i don’t even know what is going on in this college anymore. the atmosphere is so utterly non-academic that it feels like no one here is genuinely inclined towards studying. and i keep asking myself that why have these people even taken this course, this holy course? i imagined literature would be a space of depth, rigor, and thought. instead, i find myself on the verge of tears in the middle of lectures. when the teacher asks if anyone has doubts, the questions raised are so childishly simple that they sound like something from nursery school. and the level of foolery that follows is beyond imagination. it is exhausting. the reading sessions are even worse. when people are asked to read aloud, their accents and pronunciations are so unbearably bad that i feel as if my own diction will collapse just by sitting in the room. what makes it worse is that the teachers don’t even correct them. and the phd scholars, those who are supposed to guide us, carry the same flaws. their pronunciation is poor, their interpretations are often wrong, and yet they deliver it with confidence. everyone else nods along, as if in agreement, while i am silently screaming, what is even going on?
and here lies the real frustration. this is not what studying literature was supposed to be. i had imagined something else entirely, a different level of discourse. instead, i am stuck in classrooms where english is butchered daily. my own fear now is that if i keep studying in this environment, my english too will be butchered. sometimes, in those moments, i feel like laughing at the absurdity, crying out of despair, or even crushing my skull out of sheer frustration. because what i had envisioned and what i am receiving are worlds apart. i wish i had a better college, a better circle of people, a place where peers actually know what we are doing here. i crave that intellectual company, but here, i am only left with disappointment.
and here lies the real frustration. this is not what studying literature was supposed to be. i had imagined something else entirely, a different level of discourse. instead, i am stuck in classrooms where english is butchered daily. my own fear now is that if i keep studying in this environment, my english too will be butchered. sometimes, in those moments, i feel like laughing at the absurdity, crying out of despair, or even crushing my skull out of sheer frustration. because what i had envisioned and what i am receiving are worlds apart. i wish i had a better college, a better circle of people, a place where peers actually know what we are doing here. i crave that intellectual company, but here, i am only left with disappointment.
😭14❤3👍1
let me be clear. i don’t think i’m perfect. i make mistakes too, and i’m constantly learning. but the level of mediocrity around me is so overwhelming that i can feel myself developing a god complex just by existing here.
and before anyone says “oh, that’s condescending”, no, it’s really not. it would be condescending if i said this about people from a completely different field. but if you chose to study english literature, then speaking coherent, reasonably good english is the bare minimum. it’s not arrogance to expect that. it’s not elitism. it’s literally the foundation of the discipline. so yes, if people can’t even manage that, then calling it pathetic is simply an accurate description.
and before anyone says “oh, that’s condescending”, no, it’s really not. it would be condescending if i said this about people from a completely different field. but if you chose to study english literature, then speaking coherent, reasonably good english is the bare minimum. it’s not arrogance to expect that. it’s not elitism. it’s literally the foundation of the discipline. so yes, if people can’t even manage that, then calling it pathetic is simply an accurate description.
❤12😢1
Forwarded from Hey soul sister~
This is my Roman Empire because it's not just literature but factually every field in this country.
Bare minimum bhi humare liye maximum effort job hai because that's what we've been taught all our lives. And God forbid you try/want to do something new. Idk why in a field and in an age where you're supposed to experiment, we're all forced to conform and limit ourselves
Bare minimum bhi humare liye maximum effort job hai because that's what we've been taught all our lives. And God forbid you try/want to do something new. Idk why in a field and in an age where you're supposed to experiment, we're all forced to conform and limit ourselves
❤8
tell me, shakuntala, how did it feel to be forgotten, your love erased as if it never existed? did the river and trees remember what he could not?
tell me, gandhari, how heavy was the blindfold on your soul? was it devotion or surrender? did each arrow that struck your sons tear through your silence?
tell me, mandodari, was the golden city your cage or your home? did your wisdom scream against his lust, or did silence become your refuge?
tell me, ahalya, did the stone cradle or imprison you? was your freedom liberation or exile within your own skin?
tell me, kunti, was motherhood a chain or a crown? did the weight of your secrets burn your heart as fiercely as the sun blessed your womb?
tell me, meera, did your devotion protect you from death? did the anklets on your feet ring louder than the mockery of men?
tell me, sati, was the fire your choice, or did the world push you into it? did you close your eyes and let it consume you whole?
tell me, parvati, when you became kali, did the world tremble at your rage or your freedom? did you taste power and wonder why it was kept from you?
tell me, urmila, did your waiting strip you bare or make you stronger, until all you had left was your shadow?
tell me, all of you, what is this world of men you walked through? did they write your names into stories to bind you tighter? or was it you who chose to endure, to remain?
tell me, gandhari, how heavy was the blindfold on your soul? was it devotion or surrender? did each arrow that struck your sons tear through your silence?
tell me, mandodari, was the golden city your cage or your home? did your wisdom scream against his lust, or did silence become your refuge?
tell me, ahalya, did the stone cradle or imprison you? was your freedom liberation or exile within your own skin?
tell me, kunti, was motherhood a chain or a crown? did the weight of your secrets burn your heart as fiercely as the sun blessed your womb?
tell me, meera, did your devotion protect you from death? did the anklets on your feet ring louder than the mockery of men?
tell me, sati, was the fire your choice, or did the world push you into it? did you close your eyes and let it consume you whole?
tell me, parvati, when you became kali, did the world tremble at your rage or your freedom? did you taste power and wonder why it was kept from you?
tell me, urmila, did your waiting strip you bare or make you stronger, until all you had left was your shadow?
tell me, all of you, what is this world of men you walked through? did they write your names into stories to bind you tighter? or was it you who chose to endure, to remain?
❤17