BITandPieces

2011-08-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

Reflections on a Chappal: My First Year in Auroville

Today I wore my shoes after one year. On my first day here they were pushed aside for the casual and light sandals that suited the new environment better. The sandals clung on for some time till the rains came and since then the bata chappal has reigned supreme. The sandal joined the ranks of the neglected shoes. My companion for the long kilometres on BIT roads enjoyed the initial rest. But soon cobwebs began to form and when the monsoon came fungus grew. I put them in the sun, brushed them clean and promised to use them in sunnier days. Those days did arrive but the ease of using the bata chappal was a comfort I was reluctant to part with. Slip it on in the morning for the bathroom, wear it to work (not really, because everybody here de-shoes themselves at the threshold), wear them to site and sometimes even to sleep. Today I decided to suck it up, clean the shoes and wear them for the full day. It wasn’t so bad you see. In fact, it made me reflect on my life over the last one year.

It seems that I have found my bata chappal. Let’s begin with the work. After shuttling here and there to find the architect who was green inside out I think I have found mine. He is brown though. An earth lover to the core who does not budge for lesser projects and does not paint a false picture sometimes even at the cost of losing a project. It is nice to see someone who has fought the battle of ethics and emerged victorious and in now on the other side enjoying its fruits. Projects trickle in from all sides and people beg for consultancy. He however hand picks a few and takes them till the end.

Then it’s the site. You are responsible to make your own drawings, take them to site, show them to the mason and see that it is built. That’s the way it is supposed to be right? Not so in the big world of construction where you sit in an air-conditioned office drafting toilet details of a client in some first world country and release a sigh of satisfaction when the contractor sends a picture of the complete work. And boy is it humbling! Five years of education does teach you a lot however they leave behind the important bits that make architecture work: The ¾” flowing into the 1” via reverse reducer, the four coloured wires inside the electrical conduit, the pressure valve behind the WC, the “tippy level” Mani uses for foundations, dipping the block wet before putting and the three times a day curing. You learn and learn and learn and learn. Everyday.

Then is life in the biggest man-made bio reserve. The very fact that this tree filled land that I walk on today was once a barren plateau gives me enough hope to walk on. Yes, there is an alternative way of life that does not cut trees but plants them, that shits in a dry toilet, that separates garbage, that uses mooncups, that rides a cycle, that lives under a keet roof and that eats organic rocket spinach. All for the polar bear to have his piece of ice to sit on. Bienvenue Auroville!

Auroville, the Mother envisioned, would run without money. Services would be exchanged. You be “a willing servitor to the divine consciousness” and rest shall follow. Though this may have been far from achieved it is heartening on how they feed you vegan cookies at Sadhana Forest for coming to watch their movies, how you can walk into town hall auditorium without a ticket, how Matrimandir does not have an entry fee and how volunteers from all over the world come and contribute in body, mind and spirit to make this place grow.

Something about the women who shared my living space over the last one year: the curly haired crazy Palestinian who tried to understand the Mahabharat every night and who in turn explained how her country bled each day. The lovely American who let me lick her on moped rides and who cooked up a feast each night (am living off the garbage since she left). The Italian tornado whose pertinent questions helped me understand structures better and who inspired much craziness. The gentle Spaniard who talked about Marquez and saw the human side of each worker. They will be loved and remembered always.

They say work on your self and I tried. Odyssey classes with T every Friday for an athletic break never went beyond “Choke-4”. Mudra Chi turned out to freakier that we ever imagined and was dropped after the first week. Swimming became monotonous too. Pranayama stretched for two weeks till it breathed its last and the warm blanket hailed victory. Hammock knotting classes never happened and the punching bag was never hung. Still we tried and are happy for it.

For the things that did happen: swam in the sea, paddled in a pond, jumped in a canyon, climbed a mountain, saw a gopuram, waded across the back waters, biked the bullet and cycled for 40Km.

An Aurovillian once said that in a city you run into unique characters once in a while. In Auroville, however, every second person is a character. Aviram is growing a forest, Gerald is tending to his red tomatoes, Jeorge is making his own wind pumps and Gecko is tailoring bamboo fabric. Each individual has a story to tell and his life is experimentation with either matter or spirit. It is invigorating to be a part of this madhouse of ideas.

Life always plays this cruel comfort game on you. The green field of Chetham Lines made you wish that childhood would never end, D’s letters made you seek no more in love and the walk back on the OC road on a wet monsoon day made you wish for time to stop. Along your journey on this interesting path of life you reach a point which is the perfect meadow, clear skies, blue water, plenty to eat and you stop and wonder. “This is it”, you say. Life couldn’t get any better. I must pitch my tent here and stay on forever. But alas! It is only the cruel comfort game. The black temptress begins to act on the mind soon enough. What next, you wonder.

My day shall come too. Acknowledging my shoes is a step in that direction. Rest shall follow. Till then I sip some cool mint refresher and eat organic tofu and watch the world go by from the comfort of this hammock hung between the Two Banyans.

2011-01-02T02:48:00.000-08:00

The Princess who played the Prostitute

There are days when being an architect (ahem....cad monkey...ahem) gets a bit monotonous and you flutter and wiggle inside in search of different flavours. I felt strangely liberated when I drove around Pondicherry one night looking for the casting agent’s house. Veronique Meuron had advertised for 100 female and 300 male extras for a French television series and I had decided to check it out. She was desperately searching for someone to play “The Indian Beauty”. The role description was not as flattering as the title. The bad guy (played by Jean-Hugues Anglade) is in bed with two women when his sister (played by Milan Jampano) breaks in with through the door to kill him. The two frightened girls jump out of bed and run out screaming. I was to audition for that role. She took a couple of pictures and showed us around her office cum apartment. There were print outs of giant Excel sheets all over the walls co-ordinating actors, animals, props etc with the shooting schedule. We would be engaged for three days to shoot at a palace in Chettinad and paid a decent sum of money for it. It sounded a perfect paid vacation plan.

I was hopeful of getting the part when a call from her shattered my dreams a few days later. She had found someone better and moved on. I was bitter about it for a couple of days but eventually overcame it. There were other pressing things to take care of at work. Life, however, never moves in straight channels but meanders and twists when least expected.

The agent called me again in the middle of the afternoon and said they urgently needed someone to play the part of the servant, would I be willing to come? I forgot all the drama and heartbreak of the previous days in a second and nodded like a puppy dog. So, while the female protagonist in the script goes from being a deported prostitute in France to a princess in India, my role took a reverse turn.

Morning found me stuffed in a car with a troupe of other actors being transported to Chettinad. It is quite amusing to be trapped in a van with aspiring actresses for twelve hours. Other than the constant re-touches to the makeup there was incessant talk about actors, directors and future assignments. It is sad to see these little girls carry the weight of so many dreams on their emaciated shoulders. I felt like a bit out of place but did my bit to participate.

When we reached the shooting location in the middle of nowhere an ugly shock awaited us. Because of the rains they had rescheduled the plan and had already shot the scene for which we came all the way from Pondicherry. The casting manager was in a soup and did not know what to do with us. We were beginning to get really angry at the situation also. A few frantic cigarettes later he managed to squeeze us in the third day’s schedule. We would get paid as promised but for different roles. We accented.

To shoot, we moved to the ghost town of Kanadikathan in the Chettinad region of Tamil Nadu. It took the production team two days to figure out what they wanted to do with us. This gave us enough time to explore the region around. I had read a lot about the grandeur of Chettinad houses but nothing can prepare you for the real thing. One house stretched for half a kilometre and had a thousand windows. The magic of courtyards, the magnificence of hand carved granite pillars and the mystery of dark rooms and windy staircases was enchanting. Sadly the trade from Myanmar that supported such extravagant lifestyles stopped long back and the younger generations moved to the cities leaving behind these architectural relics. Some houses just decay behind huge padlocks while others have a negligent keeper or squatters selling the richly carved pillars one at a time.

These architectural distractions calmed me down a little as the vanity of the whole venture had begun to trouble me. By the afternoon of the third they called us to another palatial house were the scene was to be shot. A fake market was being set up complete with fruit and vegetable stalls, cows and goat, beggars et al. Inside one of the courtyard the makeup team had set base and were dishing out French soldiers, Indian kings and natch girls by the minute. There was lots of confusion as the French and Indian crew tried to co-ordinate with each other.

We were dressed up in 19^th century natch girl style (I had 10 other mates doing the same thing) and waited for our scene. The central courtyard of the palace was set up like a king’s pleasure house. We were required to stand along the edges of the scene to entertain French guests. The main female character would then burst in to rescue a kidnapped child. The scene for so silly that me and a couple of other extras had a hard time controlling our laughter. It was shot 17 times with different camera angles. It was midnight before we left for home.

The ridiculousness of the whole adventure still makes me laugh. A part of me now exists on celluloid somewhere in French television (if it is not cut off during editing). It was nice to peek into another profession albeit for just three days. I now have a newfound respect for the movie industry people for the amount of time, money and energy they put into making films.

2010-11-05T03:22:00.000-07:00

114

Knights in shining armour no longer ride up in stellar horses to our doorway. Here is what happens instead......
The five o’ clock air was chilly. I could feel her sit close for warmth. After we left the bumpy mud road and touched the tar, the machine steadied itself. As I accelerated the trees crept in closer and my path became a dark and beautiful tunnel.
She was a Royal Enfield Std 350, affectionately called the Bullet. As I went along I could almost feel her fuse to my body, her thump vibrating with my heartbeat.
80: I could still hear her talk. We were steering well through traffic on the village road. Her rock solid stability needed no slowing down.
90: She was silent now. She was feeling the build up with me. From the rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of her eyes fixed in concentration. She was beginning to understand the poetry too.
100: It was just us on the highway now and her thump never sounded better. I signalled to her and she gave thumbs up. There was no stopping now.
114: The moment of power, love and respect had arrived. I could feel the rider’s ecstasy tingling inside me. All three of us were now one. The road, trees and landscape disappeared into non existence. We had released from this world into sheer happiness. Nirvana had been achieved.
Leave Home

2010-09-08T05:36:00.001-07:00

The Other Side

Remember your first trip to the zoo? It is almost a ritual in families with young children to picnic on Sundays in the nearest zoological garden. The trip is supposed to expose the child to the rich biodiversity that exists and a face to face encounter with it. Why then do these children grow up to become animal skin traders, corporate heads who bribe the state into wiping out rainforests or simply people who crush out snake heads in their backyards and melt honeybee nests by setting them on fire? Why do we become sterile to the blatant disregard for animals around us?
It is because something is greatly amiss in the first encounter.
When you see a Royal Bengal Tiger behind bars, sitting dejectedly and looking into blankness and being troubled by loud passersby, nothing appears Royal about him. When you see a mating pair of lions being photographed (flashes on!!) by over five hundred people on honking Sumos you almost begin to look at it as an object. And when you see pythons and cobras behind glass boxes in artificially lit nocturnal caves you realize that there is only one animal worth his salt: Man
Respect comes from watching a deer run wild in its habitat, a crocodile lie undisturbed on a sandy beach for hours or an elephant being the master of his own will and splash in water. Respect comes from observing it from behind bushes and not disturbing the animal’s peace and space. Respect comes from acknowledging that he too had a right to life and privacy.
We, with our giant footprints have left no space for animals to exist. They can now either die of extinction or exist in zoos and national parks as objects where their life and death is a public spectacle.
I can almost imagine a day in the near future when the divide between the robbed and the rich would be so great that nobody would raise an eyebrow to exotic human exhibits: Tribals from Madhya Pradesh, Baby foetus floating in glass boxes and aborigines from Andamans.
For reconsidering your way of life and thought please watch: http://www.greenthefilm.com/

2010-08-22T05:38:00.000-07:00

Chasing the elusive Yarsa Gambu

When he was a young boy, G would allow me to follow him on Hisalu Hunts (HH as it was secretly called) up and down the then green forests of Nainital. I tried to match his pace as he walked with much enthusiasm and talked of Bumblebees and Bichu Buti. Now, twenty years later I found myself following him once again. This time the hunt was bigger and better: the multi million rupees Yarsa Gambu or Keeda Ghans.
For the uninitiated, Keeda Ghaans is a unique entity. A worm during winter, it wriggles under the snow somewhere at an altitude of 5000 meters and dies. Fungus grows on its dead body and when the snow melts out emerges the plant: a 10 cm long wriggly brown shoot easily missed by the untrained eye. It sells for Rs. 3 lacks a Kilo across the border where it is used in Tibetan medicine and in recent times to make steroids for athletes and Viagra for others.
Keeda Ghaans has brought about something of an economic revolution in the villages beyond Dharchula. Each year thousands of families climb up to the peaks of Himalaya 4000m and beyond to collect a few grams of this organic gold.
When we reached Himkhola it bore a deserted look. It was late in the afternoon and old men were immersed in a game of cards, puffing hard on their biris as they went along. Women were hard at work drying out Dhania and attending to cattle. Everyone else was out on the hunt. Pradhaan Jee was kind enough to allow us to sleep in his son’s room (now a student at Allahabad). For the evening walk we went over to the nursery run by the forest department and found out about:
Thunair (Taxus Bacata) A pine like tree that is a sure shot answer to cancer (its bark extract sells for Rs. 4 lack per gram). It is rare in the forest so the forest department is trying to grow it and spread it out to provide a source of income.
The real fun began after sunset. All men sat with a glass of Chakti: the locally brewed daroo. Uncontrolable laughter and exaggerated stories of hunting two tigers with one bullet followed.
Next morning we set off with Pradeep( Pradhan jee’s son) as the guide and Shyam with his horse(Kris) to assist our “bloated and unsustainable” luggage. Paksa, the world’s best forest dog, decided to tag along. So we set off from Himkhola village to Karangdang top: a vertical distance of 2000 meters with an almost eighty degree incline. The first few kilometres were easy and enjoyable as we followed the gadhera( stream). The climb was eased by Pradeep’s encouraging words, Shyam’s titbits( from chewing gum to mouth freshners) and Tiwari jee’s anecdotes.
The first day ended when we camped on Maidan no 2 ( Pancha Sua?)as it was close to the water source. We bonded that night with rapid fire rounds of antakshari and dance by the bon-fire. The tent G brought along was nice and cosy so we were doubly charged next morning to reach the top.
A word about relieving yourself in the open: could nirvana be any different?
The Bugyal comes when the tree line ends. Ekla-Rukh(single tree) marks this transition. It’s just grass after that, so you get to meet some interesting shepherds who live here for 4-5 months in summer. Their lives are almost as calm and serene as the mountains around them (except when the wolf comes or the sheep jump off the hill). Groups of Gamboo hunters would stop at the shepherd tent to exchange news. Everyone talked about the huge party at 5000m where most families camped. Imagination was assisted with their description of hot Jalebies being made and Chakti flowing free. There were difficulties though- rain to freeze your bones and the un-named blue flower at Nasa Marti that caused hallucination by merely looking at it.
View from Karangdang top allowed us to view two valleys and the river in between. We made a few dance-song videos and interviewed the locals on their thoughts on Yarsa Gambu. Their songs would always have memories of the beautiful girl in the village who awaits their arrival and it is these memories that give them strength. It was also interesting to note how the folk song described the actual geographical route for reaching the top and beyond.
Climbing down was sad and fast. We drank Thuner tea and chatted up about the problem of unemployment in the hills, migration and whether Gamboo hunting was a good enough alternative. It was on the ride back to Dharchula in a rickety Sumo way past sunset that my thoughts were pre-occupied with moving to Himkhola for ever. My faith in the magnanimity of the hill folks was restored . The little girl who had followed the little bigger boy had found out why they said that you can take a man out of the mountains but never mountains out of a man.

Credits:
G : now popularly known as Almora Boy (almoraboy.blogspot.com)
Tiwaree Jee: an excellent driver and an even better trekker
Shyam: Rider on the storm
Pradeep: Climbs the hills during his summer vacations but is otherwise working on his B.Ed in Allahabad
Paksa: Dog is a man’s best teacher and guide.
Special mention: The bird that eats smoke off campfires!!!

2010-08-17T22:54:00.000-07:00

Cheap and Best

"Ija, the flush is at it again!"
We stared helplessly at the anti-peristaltic movement of the WC. Monsoons in Almora were always marked by our war against the sewage system and the defeat thereafter.
The winner each year,however, was Devi Mistry. This local plumber had learnt the art of twisting p-traps and turning s-traps at eighteen when the British first introduced it. Now, at eighty one, he practised it like wizardry.After each monsoon he married off a daughter or two with enough to last the dry spell.

By next day my patience began to wear and I cribbed about his monopoly and high handedness during crisis period. Ija calmly sipped her Lopchu and recounted the year they almost ended his dominance.

Our newly formed hilly state was just beginning to discover its limbs. Almora's drainage system had always been a sore so the ministers and bureaucrats discussed it at length in the first assembly and decided to solve the problem once and for all. A week long visit to Almora was announced immediately.

The government rest house was dressed up like a doll. Shama uncle still thanks the bright street lights they arranged along Havelock Road during those days.He managed to clear his university exams by its grace while his not so fortunate friends sat brooding in the darker parts of town.

Government cars carrying our agents of change, their family and trail of acquaintances drove into Almora. During the day the ministers were occupied in meetings, flipping through papers held in designed folios (hand painted by some expensive artist in Bombay). Meanwhile their families visited the local places of interest and graciously accepted gifts for blessing the people with their presence.
Meals were always a grand affair. Local cuisine as well as gourmet food was served with the best accompaniments and drinks. Almora knew how to keep its guests happy. Especially ones who were labouring hard to provide them basic sanitation and clean drinking water.

At night entertainment reigned supreme. After all, even hard(ly) working officials needed mental relaxation to prepare them for the next day.
The meeting ended three days later with a "very positive outcome". Devi Mistry was seen secretly flipping through the local employment news. The cars rolled out and six months later when monsoons came, so did hope.

A soul troubled journalist published an account of the expenditure of this fruitless meet in the newspaper the following week. Approximately twenty lakh rupees of the state fund had "gone down the drain" leaving it more clogged than ever. Ija read it out during a ladies' meet. Situ's mother shrugged and said with flooring simplicity," Hmm, ten rupees and a nice cup of tea is all Devi jee needs!"

2010-03-05T18:58:00.000-08:00

SUMMER: here already!!!

2009-12-17T09:30:00.000-08:00

Images for the last post:

2009-12-17T09:12:00.000-08:00

Our Last Walk: the one in which we learn lessons in rural hospitality

The luxury of college life has alas come to an end. 4.5 years in BIT were a great learning and un-learning experience for many a things. Topping my list of things that will be missed most is the early morning walk. The sakhua forest is at its best when the first rays of the sun break through the leaves and strike the dew drops on the grass. I’ve left the comfort of the bed at 5 to seek and find different things alone with these children of nature. I’ve been the wild rule breaker to run to the river for an early morning swim, the health freak braving the wild contours to digest last night’s Junglee Murg, the object of someone’s affection sought away from public eye, the solitary walker out to subdue my worries in the vastness of the landscape.
The beginning of my end had to be a morning walk. The destination was set to be the potter’s village off the national highway some 14km away. Binitha braved the cold and was my accomplice in the journey. We ran into Krishna Mausi near the bus stand. She asked us if we wished to share an auto ride with her. Too full of confidence we refused saying we had planned to walk all the way. Little did we know that our fates for the day were strangely intertwined.
The journey till the More was uneventful save our rants over having walked too much. The syrupy tea at a dhaba did some good in reviving our energy and we marched forward. A little while later we heard someone call our name. “Munia, Kahan jaat ho?”, Krishna mausi was standing on the road with a Dantoon stick hanging from one side of her mouth. She invited us to have a cup of tea with her. Someway off the highway stood her beautiful mud house. It was a typical Munda house with comb painting patterns freshly done (no later than this Diwali) on the walls.
Being the mud house freaks that we are, Binitha and I asked if we could look around. With a gesture of her hand she said “Be my guest”. The house had a kitchen, sleeping areas, area for the cattle. The coolest part of the house was the attic. It was accessed from a bamboo ladder through a hole in the ceiling. It served as a space for storing and drying grain.
We talked to various members of her family including her old mother-in-law who had dropped her bangle the day before in the field and was worried about it, her sister-in-law who was kind enough to let us into the Handia making room. The smell of fermented rice was intoxicating and our day began with a glass of this rice liquor whose function is to charge the villagers with a high dose of carbohydrates for a long day at work on the fields.
Though we had just stopped for tea, we ended up having hand pound rice, vegetable gruel, bananas, red tea and Handia in generous quantities. It was while relishing this meal that we realise the difference in the way we always greeted mausi for all these years and the way she opened up to us. Whenever she used to come to our room for cleaning we would be keen and keeping an eye, if she asked for something we would either say no or begrudgingly part with it passing a harsh comment on her directness and greed. But here she was, opening her home and heart to us without any strings attached.
I thank Krishna Mausi for all things she gave us that day (Handia making tablets especially!!!) but most of all I thank her for the humbling lesson she taught us. We talk of equality and dignity of all men but does it not get blurred in our everyday lives with unwritten laws dictating “who is to be loved and how much.” We who have plenty sit on it and grow fat bodies and small hearts and she who has little is a much bigger and better human being.

2009-11-12T07:17:00.001-08:00

Public Speaking Forum- First Meeting

“How many of you feel we need the lectern?” said Mr. Pant, our anchorperson for the evening. Nervous hands shot up (mine included). “May I ask why?” he asked. “It does its bit to put the speaker in ease” came the prompt reply. “Ah!” said Mr. Pant, almost anticipating the reply, “more of a reason to do away with it!”

I was attending the introductory session of the Public Speaking Forum. It was my way of testing uncharted waters, combat my fear of public speaking and to participate in a few interesting discussions (the poster said they would discuss books!!)

“A lectern in one of the many crutches a speaker uses. We must learn to do without it for the moment. We can always bring it back once public speaking ceases to bother us.”

The first session was reserved for introductions. We had to present an interesting talk about ourselves. I volunteered as the grammarian and grunt master. There were time keepers and general evaluators among the speakers. People came up with interesting anecdotes, jokes and even poems that went on to describe them. I had to pick out grammatical errors and adopted a very draconian approach for the same. So by the time I went up to the mike I had a pair of 25 analytical eyes waiting for me to make a slip. I did, many times over.

“When you think you are speaking fast you are speaking very fast. When you think you are speaking slow you are at a good pace.” Hence spoke the master and we nodded in approval.

Things eased out as the meeting progressed. We had a very rich crowd- from budding politicians to aspiring novelists. Jokes became more frequent and people articulated their thoughts more. Public speaking is the one of the most dreaded thing by many people, some placing it even above death. It is a battle against your own adrenalin surge. Clarity of thought, knowledge of the subject under discussion and practice is the best medicine.

For the next meeting we have three topics under discussion-
Birth and rise of Naxalism
Climate Change
Education reforms in India

Thoughts and suggestions for the same are welcome!!!

2009-11-11T08:22:00.000-08:00

Expanding Comfort Zones

1.1 Shifting Base: The Realization

Imagine me in a new city (Bang Bang) at six in the morning. I reached the PG accommodation, paid a ten day advance and entered the sleeping quarters. In a room – 2.5 m X 7 m slept 12 girls in various bunk beds. The sight shouldn’t have bothered me. I had stayed in hostels long enough. However, I had an urge to cry. What was bothering me? Long introspection in the one toilet that served 24 girls led to enlightenment. I was depressed because I had long stepped out of my comfort zone.
For 4 years now hostel life has grown on me like a moss under which I snugly live. I am aware of the challenges I will face everyday and am ready with the solutions. Being in Bang Bang was like being stripped naked suddenly.

Once the wisdom dawned on me it was easy to cope up. In fact I found the idea pretty challenging. What if we constantly and deliberately step out of our comfort zones? Wouldn’t it be just as thrilling as jumping off a cliff with just the bunjee rope for support?

1.2.1 Application 1 : The Newspaper

With my newfound wisdom and a renewed interest towards life I approached the daily newspaper. I had a tendency to skip the business and political news. Now I made an attempt to read and understand it. It has surely broadened my perspective of the world.

1.2.2 Application 2 : The Sports Field

As blogged earlier, I graduated from jogging to basketball and tennis. New games bring about a new freshness each morning!!

1.2.3 Application 3: Public Speaking

I may be able to write a thing or two but when it comes to public speaking I have to wage a war against my adrenalin surges. So I enrolled for the public speaking forum. It frightens me but with each meeting I feel better equipped to fight my demons. J

For now this philosophy gives me something challenging to do each day. It is the kick I get from doing the things I do on a regular basis but with a different approach.

2.1 Bottom Line: Highly Recommended

PS- The structured writing procedure sticks on to my fingers as I just finished writing my 100 page thesis report.

2009-11-09T05:15:00.000-08:00

Press Play!!!

There was once a time when seven children had a life that revolved around a sacred playfield. There were days when they would plop off the school bus on afternoons and land up (much to their mothers’ chagrin) on the playground and not on the lunch table or the study table. The sacred playtime was as high on survival priority as food and air.

Running after a football, fielding in cricket, running desperately to find a place good enough to baffle the ‘denner’( help with word root if known)in hide and seek….Sweat flowed, screams echoed and Dopamine reigned supreme.

What went wrong then? Swimming was the first undoing. It is a game in which you excel alone. Your game does not affect others. It further deteriorated down to jogging and yoga which could be done at my own leisure. The crouched study position however took over. The only balls that moved now were the eyeballs scuttling along lines and lines of data to be learnt. It was not that there was never enough time for play. Just that play equated to something evil. It was ok to sit and stare zombie-ish-ly at a maths problem but sacrilege to play.

Lethargy is the worst of all addictions. College meant that there was tones and tones of free time. However sleep was revered above everything else, work was postponed till the last minute so that night outs could leave us drenched out.
The dying flame burns brightest before its end. So with just about a month left before leaving BIT group sports makes its re-entry into my life. Yes, there is a lot of debate in my head at 5:30 in the morning when I have to drag myself out of a cozy bed but when hot sweat from running meets the cool morning air it all becomes worth it.

So we dribble basketball and flex a muscle or two at tennis- both sports I never was very comfortable with. Though I loose miserably the foolish abandon of the playfield beats it all!! Streams of sweat running down my face and heart beating at a frantic rate coupled with wise cracks from my fellows is like icing on the cake.

Bottom line remains……..never give up sports. Never give up on the competitiveness of making your teams win. Never give up on lithe, agility and speed. A sweaty game of basketball remains much more satisfying than killing people in a game of Counter Strike or mindlessly arranging cards in Solitaire.

Listen to me………come let’s play!!!!

2009-10-04T06:46:00.000-07:00

“You Don’t Need a Big Place to do Big Things”

It was six in the morning and we were a group of ten architecture students, with a vague idea about Sanskriti Kendra,on our way to Hazaribagh. After a two hour long journey where we encountered the recent havoc caused by underground fires in coal reserves, we finally reached our destination. The metalled road gradually gave way to a winding unpaved path disappearing in a groove of trees. The Sumo was now trepid in its movement and we were wondering what awaited us. Sanskriti Kendra is has been nurtured on a 4 acre lush green site in the middle of Hazaribagh. It is run by Mr. Bulu Imam and his family. We had heard much about him but nothing could have prepared us for the pleasant surprise that lay ahead. He was all dressed up and ready for us. After a brief round of instructions he started talking about his recent work in the field of global warming. A look must have crossed our faces and he read it and said promptly, “You don’t need a big place to do big things. Look what Gandhi achieved operating from Sabarmati.”

As the day progressed we felt our knowledge increase exponentially on global warming, coal mining, tribal art and pre-historic rock art. It is amazing how he linked all of thee for us. But first let’s look around Sanskriti Kendra, shall we?

The main house is occupied by Bulu Imam and has his impressive study. There are a great number of books, research works and phds written right form this center. A number of Khowar and Sorahi paintings adorn the room. Also worth noticing was the female dog and her young pups peeping from the fireplace. Next is a small earth house made by his son. The texture of mud, the play of light and the art on the wall floored us completely. Sustainability could not be defined better. Of special interest to our group was the carom board groove and a rather large collection of beer bottles.

We followed Bulu Imam on a walk down his forest-garden and reached Putli Ganju’s house. She is one of the women artists who live in the campus. Her house again had an array of paintings. Bulu ji explained many things to us here. He said people often wonder how these villagers make such beautiful paintings seasonally and then clear them to make fresh ones every year. Here lies the great philosophy of village life-one that teaches the futility of attachment and the acceptance of change. They treat art as a living phenomenon, an expression of their daily lives. Each year the house is revamped during Diwali and becomes as beautifual as a ‘nayee naweli dulhan”.

A walk further down the groove led us to the old pukka house that belonged to the family and had now been converted into a museum. It housed some of the tribal paintings, metal works, quilts and an audio-visual show. This belongs to the Tribal Women Artists Cooperative a self supporting organization. Each painting sold pays the artist as well as helps in running this organization.

We walked further up and the circuit led us again to the aangan where we had begun our journey. Cool sharbat was waiting for us as we went through the various lists of publications and research works done by the Kendra. When we left the Kendra Bulu ji has given us ample to think about. How do you link tribal art, women, Mahatma Gandhi, coal mining and global warming?

Bulu ji had given us enough web references and cds to research and find out for ourselves. Two days have passed since then and here is my inference- One of the major factors of global warming is burning of coal for producing energy. This coal comes from coal mines. Jharkhand is ridiculously rich in this mineral and has hence been under attack form various mining firms. When open field mining begins hundreds of villages and thousands of indigenous people get displaced and loose their land, homes, forests, rivers and traditions. There are also numerous ancient pre historic caves in this region which are getting lost forever. So what does this single man do to fight national and international mining firms? He takes artwork from the walls of this village, a tradition that has passed down numerous generations, and places it museums across the world. He shows how this unfortunate string of events can lead to the destruction of this art form and its makers forever. The sale of these paintings not only helps womenfolk who have seen this tribe disappear forever but also becomes the ultimate non-violent weapon against the injustice being wrecked upon them. Today, after more than 20 years of fighting this battle, Khowar and Sorhai paintings hang in art galleries in Venice, Australia and USA. Many mining projects have been brought to a halt. One man’s fight to save the flowers along the Damodar has borne its fruits.

For further reading-

http://www.sanskritihazaribagh.com/

http://www.karanpuracampaign.com/

http://www.350.org/

Paintings on mud wall

Students enjoy the painting display

2009-08-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

Madhuca longifolia (Mahua!!)
Closures are necessary. Especially when you go to a Jharkhand village one fine Sunday, have an awesome reception, understand what a well means for a village, talk about how the land has changed their lives over the years- taking away of farmland from tribals at as low as Rs. 1, meet the survivor of last week’s cock fight, enjoy tea, see hadia and chullu ( for the uninitiated: local liquor) being brewed in practically every home and promise you’ll write a CD of the umpteen pictures you have clicked and personally deliver it before the end of the week (not to forget the mental note about writing a blog about it).

This was some three years back. The CD was never compiled and the blog never written. The guy from the village who works in the Pharmacy department at BIT bumps into you often enough to remind you of the broken promise but you always manage to console yourself that the promise has not really been broken only extended. Now as you sit numbering your days in BIT closure, as I said, is necessary.

Baijnath was courteous enough to let us into his house and not only answer our queries about neem and cowdung as preservatives or what he did with his DVD player but explain in excruciating detail how Chullu (or Mahua) is made.

Step 1. Mahua flowers are collected in wats and a few Gur ( whatsitcalled in Angrezi? Jaggery?) pieces are thrown in. The Mahua and Gur get acquainted over a period of eight days. The sweet smell of fermentation announces that the mixture is now ready for the next stage.

Step 2- A big fire is prepared in the chulah every Sunday and a complex apparatus with beautiful simplicity is set up. It has three basic parts-
1. The bottom most part is an aluminium matka that contains the fermented mixture and is in contact with the heat.
2. Above this rests the perforated earthen matka that has hidden in its belly a smaller earthen matka resting on three projections at the bottom.
3. On the top is a simple pot containing cool water.

Here is how it works- The heat acts on the fermented mix allowing intoxicating vapors to evaporate. This is mahua in its nascent state. It wiggles-waggles through the perforation on the base of the second pot, touches the cool base of the cold water container and mahua in its liquid form is born. Throughout the day the fire burns and drop by drop the liquor pot gets filled.

In the evening, the precious pot is taken out and all family members (male??) share it. How does it taste? You confidently approach the innocent looking water like substance. The taste eludes the taste buds and you work hard on figuring it out. A lot of sips later, when the curiosity about the taste still lingers in the air it hits you much like nothing else and then boom!!!

As the sun goes down the village forgets about how their settlement is slowly being swallowed. The real estate developer is building hideous row houses where once wheat grew, BIT wants a new building somewhere there, and young lads have been looking for jobs in the city for sometime now. But while the boom lasts they can forget about it. Morning punches them doubly in the face- life and mahua join hands. They sit on their thresholds waiting for the headache to pass only to be replaced by other ones.

Next: Why does the code book say-“ thou shalt not build on farmland or wetland” but they do, they do and they do……………………….

2009-08-06T11:08:00.000-07:00

MEMORIES OF FOURTH YEAR

This year lethargy has had its hold on me otherwise this post would have appeared way back in June. This also marks my bloggiversary. What started as an activity for a curious soul on a summer afternoon, maybe to fill the void left by the disintegration of a long letter writing relationship, has sustained itself for four years now. More of this later…..for now let me stick to the topic…

B.I.T was its usual self-the drills had become all too familiar by now. So you find yourself blabbering away to glory in the 2k4 rooms while the ladies work hard on their thesis. As butru often points out, you suddenly have a lot of time at hand mostly because your sole commitment in the college has wooshed away. Yes, you do miss the animal tales, the music sessions, the ‘meet me now (4:45 a.m!!!!)” calls, forest walks and rides to nowhere but you also know that there is no point in getting depressed about it….look beyond.
Things have also cooled down on the academic front. The teachers take it easy and we follow lead. So, with all this time in the world you discover college like never before.

There is a drastic re-definition in friends. You finally begin to pick out the shams from the true gems. Yardstick- “People who do not have to spend an hour to achieve the – out-of-bed-look”. Evenings are free and spent curled up in a corner devouring some book or the other. Ah! You become your former self again….bliss! Society is fine but you need that withdrawing space where it’s you, your thoughts and the spider on the wall.

ANDC trophy work was fun- The visit to the haat every Saturday to study the Hadia and Mahua sellers, the Rs. 12 noodles, herbs and spices from the Jharkhand forest. You also discover a lot of things about your friends during group work- the last minute deserters matched by the crazy all night zealous workers. The last minute sheet finishing at CCD, haggling with the courier guy and reaching back at 9 all drenched.

LIK was better still. The visit to Banaras, living at Kautilya society guest house, the ratri jagaran sabhas, being at 11 pm on the ghats, being at 4 am on the ghats, watching the sun rise over the ganga, the taste of mallia melting in your mouth, hearing Prof. Singh talk about Banaras so passionately on assi ghat, aghoris, fighting for the rent and at last almost missing the train. Coming back- almost living in the design studio, passion of the group that blurred the boundary between day and night and finally the submission!! We did not win but it was one of the most satisfying exercises we have done.

One day you play along and eat the wild mushrooms Kaso so often cooks. Soon there is on spot on your skin that is not red. You rush home and stay back for a month only to return for zonasa in Calcutta. No shosher maach this time but much better performance at the events. You also stop part time view making unhappy with the money and start devoting time to competitions (more money and better satisfaction).

To pick out memories- The Rajjarappa trip will go down in history. You had to convince 6 girls to go with 12 boys they had never seen to a place they had never heard about!! “ See, they are really nice boys. They even touch my parents’ feet when they meet them (yardstick 2)”. “ They are decent and well behaved”. “There will be no drinking-smoking I assure you(yardstick 3).” You had to paint this angelic picture partly out of imagination because even you knew just two of them. You also had to define a code of behavior for the girls. “Don’t act snobbish, be friendly to all and carry some food please.”
In the morning things did not go as planned. The girls were ready by 7 but the boys turned up only after 9. The first impression we got of them- shaggy, stubble and leaning against a trekker at pmc!! The girls would have run back if I wasn’t there pushing them in. Things brightened up as the journey progressed. The initial hesitations were thrown aside hastily and soon people who had never seen each other were using pet names. The temple and boat ride were fun but the company was incredible. We couldn’t see the sulphur springs but nothing else was left un-explored. By lunch friendships has flourished and the laughter was not stopping at all. No body felt like going back so early so we took a detour to rukka dam, saw a nagpuri film being shot, posed for a gazzilion pics and finally came back by dusk. That night, both the hostels were abuzz recounting how much fun they had with total strangers!!

It was also the year of dirty politics. Bitotsav made everybody power crazy. People who were in teams till last year cursing pauaa were now in posts promoting it. Fights, corruption and giant egos all broke loose and I lost all the affection I has for this special event.

Thesis- the topic selection process was too overwhelming; you lost your mind and are still trying to untangle your thoughts!

Visiting the old age home was also an experience. Makes you wonder about the strange ways of nature. The parent-child relationship suffers from such parasitic influences-happy to take but only lies and deception when it comes to giving. However, I will never forget the optimism of the 105 years old marwari lady who washes her clothes, does all her chores, reads and does not have a single regret in life!!!

You see what drastic change retirement brought about in your parents’ lives. From an 8 to 8 schedule they suddenly had nothing to do. It took a while but I think that they are settling in and re-discovering things they never had the time for earlier – Gardening, shopping, cooking (and composting!!), traveling, bathing Mia (v.imp), reading, writing, painting………

Now the last leg of our architectural studies has begun. Thesis is in full swing however you feel very disconnected to the whole thing. Maybe it will get cured in sometime. College seems pretty empty without your batch. Zonasa preps are again gaining momentum. Transtaling Traditions also eats up a lot of energy. Have many plans for the coming session- Hazaribaag, North East, Bihar…….ah! the blessed wings of fantasy appear again.....

Also have to clear up a lot of pending blogs……coming soon- “ Hadia and Chullu- the recipe”.

2009-07-10T20:01:00.001-07:00

One man's waste is another's resource.........

As Mayawati goes on making park after park in Lucknow form tonnes of red and pink sandstone straight from Rajasthan....spending unimaginable sums of public money.... local people yet again display qualities of spontaneous bussiness sense.......
The waste stone from Kansi Ram Smarak park is being turned into Sil-Batta( mortar pestel??? (for want of better translation)), statues and what not!!!!!!
What an idea Sir-Jee!!!!

Image 1- Sil- batta sold along the road with Kansi Ram Smarak taking form in the background

Image 2- Aam admi ko kuch to fayeda hua!!!!

2009-01-14T07:59:00.001-08:00

LOW COST AND ORGANIC B'DAY

Nothing kills me more in life than cliches'. And spending money. B'days being a regular occurance in our lives tend to loose their sheen if you end up doing the same thing each year. I think all of us have become a bit too old for the cake cutting and smearing(please don't waste food. lot of people would kill for it), the wrapped up gifts and the brutal beatings!
There are a lot of interesting and inspiring tales of people who do charitable deeds, give up old habits and turn a new leaf. ours did good, not so much for others as for ourselves.
It was to be my last b'day in the hostel with my inmates so i decided to be as whimsical as i could. the b'day 'cake' was a 5kg papaya carved to pay regards to a misterious individual called 'psycho sunny' (artwork-Audreza Das). we also served guava with chaat masaala on a dona. Tto wash all this down Anuradha served hot lemon tea (people were requested to carry their own mugs)
At the end of the day, we were happy that there was no heap of styrofoam glasses and cups in our dustbin. we did not feet overtly stuffed rather in the morning a lot of people described their 'system clenzing' tales in explicit detail..........

2008-12-07T00:26:00.000-08:00

DASVEDANIA......

If ragging is supposed to be torturous......then how come we laughed our heads off
if freshers is supposed to be an economoical event.........how come we were treated like kings
if if seniors are supposed to be snobby...how come ours worked for us late into the night
if there is supposed to be a batch demarcation........how come we spent all our time in their rooms
if juniors are supposed to bow down in respect of their seniors.....how come we made ours run #$%ed
if good byes are supposed to be good riddance.......how come we cried so bitterly at ours
to the most incredible bunch of girls i met.........muah!!

2008-11-22T09:25:00.002-08:00

Thesis Topic.....
ah......the time has finally come....
four years of architectural education to be condensed in one topic............
ideas and suggestion welcome............

2008-11-22T09:25:00.000-08:00

Haystack Diries......
Few things can be as pleasurable as lying on the haysack all day long, especially when you have an exam the next day.......

2008-11-14T10:51:00.000-08:00

There are times when B.i.T just takes your breath away..........

On a walk down O.C road when it is raining hard.......

Strolling barefoot on the upper lawns.........

Sitting by the river when the morning mist is just lifting off.........

Clear sparkling sky and the hide and seek game the clouds and the moon play.............

The carpet of brown leaves that cover everything before February...........

It is not every day you are blessed to live amidst 760 acres of reserved forest and an unpolluted river. Feel blessed and make the most of it........................

2008-10-30T04:27:00.000-07:00

IF
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

2008-10-14T20:58:00.000-07:00

RECYCLING IN ARCHITECTURE

This is how one thing led to another.........
Aayushi said we shud do a seminar on recycling in architecture....
Amrita and I were only too happy with the idea......
the research part was fun.....
it was so much fun that we decided to break from the mould and went ahead and did a skit on the seminar stage, made a model out of recycled ciggie pacs,screened vedios and submitted a report on gobar plastered recycled paper.
the fun did not end just there.....
our report got published in the Council of Architecture magazine.....here is the link.....
http://www.coa.gov.in/mag/Sept-08-Lowres%20pdf/20-22-Neelakshi%20Joshi-Web.pdf
whatz more.......
i went ahead and participated in Indin Green Building Council's Create with Waste competition to make a dwelling completely out of waste..........
that was good and i got the jury commendation award and a chance to attend the IGBC congresss in mumbai....
things did not end here......all this has led to a great deal of awareness not only for us but for our entire looby mates as they get to see everything from recycled book racks made out of packing material to building models from old cartons..........
currently we are obssessed.......and hope to remain so for a long time.....

2008-09-18T22:18:00.000-07:00

MY ENLIGHTENING TRAIN JOURNEY..............

I was travelling alone on one of the worst trains in this country. At 8:30pm, when i boarded, i thought it wise to quietly climb on my upper berth and shut off the 5 other fellow passengers. At six, the next morning, i woke to a differnt world altogether.

I climbed down with my design manual and started studying, waiting for banaras to come. the gentleman naxt to me, after observing me for some time said.......

GM-" adhyaatm mein ruchi rakhtee hain??"

ME- haan thoree bahut, aapko kaise pata?

GM- yeh aapke haath mmein bandhe dhagee bata rahain hain.

A conversation ensued in which i found out that he was a sanskrit scholar, teaching for 20 years.....

An ayurvedic doctor come Vaastu-Shastri sitting in front of us joined in...........

This was gonna be my ideal day..........

What followed was a deep conversation about everthing from the by-lanes of Banaras to the stories of Mahabarat....

They did not agree on a lot of things but still had an interesting conversation, with me as a silent receptor.......

This is exactly what Amartya Sen was talking about....THE ARGUMENTATIVE INDIAN...........

with his immeasurable capacity for bakar............

with his deep knowledge of the past....present and future...............

with his strong roots......stemming from a bihari village or a UP town.............

our compartment soon became a debating stage...........with lots of people jumping in.........

That day when i got down...i felt refreshed..........truly refreshed!!!

2008-09-08T01:17:00.000-07:00

ARCHITECTURAL INSPIRATIONS
FROM IMITATION TO INNOVATION

Humans learn by imitation. We learn to speak by hearing people, to write by following the curving patterns of our teacher’s hand and to draft by watching our sleep starved seniors masterly rolling a Rotoring. However, life would be miserably dull if it were to stop at imitation. Blessed be the human faculty of innovation! Imitation makes talkers, typists and drafters. Innovation creates orators, authors and architects.

As young students of architecture we often find ourselves in a fix when confronted with a brand new design problem. Then beings the frantic search in magazines, journals and books for something similar. So far so good. After this most of us begin to go astray. Consciously or unconsciously, we copy from the sea of information presented in front of us. We do not stop to apply our brains. We do not stop to question, improve and improvise. That is where the innovation stops and a rut sets in. it becomes too easy to drift along with the flow rather that to challenge ourselves to swim against it.

Timeless architecture has always come when architects have broken down all shackles of norms. They have evolved but never forgot for whom and why did they build. Great architecture is always unique and user specific. Given the diverse shapes, sizes and values that we humans come in, no buildings should ever look the same again.

The source of imitation also makes a big difference. Given our fascination for all things foreign, we blindly copy from buildings that were designed in a different climate, for a different set of people and for a different reason. The most starking example of this would be our attitude when we were given a problem to design a commercial center. Pat came out designs that were replicas of air conditioned, multi coloured boxes we call malls. How many of us went out and explored the markets that exist in the old part of our cities? How many of us studied the culture and traditions of the Indian consumer? This does not mean that we appose change. You cannot afford to shut your eyes to the world when everything is moving so forward so fast. But that does not mean that it be done at the cost of local values, aspirations and needs.

Observe the work of two master architects – Raj Reval and Charles Correa. Raj Reval’s Asian Games Village present how cluster housing, a tradition in India to ward off heat by mutual shading, can be applied in a modern context to meet today’s demands. Charles Correa’s City Center would give any mall a run for its money by its beautifully placed kund, a feature to accommodate Calcutta’s ‘adda’ culture.

Five years of architectural education is designed to make logical thinkers and exceptional designers out of us. From subjects like rendering we move to hard core design. We are expectected to evolve from imitation to innovation. Five years of constant night-outs, backaches and bark circles would go to waste if we do not learn to love and appreciate the work we have set out to do, if we do not put our mind, body, heart and soul into it. At 21 you and I can afford to be idealistic fools. But I hope we still remain just as crazy at 51. So, dear reader, no matter who you are and what you do, fight it out and don’t give in. innovate, O Architect! Innovate.

2008-08-06T09:33:00.000-07:00

REDISCOVERY........

What can be more gratifying to the human sense of curiosity than a library. All those books overflowing with knowledge...just waiting to be opened. For a person whose social life underwent drastical changes this semester, I found solace in the B.I.T Mesra library!
Things got better when a friend fixed a date with me in the library. We did random searching on the comp with surprising results. There were entire sections dedicated to Yoga, cookery and even sex! we even bumped into plays by Girish Karnad and travelogues from the Himalayas. It was a different way of 'hanging out' and it was awesome!
On other days, when i am in a graver mood, I browse through the Architectural section. They have some very rare and good book there which students hardly access. Add to this free newspapers and journals and magazines from all over the world.
Other random observations-
1. there are still a lot of people who do actually sit down there and study.....real study. Very inspiring!
2. if we ever happen to strike up a conversation with a person the strict librarian in the maroon pathan suit walks up to us and says the same line( every single time!) " agar baat karni hai to canteen mein jaa ke karo." Is this not a flaw in the system?? shouldn't a place in the library be dedicated to human-to-human knowledge exchange? Should a conversation be a big sin even if it isin't disturbing other readers?

Botton life is.....the library is currently my favourite haunt........it is a free bookstore........and a really strong support system..........
MUAH!

2008-06-29T09:01:00.000-07:00

A Thousand Splendid Suns………

A good story is something that, when read, makes you feel you are laying on someone’s lap and the web of words is flowing into your ears. It is an effortless process. But the beauty of it is that when it ends you feel mesmerized, deeply moved and in some ways transformed. To Kill a Mocking Bird did it. And now this…….
Khaled Hosseeini’s book takes you on a journey deep into Afghanistan. Two women experience momentous changes in their lives as the world around them trembles and collapses. It shows the things a mother would do to protect her children. She will face disgrace, go hungry, accept violence and even kill.
The book is filled with moments that talk volumes about this love. Leaving her daughter Aziza in an orphanage where she could be fed and clothed, Laila holds her hand and says, “Look at me, Aziza. I‘ll come and see you. I’m your mother. If it kills me, I’ll come and see you.”
It is a story of women wronged by men. It is so full of succinct sentences that I had to stop and appreciate every now and then. Says Nana, “Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always.” She even goes on to say, “a man’s heart is a wretched thing. It isn’t like a mother’s womb. It won’t bleed and it won’t stretch to make room for you.”
But don’t be misled into believing that all men are bad. There is Babi who believes in educating his daughter and is patient and loving towards his wife. There is Tariq who comes back to Afghanistan, when every one was leaving it, to rescue his childhood sweetheart. It is endearing how he says, “I’ll follow you to the end of the world, Laila.”
The story ends on a positive note. Even after the ravages caused by warring tribes and the worst possible things done by Taliban, hope floats. People gather bricks and rebuild the once great nation. Flowers sprout in the plants in old rocket shells. Rocket flowers.
The author leaves us with few lines from a ghazal by Hafez……….

Joseph shall return to Canaan, grieve not,
Hovels shall turn to rose gardens, grieve now.
If a flood should arrive, to drown all that’s alive,
Noah is your guide in the typhoon’s eye, grieve not.

2008-06-24T23:07:00.000-07:00

After a lot of searching and digging.....from various sources.....here are the complete lyrics of Beru Pako......a Kumaoni folk song.....

Beru Pako.........

beru pako bara maasa...ho narain,

kaphal paako chita,mere chaila....(2)

Runi bhuni din aayo...ho narain,

puja mere maita,mere chila....(2)

Tero khuto kan buro...ho narain,

mero khuto pera,mere chail......(2)

Almara kee nanada devi...ho narain

anar jhakari ko sai ma...mere chaila

teri meri maya dekhi

log khani bhaima....mere chaila!....(2)

Translation---

Bero ripens all around the year.........o Narayan

Kaphal ripens only during chait....my beloved

Hot days are here...O Narayan

take me to my mother's home.....my beloved

If a thorn pierces your foot...O Narayan

I feel the pain.....my beloved

At Almora's Nanda devi,

In the shade of a pomegranade tree,

Seeing our love

people get decieved.......my deloved

2008-06-19T05:42:00.000-07:00

Roots.....

Roots by Alex Haley traces back family history down seven generations to...Kunta Kinte....who called the guitar Ho and the river Gamby Bologna.....who grew up in a village in Africa and when he was out one day to cut wood, was captured by white men and forced into slavery.....

An interesting story that made me think about all the stories passed down generations by word of mouth. here are two of my favourites-

Durga Dutt Joshi was a Jhijharian(Jhijar is a famous muhalla near Almora known for joshis who when speak....speak so bitter.....that even the food in ur stomach gets burnt!). His father, the diwaan of Satna ensured that he had a good education. Though DDJ started off as a school teacher, he was soon promoted to the post of 'inspector of schools'. He travelled from one town to another on his white horse Chetak. Legend has it that he was very strict about the level of education imparted. So strict that after a tour his bag contained ears...yes....EARS and chutiaas(a brahmin boy's trademark bunch of hair) of truant schoolboys!!!

After retirement, being the eldest he enforced strict rules in his house as well. His younger brothers, fond of alcohol, never dared to uncork a bottle at home. They hired rickshaws and roamed around town drinking all evening, as far away from home as possible.

His grand children, taught by him, suffered the worst. On getting 95/100 in maths they were asked...in his thunderous voice......" bakee 5 number kahaan gayee??" He did not hesitate in bringing down his whip(yes he has a whip too!!) on their backs if they deviated an inch from studies.

I was shown these whip marks by my father (who, may i mention, has a flare for fiction), one of DD Joshi's grandsons, before exams and i was prompt to hit the books!

Badri Dutt Pande was very young when he lost both his parents. His elder brother supported his education and he became a professor at Chakrata, Garhwaal. But his youth coincided with Gandhi's call for freedom and he was quick to respond. Soon he became a prominent freedom fighter from Kuamon. He led the Coolie Begar Andolan and came to be known as Kurmanchal Kesari.

He was sent to jail often and his family was left to fend for themselves. On one of his jail stays, he got the news that his eldest son ,Tarek Nath(18) had drowned in the Ganga at Banaras. Two days later, more bad news followed. His daughter, on hearing about her brother's death killed herself in grief. Badridutt Pande was so overcome with sadness it threatened to engulf him too. He wrote a book called " Kurmao ka Itihaas" to emerge from the shock of loss. This book is still referred by historians.

He was offered a seat in the parliament after India's independence but he did not like the job. He was a freedom fighter and that is how he retired.

Once when he, along with other freedom fighters, decided to wave the Indian Flag atop Almora's police station, they were joined by hundreds of citizens. From among the crowd peeped a girl no more than 7 years old, with a flag in her hand. He held her up in his arms and she waved the Indian flag!!

This girl grew up to become a beautiful woman who married his youngest son Shakti Prasaad Pande. She was also his ardent supporter and companion in old age. She had lotsa children and later lotsa grandchildren. And whenever these grandchildren stepped the line or did something wrong they were told about the man who was their great grand father, a man with upright morals and undwindling determination. And given my affinity for misadventure i guess i have heard about him much more that any of my cousins.

2008-06-19T05:37:00.000-07:00

Confluence of Alakhnanda and Mandakini at Rudrapryaag

many beautiful pics of Chopta trek still lost in the formatted memory card. Please help!

2008-06-09T09:59:00.000-07:00

Habit- That easy way out......taking a motored vehicle to even the nearest of places.....and public transport just won't do...it has to be my own car...my own scooter......or my reserved auto!
Solution- something Doordarshan propagated many years ago.....start paddling.....or walking...as the case may be.....or get on that train or bus!!
Extreme- my first solar car!!
Did ya hear about- walkways in malls that generate energy from the foot pressure of people walking on it??

2008-06-07T07:58:00.000-07:00

Habit- a very plastic life.......dat bag followes me everywhere.....while shopping for veggies, in the clothes' store....even wayyyy up in the Himalayas....and itz wide spread influence is not the only problem. It's gonna be around even when my third generation would look out of their old age home!!!!!

Solution- dig out that old sling bag.......cloth,jute....anything....and learn to say NO THANK YOU I HAVE MY OWN BAG everytime the shopkeeper carelessly packs all the merchandize in innumerable poly bags.

Extreme- what to do about the tonnes of polythene all around us?? Some people have started using it in railroad construction and some as a filler element in buildings......go discover!

2008-06-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

Habit- giving pointless gifts to friends like photo frames, stuffed toys, cards. Eeeeh....too big a crbon footprint and no real feelings.

solution- gift plants( potted!!!), seeds........

Extreme- no gifts dude. i love you...u love me......bas ho gaya!!!

2008-06-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

Habit- Extra lights, fan, computer on stand-by......hmm.........
Remedy- 1. Absolutely no-waste policy......task lighting while working, using day light when possible, switching off devices when not in use.
2. CFL.......sare ghar ke badal dallonga!
Extreme - 1.switch off the fan every alternate hour and enjoy the sauna-like environment!
2.switch off the fan while working or watching TV......the brain is too busy to notice!

2008-06-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

WORLD ENVIRONMENT DAY, 5th JUNE, 2008

The 'Inconvenient Truth' is beginning to sink in. Our ice caps are melting, costal towns are flooding and the temperature is rising. The nightmare of our geography books is turning into reality!!

'The Amusing Truth', however, is that the solution to solving these grave problems is very simple. Turning off the extra light switch, turning off the tap tightly and making intelligent green and environmently friendly choices. We, who are addicted to over consumption and wasteful means.....it's time to KICK THE HABIT!!!!

For one month, I dedicate this blog to these choices.........let's GO GREEN........

There is a sufficiency in the world for man's need but not for man's greed. ~Mohandas K. Gandhi

2008-06-01T03:20:00.000-07:00

This has become an annual affair for me. An otherwise productive human being thrust into an utterly jobless vacation where the most ‘happening’ thing is Mia’s nail cutting ceremony…..here is the best of what happened last year

Memories of Third Year

We experienced a major change in the way we lived (ref. to earlier reports on the pitiful life of prisoners in Jail no. 9) with the LAN and internet around. DC++ brought about end to ‘real’ social interaction in an otherwise united girls’ hostel. Telecom providers suffered heavy losses b’cuz Net Meeting took care of all the koocheekoo. My sleep pattern altered as the best time to download anything from an otherwise excruciatingly slow internet is 2 AM. Our projects and presentations improved drastically b’cuz of all the information around as did our game-playing and movie watching. We were now ‘connected’

More about the individual now…..

So your academic life also goes ‘hi-tech’ as they now accept CAD submissions. The Sarkar-Sandy duo makes Design something to look forward to each week. The big drafting board sits dejectedly in the lobby while the laptop becomes your new pet. Sletchup and itz brethren now occupy your time.

As for the ‘kya parha aur kya dekha’ section--- this was the year dedicated to meaningful movies. Dharma, Khuda ke liye, the Daniel Pearl story, Pother Panchali,Namesake, Kite Runner etc. Books were galore too… Shantaram, Clockwork Orange, Mud…….

Then one fine day you watch ‘the inconvenient truth’. That green seed, lying dormant after that ‘say no to crackers’ campaign’ in class 11, begins to wiggle again till all you can see or do is GREEN. No more drinking coffee in a plastic mug or eating anything packed or processed. Switching off every light and turning off every tap and delving deeper and deeper into this ‘ECO FRIENDLY’ pit!!

You were your ghanchakkar self again this year. Rajasthan and Ahmedabad with 2K5 & 2K6 was the best ‘academic’ holiday you had. IIT-Kgp is a must on the unwritten B.IT itinerary and you had to go there. From living in the dingiest lodge to extreme loose motions….all happened in a span of 2 days. The all-girl Kolkatta trip was magical. From Ms. Das’s Shosher Maach to College Street…..made you an even more ardent supporter of the ‘ I love bengalis’ club.

The 14 new people from MGR were a very pleasant change in the class of 21 who had by now drawn swords and wanted to taste blood at the drop of a hat!

BITOTSAV was the high point and the win unforgettable. You even got to see and feel the OBSA events up-close b’cuz of wearing the Khancheez hat. The quiz was a beginning and Reflections a great initiative but the bickering and enemy-like attitudes of class mates was two steps back when we had just taken one forward.

It was also the semester of realizing that change was afoot. Your fellow earthworm eater, the lazy evening walker, Mini animal planet, pleasing like a cool breeze and more addictive than a daily dose of nicotine was to pack his back and go. A beti shaped hole in your life!?!

So what palns now? Decluttering it shall be this sem……removing the essential from the chaff……in words…..thoughts…..and actions……

Allaha hafiz

2008-04-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

GROWING UP……..

The last few days have been full of realizations and maybe a bit of maturing…….

Apathy is the biggest affliction of our generation. We care more about silly parties and sillier clothes than the pains and troubles of people around us. Anything that does not affect us directly can go to hell!

Shantaram was right. It is really difficult to find a selfless good deed. My search continues….in others as well as in myself.

There is a big gap between what we know to be right and what we do.
The tap in the toilet continues to leak and the tubelight is switched on. Nobody is bothered to put it right…….

Some people have an un-usually large share of troubles. Maybe it is the test of fire, the price for not sticking to the system or some other such funda. But after a limit you just hope it would all be all right for them.

With all this, you tend to ask yourself…..where is it all going?? What is the relevance of what we do, day after day, as human beings??

Still, with everything gloomy and going the wrong way you can’t help but hope. Life is full of surprises…both pleasant and unpleasant. Just that, even after all the yoga and tie-chi, when stuck between two unpleasant circumstances…. you can’t help feeling blue………

2008-03-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

STOP!!!!!

Did you know that a person drinking coffee everyday in a disposable plastic cup generates 12Kg of waste annually? Not only this, the amount of energy used and carbon di-oxide generated to make these coffee cups is appreciable. Plus recycling in not a reality for us yet so these cups will be lying around the beautiful campus for some days and then in a landfill for the next 10,000 years!!!!!!!!

All this can stop if you make a little room in your bag to carry your own mug. Impractical…..weird……just too much work??? Not really….if you just try.

We are lucky to live in a beautiful campus. We must do everything in our power to preserve it. Little deeds done today can make a big difference tomorrow.

2008-02-22T08:28:00.000-08:00

I Just had a Zabar-DUS BITotsav

In our first year, when we were still scared and ragged little minnows, we went to do BITotsav work for FAS. BITotsav was just another word then but Anuj Bhiyya, the then FAS presi, sat with us and explained what it was all about. He said, BIT really comes to life during BITotsav, hundreds of events happening all over the place. Anyone in their first year should participate in it.
That was enough to encourage us. Overnight we collected people, prepared posters and next day team ZabarDUS was in the battlefield. We battled it for three days with the intro skit, the events and finally reached core night.
Back then, we shrugged off things like ’pauua’. We just gave our best and after a tough battle came fourth. The whole four day process was so enjoyable that we never gave loosing a second thought. All we knew was that we were better equipped for the next year.
In our second year, we launched into the battlefield with a strategy. We knew the events and the rules they are played with inside out. We qualified into the core night with maximum points. That year core night was sacrificed for a greater good and we accepted it graciously. End of story.
By the time you reach third year, the rut begins to set in. every thing has a ‘been there-done that’ tag attached to it. So when BITotsav’08 was announced the ex team members failed to show the required enthusiasm. However destiny plays its game in strange ways. One day before BITotsav, I was sitting in front of the canteen with someone we lovingly call butru and a couple of my classmates. Publicity had begun…..teams were putting posters; people were shouting slogans…..the fever was spreading and we were its first major victims.
‘We have to form a team’
‘Four days in campus, during bitotsav, without participation is too much for me to bear’
‘We have played this game for three years now, let’s end it with a win’

Enough words for us to spring into action…….
Old flexes, chart papers, thermo cols and paints were promptly arranged and enthusiastic archis sprang into action. Three hours of work in the design studio amid a great deal of excitement and confusion, resulted in two giant sized posters that were carried to the canteen at 4 pm amidst drums beating, cheering et al. the poster read ‘ ZabarDUS….kuch yaad aaya?!”
Intro skit went extremely well, even though we were shooed off the stage for exceeding the time limit. However, during the lunch break, we performed the whole skit again, not for points but for the people who wanted to see a ZabarDUS skit!!!
First day of events did not go well. We were overconfident and disorganized. Events that we were known for winning slipped out of our hands. At the end of the day we were chided by our well wishers and we decided to pull up our socks.
Second day was magic. Audi and Binnie, our two team managers, ruffled and shuffled us between events with amazing efficiency. At the end of day two, ZabarDUS was not only back in the game…..it was leading with over 30 points!!!!!
Core nights are stuff college memories are made of. Our skit, on the theme Yaaron ki Yaari’ had the core roaring with laughter. Our fashP was on the theme Black and what it meant to us. We interpreted it as ‘ Black it was……black it prevailed…..and black it will be’. A mixture of evil, sensuous and funny depictions of the colour kept the audience interested till the very end. Punch was handled by our butru as was Mr. BITotsav with Anu supporting on the Miss BITotsav end.
When it was all over and the results were being tabulated, the CAT echoed with our team’s name……….ZabarDUS…..zabarDUS……zabarDUS. We knew then, no matter what the end result, we had won. Ten crazy first years who had started this journey had finally arrived.
And win we did! The whole CAT broke in applause and cheers, the entire archi was on stage……and we were all happy beyond words.
Many years from now, when I will look back on my college days I will proudly recollect the doings of ZabarDUS…….the highs and lows and finally the unforgettable win…..

PS----

Things I learnt-

i) There is nothing as ‘Pauua’. After three years of active life in the college, it is inevitable to know the Presis and the organizers. And if you do well, things are bound to turn into your favor.
ii) Without superb and experienced managers, the team fails miserably
iii) All events, formal as well as informal, must be attacked with equal zeal. In the end, every point counts
iv) ZabarDUS was never about just 10 people. It was about all friends who helped us get to the end with brush-strokes on our posters, lines in our debate, costumes for our skits and cheering on the final day. You made the whole experience special. Thank you.

2008-02-09T20:41:00.000-08:00

A Valentine’s Day letter…….

Dearest Ija,

It’s February and love is in the air. Girls and boys are busy finding ways of expressing their undying love for each other. And here I am, thinking about you…..
Laws of nature tell us that life is all about moving on. Grow up, find a job, find a man, start a family and renew the cycle of life. But thank God for love!!!
The love that still makes you think about the comfort of your son before you go to sleep every night. The love that makes me sad when I think of my mother in an empty house. The love of my father who keeps filling my bank account lest I should need something. The love that comes from sharing the same house and life for eighteen years with your siblings. The love of aunts and uncles who spoil you with treats……
My love for you that comes from years of playing on your lap, from learning the alphabets off your tongue, from eating food off your hands, from the warmth of the sweaters you knit for me, from your sweet smell that filled my nostrils each night we cuddled together, from the long discussions we had about Mahatma Gandhi and Harry Potter….
If 14th February be a celebration of love then, Lady, I salute you and I salute our love!!!

Yours always,
Neelakshi

(Ija is the Kumaoni word for mother. Strangely, I always addressed my grandmother as Ija)

2008-01-19T20:10:00.000-08:00

A month on the road……………

There is more wisdom in a mile of walking than in one hundred books.....

Well, going by that, I should be a pundit exuding knowledge from every pore of my body. The month of December was crazy! I walked, drove and rode thousands of kilometers across the length and breadth of the country finally to land back at my perch here at room 73.

It all began when I boarded a train at Banaras with 50 other ghanchakkars bound for Agra. Now traveling with 50 people can be quite an experience because there is never a dull moment. We did it all, from playing antakshari, singing bhajans, reciting Kabeer ke dohe, enacting Shakespere to conducting elaborate weddings! At Agra, we stayed in the cheapest of hotels, ate the most awful food, but had a blast visiting the Taj and Fatehpur Sikri. The monument of love did not inspire any awe because the moment was lost with thousands of tourists pushing and pulling to get their picture taken in front of it. At Agra fort, we got mesmerized by the shayaree our senile guide presented rather than the monument. Arz kiya hai……” shamma bekar hai agar ujaala na ho……husn bekaar hai agar chahnewala na ho”.

Next stop was Jaipur. We saw it all, from the world’s largest canon to the palace of nine queens. Watching a movie at Rajmandir was an experience as the hall has no equals when it comes to creating ‘movie magic’. Chauki Dhani, a resort village in the outskirts of Jaipur was where we had hukka, ate a 22course Rajasthani meal, feasted on chooran and had a jyotish whisper in my ear,”you’ll never settle in life!”(damn!shud have listened to him).

Then our troupe’ made a long journey to Jaisalmer, the far off desolate desert city. From there on a speeding Sumo (driven by yours truly!) we went to Sam, a village 40km from Jaisalmer. The camel safari was good, albeit a bit shaky! Then we joined in with the locals for a night of dance and music. Driving back from Sam, on the isolated desert road, is something none of is going to forget in a hurry.
At Jaisalmer, we also visited the only living fort in India, puffed some more hukka and spent a long evening shopping in the by-lanes.

By now, Rajasthan was getting to us, so for a change, we went off to Ahmedabad! Remembering that we were after all on a study tour, we went to CEPT, IIM, Apollo and finally Sangath, B.V Doshi’s office.
Not that we did not have fun. Mornings were spent munching on dhokla and the evenings roaming in the malls.

We re-entered Rajasthan to visit Udaipur. The beauty of its lake and palaces left us spellbound! We would have stayed longer but we were out of money so we decided to head home…..
At Delhi, where we broke our journey, guys and girls sat together and sobbed to Tare Zzameen Pe and later in the evening got lost in Chandani Chauk.
For most the journey ended there, they could rest their tired feet at home before joining in for the next semester. But for me, there was still a lot more to come!
When I got down at Banaras, my parents said that I had to join them for a week in the hills. So began the road journey to Almora. We met up with Gullu, Smira and her parents. The journey did not stop here. Our final destination was Munshiari, 270km from Almora. The twists and turns of the road took us two days to reach there. Yes, I saw snow after a long time. Gullu made us trek to far off places, up…up….up….we cursed him but there is nothing like the view from the top!!!
The high of this trip was probably seeing two naked sadhus, sitting amidst snow and smoking chillum!!!!
Alas! I had to break the journey and return to B.I.T. after all, it had been a month. So, after four days of traveling I was back. Its around one in the morning now and I am sitting hunched over my comp, googling out the next trip…..this time its gonna be spring fest at IIT, Kharagpur!!!!!

2007-10-24T22:38:00.000-07:00

VIEWS OF COMMERCIAL COMPLEX @ RANCHI..........................

2007-10-13T07:40:00.000-07:00

commercial center..............................

2007-10-02T09:06:00.000-07:00

it's been a while.............

here is what i have been doing..............

this is the tee shirt design for this year's ZONASA...................

and these are views for a tourist information kiosk for Jharkhand designed keeping in mind the local art and building forms......................

coming soon................

Ranchi's highest appartment building & mall........................

2007-06-15T07:39:00.000-07:00

Lovin’ it

When a regular folk walks into a restaurant what does he see and think? “Great ambience, pretty chic, hope the food is good.” But what do you say about a person whose brain buzzes thus, “ hmmm mosaic floor pattern, gypsum board false ceiling, diffused lighting, 2m passageway, hope they let me into the kitchen to see the service flow.” Well this is an architectural student in love with his field.

When you begin your life as an architecture student it’s all very hazy. Some come from families where everyone is in the profession, some are good with handwork and were cajoled by relatives to give architecture a try and most wanted to be engineers but landed up here because of a lower rank in the entrance exam. Whatever be the story, nobody knows were they are going. To mix-up things even more they see the sheets made by their seniors and sink into the gallows of depression-----the task not only seems difficult but impossible.

But as we turn in our registration slips each one of us is endowed with a special something. It is something equivalent to Shiva’s third eye. Let’s call it our architectural eye. It is a 6th sense which makes us see, feel, hear, smell and experience architecture and architecture alone.

For some it happens in the first lecture when the professor talks about the ‘noble’ profession they have chosen, for some on a field trip when they see their work in the real world, for some in a sociology class when they realize it goes beyond concrete and mortar, for some when they read Fountainhead, for some in a design problem they give their body, heart and soul to and for some unfortunate souls it never happens at all.

Once awoken the passion for architecture is all consuming. You will never see a gate without noticing the details, never a drain pipe without tracing it back to the toilet it came from, never walk through a space without reading rhythm, harmony, balance written all over it. You will wake up in the middle of the night to experiment new things on your butter sheet; you will close your eyes and experience your creation. Days will be spent on the drawing board without food and water and without a word of complain or fatigue from you. When this day comes you will become a true architect.

2007-05-20T21:12:00.000-07:00

MEMORIES OF SECOND YEAR…..

So you fell in love with the damn place. What can you do? The heart has a strange way of its own! You go back after a two month break and it all seems so beautiful. You get a funny tinkle in you stomach when you get down at the station. The auto walas increased their price again. Then comes the blessed BIT more. The gates of the placed you cursed last time seem like the very gates of paradise and guards like cute angels. You drop off the boys in their hostel. Its five in the morning, the guard is sleeping and you decide to go in. the one and only time you get to go inside H-6 and see those rooms. Double rooms for boys…..about half the size of the single rooms that girls have in h-8. tut tut. Some boys in their towels run for cover at the unexpected sight of a girl.
Happy? Had your fun? Got your kick? Good! Now you head to your own den. The sight of your friends makes you very happy. Oh! How you missed these rascals. Some are coming in form the station and some are gearing up to move to H-9. Ah! You almost forgot…..you gotta change your hostel. Leave the comforts of h-8, the super clean bathrooms and single rooms and move to h-9……it’s what some girls call going to sasuraal while others say it’s moving into the real world.
Well all that registration drama happens and you loose some running around and then gain some hogging in the canteen. The “ get-together-for-another-great-semester” thing. Even that food seems good!
All this love-shmuv lasts a week or so. Honeymoon over! You get back into the grinds. The schedule of everyday life takes over. All the ‘ I’ll learn Spanish this semester’ or ‘I’ll learn to tap-dance’ is replaced by the more realistic ‘I’ll submit my assignment on time……hopefully’.
All things are similar to last time……except……there are some new kids on the block…2K6! You see that just girls ,girls and girls…..that new reservation thing. Few of your friends, the ones in the limelight, have a tough time accepting that the limelight has now shifted……it’s about the kids now. We old guns otta move out and enjoy the show! And its quite a show…..the same courtship games, the same ups and down in the fests, the same hoo-haa about 9 pointers………you see it all. The game is the same….only the faces change. And thank god they do!
Then you get to see that the new chicks are about substance too. They call up GP when you go to rag ‘em! Hells Bells! Oh! How you love ‘em and wish you had that kinda guts………..
Elsewhere a lunatic cooks up the idea of THiNK and lures you in. it’s fun….starting a magazine from scratch. You learn and un-learn a lot of things along the way. You attend meeting where nothing logical is ever discussed and all the real decision are taken over phone. Well all is done and you are waiting to see the first edition sometime soon.
Then your beloved BITotsav ’07 happens. All goes well as long as 2k3 toes the line but how much can a man take? When the goons flex a muscle or two the guys decide they’ve had just about enough. They hand over the keys and say try running the show you old guns! It all falls to pieces when they leave. For the first time it was students against the administration, en mass. Nothing happened and nothing changed but at least they tried. You and all others you know ain’t forgetting Kranti ’07 in a hurry…..

Other things were more or less the same and as the session draws to a close you start cribbing again. You hate the damn place. What with all the rules and regulations…..the in-time, the dull life…..sheesh! You gotta get out and fast…..

Right now you are sitting at home, away from the monster and what is your prime occupation? You visit it’s group on orkut, you check out the forum, you hop and skip on the blog of fellow BITians and right now you are writing about it.

Strange are the ways of the heart…………………

2007-05-07T20:51:00.000-07:00

My Buddhi Bahadur Strongest

It began in Dagshai, a small town lost somewhere in the mist of Himanchal Pradesh. We lived in an old lonely house on an old lonely hill. My parents were at work all day long and at parties all night long. The little gaps of time thus created were filled by Buddhi Bahdur. This brings us to the question….Who is Buddhi Bahadur?

He is a resident of Nepal who served in the Indian army for the past 25 years, fought many wars and is finally retiring and going back home. But when he was in Dagshai with us he did a few other things as well. He was our nanny and one hell of a nanny was he!

In the evenings he took us bird hunting. My brother, being elder, got to handle the gun whereas I was assigned the task of spotting and recovering the prey. Later in the evening we used to sit outside the house and roast the birds and eat them semi cooked. Nothing can taste that good!]

He never stopped us from pillow fighting each other to death, from keeping weird pets (hens, chicks, bats, and owls) or anything that made us truly happy. But he was strict about getting dressed for school at time, polished shoes and impeccable uniforms.

I’ve heard he was a fearless soldier and has served in Kashmir for a long time but there is another side to his personality as well. In Dagshai, he used to live in the mortal fear that the alleged ‘Maim ka Bhoot’ will come and get him. So often we would find him at our door at two in the morning, covered in sweat because he had a feeling that the ghost was calling out his name!

He has the tiniest hands and feet and the gentlest tone when speaking. He played all our games, listened to our tearful tales, cured all the boo-boos and sang us to sleep. This same man was an ace shooter, a platoon leader and a meritorious soldier. I salute him and the many roles he played and played so well!

2007-03-12T03:49:00.000-07:00

CHICKEN IS MADE IN VARIOUS STEPS..........WHICH I DISCOVERED ONE AFTERNOON IN THE MESS KITCHEN...........
.

2007-01-19T18:43:00.001-08:00

Why THiNK………….

First think about your web-life. Has it not changed rapidly? You no longer mail friends…..you drop by scraps. Your photos are up for display to the world. You have suddenly started preferring random videos on YOUtube to chat shows with famous personalities. Where do you go looking for information, not Britannica but wikipedia. Firefox and Linux spreading like wildfire. And the biggest one of ‘em all……THE BLOG.

WHY?

Because, as Time magazine suggests, the spotlight has shifted to YOU. We don’t want to listen to the general on a news channel briefing us about the situation on the warfront when we have a soldier pouring his heart out on a blog.

We don’t want one professionally made movies anymore……some moron with a camera filming an average day in his dorm seems much more interesting.

We don’t want telephone calls or even e-mails when social networking rocks.

GLORIFYING MEDIOCRACY???

Are bloggers just a bunch of wannabe writers doling out crap about non-consequential things? Should a regular Joe be allowed to tamper with the baap of all information- the encyclopedia? What is so good about the amateurish video clips the world is going crazy about?

I SAY,NO

Because blogs, wikipedia, YOUtube and the gazillion social networks are not trampling upon the already existing ways of information interchange. They are carving a new space for themselves, an alternative. And like it or not everybody riding this wave( now officially called WEB 2.0….though nothing official about it!) is lovin’ it. We have lived linearly too long relying on a bunch of specialists to tell us what we know or do. Its time for a different perspective.

CHANGE

Maybe it’s time when the junta jumps up from the ‘ people’s poll’ corner of the newspaper and spreads to the pages.

BUT, WHY AM I WRITING THIS?

Because bitrip and now THiNK are both a part of this phenomenon. I might now recognize many of my fellow BITians on the road but I get a peek into what they think and do from their blogs. Calvin and Hobbes may tickle me a lot but it is an altogether different experience to read a comic strip about the life around me done by someone living in the adjacent hostel. A book on famous one-liners may be good but it cannot beat the nonsensicality of H4ism. News channels with hundreds of investigating teams blew up the death of a student here but Rhea’s simple observation and remembrance was closer to the truth.

So….START THiNKing but don’t forget to open the lid of your head when you do so that the world can peek in.

COME and be a part of the first THiNK forum/meeting/briefing/celebration on 24^th January……

BECAUSE it’s time ME AND YOU took over.

2006-12-26T20:53:00.000-08:00

FISHY....VERY FISHY

2006-12-18T20:01:00.000-08:00

My Cousin Rachel and other stories………..

In the winter of 1999, lying on a charpai, under a blanket, on Mrs. Jha’s terrace in Patna, I read Rebecca. It thrilled my very core and chilled my spirits. The ghost of Rebecca haunted me wherever I went. The line ‘we found her’ echoed in my head. The shadows of Drogheda mansion loomed large on my life. For days I excitedly related the story to Sarmishtha in class, lessons be damned! I bowed to the genius that was Daphnai du Maurier.
In 2002 I read Jane Eyre. Again the same reaction took place. The cruel orphanage, the huge dark mansion, the mad lady locked in the room. Ah! It killed me. Again I bowed to Charlotte Bronte`.
In 2004 I read Wuthering Heights. The ghost of Catherine Lintol Earnshaw took over. In the maddening heat of summer I felt the chill. The pure evil of man’s soul was laid bare and ‘infernal lads’ danced in my head. It was witchcraft and this Bronte` sister knew how to perform it.
Few days back I finished My Cousin Rachel. The setting is the same as is the intent but the witchcraft is gone. The chill begins but does not reach the deepest recesses of one’s heart. The burning of Drogheda mansion seems appropriate but when cousin Rachel dies falling off a scaffolded area it seems too deliberate. This genre of writing….whatever it is called…. is very powerful provided the author knows how to play with it.
I am looking forward to another novel that ‘scares the living spirits outa me’ and makes me a devout yet again……any suggestions??

2006-12-14T08:33:00.000-08:00

TAG ON........

here is something i came across while prying through some blogs. being tagged means you have to reveal 5 things about yourself that nobody knows. Thereafter you can tag 5 more people and watch them shed skin...........
so here goes.......
1. I am majorly hung over my childhood( class 5-6). I can never get over the good times and the friends i had then can cannot stop mourning that life will never be the same again.
2. I love needlework. I was in awe of my needlework teacher....sister Mona...and worshipped the groung under her feet.
3. I smoked my first ciggie in class 8..........and got caught by my mom in class 10.
4. till the age of three i thought my nani was my mother and my mother just another lady relative.
5. i want to come across a great fortune and spend the rest of my days in the hills. i hate planes.....

i further tag Rhea, Audi.....yuk i can't think of any more.........

2006-12-13T08:36:00.001-08:00

Our continued discussion on Desiree and everlasting love……

“Nothing lasts forever and we both know hearts can change,
And it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.”………guns and roses

Dear Don……..
Napoleon loved Desiree and it was very nice while it lasted. After moving to Paris he made a different choice. He married Josephine…..why? Because he thought it was the best thing for him to do. Maybe he thought that Desiree was not fit for the journey he was about to embark. Yes, he broke her heart but did it for the best. Maybe his way of doing it was wrong but the motive was not wrong.
He, in the course of his life, turns to her again and again. I don’t think it is out of love but something nobler…..friendship. The friends of our young days can somehow understand us more than anybody else.
Why is it that we choose to shun practicality when it comes to love? Why must we always associate it with great sacrifice and suffering? Why can’t we enjoy it while it lasts and the set it free? Why can’t we digest the fact that it can not be everlasting always? If it lasts…good, if it doesn’t….good enough…….
What say you??
Yours always
Capo

Writing all this reminds me of the conversation I had a few days back about the dwindling of a certain ‘utopian idea’…..a certain pact. If you are reading this Sir, I want to say sorry. I identify with Napoleon in strange ways. Six years is a long time and the memories and bonds formed cannot be zapped into nothingness, especially when they were so good. Yes, some things have changed but please let the others remain……..

2006-12-09T22:57:00.000-08:00

Daddy Long Legs
JEAN WEBSTER

Jerusha Abbot is a girl brought up in an orphanage. She can’t believe her luck when a trustee decides to sponsor her college education. However, she has to report her progress to him through letters. He is not obliged to write back or acknowledge them in any form. So the story of this girl is brought forward through numerous one sided letters to this man she calls Daddy Long Legs because she had only seen his shadow once cast against a wall and he appeared to have very long legs like Daddy Long Legs …..
Jerusha finds a way in this new world through hard work and learning and goes on to become a great author. In the end the identity of the mysterious benefactor is revealed which is quite a let down but overall it’s a good book…..a very good book

Some memorable lines….

Don't you think it would be interesting if you really could read the story
of your life--written perfectly truthfully by an omniscient author?
And suppose you could only read it on this condition: that you
would never forget it, but would have to go through life knowing
ahead of time exactly how everything you did would turn out,
and foreseeing to the exact hour the time when you would die.
How many people do you suppose would have the courage to read it
then? or how many could suppress their curiosity sufficiently
to escape from reading it, even at the price of having to live
without hope and without surprises?

Life is monotonous enough at best; you have to eat and sleep about
so often. But imagine how DEADLY monotonous it would be if nothing
unexpected could happen between meals. Mercy!

2006-12-09T22:50:00.000-08:00

Desiree…..
Annemarie Selinko

Desiree is the story of a silk merchant’s daughter told through diary entries. Hmm….what makes it so famous then? Well, this girl just happens to be Napoleon’s girlfriend. He leaves her to marry someone with money and power. Desiree Clary chalks the path of her own life which has many ups and downs which make for interesting reading. The link that these two established as young people lingers all their lives and they come to rescue each other often enough.
Finally she becomes the Queen of Sweden and Napoleon dies in exile. The most heart wrenching moment is their last meeting when she goes to him as the queen of Sweden and asks him to surrender. They sat on the same bench they used to as lovers and he gives her his sword……

2006-12-07T05:39:00.000-08:00

BOY NEXT DOOR................

I’ve heard people( by that I mean forwarded mails) say that if you look back at life and find even 4 people that you can call friends then you’ve had a pretty successful life. I mentioned two (Undertaker, Bull Dog) earlier in my blog, now I talk of the third and last one. I fondly called him Harry Potter……..

It had been a strange introduction. Actually there was never any formal introduction at all. He just walked into my garden one afternoon to fetch his cricket ball. We started talking, ‘we are neighbors after all’, he said. Before I realized we were discussing Harry Potter at length. I looked up at his face and realized that he LOOKED a lot like Harry Potter too.
We used to play cricket in the park, climb trees (“Ms Joshi you tend to forget that you are a girl”), swim and talk about books, movies and his favorite topic….NFS. We picnicked by the fish pond, slept on machans and with the help of Rishab even watched porn together. Slowly as most of our mutual friends got posted out of Varanasi, we became each others only ‘source of entertainment’. So often I have slipped into his house at night just to exchange a few CDs and so often he has slipped into mine. Each time he said, “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
Another magical thing about this magical boy was the power he exercised over my dog. Touching Mia means getting three anti- rabies shots, but this boy had him singing to his tune. He took him for walks, played with him and even got him back home when he ran away. Maybe his trump was Misha, his dog, the only dog Mia ever respected.
Today he lives in a different city and I live in a jungle but we still chat over yahoo sometimes or exchange a few mails. Yes, he mails me cooking books sometimes and says that I better learn how to cook or I’ll never find a decent guy. But the best thing is there is no compulsion of talking or communicating. It is all very laid back. If we talk its cool if we don’t its just as cool. Mr. Potter thanks for being yourself and thanks for brightening up my days when I most needed it…………………….

2006-11-07T21:51:00.000-08:00

Its gender is not externally perceptible so I cannot say if mademoiselle is a mademoiselle or if monsieur is a monsieur so lets just be politically incorrect and call it ‘it’.

It happens to be a new fish I kept…..and it is fondly called Suji because it only eats suji. With a more generous provider it could have had colourful fish food and have an even sillier name.

Suji moved into my room two weeks back and now lives in its goldfish bowl. No, Suji is not a goldfish but hails from the Subarnrekha. It is not a NRI but a localite.

One day a bong friend of mine came in an observed it for a long time and then said thoughtfully, “You know, this fish would be perfect for fillets”. These bongs are crazy…. crazy about fish.

Initially Suji hated me and I considered a forced responsibility but now our attitudes have softened up a bit. Suji swims happily in the bowl and I put in my hand and play with it sometimes (thankfully its not a Piranha).

So go ahead keep a pet…..be it a rabbit you steal from the Pharmacy dept. or a dog you pick up from the road…….it’s an experience worth having…….

2006-11-07T21:50:00.000-08:00

Are you an incurable epicure stuck in BIT? Did you know that the gooey mess food does to your elementary canal what a fag does to your lungs?? How often can you eat in the canteen, you rich brat??? How long does the home achaar and tit-bits last ???Its time to take control…

Here is a quickie you can make and survive the BIT food…

LEMON-CHILI PICKLE::

i) Steal good quantities of lemon, chilies, salt, red chili powder and some black pepper if you can manage it.

ii) Take the old achaar jar that your mom had given you (clean it if you have the enthu) and put in the lemon pieces wrapped in salt, green chili pieces, red chili powder and pepper.

iii) Keep this in the sun for at least five days.

Note- don’t be judicious with the quantity of ingredients…its all from your mess bill.

Now this is not particularly tasty but what it does is numbs your mouth so you don’t actually mind the food that much.

It’s worth a try…for free sample all you need to do is ask me………….

2006-10-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

Remember the Panchtantra…….those were tales told by teachers to teach the young princes about war and other lessons in life…….the unique thing was that they used animals as metaphor……..
Here I try my hand at the same……..and only one little prince will understand this tale….

So there was once a snake…..a black Burmese python……..big…strong…. (Intimidating?)…but very good at heart……
He had a good existence…..a very good one indeed…..yes, there was action in its jungle….lots of it…..still he was alone…..
Now there was another snake….a very different one….a rattlesnake…..she was much smaller than the python but in no way was she less powerful……….she also had a satisfying existence in her own jungle where she was the queen…….but late in the night even she thought that some company would be good…….
As luck would have it both ventured out one day…at the same time to a sandy island…..far from their world…..and met each other chugging along the way….
The python saw the rattlesnake all by herself and ventured close…..said he……this seems to be a long journey so what say we shake hands……
The rattlesnake looked long into the python’s eyes and could not help but smile………..
Now they were very different….both in nature and in form…….and things were not so smooth in the beginning….there was even bloodshed and poison spewn…….but slowly and steadily it all began to work out perfectly……..a perfect fit as some would say…..
Now I don’t know if they lived happily ever after but last heard the python had comfortably moved into the rattlesnake’s small but cozy hole and both were pretty happy about with it………

2006-10-01T08:52:00.000-07:00

Catch 22

It was love at first sight…….not with the chaplain but with the book…..there it stared at me from the Wheeler’s book store. Rs. 250….just the amount of money I had for the journey home. Fine I’ll go hungry….but I’ll have the book……
That was one year ago….I remember when I started it……the first reaction was that of shock…the shock one experiences with anything utterly new……….
There was Yossarian with his magnetic charm......major major major major with his insecurities…….Orr, Dobbs, Dunbar……..and god himself…..MILO……..
First time I read it I left it after 400 pages…..biggest mistake of my life…..
2 months back I picked it up again…..and fell in love all over again……
It is a different book with lotsa things thrown at you without any pretext….but therein lies its beauty……
Then there are the moments of soul searching questions………like Yossarian discussing god with his whore…….or Yossarian being the only sane one because he wanted to survive……or the very nature of catch22…………..
Yes, it helped me cure my sleeping problems………morning noon or night….I just had to pick it up and start reading….I would get the sweetest sleep ever……I am in no way trying to undermine the nature of the book……..may creepy maggots eat me alive if I do…….this is just what happened
So what is the book actually about……a lot of things….world war 2……life of combatants……various human personalities………..and catch 22 which says you can go home if you say you are crazy…..but if you say you are crazy you no longer are…………..go figure………

2006-09-30T00:30:00.000-07:00

Should have written this one looong ago…but better late then never….

AFTER 6…….

So you finished with your tata-bye bye at PMC by 1810 and managed to get your ass inside H-9 by 1815 only to get in the loooong line in front of the ‘sign-in’ register. You curse the system as you wait in line surrounded by sweaty and stinky girls….one signature each day to certify your presence in the hostel. Finally you reach the register…….now begins the search for a pen because some girl absent mindedly walked away with the original. You notice something strange on the register….nobody in your lobby has signed….bang it hits you then….its your signing day…you have to sign for the whole lobby. You have to do it in a clandestine fashion because it caught the warden will give you a hard time. Somehow you manage to forge 10 signatures…….its 1630….

With some hope you go to the food counter….only to be rebuffed rudely…..’chai bajey ke baad kuch nahi milega’ says a fat mausi and leaves…..still hunger makes you persistent and you scrape at the leftover samosa and cold chai……

You reach your room…..your roommate is absent but there is music playing…..not only from your room but from the 10 rooms surrounding yours….its a funny headache you get after you listen to a) Zombie b) where is the party tonight c) hanuman chalisa at the same time……..

You go to take a shower…….only to find the drain clogged with long strands of silky black hair. The wash basin is no better……..egg shells left by some lady who washed her hair with it. You really have to appreciate the variety of things girls will put on their faces and hair…..any thing form ripe tomatoes and bananas to sea weed and algae…….yuck!!

The time between 1900 and 210o flies in a daze. It’s finally time for dinner and your friends drag you to the dining hall. Another long line is waiting for you. But once the parathas arrive it’s a scene to behold. Manners, etiquettes and all such inconveniencies are cast aside and girls give way to the animal inside them. They jump, they snatch and they fight…..to get two hot parathas. You join in the fun and throw in a few expletives to make the atmosphere more charged. After few such fights you get your food and as you go to the table to eat hungry eyes of girls till waiting in line follow you…….

Back in your room you realize you forgot to fill water. Damn! No way are you going to the first floor to do it now so you dwell in your need. You spread your sheets and get to work. Why the fuck did I take architecture you wonder…….but other girls have a better life. 90% are out with their cell phones huddled in corners talking on and on and on to god knows who. Others not afflicted by the cell addiction are huddled in groups in one others room talking to each other. I am in awe of the ability of girls to talk about practically nothing for hours…..

from your room you get a view of what others are doing….some are dancing for no good reason….some are having a fashion parade and some are simply laughing their heads……strange….damn strange……

so you see….its a weird world in there. From being deprived of food to being bullied by mausis….I bet you expected me to write about the good things in there….like girls moving about in practically no clothes…..maybe tomorrow when I am not so sleepy I will….

2006-07-16T08:47:00.000-07:00

Some things I learnt from NKB

non-attachment to sense objects is liberation, attachment is bondage. Such knowledge is virility, now do as you please.
Naan naan, thul thul( small small, big big) you worry too much about small things hence have big problems.
Kanchan kamini
maun noon kaun—maun- I shall keep quiet and not speak unnecessarily
noon- I shall not say ‘ there is little salt in the food’ i.e criticize unnecessarily
kaun- I shall stay in a corner and not meddle too much in worldly affairs.

How much of this I follow is another story………….

2006-07-05T21:15:00.000-07:00

UNDERTAKER RETURNS........

Here I was….still recovering from the shock of meeting Bulldog, when I ran into The Undertaker…
Tell me, I said, are you the same Kannan?
I sure as hell am!!!
Bless my soul!
Tell me one thing….you haven’t turned all girlie girlie by any chance?
No. Once a tomboy, always a tomboy. How is The Kid? Does he remember me?
You were our GI Joe goddess and that is not something easily attained!
Remamber Diplodocus, T-Rex and the crazy storylines.
That is Thukoosauraus for you ma’m.
The bhelpuri, sandwiches and lemonade.
Behind the bushes.
It was a lot of fun!
The best I ever had!

No matter how many years pass and no matter what I do, I can never stop loving these crazy boys. In old comic books, in old toys, in a cricket bat, in a WWE ring, I shall see their faces. Because from them stem my best memories…..the happiest ones. With them I have known the joys of being young, of doing whatever I felt like without fear, of letting go completely. To know them and to be with them was the best thing that ever happened to me.

2006-07-05T21:12:00.000-07:00

More books…….

The Eye of the Needle: Ken Follet: read while babysitting Paarth and as the roof fell over our heads……german spy steals an English secret for fuhrer that could change the course of WW2. Mostly cat and mouse game between the police and Die Nadel. Can’t help loving him for his efficient ways. At last dies because was foolish enough to have sentiments for a woman.

Day of the Jackal: a man without a name or nationality hired to kill the French President. Jackal plans everything to the minutest details, fools the police of 3 nations and single handedly gets his shot at the president. But luck fails him when he needed it the most…..the moment he takes his shot the president bends to medal someone. Phatach! The commissioner gets him. The day of the Jackal had come……….

2006-07-03T09:35:00.000-07:00

The Catcher in the Rye::

Read it on a 27hr train journey. Finally, a very realistic book about adolescence. Though a bit too realistic. The protagonist is perpetually in a state of depression because everything around him is ‘phony’. There are only two things that give him pleasure- his little sister and his childhood friend. These two are just what they seem. Other than this there are themes of moral degradation and dissatisfaction from life……..my final word……SIGH!!!

2006-06-24T01:58:00.000-07:00

When Girls Change Tubelights....

The problem was simple.

Panks wanted her tube light changed. So when she entered my room looking for someone who knew how to do it, I jumped at the opportunity. I call it an opportunity because I love changing tubelights and bulbs. Yeah, it looks strange for a hobby but I can’t help myself.

I removed the functional tube from Anu’s room (who had long ago moved out) and took out the dead one from Panks’. Now this presented a problem as the holder was a bit twisted and my position was hardly comfortable. The chair, which was in turn on top of Panks’ bed, was shaking. The simple solution would have been to fix the twisted holder with a pair of tweezers. However my enthusiasm for changing tubes is equaled by my fear of getting electrocuted. I cannot touch the damn thing even if the mains are switched off (strange combo!!!)

So there I was trying to get the thing in when Poo entered. I was so happy doing what I was doing and turned to tell her about it. I, however, forgot that the fan was on. Clang! The tube was split into half as if by a blow by Darth Wader himself. The three of us stared at the broken pieces now scattered all over the place. Shit!!

However the spirit of a tube light changer is not easily broken. While cleaning her room another idea struck!! Panks agreed.
At midnight we slipped into the guest room of our hostel, replaced the working tube there with our dead one and ran as if we had just looted Swiss bank. Half an hour of twisting and turning the holder the tube light finally fit. Both Panks and I were covered in sweat (the fan was OFF this time!). We prayed to god, blew the conch and flicked the switch on. Nothing!!! Like a madman I flicked it again and again!! No result after six hours of hard work and sweat can be depressing and with a glum and broken spirit we went to bed.
Two days later the electrician told us that it was the switch that was not working properly.

2006-06-20T08:34:00.000-07:00

THE BULLDOG AND ME

“Do you remember?” I asked him.
“Every single bit of it.” said he.

I was talking to him after eight long years but still it seemed yesterday when I went to his place for a game of Mario.
So, did you join the WWE?
Naah, did you join the Indian cricket team?
Naah.
Well, such is life
Yeah, such is life. He sighed.

Hey, are you in touch with the other five?
No, just you.
So what happened? Where did they go?
Well you left, the Anil and Priyanka left after a month and finally Aditya. I left after two years. By that time it had become very boring.

Hey remember the time I broke your arm?
Yeah, thanks to you I got a week’s holiday from school.
And all the glasses we broke in that abandoned house!!
That was bloody brilliant!! Though I still remember the repercussions!!
We both laughed.

Those two years were the best years of my life.
Hey, mine too.
I can never forget those cricket matches. I still play, though it’s not that much fun.
You were a good player. I always picked you for my team.
We could never beat the Giant though.
Yes. What is he doing now?
He is going to get married soon.
Time flies. Yesterday he was playing cricket with us.
Flies, my dear friend, is an understatement.

Hey I see that you are committed. We were supposed to be soul mates you know.
That is just nonsense. I am still your soulmate, your better half and your best friend.
This time we cried.

Just for the record, I am still the NC lines Champion.
I want to have a re-match.
I am ready anytime you are.
Ok soon.
Good night Austin.
Good night Bulldog.
I wish when I get up I am 12 again.
Amen!

2006-06-19T03:01:00.000-07:00

First year at BIT

You hear a lot about college from your elder brothers and sisters. You imagine this place with no uniform, no parental guidance and very little studies, in short, a place where the party never ends. But this dream bubble gets brutally popped when you enter the gates of Birla Institute of Technology (they should add a :ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK board there).

For the first five minutes you see nothing but trees, trees and more trees with hostel buildings peeking from behind done up in gay(pun intended) yellow and spotted with undies. Finally you reach your own cellular jail. And then your warden says the two magic words “IN TIME”. Things get worse with the stuff they call food and hell holes called toilets.

First day of class, hope rises again. With buoyant steps you enter the building. A swarm descends upon you- SENIORS. From the next day on salwaar kameez, oily hair and bathroom chappals become your style statement. They make you sing, dance or act the fool anytime anyplace. At night you sob your stories to parents and hope you had never left home.

After the first week something happens….something they call orientation. You get used to it. You tell yourself, “It maybe bad but it is what I have to live with now”. And then the fun begins…..

You share your sorrows with your jail mates. You form a team and have fun at Techneek. You enjoy the sad show at Fugia. You experience the joys of free SMSing. You slip off to Subarnrekha right under the guard’s nose. You learn how to study the night before the exam and still get good marks. You learn to play the guitar. You come across funny words like PMC and BABA. Seniors don’t seem so bad when they hand over notes and treat at CCD.

College campus is a place where rumors spread fast. For one whole week you gossiped about a girl from your hostel getting married even when she lived as a happy spinster in the next room. You hear one day that your room was raided and enough stuff was found to earn a narcotics officer a lifetime achievement award. In reality not even a room heater was found!!!

Suddenly you realize that this jungle is always abuzz. Drishyant, Genisis, Dope Seminar. During BITotsav you wish you had Hermione’s time turner because you have to participate in 4 events at the same time.

And now as you finish this blog entry from home you can’t wait to go back. The place has somehow grown on you. The administration may be cold and apathetic or plain non-existent (except on registration day) but the students take care of the rest. The best soldiers are the ones that take the hardest obstacle course. So cadet tie up your boots for another action packed semester !!!!!