The IIT Phenomenon

The entire hullabaloo about the Joint Entrance Examination (JEE) has dimmed down at long last as the Indian Institutes of Technology have finally reached a consensus with the genius revolutionary that is Kapil Sibal [sarcasm sign]. While I'm quite glad that insane suggestions of doing away with the JEE altogether have been put to rest, I disagree with the way many of the 'intellectual elite' of the country argued their case.

I heard many rise up in fury, saying that the Joint Entrance Exam is the only possible way to gauge intelligence and problem solving skills, and that all other exams are doing little more than burdening the students with extra workload. They said, and I quote, 'I know people from remote villages of Bihar and Andhra Pradesh who did abysmally in their respective school board exams despite acing the JEE and making it into the IITs.' This, they said, is proof that our board exams misrepresent how intelligent people really are.

This is not really an argument; if it is, it's rather feeble - laughable, even. I can retort by saying that I know a whole lot of people who did perfectly well in both the tests and that all these cases cannot simply be dismissed as mere coincidences. Or it could be argued that a fair portion of intelligent junta do extremely well in a lot of other challenging tests but fail to crack the JEE simply because they aren't good enough on the day. Surely, there is an element of luck involved - in some cases, more than in others.

Many people who consider themselves part of the Indian intelligentsia have a ready response to this though: 'There is no luck involved,' they say. 'The board exams are looking for all the wrong qualities in a prospective engineer. There is a lot of rote involved and innovative problem solving is not something they test.' This statement if true, at least in part, but what takes away a lot of its credibility is what happens to students once they are inside the IITs. Aren't Cumulative Grade Point Averages largely dependent on how much a student learns by rote? I know a handful of absolutely brilliant students who'd derive formulae during exams and solve them only to hear from peers after the test that the professor had given them the formula in class the previous day. So, if learning formulae by rote is all that's required to make it out of an IIT with decent grades, shouldn't board exams be sufficient for getting into them in the first place?

But I suppose that with limited seats being available, it is in the interest of the institutes and in the interest of the country in general, if people who pass what is acknowledged to be a difficult test take up the aforementioned seats. What this does not say however is that people who don't make it through these tests are imbeciles who cannot discover water in an ocean. People have told me that the JEE is a greatest thing because it removes all inequalities. They say that in a nation with such economic and academic disparity, it is impossible to compare a person studying in poor schooling conditions in Jharkhand with a person who enjoys the best schooling facilities available in New Delhi, if not for the JEE. While the first part of the statement is entirely true, 'inequality' is an issue which the JEE tackles very poorly, if at all.

It is still impossible to compare students studying in IITian manufacturing centres in Kota and Andhra Pradesh with students without these facilities in certain other parts of the country. Besides, there can be no monitor for 'innate intelligence'; no matter what we do, we will remain victims of circumstance. What the JEE does tackle, however, is another issue altogether. The various boards across the country - the state boards, the CBSE, the ICSE etc - have such different standards that an even comparison cannot be made using tests conducted by these bodies. This is fairly true even if a percentile based system is used across all these boards. So a common test which everyone strives to ace is a justifiable solution.

So, while the JEE is seen as the ultimate prize for people outside the system, especially people still waiting for their chance to have a go at 'glory', IITians see it as something entirely different. It is a life-giver - a source of immense confidence and something which tells us that we are capable of doing anything. Sometimes, even in the most impossible situations, I tell myself - 'This can't be hard. This can't be harder than the JEE anyway.' What the JEE in effect does is bring together a group of fairly talented, immensely confident people. And frankly, this is what makes IITs so very special.

What is disturbing, however, is to see this confidence turn into vanity and vainglory. While it can be argued that it's one of the toughest engineering exams in the world, it isn't very smart to say that people from the IITs will be the best options for any available job profile. No, it isn't possible to argue that by putting in a few hours into 'Accountancy', an IITian could so easily become a Chartered Accountant, whereas a CA couldn't hope to get into an IIT no matter how much 'Integral Calculus' he/she studies.

I wonder if I'd be wrong in saying that a majority of the people still fresh out of one of the seven, enter the world thinking that they are worth more than someone from another institution. And I think it is deplorable that two people doing the exact same job should be paid on different scales just because one person is from an IIT. The fact that this happens only stands testimony to the point I'm trying to make.

There is still another attitude almost as disturbing as vanity, but worse for growth - Complacency. Today, so many IITians are so happy with what they have 'achieved' that they think there is nothing else worth getting in life. Sadly, these people see IIT as a goal and not as means to one. A group of institutions which has developed a reputation based on the hard-work, determination and skill should expect more from its people or risk dying as a brand. 

So, while it is an indisputable fact that certain IITians have brought about significant change to the country we live in, there is so much left to be desired from people who claim to be the nation's most talented people. Maybe it is time to forget vanity and that falsely based sense of greatness, and believe that we still have everything left to prove to the world. What the IITs have given you is something precious. Please let it not be wasted on you.

I'm No Jogger

At 3:25 p.m. the final bell would ring and I’d be among the first lads to run out of class, while most people remained focused on packing their bags. I’d sprint all the way to the autorickshaw which would be my ride home. It paid to get there early as we always beat the rush. Getting home at 3:45 always felt good, and I’d take a shower, have a snack and immediately sit on my homework. Usually, everything would get done by five and I’d run out of the house with my new cricket bat and Cosco ball. Aashrai would follow me out usually, albeit unexcited by the games humans play.

Tennis (or rubber) ball cricket is probably the most widely played sport in India and I was its most ardent fan for the best part of four years; I fancy myself a pretty good spinner even today. Years later, when the days of cricket really did end, it was in favour of a more spirited and I suppose ‘manly’ sport: Beach football. While I can’t defend for my life, I’m pretty good when I’m supplying that final flighted ball for my strikers to finish. Then again, being quite selfish and short-tempered on field, I’d probably go for the shot myself.

The days of regular football did end too, mostly because most of the other kids I’d grown up with no longer thought playing in the sand was what ‘men’ did. Too grown up, that they’d become, they moved further away from the water, closer to the road, closer to the girls… Soon, I was no longer addicted to physical exertion and the sportsman in me died. Roorkee probably burned his remains completely, seeing me play four or five times a semester!

At the end of it all, the mind wants to rekindle the excitement of sport and the thrill of winning but the body fails to come through. Stamina is dead and Strength is left wandering in the desert. While people consider gymming a way out of their misery, it remains to me a poor excuse for your inability to play. However, it is better than nothing at all.

And hence I championed gymming for all of six months, until they decided to throw me into the middle of nowhere. Well, Schlumberger does provide five-star facilities considering the location we are in, but even they are unable to provide us a Gym, it seems. And hence, I decided I will run anyway.

And thus, when fellow Field Engineer and Delhi’s track-champion geared up for his evening jog, I made it clear that I’d be tagging along. “I run in the open desert,” he told me. “Near the road, it’s mainly rocky… Little bits of sand.”

The desert is a funny place. You can see far away objects but you’ll never figure out how far they really hour. They could be a kilometer away or they could be ten, you’ll never know. So, when he pointed at an oil-storage location, “Hah, how far will that be,” I thought. And I ran.

I kept running until I was out of breath and then I ran some more. We reached the oil-station an eternity later when track-champion says, “Hey, we’ve been running six-minutes. Why don’t you wait here? I’ll finish my run…” I looked back an saw the caravan I had started out from at a distance. As I told you, you can’t figure out distance in the desert: it could be a kilometer away or it could be five. Let’s say two. I was damn proud of myself.

It was while running back to the camp that I took note of the most wonderful thing. You never need music while running in infinite space. You’re never fiddling with your iPod searching for ‘Brothers In Arms’ while trying to maintain your pace. You don’t have to change the song to fit your mood. All you have is the wind. And it’s always singing the most perfect notes.

I Shall Always Remember

1.      Roorkee monsoons – for taking me, every time, to the beginning of four wonderful years

2.      The Meta wing – for showing me that not all people change

3.      The BC Dream – for coming true

4.      Watch Out News Agency – without which I’d still be typing in ‘Times New Roman’

5.      LitSec^TM – for being the only group I haven’t been thrown out of

6.      Bone-chilling winters – for moongfali, coffee and rose-cheeked girls

7.      The slope – for letting speed thrill, in the days before the humps

8.      Numbers 62, 63 and 64 – and their occupants

9.      Kondy – for being my name

10.  Se7en – even if it’s on the second floor

11.  Comfortably Numb – for having been my favourite song for most of my college life

12.  Valentine’s Day – because it never came

13.  My old (Atlas) ‘Flame’ – for taking me to places where my legs could not

14.  Mussoorie – for being so close by

15.  Café Coffee Day – for a lot can happen over coffee

16.  Orchid Pharma & Chemicals Pvt Ltd  – my first internship

17.  The Grand Old Men – mentors, if not anything else

18.  The Farjical engineers – for loving Fun more than I do

19.  Chelsea FC – for finding me so many new friends. And enemies.

20.  Cognizance 2010 – for helping me draw half a lakh out of a man who threw a two-thousand rupee cheque at me when I was in school

21.  The Formatting Days – which made me the diplomat I am today.

22.  Pro-Evolution Soccer – because it’s so bloody awesome

23.  iPod Shuffle – for always knowing what to play next

24.  Six Registration Cards – because I cannot forget them

25.  My CGPA – for being the roller-coaster which never went off the rails

26.  The original Krows and Helmet-head – for being who they are

27.  The Schlumberger days – “Money for nothing”

28.  The Newspaper man – who has tossed papers into my room unfailingly for three years

29.  Karan-Arjun in BR – which remains an eternal source of déjà-vu

30.  The Ganga canteen-wala (whose name I still don’t know) – who disarmed me with his smile, every time

31.  ‘Late’ Team-WONA – for being people I will love forever

32.  Delhi and Chandi Debates – for all the cute girls

33.  Old Monk – for coming at 35 Rupees a shot (RP)

34.  The Gym – for helping me put matter over mind

35.  My dying laptop – for staying alive

36.  EDC IITR – for being there through my fourth year

37.  Department of Chemical Engineering, IITR – which god-alone-knows-how is the best department of the country

38.  Spirited Fellows and Solani Nights – “To more of the same!”

39.  Chest-monster and the Robot – Madmen

40.  Gambit and the Camera-man – for sticking around

41.  Team Goa and the Goat – “Next time, Tito’s!”

42.  You, Blog.

A Box Among Other Things

Being the trunk broker that I've become in my final days on campus, it is only fair that I part with mine too. It became all the more important since mum keeps reminding me over the telephone: "Get rid of all your junk!" But the question which kept me dilly-dallying forever was just one: To sell or to give?

It only takes you a moment to come up with an answer to that one, actually. It's a response which comes to you as naturally as, "Mom, stop calling it junk! I've really gotten attached to each of these things I've used during my four years here!" You realize that you can never put a price tag on something with such great sentimental value, and since it's rather impractical to lug an elephantine aluminium trunk over 2000 kilometres, the rational way to go about things is to give it away. As of tonight, my trunk is owned by a lad named Aditya Gokhale.

One would think I'm stupid to post stories about cycles and trunks, but inanimate objects are powerful memory tools. While I often find it hopelessly difficult to shut my eyes and recall a face, the way these everyday possessions of mine bring people back to life is rather eerie. However, to be very frank, I didn't care much about this large ungainly object which inhabited one half of S7, Cautley Bhawan long before its very last moments.

I was shifting stuff off the lid so that I could empty its contents when I spotted the ink. Much like the Camlin ad for permanent markers, my handwriting stared back at me from three years back. I remember that day, outside the Cautley cloak-room, when, as a kid who had just put up a status message "25% complete", I was instructed to ink my name on the top for identification purposes.

Obedient that I was, I began writing my name. I followed it up with my enrollment number '070607'. And then, I wrote the following words:

B.Tech (M

My hand froze at that point as I realized what I had done. I'm rather superstitious, and I still say a prayer at the beginning of every exam I write. And superstition freaked me out that day as I realized I never should have started writing 'Metallurgical and Materials Engineering' in the first place - not when a possible branch change was in the offing! After considering striking it out, I decided that I'd much rather let it stay there, and I thought, 'one day I might look back at this and smile... and it will remind me of this day.'

Well, that day was today.

Transporter

On 23rd July 2007, I first set foot on Roorkee soil. Being the responsible maddu that I was, I telephoned the only R-person's number I possessed. Obviously, being a long-drawn maddu connection (cousin of friend of school-senior), the person in question was himself quite Maddu. I was with mum when I met Venkatesh Nandakumar outside the Saraswati Mandir some four years ago. And Venky told me the stories and the legends of the land. He also introduced me to the Velociraptor, who I came to know quite well during his years here.

Anyway, the two of them later informed me about how a first year is expected to behave. What they said, in nutshell, could be retold as: Be a proper Maddu who doesn't speak Hindi, wears the quintessential black and white shirt and trousers, and never looks at anything but his feet. And DON'T buy a bicycle.

To be quite frank, I was so terrified by his words that I almost sold my bicycle back home. But as time wore on, I realized that the distances were too much to be negotiated by foot. And so, filled with trepidation, I bought the black Atlas Flame which would become one of my closest companions in IIT Roorkee.

________________________________________________________________________

Having dinner early that evening, I decided it was dark enough to mingle inconspicuously with the campus environs. Cool autumn breeze blowing powerfully across one's face is motivation enough to up the speed. Pedalling furiously up a speed-breaker-less slope, I was greeted by the dazzling Central Library which was as new around these parts as I was. Overawed that I was by the sights that I encountered, I made a few wrong turns and didn't make a few right ones. And I ended up getting thoroughly lost.

'Transport Engineering' was the board that I stood in front of, and I didn't know what the hell it meant. And harbouring that perennial fear of being found-out, I decided not to ask anyone the route back, which only meant that my nerves took a tremendous beating. Naturally, I did find my way around eventually but these are  the very first memories I have with my bicycle.

________________________________________________________________________

Over the years, it helped me reach meetings only twenty minutes late and classes only five. It helped me climb the slope a million times, just so that I could enjoy my ride down. It helped me outrace packs of angry stray dogs and do countless other things. It is only ironic that, never having left my side for three-and-a-half years, it chose to get stolen this semester, thus robbing me of a chance to say goodbye.

Rest in peace, Cycle.

Reinvention

It was never about ‘D by DX’s or asymptotic lines which never mean anything! It has never been about swallowing a few pages up whole overnight and spitting the pages out, without having the goddamn decency to assimilate even a few captions… It has never ever been about dirty un-understandable balances or the fact that 2100 is a boundary condition for turbulence!! We have been lied to.

The foremost institutions of learning have pulled the bloody wool over our eyes; our eyes, only too willingly, have submitted to the shroud. We sit here today, indolent as ever, unwilling to put in even that small ounce of energy into understanding what we came here to do. We sit and we get tired of sitting. We get bored. And we begin watching a movie – a movie which propagandizes a well known foreign institution – lifting it a few notches further in our heads; Awesome has just become God-level. And then we curse. We curse the books; the profs; the methods; the exams; the whole f*#ing system! And we sit in awe of those people sitting abroad, going about their jobs with ostensibly effortless ease.

I don’t know where to start. Is it the professors? Is it Us? Is it MHRD? Is it…

The professors, of course, have failed miserably to perform their basic function – to mentor the student. But they aren’t here to mentor us; are they? They aren’t here out of choice… They seem to have been dumped here. One advice to all those who are thinking about pedagogy as a career: Teach if Teaching is your first love. If you are going to teach because you think you have no better option, then kill yourself. That’s better.

But you can’t really blame a professor, can you? They probably were subjected to the same means of education as we are now, and they know no better. And they don’t want to know any better. But that can’t stop someone who claims he chose Engineering for his life, can it? And in no realm of earthly imagination can Engineering sound boring… So what is it?! Why do we think that life beyond the IITs, far away across the oceans, is all lovely and beautiful; life eased by push-button technology and magical inventions. You can bet your four years in the college that they slog their backsides off like we can hardly imagine. Nothing comes easy.

And why does every one of us feel that it is a pain to go through what we are being taught. If there is one thing I have learnt, it is that Work doesn’t remain Work once you start loving it. And Science and Engineering once stood for everything that I believed in… Where has that gone now? It is only plausible that I have fallen to a devil called Disillusionment. But then, so has everyone else! How the hell does it make sense?

How does it make sense that the highest ranker is so oft looked down upon and is subjected to ridicule rather than veneration? And how does it make sense that the highest ranker in a class studies for the Grade, without love for what he is doing? Why does it happen that 'Management' becomes a fall-back phrase as the senior undergraduate year approaches? Life is not about eliminating opportunities and choosing what you hate least. It’s about what you love most.

If you don’t love anything, your existence is irrelevant. Obsolete.

Today, I met a man who explained to me why his name was prefixed by the phrase “Doctor of Philosophy”. I am afraid I have met him too late; beyond the point of no return. He explained to me the ways of nature, the ways of an engineer and the ways of an ideal engineering institution. He told me about the oneness of man and machine… the union of all the disciplines at the pinnacle of human achievement… And how nothing is possible without effort, observation and intelligence…

Did I get senti? Hell, yes. But can I do anything about it…

The Song Remains The Same

Clear the desks; pull some chairs
Stash the bucket in the shelf…
Shroud the books; slay the sheets
Get up! You’ve got work to do.

Hoard some cash, be very tight
Do not buy and do not give.
And then all! Splurge it all…
Fling it all: Y’ know when to.

Let the windows give away
And let the sky come bursting in
Making way for endless fumes
Of smoke of evil and endless joy.

Grab the caps, light the flares
Get the speakers out once more
Let the cake come, when it must
Fix the old bulb up tonight.

Draw out crapes ‘n streamers encore
And write the names upon the walls–
Splashes of paint and sparkling text
The magic canvas is a glittering hall.

Revive the jukebox from days forgot’
Relive those old joys born anew
Reset the table; Repeat the song
Renumber the spirits alphabet-wise!

Get the knives and spoons and forks;
The dinner is ready – delectable, grand…
Steady the staircase – that infinite one
Which will take you to heaven tonight.

Keep the phone nigh – at hand
To answer all those midnight songs.
Now set the beat and up the heat –
And wait for Earth’s complete round.

Don’t forgive but do forget
All that past that wasn’t right
Indulge! Rejoice! Promise! Ascend!
There will be a party tonight!

The Photo Post: Campus Shining

Another one passes by and just like in three previous years, it went by so fast I cannot believe it has. Many have spoken the evergreen truth, but none more than yours truly, that Poly is in fact one of the most insanely unproductive occupations on campus. But being true to the 'Great Hypocrite' tag which I have won myself through persistent and determined industriousness, I decided to give Poly 2010 a shot, after having been egged on by none other than our pin(k)headed friend.

The past few weeks have allowed me to fully appreciate the definitions of a plethora of words: n00b, rookie, newbie, fresher, fledgling, idiot etc. After spending hours at night trying to distinguish the no-good from the competitors and the kings from the jackasses, only to rethink our conclusions the very next day, we were often filled with an inexplicable feeling of unbounded awesomeness which we sometimes confused with a lack of sleep.

The elections of 2010 have finally come to an end for most of us while it is just a beginning for those willing to go that extra mile in proving that unproductive hobbies can go a long, long way. And having exited from such a unique wing which threw in seven candidates for the title of 'Councillor', I end this post with the feeling that I came so close to saying - "Maine banaya!"

THE ELECTIONS IN PICTURES:

There were ambigrams and colourful banners sporting a gazillion names, but one of the most eye-catching posters was of this "Maslow"-esque pyramid.

I wonder if the bloke reached self-actualization?

Cartoons from my own wing-mate... Creativity reaches a new high.

Damn, we ought to have a lot more of these elections... And we can scrap the 'Fine-Arts' section.

The face which launched a million votes.

This was the rope outside the mess which was initially used to put up attractive campaign posters!

What ended up attracting us, though, was TOI's page 2.

Haha! Another punny one!

Alvida

I entered this phase of my life as a sceptic - a disbeliever. I came prejudiced, constantly and repeatedly attempting to poison my mind with the words - "I shan't yield to temptation". Today, I stand a changed man. A believer. A sinner.

For these six weeks have given me some very memorable moments, ones I will cherish for a long, long time to come. I entered SLB wondering why they recruit people from the 'creamy layer' to perform tasks which any blundering idiot can also, with suitable training... Today I know that it isn't about the job as much as about the culture it brings about. Just like Roorkee, godforsaken that it is, has been able to develop its own quaint, unique culture, so has Schlumberger. And this, most disturbingly, has endeared it to me.

I recall those initial days when we underwent examinations which tested our safety training and safe operating practice knowledge. One particular exam required a minimum of 90% to pass and I can proudly say today, that it is the only test until today which I have failed. Four times in a row. Each of these times, there was this question which repeatedly occurred - "What is the last step after tool maintenance & check-up". I repeatedly dismissed a certain option the first few times, laughing my head off when I saw it pop up on the screen. I finally passed the test when I realized that it was, in fact, the correct answer - "Paint it blue".

These few weeks have seen me become a nomad, an epicurean, a spoilt brat, a romantic... I have come to enjoy a certain facet of life which I never knew I could - one involving the world of malls, movies, million-dollar houses, and more city. Somehow, I've also had the time to fall in love with any language which can make beautiful poetry - Urdu being the latest in this list...

I came to Mumbai happy that I was closer to Roorkee. Now, I wish I had more time here - Roorkee can wait. My blood seems to have turned a little blue and I know I have changed. I wonder if it is correct. Nevertheless, I find it exceedingly hard to separate myself from this experience. And I try to find solace in words:

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."

The Other Side

Even as I write this, I find myself in a satiated state of semiconsciousness; a state which the enlightened would call near-nirvana and doped would call half-stoned. I find myself unable to shift postures too easily. In a way, I feel confident that I'm writing this with my brain. And not with my heart (unlike the previous time I applied ink to paper) which slumbers peacefully in an idyllic clime unfamiliar to Chennai brought about by Lady Laila.

May 2009 will be remembered for the Grand Scrabble Days, where the Farmhouse in one last attempt to make its mark on wonderland forever played its great gambit. It was a welcome measure as much as being a pointless exercise, seeing that the guest was to play against the likes of the soft Southpaw and verbose Velociraptor. At least it blocked out the change which was upon us, however ephemerally, and those few Cautley hours promised to stay on forever. I exited sophomore year fully conscious of pain - pain of having to carry my laptop a few GB heavier in movies.

May 2010 will be remembered. I don't know for what. There was no scrabble and in the absence of intellectual distractions, George Lucas' 'There is no passion; there is serenity' becomes obsolete. And a clear month prior to indulging my brain for the eighth time ever in the very hazardous end-sem rote, I broke down to emotions. I got plain morose and saturnine in my last work and I don't know whether or not to chastise myself for that last indulgence. But, it was relief. And ever since, I haven't known how to feel about the great Goodbye.

The last week lasted a day and the Hour-hand seemed to outrun its Seconds' counterpart. And it seemed as though I was trying to reach out to all those things I had missed so far. Be it the random trip to Ravindra in the pretext of searching for a cap or the Jan Shatabdi I almost missed, the experiences were outlandish. The hardest part though was the inability to convey through the English language what can be best described as an emotional implosion. Luckily, Silence seems to be the best way.

The Watch Out val, the great Lit dinner (which proudly maintains its chivalrous superbia), the last EDC 'party', the Yaadein pages I meticulously filled after having mocked it at first, sessions where I tried explaining what sentiyaap meant, even the Cogni culmination meet... Maybe this is how I'll remember the May of 2010. As the Dreamwalker Diaries so aptly puts it, Roorkee started as a mistake. I think it's the greatest mistake of my life. Hadn't it been for that omnipotent sheet I filled in IIT Madras, I would have missed out on condescending blobs, supersurds, extortion specialists, jobless somnambulists, Gunda-buffs, loveless tigers, reptile kings, kings of kings, air-guitarists, 8mm-collectors and others who I'd love to have known better! The thought simply alarms me.

Half an hour has elapsed since I began writing this and I find myself in that same lucid lull. So this is how the greatest goodbyes are said. In silence.

Chequered Flag

I do not understand whether it is with the jubilation of accomplishment, on the completion of the omnipotent list, or the fear of humiliation from actually making this a blog-post that I begin typing at an unearthly 0445 hrs, a phenomenon which is becoming all too common lately contributing wonderfully to my languishing battle against the mighty seventy-five. But today is special. I checked the last Bhawan off my list.

Many before have dreamt of making the magical number Nine, but people have fallen aplenty... While most battle valiantly and end up just two short, there are a few (who are not-so-few in absolute numbers) who get to see the chequered flag. And since not everyone can garner the trust of Chief Wardens and acquire passes, people resolve to a magnificent array of novel-tactics. Some even get committed (this tag has been removed for the author's safety). Others, of course, have sections where it is a deplorable crime to not invite family and kinsfolk; exile and banishment are rewards for declining aforesaid invites. A few, of course, get invited over for a number of varied reasons which GenPop isn't able to comprehend yet. But they all do arrive with unsolicited punctuality, dressed impeccably in Armani, Versace, Nike and Petrol, to sweep their maidens, who might just feel a few kgs heavier and a few inches thicker, off their feet. A few however have the dubious distinction of being invited over, wanting to go and then choosing chicken over everything else. After all, Winner winner, Chicken dinner! Who can argue?

A heartwarming sight did greet me in MI-254 at 6:30 p.m. when the India-quiz was attended in full-strength; LitSecTM never fails you. While I had all but submitted to a strange fate, of ending up with so weirdly with Eight-Bhawans, before anything began, harboring but a tiny notion that someone would, in fact, call me - the call came from the most unexpected source. Battling words of discouragement (which I was later told- was secret envy) and those goading me to attend the event in Shorts, I ambled along to SB in grossly inappropriate attire, with Career Launcher getting free publicity. Add to that my maddu inability to dance (swinging arms and shifting feet simultaneously, and that too synced to the music, is something I will never pick up) and presto, the clown for the night! Oh well, leaving aside the gruesome details and the fact that women ranged from gorgeous to garish to ghostly, and the fact that you might presently be concluding that I am a chauvinist, the night went off well... With the benefit of hindsight, it's something I would never have missed. After all, I've mastered magic number 9 now!

Lumos!

Often have I wondered what makes one afraid of something. What is it which tells us what is worth being frightened of and what isn't? What makes us fear those heights when we peer down a 20 floor chasm from the top of a building, even when we are completely sure of being in control of ourselves? Why, albeit thoroughly convinced by science and its gospels, one can still not conclusively rule out Spirits... And why on earth would one fear a well grown cockroach?!

While snakes and tigers make reasonably fear-worthy animals, why should one be afraid of a harmless rat or worse, a spider, escapes my cerebral capacity. The range of phobias thus, unsurprisingly enough, encompasses the entire range from the logical poisons (Io-) to the rather obvious (Lilapsophobia for hurricanes and tornadoes) and the enigmatic (Apeiro- for 'Fear of infinity'). That a word should exist for Fear of beautiful women - Caligynephobia - leaves me flabbergasted!

While certain fears are imbibed in children for their own protection (like that for 'heights' and 'fire'), one usually outgrows these. Some, however, stay with you. I have admitted to this in the past and I feel rather unashamed when I say that the things I fear in this world includes the 'Dark' -Yes, so much, that I have dedicated this post to its awesome force. I would, in fact, go as far as to say that that it nearly tops the list of 'Things To Be Afraid Of'.

Sometimes, people look into my room at 3 a.m. in the morning and laugh at the fact that I have slept with my lights on, while ever so gently envying the fact that I can sleep amidst the brightest of lights and the loudest of sounds. Even I wonder, at times, how my laptop doesn't fall off the bed or at least succumb to a mighty blow rendered by my sleepy arm, but that's digressing from the topic.

While my sleeping is an involuntary action and I doze off while commenting on FB or reading an article on Soccernet, I have come to learn that people's general perception of Morpheus is quite different. While many stare for hours at their ceilings or even mull over the events of previous day or worse, plan their future; when I hit the bed, it's more like the bed hitting me. I sleep dreamless sleeps, which makes me feel I'm missing out on a rather important aspect of life. But when I sleep, I sleep. Then again, I hate staring at the ceiling in a perfectly pitch dark room... I know this sounds stupid, but who knows what might happen!

If there's something worse than the dark itself, it is closing your eyes in the dark! You know you cannot see anything with them open anyway, but you don't want them closed! It may be weird, but that's the way it is... It is comforting, however, to hear people admit that they fear Blackness in open places, at least. Go sit in an empty cinema hall when the lights are out and I'll see if you come out fifteen minutes later.

It all comes down to two lines, so beautifully penned by Steve Harris:

When the lights begin to change, I feel a little strange. A little anxious when it's dark...

I have a constant fear that something's always near. I have a phobia that someone's always there. Fear of the Dark!

Well, It's almost morning now. And I'm turning off the lights.

Foot-lose

If this day hadn't already done enough to merit itself a few inches of space on this Course of Human Events, the events of the last hour have made it inevitable. So much so, that I've succumbed to the thought that - if this post isn't made, nothing else is worth writing about! To begin with, this post could, so easily, have been titled 'Remember, remember; The seventeenth November'.

One major reason I didn't post promptly after receiving two wonderful messages was the fact that I didn't want to sound like a narcissistic creep. The other, of course, was because I wouldn't have had the time to draft one as I was drowned in a deluge of SMSs, GTalk IMs and gargantuan EDC and WONA threads (yes, the latter giving the former a run for its money). Now, however, I realize that this moment of indulgence is perhaps something I must be forgiven for... One of the many reasons which bind me to the blogosphere is the fact that 'konfessionsofageenius' is a chronicle of my life, and if this day didn't make it there among the top days, I don't know what would. Some day I'll look back at this post...

A miss, a mistake and Bang! A strange shortlist and a weird Group Discussion preceded what was to be a classy interview- a dream, to be precise. With no technical question asked and the interviewer delving into subjects like Lit and EDC, I thought I had a reasonable shot. Then finally, when he took a copy of the latest 'Watch Out!', I thought I had it... They made me wait, but yes - I got Schlum.

Just when the formalities of home-calling had been finished and the sluice-gates were gradually giving in, Cogni decides to put up the second overdue list of the day. I wonder whether there are two other such adjacent Cogni rooms in the insti now, apart from Pinky et moi. Well, forget the sluices now. The dam had collapsed.

It took a while for everything to sink in as people all over telephoned and messaged. Thank you, all. Some people went into praise mode, some asked for chapos, few asked me details of the interview, while some said 'I was being too modest'. Still others said that they were doing their best to ruin the day for me. Thank you, Dela. And thank you, Lefty, for having that happen. And thank you, Lit, for everything else about it.

That hasn't dented this evening, but a mongrel almost did. Well, I found myself in Ravindra an hour back trying to get my Practical work signed. A Research Scholar who wouldn't let me into his room with my shoes on greeted me. I took the Four-'K' pair off, of course, and earned entry into the room. Soon, he was using me as an office boy to tabulate his bills, even as he took his time signing my file. Needless to say, I was half Gujju when I left his room, albeit with some A's in the bag, only to see a single shoe greeting me at the threshold!

Who would take one shoe?! Half-an-hour of math was thrown out the window as I realized a single shoe in a Rs.4000 pair wasn't worth two grand. Soon, two madmen (one shoe-less) were seen outside the Ravindra canteen searching for an elusive shoe, which I was told, had been taken by a dog. Soon some others including the watchman joined us in the hunt even as I profusely insulted the RS's lineage in every language I knew. The dog was detected, but the shoe was gone.

Another half hour and thoroughly scanned grounds later, it was discovered beside a bathroom somewhere far-far away! Nothing has gone wrong (yet) and I walk with two shoes.

P.S. Happy birthday, Nimba. The 17th of November will be difficult to forget.

P.P.S. Thank you all. Again.

Interview Do's and Interview Don't's

It was sometime during the first week of this month, when I committed the second mistake of the sem, which incidentally also becomes the third mistake concerning my academic life; the first two being this and ITC. In the latter case, of course, I did not apply for the internship. After a lot of heartburn and having lost faith in all humanity, this disgruntled chap decided that never again would he miss an employment opportunity! And hence put himself in collision course with what could have been.

I know I'm not making too much sense yet, but when I tell you that I applied for 'M/s. Infosys' plainly because I wanted to make sure I didn't miss out on any more just because I didn't try (read into this line all you want), things surely become a lot more meaningful. The day after I pressed 'send', I was asked why I would do something outright dumb. Being the smartalec, I so often become, I quipped, "Even though I would NEVER do a coding intern, I don't buy the concept of letting opportunities pass. I'll screw up the pre-interview examination anyway! Don't you worry..."

It's not surprising then that 'today', as you will soon gather, came as a shock. I reach the Placement Office promptly at 6, to be told that there was no exam! 'A shortlist will directly be put up.'

For the benefit of the layman reader, let me lay down the placement ground-rules:

(1) Once you apply for a company, you can, under no circumstance, at no stage, withdraw the application without being debarred from placements henceforth. (A certain CS girl could tell you more.)

(2) Once you are selected for an intern, you cannot apply to any more companies.

(3) If anything can go wrong, it will.

At 6:15, a list of 15 names was displayed on the projector screen. I was among those. Cursing, I asked in vain how I could opt out. And then even more hopefully, I asked as to what an honest, hardworking Chemical Engineer can do in a great company like Infy. Again, gibberish.

NC Nigam saw me enter at 6:45 p.m., without a resume, dressed half like a dork and pretty much overwrought. I was hoping that sighting a bum like me devoid of even the dire necessity - a resume, I'd be booted out. Alas, they said the interview was to be telephonic.

Amidst all this chaos, there was one man who spiced this up even further - my HOD. In a frantic call to the great man, I heard him say the words, "Infosys doesn't give you 'in-plant training'. So, you cannot apply there! Strictly prohibited ! I won't let you do it..."

Those kind words revolutionized all future cerebration as now, not only did I have to give the interview (so as to not be debarred), I also had to flunk it! To cut a long story short, this is how it went:

The voice: Hello.

I: Hi, sir. A very good evening to you.

The voice: Good evening, Mr. Anirudh. Why don't we start off with you telling me something about yourself.

I: (Some bit of my history goes here...)

The voice: Oh good... You have mentioned 'Fluid Dynamics' as an area of interest here. Let's start with that. Suppose I told you to design a Room Heater, how would you do it?

I: I'd ask for the room size, ambient temperature, the requisite temperature... (This is when I realize I'm doing well)

I'm sorry, sir. I don't think I can tell you any more.

The voice: Why? You are doing really well... Go on.

I: I'm afraid that's all I know, sir.

The voice: Well... Don't worry. We'll go on to other topics.

What do you think is a continuous fluid?

I: Sir, the equation of continuity is...

The voice: No. Continuous fluid.

I: I don't know.

The voice (now a slight drag): Hmmm... Simple question now. What's the difference between 'Thermodynamics' and 'Fluid Dynamics'?

I: Why, sir! I always thought them to be very similar. There are subtle differences, but essentially same!

The voice (taken aback): Let's leave your Engineering skills alone now, Mr. Anirudh. Mental ability, now.

I: Sure, sir.

The voice: (Asks some question which required me to calculate the minimum time which four people require to cross a bridge, subject to certain conditions)

I: (After allowing considerable time for calculations, doodling all the while) Nineteen minutes!

The voice: Are you sure this is the answer?

I: No, I am not, sir. These are what my calculations tell me.

The voice: Well, what if I tell you this is incorrect?

I: Then, I'd have to tell you that I'm incapable of coming up with the right answer.

The voice: Don't get disheartened now... I'll give you a hint. (Proceeds to do so) Now?

I: (Taking some time again) Interesting... Informative, though your hint was, sir, I'm afraid it helps me in no way! I don't exactly comprehend its relevance.

The voice: It was great talking to you, Mr. Anirudh.

I: My pleasure, sir. Have a good evening!

That's that! And God is great!

Beautiful Words

No breakfast would have quite assuaged that tremendous hunger, which I had built up after a the healthy hikes of 25-10, as did those two words. Normally, after that verbalization, feeling rather chagrined, I'd have run for cover and sat myself in a seat where few would recognize me. But today was different; I reveled in that splendour and basked in that greater music of which my words were but a part. It felt good to swear again.

It is only lately that I have realized, people often mistake a genteel countenance and a civilized demeanour for spinelessness. Putting things into proper perspective again, then becomes the paramount task. Abuses have evolved over the years and expletives have garnered greater efficacy. But constant usage of these oaths as nouns, verbs, adverbs, conjunctions and prepositions have blunted the tips of otherwise sharp shafts. It is then only apt then, that my years of fast were broken by a phrase which caused so much turmoil on the listener's face.

Profanity, though part of everyday parlance, gathers great power when used where it must be. The lesser you use it in everyday life, the better you feel after hurling these savage words. Though, swearing requires little practice if any, it is always useful to keep certain points in mind.

1. Language of choice: This may be a crucial decision and a vital factor determining the effect of an abuse. It is important to use the language you are most comfortable in. While I prefer good old English to Hindi and even Tamil, one may choose from a myriad tongues with German and Arabic being favourites.

2. Communication: While swearing, you must never forget that it is, after all, a form of communication. And communication is listener oriented. So if the listener doesn't understand what you are saying, you have failed miserably in your attempt. Another reason why Tamil or, for that matter, German is not suited for Roorkee. Getting the semantics across is probably the most important task.

3. The Time Factor: Often, you procrastinate. And then, it's too late. Or so you think.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. So, the later your response, it's probably better. And besides, you catch the target unawares. So, it is advised that the user delay his response as much as possible for maximum effect. Studies have shown the seven second deferred expletive causing greatest havoc.

So after the guy accused me of breaking the line in the mess, my response was probably greatly amplified as I spoke only after I had ladled enough sabji into my plate.

4. Kinesics: Your face and body must reflect what you say. So it's best the abuser pauses (see above) to gather his emotions and then let them all out in one short burst. For longer abuses, it is proposed that the person take in a deep breath, so as to not run all out in mid sentence. Fingers, elbows, eyebrows, knees etc. all play indispensable roles in a good abuse. Props in the forms of emblems and illustrators may also be used; Eg. Chains, Sticks, Sarias etc.

5. Proxemics: The importance of distance while blaspheming cannot be underestimated. It is essential that the listener gets the entire effect of what you are saying. However, if the target is much larger than the abuser, it is advised to increase the separation by a few more feet. If this 'large' listener is much faster as well, it may be required to rethink your urge to insult.

I fell short on this front the other day, as I was a more than a few feet away from the listener.

6. Reason: While most abuses are preceded by motive, it is not mandatory that this sequence of events is followed. Often, a motive arises after the first abuse is made. This pattern is often great fun.

The above points are not rigid rules but a flexible framework which guide the reader to better and greater heights in this industry. You may choose to practice here... or better 'here'. I hope these were useful tips in what is, after all, a vast subject. Kindly do let me know the usefulness of the same. Any further suggestions on how to subdue the stuck up half-wit are also welcomed.