“Am I audible?” asks my professor, the noise from his surroundings overpowering his deep, husky voice. I unmute my mic promptly to serve an answer, “No, sir.”
It has already been 15 minutes since the class assembled online over Google Meet. I am in my pyjamas, staring at my mobile while lying against my back on my maroon sofa. A ceiling fan is rotating over my head. The clock on the opposite wall has struck quarter past nine. A pair of white earphones are running from the mobile into my ears, from which a couple of minutes later, the muffled voice of my professor re-emerges, “Is my voice clear now?”
His question is still as futile as it was the first time. I know, for one, he has made no arrangements, not even changed his location, for his voice is still muffled against the bangs and creaks of his surroundings. I unmute my mic again to reply in a matter-of-factly tone, “No sir, your voice is not clear.”
After a wasted half-an-hour, the class stands cancelled. Meanwhile, a WhatsApp message arrives and recites the same old excuse: “There is an issue with the university’s Wi-Fi today. The class will resume tomorrow.”
The next day, the class assembles over Google Meet, again. “Am I still inaudible?” asks my professor again. The noise from his surroundings overpowers his deep, husky voice, again. I unmute my mic promptly, again. I tell him he is not audible, yet again. I don’t want to attend online classes ever again.