"Yes, yes, yes!" the students screamed in unison, thumping desks and pumping fists. They were celebrating the end of the session. It felt like I had been slapped. I had spent the previous two hours explaining to them why it was important to prepare for the future. I don't think I had been pedantic - on the contrary, I had strewn my monologue with anecdotes and given them lists of wonderful books and must-see movies. Yet, here I was, closing the session to boos and laughter.
I went into shock, of a sort. Instead of saying my goodbyes to the faculty of the college where I had been invited to speak to first-year engineering students on "Motivation", I stormed out and rushed home. I have spoken at a number of colleges in Mumbai, but never have I been shouted out of a session.
It kept whirling in my mind. Did I come across as too sincere? Should I work harder at breaking the ice? One student at the back had been laughing throughout, so one hour into the session, unable to ignore it any longer, I hissed: "If there is something really funny you want to deal with, why don't you step out and get it over with before joining us again?" He looked at me as if I was a portrait of Hitler before a Jew.
The workshop was a two-day event during which different speakers addressed students on a host of human resource and recruitment topics. The batch I addressed was electronics and telecommunications. Another speaker addressed computer science. Disaster had struck on Day 1, and the next day, we were supposed to switch batches.
After gingerly making it to the college the next morning, I asked the other speaker how his experience had been. On listening to my tragic story, he said: "These first-year engineering students, they don't care, you know. They are not interested in all this big talk about a future and career. They just want to have fun. Never mind what happened. Even in my session yesterday, two students nodded off and started snoring. I had to break off and ask them to leave."
That was all ok, but I was still hurting from the stridently personal nature of the attack. Was I imagining it or had they really high-fived in jubilation? One of the faculty members who was responsible for organising the event walked up to me. "Sir," she said, playing upset, "you left without informing us yesterday..."
"Ma'am, to be honest, the students I spoke to yesterday did not want the session," I replied. "It was obvious as daylight. I have never felt so humiliated."
Her mouth fell open. The previous day she had boasted to me the great reputation of her college and what she called the "cattle-like" nature of her students. The cattle had turned out to belong to another animal family.
I walked into the session with computer science students and announced: "Hi everyone! I was in your college yesterday as you know, and I addressed your counterparts in electronics engineering. Frankly, I had a most terrible experience. So if there is anyone here who is not interested in being here and is sitting simply because it is compulsory, you are more than welcome to leave. I will give you attendance."
I was stern, my eyes looking ahead, my lips patched together. I waited a minute for them to decide and deliberately created a sense of tension by giving them the steely look. When no one moved, as I had expected, I started my session. I introduced myself and spoke about my own engineering days. From there, the conversation flowed smoothly, and things were in much better control.
Later, I spoke to a friend who works as a recruiter in information technology, and she had this to say: "See, it's also about the college. The one you went to is not well-known. Students have all sorts of complexes and most of them are there just to get a degree. How they behaved was not personal. They will boo anyone who is different and suggests things to try."
Now the ordeal was over, and I was no longer affected by how the electronics batch had treated me. But truth be told, I was nonplussed by how driven their dismissal of me had been. Why would they, I asked myself, undermine an outsider who had merely come over to say a few supposedly useful things and to whom they ought to have shown their best faces?
I had invested not just my time and energy but also a part of me when I had let myself open before those students. I had shared my journey from engineering to journalism to Masters in Business Administration to training, and in so doing, had hoped that they would come to appreciate the glorious uncertainties of life. While they, as my friend said, were in it for killing time. Ultimately, I let it go, without learning if I was right to feel a sense of loss and whose loss it was anyway.
The author has switched too many jobs in the past and hopes he can hold down this one
Disclaimer: These are personal views of the writer. They do not necessarily reflect the opinion of www.business-standard.com or the Business Standard newspaper
