Story 5: Parents’ meet… a Lovely Catastrophe
Note: All the characters in this story are completely…well almost, unreal. Some of the events that have really occurred have been exaggerated for giving them amusing effects. So this is NOT to be taken seriously. (I don’t want more teens going into depression for no reasons)
I was sitting with a smile on my face as usual as the Chemistry lecturer spoke to me and my mother. This was an event called the “Parents’ meet”, where parents get to know more about their own children by listening to lecturers.
Long ago, there was a time when parents would spend more time with their children to “get to know their children better”. Now, as far as I’ve observed, most don’t really bother about this anymore. Now they only want to know about one aspect: Academics.
I don’t blame them though as the whole society, education system, environment itself has become such that they see academics as if it’s a big thing. Practically speaking, it really is just a small part of life…very small for some actually. Anyway, this is a story, let me continue.
So the chemistry lecturer went on about me, “Oh he’s smart. Now once he goes home, he will write an article on this parents’ meet itself. A blog from his own imagination…”
Well sir, if you’re reading this right now, I’d say, Thank you sir, and I guess this is the story you were referring to!.
He continued, “He’s out of this world. It’s like whatever happens here doesn’t affect him at all…” this was common to mother’s ears.
The only difference was that I took it like a compliment, she would get a little worried.
Then the lecturer went through my marks and said, “He’s on a constant level. Staying on the average line.”
He turned my mother and concluded, “Ma’am, just leave it to him. From now on, don’t push. It’s his choice now. Let us just leave it to him and see.” Turning to me he said, “So it’s all left to you now. Do what you can. We have done our part, it’s all on you now.”
With that, we (me and my mother) left the room.
Next we met the computer lecturer. It didn’t really take much time here. My mom started, “So he’s been spending a lot of time writing journals these days. With that reason, there’s nothing I can say…” I turned around to look at the rest of the room. There were two other students sitting and writing… journals.
I nudged my mom and pointed to those students. My lecturer sitting in front chuckled, “Yes, it will go on for sometime… with respect to computer science, he’s doing well…” turning to me he asked, “What about other subjects? How’s the progress?”
I said, “Uh…” thinking about what to reply and soon got lost in my own thoughts (this happened pretty often). My mom broke the silence, “They’re just average.”
“So when are the grades going up?” he asked me. “Oh, they’ll go up for sure.” I replied.
“When?” he asked, stressing on the word. I slowly mumbled, “Um, preparatory examinations…”
“You have to show this time.” He said sternly as we stood up to leave.
Physics… don’t ask
Then we went to meet a Physics lecturer. The thing about Physics was that I was very strong in some chapters and null in some. So the grades were nowhere stable. If you drew a graph of my grades, they would have more ups and downs than a professional guitarist could strum.
But the physics department lecturer, didn’t seem to bother much on that. He was far more concerned about my handwriting(honestly, all people actually care seem to be concerned… excluding me) . This was typical to my mother. She’d heard this complaint for millions of years.
What made this unique was when the lecturer suggested me to buy a two-line notebook to write in. I still wished he’d never said that. Because that was one thing my mother took seriously.
As we were going back home, my mom literally bought a two-line book for me…without telling me! After she bought it, she showed it to me.
At home, I spent hours just staring at how the book looks. To make matters worse, once I was holding the book when my 5 year old brother looked at me and the book in my hand and smiled.
Back at home, I called to a friend of mine, the chicken ( a character from my previous stories). He told me that that particular lecturer had told almost EVERYONE to buy two-line notebooks. Ah, that’s just great.
Finally, we met two Maths lecturers. All my grades here were good, except for the last one. So one of them pointed and asked, “What happened to this test?”
“Um, New Year Party… too much food… overnight vomiting… “ I stammered. This discussion went on for a while, let me NOT go into the details. You wouldn’t want to hear that.
The next part of discussion was when the same lecturer asked, “ What do you want to do after 12th boards?”
I looked at both the lecturers’ faces, then looked at my mom.
No, they weren’t ready for my answer.
“There is too much to do sir,” I replied.
“Guitar?” asked the lecturer who was beside him, with a smile. I narrowed my eyes at him.
Why is he even here? I thought.
The lecturer who had asked of my career spoke again, “Mention at least one of those things you want to do.”
“Writing,” I replied. “But you’re handwriting…” he pointed out.
“I usually type,” I said.
“Then you’re not a writer. It makes you a typist.” He laughed along with the other lecturer.
So much for being a writer.
“No a typist doesn’t express his own perspective, ideas or imaginations, he literally just types. But writing is an art.” I wanted to explain, but the sentences didn’t form right in my mind at that moment. Did I mention I am slow?
Later, we came back home. My grandfather was lying on his bed. He enquired me as soon as he saw me, “So, what did they say?”
I replied, “They told me that I am an excellent student. They told me to keep my performance up. They even told me my handwriting was a worldwide sensation…”