He enjoys the passivity of sitting in a classroom again, listening to an instructor, being told what to do.
This line from the book I’m reading currently, The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri, brought me out of the hour-long emotional stupor I was in. I wonder why I keep reading Jhumpa’s books despite how much it emotionally destroys me.
Anyways, the reason it shook me awake was because I was reminded that I wanted to write here, about just that. Being a student again.
It has been 3 years since I was a student, with 49 others who were selected for the half-internship-half-summer school that Dentsu Webchutney had organised. Day in and out, we would watch things like The Gap by Ira Glass, a video that set out to tell us being a young creative means being constantly disappointed by ourselves, and listen to guest speakers like Nikhil Kant talk about their work to us on Zoom. We’d populate Slack channels with questions and notes and submissions to copywriting exercises and other such assignments. By the end of it, I had hoarded a golden collection of names of writers, essays and blogs and a tiny crush on the director of the program.
Being back in a classroom meant being a baby again, or at least that’s what a note written by my now-instructor told me.
“In this journey as a writer, you are a baby. A baby cannot and should not have firm notions of what it can and cannot do. Be bold and brave and experiment as a writer. Don't say, I can never write ABC. I can never do this, that, and the other. You DON'T know that. You are a baby. You have to try.”
The instructor who had written these words is also the founder and director of the school I am a student in — Bangalore Writers Workshop, and her name is Bhumika Anand. The note about being a baby was only a small part of the many readings she had assigned for us before the first class.
I have to spend a minute ruminating on the series of events that (serendipitously?) landed me here, in this classroom belonging to the Bangalore Writers Workshop.
I had been browsing books at Atta Galatta, a bookstore in Indiranagar, the previous week. My friends and I were silently standing before 3 sections of the shelves when my eyes caught a purplish book cover titled “The Bww Bangalore Anthology. Edited by Bhumika Anand.”
Ever since I read Shoba Narayan’s Namma Bangalore, I considered myself a bit of an enthusiast about any piece of literature revolving around this city so it took me only a few seconds of consideration before I was making the payment at the counter.
Over the next two days, I engrossed myself in the book despite being around my friends. It was a collection of short stories based in Bangalore, about being an immigrant here, about being a native, about being a couple and about house-hunting among other topics. It was a very easy read, so when I was a few short stories down, I found myself looking up what the hell “Bww” was.
It was a course! For writing and storytelling! Right here in Bangalore! Can you imagine my glee, discovering these details? The July cohort classes have already started! My glee was now replaced by a bit of disappointment.
The bitterness didn’t last. I was curious and impatient, so I sent a message to the phone number I found on the website. Something along the lines of “Hi, I know this batch is underway but it’s only one class I’ve missed and I really want to join, so can I apply?” A few doubtful messages from Bhumika later, I was writing up the application form fastidiously, going over it a couple times, before sending it off.
I am used to waiting for ages for emails, so I decided to park BWW in a corner of my mind but the reply from Bhumika came a day later.
“Welcome to BWW”
So that’s how I am in this classroom today, in my first class and everybody else’s second class. It is an underwhelming class of just 7 students. Everyone’s in their 30s, and everyone is an amateur when it comes to writing. I am the first to arrive, and when the second one arrives, I immediately badger him with questions. He looks a little thankful when the others start filing in.
I am filled with nerves. So much so that I remain silent for the first 10 minutes of the class, while everyone else takes turns sharing their thoughts on one of the readings we were assigned. Finally, I open my mouth to ask a question. Then, one more. Then, I chime in with my thoughts on the readings. Easing in as a student in a class is harder than I thought.
In the middle of the class, I catch myself feeling an overwhelming amount of gratitude for being here. By the end of the class, I’m left hungry for more. I have scribbled down the differences between sentimental and emotional writing and showing vs. telling among other things, with a ballpoint pen in my Classmate notebook.
There’s more to come, of course. I’ve only been to one class so far but until next time, here are some notes I’ve taken down while reading The Namesake today (Bhumika has told us that we’re not allowed to read for leisure anymore. Exciting!)
