collected and casually anticipatory.

Trotting breathlessly up three flights of stairs – blame it on a raging bronchial infection, not my lax gym routine of the week – behind my friend, we came across various young people, most of whom greeted my friend formally but with wide smiles. And as we walked into the large room that served as a classroom, there were more smiles, some with an added helping of curiosity directed at me, obviously a stranger to the place and rather incongruous in that setting, but seemingly part of the décor, for the day at least. I sat quietly as my friend went through her routine of checking attendance for the session, making her comments on those who were not present and putting in a little more warmth for a few that she seemed to have a soft spot for. And then she introduced me…very briefly, as I had asked for.

The class went well, or so I thought. The young people were bright, some more involved in the semester than others, almost all taking the class because it was an ‘easy’ grade perhaps, rather than out of pure interest. A few tried to hide behind their peers, one or two fading into a sort of coma that they hoped would make them invisible, all of them with ears perked as they realized that it was not that simple. After all, I had been a student too, and knew most of the tricks they were trying to use – those never change, I understand, since my parents also told me about them. They seemed to be absorbed, participating, keen to know more. But whether they enjoyed themselves as much as I did…you will have to ask them for that one!