Dealing with the BBM syndrome

Pic courtesy: Gulf News

It was just another day in class, and the subject that day was 'Indianisms' in the English language and how to avoid them. The class had a gala time laughing at sentences like: 'I will sit on your head' and 'Eat your breakfast fast fast'. It was a point when we came to one of the funniest ones - 'Come again'. The way I said it in class, I had them in splits, and I am sure some imaginations ran a little further than necessary in the span of those 30 seconds. In my list of Indianisms, right after 'Come again' was 'What to do now?' The minute I said it, they shouted in unison 'Come again!'

There was no going back. It was too funny to control my laughter, so what if I was the instructor? I am, after all, only human :)

On that funny note, I gave them their break, about 15  minutes ahead of time since there was no way I could deal with this class, every member of which was in splits.

It that fun mood, 15 minutes and numerous sandwiches, samosas and tea cups later, we rejoined to finish the class. I started, and noticed a student in the front row busy BBM-ing away. My eyes met his, and he realised, so I let it go, and continued with class. A few minutes later, it was like the reel was rewound and replayed, eye contact et al, and once again I let it go for I was in no mood to deliver a lecture on discipline and manners. Plus, I did not want to dissipate the hilarious mood of the entire class. When it happened for the third time, I could not control myself, I just coolly walked to his chair, took the phone away and went back to my desk, my walk calm yet purposeful. It could have gone either way, but I decided to take the fun route, and I told him that I was going to auction his phone away and donate the money to charity. Of course, he was allowed to bid for it too! He took the warning pretty lightly at first, sure that he was getting his phone back. When after over half an hour later, class went on smoothly, he realised that I meant business.

Coincidentally that day, class ended 10 minutes early, and all the other boys in class who wanted to screw the case of their BBM-ing friend, started chanting "auction, auctiON, aucTION, AUCTION!" I gave in, and we started with a 1000 bucks. I had one of the boys stating the technical details of the phone, and with each rising bid of 100, the owner broke into a new sweat. I added a little fuel to the fire by asking those who didn't have a smart phone to bid for one, and asking the mischievous ones to bid for the phone to get the juicy details of their friend! I knew the owner was not in completely agony or misery, but he was getting certain that the phone was not going to be handed over to him with a mere warning and nothing more.

Finally, in a sensible bid (as opposed to a sweeping bid to pull a friend's leg) that could be offered only in multiples of hundred, the figure reached Rs 7,000. At that point the owner slowly got up, each move calculated, upped the bid by a hundred bucks and simply asked his friends not to outbid him. No one did, and he walked up to me claiming the phone, making a smart comment that he'll donate the amount to a charity. He then made to move to take his phone form my desk. Not someone to let go so easily, especially when being fooled, I let out a sinister laugh and asked him to pay up. "Now or never." Realising there was no way other than shelling out the money, he agreed to withdraw it from a near by ATM and give it to me in exchange for the phone. At that instant, I yelled at him about manners and respect in a half-jest voice, but meant business. I gave him the phone against the deposit of Rs 500 and a warning that he would lose his phone the next time.

The idea was not just fun, but to teach them all a tough lesson, that teachers are capable of following their word through if decorum is not maintained. Following this incident, I still hear a few jokes flying around, saying, "Shraddha ke class mein phone haath mein mat rakh, auction ho jaayega!" As for the 500 bucks, the note is still neatly tucked away in the corner of my wallet, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner on the last day of class.

Who said college can't be fun?