Confusion & pedagogy

The Man from Madras Musings was rudely woken up from his reverie by the phone ringing. Who could be calling at this early hour, MMM wondered. Perhaps the Chief over that mix-up with the photographs in the last issue? But the voice was that of a female who appeared to be all agog with some information. In fact, she had evidently begun speaking even before MMM had answered the call. It was only after some time that MMM managed to register what she was saying. It appeared that sometime in the dim past, of which MMM had no recollection, the lady had invited him to come to her college to speak at a function and the event was on that day. MMM rather feebly protested that he had received no communication since the day of the call, but the caller was quite firm that she had sent an email. MMM made bold to ask her as to when it was sent and then got to know that it was just a minute or two before the phone call.

Not wishing to disappoint the caller, especially after she had given MMM a terrific build up (“Sir, I am a great fan of yours, I read everything you write”) and realising that it involved speaking to the students for about ten minutes on history, MMM agreed and duly presented himself at the college at the appointed hour. MMM does not know about your experience but, being a veteran speaker at many colleges and schools, MMM realises that all of them have one thing in common – the security at the gate is never informed about a guest coming into the institution. MMM is usually stopped at the gate and asked a million questions. He is told to fend for parking space and then, asking as to where the event is taking place, is usually waved onwards with a vague gesture. MMM then wanders around the campus like the lonely cloud that floats on o’er vales and hills till he comes upon a crowd, a host of giggling students. This campus was no different and it was only after asking several students, teachers and others that MMM located the place where he was to speak.

The preliminary meeting was all that MMM could wish for. The teacher who had invited him gushed and showered encomiums on MMM whereupon MMM blushed and tried to look modest. He was asked whether he would have tea or coffee and when MMM asked for black tea sans sugar he was served milky coffee with enough sweetness in it to fill a confectioner’s order for the day. Having digested that, MMM was introduced to another gentleman who, MMM learnt, was a respected figure in historical circles and was scheduled to speak after MMM. This half had not been told unto MMM, felt MMM, as the Queen of Sheba said on meeting Solomon, but a closer scrutiny of the invitation’s email print-out revealed that it had all along been there. MMM assumed that the learned professor would speak for ten minutes like MMM but this hope was soon dashed to the ground for, the don having enquired from MMM as to how long he was to speak, curved his lips in a scornful smile at the mere ten minutes and said with mournful pride that he, a learned professor, was scheduled to harangue for a good 45 minutes.

There was nothing that could be done (or, as they say in Chennai, MMM could not able to do anything) other than grin and bear it and so off everyone went to the auditorium, the gushing lady, the blushing MMM and the knowledgeable pedagogue.

Stage shocks

The audience was a group of bored students who had apparently been suffering a two-day symposium on the same subject. They looked as prepared as MMM to make a quick dash for it had they not been restrained by attendance rules.

The programme began with the gushing lady introducing MMM and the other guest. “We have in our midst the great NNN,” she declared. And then proceeded to read out a bio data that MMM was fairly certain belonged to NNN whoever that was but certainly not he. It was only halfway through it that MMM realised it was an old profile of his, something that was at least ten years old when MMM was a mere mmm. After that wound its way to an end, MMM got onto the mike and held forth for ten minutes, returning to his seat to thunderous applause, no doubt owing to his having been brief.

Then came the turn of the main speaker. And listening to him, MMM realised as to why history was such an unpopular subject. Beginning with a simple statement that he would hold forth on the post-orientalist subaltern colonial approach to history or something that sounded like that, the speaker went on to dwell at length on post-empiricism, post-structuralism and the linguistic turn. He then waxed eloquent on epistemological violence where truth is power and thundered about bourgeois Indian nationalism which, he said, had elided from something to something else that MMM has quite forgotten.

He had a presentation that was in essence every word of his speech and this played on in the background. MMM, whose vision is not of the very best, decided to spend his time usefully by treating the power point presentation as a sort of eye test, trying his best to read all the words as they passed everyone by. MMM also occasionally stole a glance at the audience. A group of girls at a far corner were giggling away. Two teachers dozed off and their heads nodded in unison. MMM waited to see if they would collide and was soon rewarded for his penance. The commotion caused by the two of them knocking their heads and waking up caused a few others to stir. And all the while the professor spoke on about the empiricists and the structuralists. Having exhausted that he said he had set the stage for the present-day situation and then spoke on something called the Cambridge school for a few minutes. And then, just as he appeared to be all set to go on for the entire afternoon, he suddenly finished and sat down. The result was stunning. The audience, realising that freedom was nigh, clapped uproariously.

Driving home, MMM could not help wondering if any of the students had taken back anything worthwhile by way of history from the talk. MMM is not blaming the professor who spoke, but he belonged to a different strata altogether, that of senior dons at a high table discussing matters of pith and moment. It was hardly the kind of speech that would inspire students to take to a career in history.

The only one who appeared pleased was the gushing lady. She had achieved the task of conducting a two-day workshop. Certificates were given and everybody went home happy.

Tailpiece

Back home, The Man from Madras Musings declared that he would rather not attend another college event if he could help it. To this his good lady, also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed, said rather tartly that all MMM had to do was to write about it in his column and his wishes would be fulfilled. She also said something about not having any friends ever since MMM began writing ‘that dratted column’ but MMM opted not to hear that. Trust the good lady to come up with a solution.

- MMM