Fast Teachers, Slow Teachers, and the Great Syllabus Race

In every college, there are two types of teachers. One finishes the syllabus so fast you wonder if they're training for the Olympics. The other moves so slowly you're not sure if they've noticed the semester has started.

The "fast" ones are like "मैं निकला गड्डी ले के, रास्ते पे ओ…" (Gadar: Ek Prem Katha). The moment the semester begins, zoom!  they're off. Shakespeare? Monday. Milton? Tuesday. Romantic poets? Wednesday. By Friday they're already at T.S. Eliot, and students are still figuring out how to spell "Prufrock."🫣

One postgraduate class, packed with students from science and commerce backgrounds had "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" wrapped up in a few days. Eliot's delicate, hesitant lines were served like railway-station tea: hot, hurried, and slightly confusing. Students barely got time to taste his "coffee spoons" before the teacher declared it "done". 

Instead of asking "Do I dare disturb the universe?", they were left wondering whether the universe had just disturbed 'them'.

A few even hummed helplessly:  
"जाने कहाँ मेरा जिगर गया जी, अभी-अभी यहीं था किधर गया जी…" (Mr. & Mrs. 55)
And when they tried to ask? Their mood was pure:  
"चलो चलो थाने बताएं जमादार से…"  as if the only way to recover Prufrock's meaning was to lodge an FIR for its disappearance!

Within a month of the new session, these teachers are already singing "एक चतुर नार करके सिंगार, मेरे मन को भाए" (Padosan). Browning, Donne, Yeats, all pass through their classroom like wedding guests who only stay long enough to grab the sweets and run.

Then comes the golden "tea-and-coffee" season. ☕ Months of relaxed staffroom chats, where cups are raised like trophies in the Coffee Cup Olympics. Student asks for revision? Cool reply: "Syllabus complete, beta."🥳

On the flip side are the "slow" ones, happily humming "हौले-हौले हो जाएगा प्यार…" (Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi). Week one: Shakespeare's childhood. Week two: What he ate for breakfast. Week three: Elizabethan England's weather patterns. Week four: The exact wood used in Globe Theatre seats.

By the time they reach "Who's there?" in Hamlet, the exams are practically knocking on the classroom door.

Here's the thing, both styles miss the point completely. Literature isn't a 100-meter sprint, but it's also not a three-hour picnic where the boat never leaves the shore. It should be like a good walk with friends: steady pace, interesting stops, time to actually 'see' things.

You should be able to savor Hamlet's "To be or not to be" without feeling like you're being chased by a tiger. You should feel the weight of Eliot's "Do I dare eat a peach?" without panicking that you'll fail if you actually stop to imagine the juice dripping down your chin.

But until that magical balance arrives, classrooms will keep ping-ponging between "ज़िंदगी एक सफ़र है सुहाना, यहाँ कल क्या हो किसने जाना" (Andaz) and "रुक जाना नहीं तू कहीं हार के" (Imtihaan). 

And the students? They're stuck paddling in the middle, hoping someone will eventually teach the syllabus like a good story, not like breaking news that expires in five minutes, and not like a bedtime lullaby that puts everyone to sleep before the prince even shows up.😬

Disclaimer: No particular teacher is targeted in this comic piece. The aim is just to enjoy the lighter side of classroom life with some simple, beautiful observations.