Arrogant as always, with no Regrets
The class room was noisy as usual. Verbal wars were on for and against stars of the celluloid or of those from the sporting arena. Foul mouthing was flying freely from all directions; parents and sometimes even the ghosts of the grand parents were not spared. It was into this lively afternoon session that he had entered, with his old note book full of equations in Greek or Roman. Some stood up and some others pretended so and there were yawns heard from the back benches. The message was loud and clear, that the day was going to be no different for him. He turned to the black board, paying no heed to the ones who stood up or the ones who yawned. And the class was back to business, continuing from the point of interruption, the moment of his unwelcome entry.
Arrows were flying and the pieces of chalk were hitting those in the front benches with increased accuracy and power, eliciting a feeble cry of pain at times. He stopped as usual, when one of the flying objects landed on his shoulder. Shivering with anger, he stormed out of the class, triggering wild celebrations. He had hit a personal low, after causing the death of a close relative in a vehicular accident. Its effects were showing in his actions, personal as well as professional. Soon he was back, accompanying the Professor and Head, and there was pin-drop-silence in a class of forty well groomed gentle men, of 'royal' blood. His angry outburst stood no chance against the polished orators from across the divide. The Professor listened to both sides and sensed an opportunity for populism and he pleaded silence for fear disturbing the adjacent lectures and advised a quite afternoon nap, if the class was found to be boring.
There was a stunned expression in his face, as the Professor went out with a deceptive smile. And thirty nine heads hit the desks, the very moment the Professor left; artificial snoring of different pitches, high, low or lyrical, forming the back ground. He slowly moved to be beside the front bench on the right corner, to be near the only head that was held high, daring the whispering foul mouths with a cold blooded stare and presenting him with a helpless smile. There he stood for a long time, not knowing what to do, as if cursing the deceptive deities or his own destiny. If they didn’t want so be it, then he spoke to himself and proceeded to exit, sad and sullen.
What if one was hugely unpopular among the peers? And who cares? It takes tenacity to stare down the crowd. It calls for courage to tread the lonely path. And it demands a heart to be the Outsider. And what better place on this earth, other than the kingdom where the hermits used to live, for the ones destined to be the outsiders?
