Professor & Meme

Professor Arvind Malhotra ko memes se zyada allergy sirf Monday mornings se thi—aur aaj Monday bhi tha, aur class WhatsApp group mein ek aur “sir, this is you” wala image circulate ho raha tha.

Usne apna phone table par rakh diya, jaise phone ne koi personal insult kar diya ho. Private university ka campus Gurgaon ke edge par tha—glass buildings, fake grass, over-polished corridors, aur har corner par coffee cup le kar chalne wale students. Arvind Malhotra ko ye sab modernity ka showcase lagta tha, par andar se usse bas ek hi cheez sukoon deti thi: black coffee, crisp attendance, aur ek aisi class jahan students uski baat ko poori seriousness se sunen.

Classroom mein woh hamesha time se pehle aa jata. Shirt ironed, shoes polished, aur voice mein woh exact amount of authority jo bina chillaye kaam kar jaaye. “Good morning,” woh bolta, aur students “morning sir” bolte hue bhi apne phones ko ek second ke liye neeche karte. Bas ek second. Usse lagta, duniya ka patience ab battery percentage ke saath chalta hai.

Aaj bhi lecture shuru hua. Topic tha, “Language, Power, and Public Discourse.” Arvind ne board par neat letters mein headings likhin, aur class mein woh familiar hum tha jo AC aur boredom ka joint product hota hai. Front row mein Sana Qureshi baithi thi, one earbud still hidden under her hair, face par woh expression jo har baat ko dekh kar already ek meme bana raha ho. Uske bagal mein do aur students phone screen ke neeche neeche hansi dabaa rahe the.

Arvind ne chalk rakh kar unki taraf dekha. “Something funny?”

“Nothing, sir,” teen awaazein ek saath aayin.

“Interesting,” Arvind ne dry tone mein kaha. “Because your faces suggest otherwise.”

Sana ne innocent expression banaya. “Sir, class is just… intense.”

“Intense,” Arvind repeated, jaise word ko taste kar raha ho. “And yet, your attention span is being murdered by Instagram reels and whatever else this generation calls humour.”

Back bench se kisi ne dhimi si khansi mein hansi chhupa li. Arvind ko pata tha ki woh hansi us par thi. Usne lecture continue kiya, par uske andar ek familiar irritation khulne lagi. Students ko lagta tha ki professor old-school hai toh automatically out of touch hoga. Aur professors ko lagta tha ki students ko bas data, memes, aur attention deficit hi aata hai.

Raghav, department intern aur teaching assistant, door ke paas khada tha. 24 saal ka, always neatly tucked-in shirt, laptop bag, aur woh kind of polite smile jo HR interview mein bhi kaam aa jaye. Arvind ko woh pasand tha, kyunki Raghav kaam bhi theek karta tha aur kabhi “sir, actually…” bol kar argument ko unnecessarily stretch nahi karta tha.

Lecture ke baad corridor mein Raghav ne laptop open kiya. “Sir, aaj ka reading material upload kar diya hai. Aur class WhatsApp group mein ek issue hai.”

Arvind ne eyebrow raise ki. “What issue?”

Raghav thoda uncomfortable sa hua. “Actually… students ne ek meme share kiya hai. On… on you, sir. Nothing offensive. Just… light banter.”

Arvind ne seedha uski taraf dekha. “Meme?”

Raghav ne turant clarify kiya, “Sir, it’s just a joke format. Har cheez pe banate hain. It’s like—”

“Don’t explain,” Arvind cut in. “I know what a joke is. I don’t know why it needs a template.”

Raghav ne sirf smile kiya, par uski aankhon mein halka sa panic tha. “Of course, sir. Professional respect is important.”

Arvind ne us baat ko ignore kiya aur staff room ki taraf chal diya. Par “meme” word uske dimaag mein chipak gaya tha, jaise chalk dust shirt par. Us raat ghar jaake usne dinner khaya—plain dal, roti, aur ek silent kitchen jahan wife Priya ka kehna tha ki “aajkal tumhare students se zyada tumhara mood classroom jaisa ho gaya hai.” Priya ab city ke dusre end mein apni sister ke saath rehti thi. Arvind ne divorce ko kabhi loudly failure nahi bola, par uske ghar ki khamoshi us word se kam nahi thi.

Raat ko, jab woh apne study table par papers mark kar raha tha, phone vibrate hua. Department group se message aaya tha. Raghav ne galti se ya shayad anxiety mein, ek forwarded image us group mein daal di thi. Caption tha: “When professor says ‘this is important for exam’ and you know everything is important for exam.”

Neeche ek image thi—ek dramatic actor ka shocked face, aur text: “Me after attending 3 lectures and still understanding nothing.”

Arvind ne pehle sirf stare kiya. Phir usne image ko zoom kiya. Phir caption padha. Phir dobara image. Uske lips par ek almost invisible line bani—confusion ki, irritiation ki, aur kisi ajeeb si recognition ki.

Ye bas joke nahi tha.

Ye ek compressed complaint thi. Ek tiny, sarcastic, efficient sentence mein students ka poora mood tha: pressure, confusion, exhaustion, aur thoda sa rebellion. Arvind ko pehli baar laga ki meme ek lazy joke nahin, balki ek shorthand language hai—jaise students apni frustration ko safe packaging mein bhej rahe hon.

Usne aur do memes dekhe. Ek mein professor ka stern face stock photo tha aur caption: “POV: You asked one doubt and now your entire life is under review.” Dusre mein metro train ka crowded scene tha aur text: “Delhi-NCR students on their way to class after 4 hours commute and 2 existential crises.”

Arvind ne chashma utar kar table par rakha. Usse hansi nahi aayi, par ek strange softness zaroor mehsoos hui. Ye bachche sirf timepass nahi kar rahe the. Ye survive kar rahe the. Metro, traffic, assignments, internships, family pressure, internships ka fake “experience,” aur upar se self-image ka constant battle. Memes unka pressure valve the.

Next day, Arvind ne decided kiya ki woh bas observe karega. No judgment. No lecture. Bas dekhna hai ki ye meme culture kaise kaam karta hai. Usne Raghav se casually poocha, “Is there a place where one can understand these… formats?”

Raghav almost choke kar gaya. “Sir?”

“Meme formats,” Arvind repeated, as if discussing citation style. “I want to understand the logic.”