Cynique (la_cynique) wrote in india_writing,

My first post here :)...wherein I present my amateurish writing...


We called ourselves the Back-Benchers’ Club or the BB’C. My sister thought it was lame, and I’m inclined to agree…but the name described us right; we kept to the back-bench. Always. Mostly sleeping, or doodling, or finishing pending assignments, or even going as far as talking discreetly on our cell phones.

As a member of the BB’C, you had the first-privilege-access to the back row. But sometimes you had to fight for your turf, when other less-privileged students would start eyeing the seats during especially boring classes…the best example being Professor Agarwal’s class. It was a general consensus that time stood still whenever he droned on about plant tissues. Though you couldn’t exactly talk on cell phones during his class, or anyone else’s for that matter. That was possible only when Professor Shashi was teaching.

He taught genetics…quite well, according to the people who actually concentrated in his class. But us, the BB’C…well, we predictably never paid attention. It wasn’t like he paid any attention to us either. His vision didn’t seem to extend beyond the fourth bench. So it was during his lectures that we conveniently chatted away on our mobiles, just for the thrill of it. The fact that his class was interactive (again restricted to the first four benches) served to help our cause, as our chatting would get drowned out by the eager answers and doubts of the front-row nerds.

It was during one such lecture that I had enough of sitting at the back-bench.


I frowned in irritation at my good friend, Yash, who currently had a goofy grin on his face as he exchanged sweet nothings with his brand new girlfriend over his mobile phone. He was trying to keep his voice low, but sitting so close I could hear every word he said and that didn’t bode very well for me. Just listening to his sweet-talking (“I miss you already”, “Your voice is so lovely”, “I love you sweetheart”) made me want to gag and gave me serious urges to bang my head against something hard. After 20 minutes of being subjected to this teeth-rotting conversation, I had enough and promptly picking up my bag and doodling pad, I looked around for an empty seat. To my dismay, the only one available was in the second bench.

I sighed. I had no choice. Giving Professor Shashi (who was engrossed in drawing a DNA strand on the board) a glance I quickly made my way to the second bench and sat down quietly. I looked beside me to find myself facing Bandana Mitra, the class topper. Her thick glasses reflected the stumped expression on my face and her sudden smile showed off a shiny set of braces. My first thoughts were, ‘if this were a Hollywood movie, she’d be getting a makeover and I’d be falling in love with her within the hour.’

While coming to the realization that I had been forced to watch one too many chick-flicks by my ex-girlfriend, my thoughts were interrupted by a voice saying my name.

“Welcome to the class, Mr. Tanmay Sharma.”

Professor Shashi had stopped drawing and was now looking at me with a metaphoric twinkle in his eye.

I blinked, my brain trying to digest the information that he knew my name when I’d thought he didn’t even know I existed.

“I’m honoured that you decided to leave the back-bench and grace us with your presence,” he continued. Then giving me a smile, he turned around and got back to drawing on the board.

I ran a hand through my hair as twitters and chuckles erupted around me. Face flushing, I quickly stuffed my doodling pad in my bag and pulled out an old notebook.

I never went back to the BB’C (damn, that did sound lame!) after that. Not in Professor Shashi’s class, anyway.

Your thoughts are much appreciated :)

Tags: flash fiction

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