You stare at the incomprehensible white patterns on the blackboard as the mighty eagles soaring high allure you to look out the window up at the cloudy heaven. Even the back benches don't shun the depressing noise, the professors' glare and the Theory of screw you in chalk. Getting up at seven in the morning to brush away the previous day's staleness (yeah, you'll do that again the next day) might be very hard but sweetie don't even compare it to the struggle you go through to stay wide awake in the blue iron chair as the teacher goes on and on about things that have not and will not matter once you are thrust in the bivouac of life. That's practically heroism brave hearts! And the expression on your fellow classmates' worn out faces is nearly as entertaining as Joey's love for food.
I won't...
True, in the confinement of the four walls of distress your heart wants to see the story of the world with the eyes of the eagle up there, the story of the struggling single mother of two, the story of the optimistic newspaper boy who quietly wishes to be on the other side of the gate he aims the paper at, the story of the lonely guard silently watching his part of the campus from a corner (he is happy as long as it sustains the light in his children's eyes), the story of the street hawker and the salesman who is ready to see doors after doors get banged to his face if that could open the door to his happiness, the story of the brave girl who lived and died in love, the story of the old maasi in the mess who keeps washing plates after plates with little on her own plate, the story of old man in his solitary home whose eyes are still on the dusty path outside on which his son gave him the word and never returned... there are millions of stories outside the four walls that you want to see and write about but the stories breathing agitated breaths under the white roof of your classroom also have their foundation on the same ground, struggle of life. Each and every face has some story to tell, not all sell but all are worth the time... but they don't teach you that in one long hour's lecture. They teach you about the heartless machines. Plausible enough...
And that's why you move your head away from the dim greyish light sprawling in the room from the adjacent window and concentrate on the incomprehensible patterns so much important for good grades and a supposed bright future. Screw philosophy, suppress emotions and let the eagle have its day!
