How not to conduct a Seminar - part 3

This, dear Readers, is my last take on the subject of Seminars. Last week, I wondered who they were actually for. I still haven’t got the right answer, but the more I think about it, the more certain I am that students and learning and general education are given the go by.

The next seminar I attended, purely as a bystander, was on a similar topic—identity, culture, individuality and the common good. It was a national-level seminar, and that itself should have given the confirmed speakers something to think about.

I must confess that I was late, getting to the venue, the air-conditioned auditorium in my College. Was it a deliberate ploy on my part? I will say that I didn’t think too highly of the opening speaker, but position, prestige and power (if there is any at all), have to be given due credence in meetings of this kind. I dare say that the first speaker kept the audience engaged, but I will say no more. Professional jealousy, do you think?

Literature has always projected a political leaning, often immersed in the text so that many readers miss it. Identity is more difficult to hide, and when both are aligned, the narrative takes on multiple meanings at one and the same time. For example, John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” may be read as an elaborate treatise on the superiority of the male species, but gunning for minutiae misses the point completely. The second speaker at this particular seminar was flown in from Delhi to deliver the main address. She arrived, after a four hour flight, in Chennai, and was brought to the venue well in time. To my disappointment, at least, she launched into her speech with all the scholarly vocabulary at her command. For me, unacademic me, it sounded as if she was talking with her head still in the clouds. I’m not too sure that too many others in the audience understood more of her than me, but I was genuinely disappointed. The speaker before her had set a precedent by vanishing before the next session began. The speaker from Delhi did the same; she left, skipping lunch, to catch the 2pm flight back.

More Houdini acts were in the offing, as we got to know later. The third speaker, again from another state, announced that the topic for discussion was hardly his cup of tea. He, therefore, introduced his own topic—something about the use of memes in today’s written communication! I was disappointed, for sure, but that turned into something else when he, too, did the vanishing trick. Once again, at the end of the day, I was requested to pick up the pieces, and once again, I obliged.

I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I’d had my share of seminars. From that day on, I’ve refrained from attending functions of the seminar kind. But I’m going to give organisers of such parades some advice.

First of all, think of your audience—students, I mean, especially. In days gone by we did not have “cockroach” moments, when young learner’s could have, and get, their say. An academic seminar is for students; focus on that. Next, choose speakers who not only know their subject-matter, but also know how to win over an audience. In other words, choose speakers who can dedicate time, who can mingle with all kinds of listeners and converse with them on the wavelengths they’re comfortable with; rushing in and out just will not do. And, finally, don’t treat your audience nonchalantly—there’s always a small brother, or sister—waiting to grow up—watching you. As the song goes: “You may see the stars and still not see the light.”

There’s a Macbeth lurking somewhere in most of us, dear Reader. If you continue to gaze only at the stars, you will fall into a ditch, maybe not today, but “soon”—a word so full of meaning that nobody really understands it.

I’ll see you soon, my dears.