Amidst The Chaos

~•~Chapter 2~•~

IRA SHASTRI 

I love my job. I really do and I'm even grateful for this opportunity because I lend here. The institute I was earlier associated with no doubt is one of the reputed colleges of the country. Associating yourself with the A.I.R.S. The Institute of Liberal Studies and Commerce came with its own perks. 

You didn’t apply to international seminars — you were invited. You didn’t scramble for funding, they wired you travel allowances before you asked. Entry into national conferences was automatic, and your name on a panel carried more weight than entire departments from lesser institutions. 

A.I.R.S. isn't just an academic institution. It was a name that opened doors before you even knocked.

This college was founded by Harshvardhan Rai Singhania’s father, in memory of his wife — Arundhati. Hence the name: Arundhati Indravadan Rai Singhania Institute of Liberal Arts and Commerce. From what I’ve heard in just a month of working here, she was an art enthusiast in the truest sense. Not only did she admire every form of art, she practiced them all. The college still carries traces of her legacy. Right in the main atrium hangs a large oil painting of Goddess Saraswati brought to life by Arundhati herself. 

In many ways, this institute is both her shrine and the Rai Singhania family's monument.  

After his father's passing, Harshvardhan stepped into the role of Managing Director, quietly continuing both their legacies though I suspect he’s far less sentimental about it. As if he is playing the role for the sake of it. No emotional attachments towards this institute rather it’s Naivedhya who seems more deeply tied to this place. In just two months here, I’ve rarely seen Harshvardhan actively serve the college in any meaningful way. 

It’s Mrs. Menon and Naivedhya who are the true pillars of this institution. If not for them, I’m not sure the institute would have ever reached, let alone sustained,  the heights it stands on today. Harshvardhan may be the Managing Director on paper, but he barely lifts a finger. 

It’s Naivedhya who moves through the corridors like he owns the place, all poised lectures and cold stares. At first, I mistook it for commitment. Now, I see it: he thrives on being the smartest person in every room, the calm eye in every storm, the man with all the answers. 

His academic brilliance is commendable but the arrogance that comes with it one can not excuse that.

He isn’t just the Head of the Department, He's Naivedhya Singh Rathore and he makes sure everyone remembers that. 

These students worship him, the staff tiptoe around him and Mrs. Menon? She’s practically his courtier. 

This. This is what AGGRAVATES me. He expects the same treatment from me too. That is what makes me hate my job sometimes. 

This institute doesn’t run because of him; it revolves around him. And I wonder if that's exactly how he likes it. He enjoys every bit of it. The attention he gets, the boot licking by almost every other faculty.

And I'll be damned if I ever will be one of them.

The metallic clang of the bell announced the end of the exam, jerking me back to reality. The exam for last year's master's students just ended. Their identity of being called as a student will be slipped. They'll take their last step as students and first step into being.....well unemployed? Or Artist. Maybe Teacher or Writer. Or those Instagram influencers.

It's saddening that the identity with which you lived your whole life slipped away from you. That old book will forever be there. On the book shelf. Gathering dust on herself. Maybe the presence of that dust will be realised and they'll do something about it?