It's twelve noon, in this month of November and we're all sweating, in our sweaters waiting for our physics sir to barge in through the door and pull us out of the gynoecium of a flower, rather strongly, so that we end up in outer space. Now, its twelfth graders versus Albert Einstein. Or should it not be versus, because we are in the twenty first century, and Einstein's dead. But we'll come back to that later.
Right now, we're 12th graders in the middle of a physics class. I like to call myself a poet. The boy with a bowl cut sitting on my right is a great chef. And the girl with a hunchback, sitting on my left doodling since morning is an artist. We also have a friend who loves to act but she's in the sick room, practicing. And what I'm trying to put out there, is that we're all very different individuals, in one class room studying one particular theory of special relativity.
Einstein says, time can slow down or speed up. And the class agrees, time has certainly slowed down for all the backbenchers. Or the middle benchers. Or the ones seated in the front because they were late to class today. 'But that's not what the physicist means sir', corrects my friend over there with big, fat glasses covering all the four dimensions of his face.
Physics does not have metaphors like poetry does. And I know those glasses only cover one dimension. I have read that the fourth dimension is time. And according to NASA, relativity suggest that we could travel in time. I wonder if our language teacher who's wandering in the corridor knows that those time turners in Harry Potter could actually be a thing. But I am sure if we did go back in time someday, the dinosaurs that my partner is trying to draw since an hour would eat her up alive.
E=mc2 is when I start staring at the clock. The bell might have already rung, because mass can change into energy. And our physics sir needs to conserve some. Regardless, Einstein was a great man and so is our teacher. But the girl in the sick room has practiced enough, and my partner has packed up her crayons and stuff. This writeup of mine is also done, so we're leaving for home. It's finally one.
