I Come to Bury Words, Not to Praise Them
(With Apologies To Shakespeare), A Rant
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just Chat?
Once, long ago, in a golden world, I taught the English Language, to people who wanted to learn. I had to correct some grammar, and some syntax, just a little, not too much, for fear of discouraging my students. I didn’t need grammercy to teach me grammar. I still don’t.
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just Chat?
And among these students were good writers and great ones, who had their own style, and principles of creation. And that was good. That was great. But what does one say of those students who could not write a single sentence in grammatically accurate English spouting whole reams of words in perfect, but high flown literary style.
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just Chat?
You know something’s wrong: you can smell the fish a mile away, but it is all perfectly legitimate. There is not even any need to cut, copy and paste anymore. All one needs to do, is give a command, paste an instruction: if the effects are not satisfactory, one can paste, or type in another instruction, and there you have it. I see around me the work of some students and I compare the before and the after, and I wonder if it is the same person writing. Is it a bird, I wonder. is it a bat? Or is it apt to call it the Chat?
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just chat?
What does one make of a world where flaws signal originality, and lack of them, an elaborate attempt at cheating oneself, and then, other people? Do you have students like these? Have you noticed a change in their writing? From paragraphs rife with mistakes, to a sudden, almost divine clarity and flawlessness?
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just chat?
But perhaps I am being overly critical, and school-marmish. Perhaps this is an answer to the prayers of many students. Neither language, nor creativity can be taught. If one has a dream of being both impeccable and creative, where’s the harm in employing an algorithm, a machine-created perfection, which will not only render one’s prose perfect, but also lend itself to poetic creation?
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just chat?
During the pandemic-induced lockdown, when students first began to be taught online, I had, fortunately, retired both from active service, and the ‘visiting faculty’ service I had taken up later, at the University. I was invited to conduct lectures online, to graduate and post graduate students. “you don’t have to teach every class,” I was told. “Teach in one class and send us a recording. We can keep the other classes engaged, playing the same recording.” It felt like a punch in the gut for many reasons that I don’t want to go in now. Thankfully, by the grace of God, I did not need to work, or earn at that point of time, so I was able to refuse gracefully, with profuse apologies.
Is it a bird?
Is it a bat?
Or is it just Chat?
Have then, teachers become superfluous? Will writers become redundant, too? If words can be churned out by machines, how does one write with one’s heart? And these students who write thus, can they, in all conscience, call it their own work?
Have you noticed students like these, here?
ⓒ 2023 Suma Narayan. All Rights Reserved.
