1. Another day at Mech department, boredom has just gained a level.
I climb the stairs, ironically, once again to face each devil.
What’s going on? I don’t know. The board is peppered with Greek.
The prof rants on in Hindi, else it’s Marathi he chooses to speak.
2. One prof confesses, he’s teaching this sub for the very first time.
Attempting the same derivation for days, yet treats discussion as a crime.
He returns to class, after lunch, I suspect half asleep.
At this rate our chances to pass this sub slides down a slope so steep.
3. Another prof has his nose in the air. He answers no 'silly' doubts.
‘Get lost!’ and ‘Sheer nonsense!’ seem to be his favourite shouts.
For any question I ask him, his standard reply is ‘You should know!’
And hence I have no solution on paper for me to show.
4. Another prof is a silent comedian. I doubt he’s even a graduate.
He knows not what he’s teaching, yet he’s here for that’s our fate.
He has a special skill: to pass time discussing ‘nothing'.
How he got here even he knows not, so let’s not mock the poor thing.
5. I’m lost between these four walls, and I wish I could escape.
But if I do, I’ll lose the attendance I require to be in fair shape.
Perhaps every question is rhetorical, since it’s pointless guessing.
When I try to reason, they mock me as if it’s blasphemy I’m uttering.
6. I sit amidst smug faces who know exactly where they all want to be.
But all I know is that I’m going insane! Is it the system or is it just me?
Note: This poem is perhaps politically incorrect. But it is factually accurate. Professors mentioned in Stanzas 1, 2, 3, 4 are Kale, Barhatte, Dingre and Narwade respectively. I hope this poem made you smile. Students of my department cannot disagree with most of what I've mentioned. You've observed the same. But if this poem should cause any controversy, please inform me before I get into any trouble. And also, if this poem should be published anywhere, please do not mention the names of the professors. Thank you!
I climb the stairs, ironically, once again to face each devil.
What’s going on? I don’t know. The board is peppered with Greek.
The prof rants on in Hindi, else it’s Marathi he chooses to speak.
2. One prof confesses, he’s teaching this sub for the very first time.
Attempting the same derivation for days, yet treats discussion as a crime.
He returns to class, after lunch, I suspect half asleep.
At this rate our chances to pass this sub slides down a slope so steep.
3. Another prof has his nose in the air. He answers no 'silly' doubts.
‘Get lost!’ and ‘Sheer nonsense!’ seem to be his favourite shouts.
For any question I ask him, his standard reply is ‘You should know!’
And hence I have no solution on paper for me to show.
4. Another prof is a silent comedian. I doubt he’s even a graduate.
He knows not what he’s teaching, yet he’s here for that’s our fate.
He has a special skill: to pass time discussing ‘nothing'.
How he got here even he knows not, so let’s not mock the poor thing.
5. I’m lost between these four walls, and I wish I could escape.
But if I do, I’ll lose the attendance I require to be in fair shape.
Perhaps every question is rhetorical, since it’s pointless guessing.
When I try to reason, they mock me as if it’s blasphemy I’m uttering.
6. I sit amidst smug faces who know exactly where they all want to be.
But all I know is that I’m going insane! Is it the system or is it just me?
Note: This poem is perhaps politically incorrect. But it is factually accurate. Professors mentioned in Stanzas 1, 2, 3, 4 are Kale, Barhatte, Dingre and Narwade respectively. I hope this poem made you smile. Students of my department cannot disagree with most of what I've mentioned. You've observed the same. But if this poem should cause any controversy, please inform me before I get into any trouble. And also, if this poem should be published anywhere, please do not mention the names of the professors. Thank you!
