Season Two Finale

I wake up in an air-conditioned bedroom with the curtains keeping the sunlight from breaking my tired reverie. It’s my screechy SMS reminder that’s the culprit, with Vodafone dutifully informing me of the latest Telugu ringtones and caller-tunes I can get for fifteen rupees a month. My stomach is still full from last night’s sumptuous dinner- nothing special, but filling all the same. Big B’s off to college, Pa’s not yet back from yet another field trip while Mumma’s long taken her ninety-minute commute to the hospital. It’s just my aunt and her chatter as I stretch out on the sofa with a bowl of idly-sambhar resting on the pillow on my lap, simultaneously renewing my on-off affair with the TV. A now-habitual check of the e-mail takes me to check my grades on the batch’s Google group, and after exchanging a few wall posts with a friend, I vow to break all connections with R for the rest of the day. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful.

This trip home couldn’t have come at a better time. Yes, this academic year saw the indescribable Nihilanth trip to Bombay, a busy yet enjoyable Thomso, four of the best issues of Kshitij that I’ve been a part of, memorable first trips to Gnosiomania in Allahabad and the IIT-Delhi Parliamentary Debate, a fun trip to Rishikesh with the third-years and a path-breaking Cognizance. The fact that I may have missed out on mentioning a few more brilliant memories simply means that there’ve been so many things that could’ve made this year unforgettable. This year, though, has been quite forgettable- academically and personally. The former, for obvious reasons, and an increasing sense of disillusionment regarding my future leaves me in an uncomfortable haze. As for the latter, all the phone manners I’d perfected over years of making and answering calls were thrown out of the window last week in a 21-second call I’ll never forget. I can’t seem to recall what the margin of victory was in our first-ever win in the Delhi debates, but I sure do remember the infinitely long night that followed after this call was made. That, as a relatively insignificant consequence, had robbed me of an entire paragraph in the long year-end post I’d planned earlier. Combine it with the grades that followed later in the week, and the whole post was dead.

***

The last few hours in R were spent at Moh’s. The last hours I’d spend with Lefty, Rapu and Moh in the insti. It wasn’t a glitzy night spent recollecting some of the best moments we’ve spent together, or what we’ll miss. We watched a few episodes of South Park, discussed the IPL and cricket’s pretty boys over dinner in Ganga canteen and rounded off the night with a few episodes of The Big Bang Theory. It was... arbit. Now that I come to think of it, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Maybe a last game of Scrabble would’ve been fun. Even more arbit! The final goodbyes were pretty arbit, too. We did both a lame cool guy handshake and an awkward hug.

And, as I was about to hug Lefty one last time, I whispered into his ear- I guess when it comes to the insti, after tonight, I’ll remain loveless for good.

P.S.- If it means that I’ll have to endure another round of really sentimental farewells, I don’t want to be grand old man in Roorkee, masters! Plus, I guess I’ll have to pay, too. Nooo!

P.P.S.- Pity I missed paying my regards to the rest of the fourth-years. I wouldn’t have hugged NamJham, though- the baster said he isn’t taking a bath till his BTP’s done! Not SriPri, either, of course.

P.P.P.S.- Lefty, I meant every single word of it.

Much ado about nothing

R-land throws up all kinds of characters. There are those who seem they were born to write algorithms that’ll run the planet, the kind who can see all seventeen primary and auxiliary views of an imaginary object in their head, those who may have been playing with diodes and transistors instead of Lego bricks when they were still sucking their thumbs (if and when they were free).

 

There are those who may not be as brilliant as the aforementioned, but manage things just fine. They may not know why the aperture for *random-lens-name-here* has to be greater than five millimetres, but know that such a thing exists and might as well be on the answer sheet in front.

 

And, then, there are those exceptions who seem to prove one Mr. Murphy right all the time. It’s nice and simple- they just can’t do a thing correctly. Even if they manage to get all the chemicals right, mix them in the right proportions, and by freaks of nature they might call miracles even stir and heat them just right, they will drop the beaker.

 

No prizes for guessing- yours truly belongs to the last category.

 

This semester’s been quite peculiar. The attempts to get back over the wall shaped like the number eight were lost in soporific stupors- the recently installed air-conditioners in the lecture rooms, too, serving dear old Morpheus. The courses have all seemed pretty easy but those marks remain elusive. One might have thought practical exams for three subjects might help bridge the increasing gap between us hapless souls and the unbelievable nerds lying at the top. But, as said earlier, some people just can’t get it right, no matter what.

 

Exhibit A: The first practical exam is Electrical Machines. The preparation’s been half-decent, but I stride into the lab confident that I’ll forget all circuit diagrams as soon as I get my experiment. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen and I find my bed and get started on doing random tests on a transformer. The writing part is duly completed as neatly as possible, and the connections are made arduously over an hour. I get them checked and am given the green signal. I can’t believe everything is going so smoothly. I push up my collar in pride, and give the switch a pompous hit. The circuit is turned on and all but one of my meters reads zero. I almost felt satisfied I was proved right, but one hour of effort for just one of three tests going futile wasn’t a comforting fact. I called the lab assistant for assistance, and was informed I was working in the wrong lab all the while. Oh, yes! I knew my circuit was alright! I entered the other lab to be promptly questioned how I was strutting in an hour late. The lab assistant there couldn’t believe someone could possibly have worked in the wrong lab for an hour, but let me in all the same. Things went on uneventfully, afterwards, until the viva-voce came along.

 

I can talk- a lot. For hours at a stretch, to any random person, at any place, on anything and everything. But, somehow, despite this superhuman loquaciousness, viva-voce sessions aren’t exactly my cup of tea. I’ve only ever given them in two ways- one in which I sit around for a long time saying “Erm... Uhh... Hmmm... Dum tada dum dum”, and the other in which I very straightforwardly say “Honestly, sir- I have no idea.” This one was the former, and I even managed to screw up questions I had a semblance of an answer for.

 

Digital Electronics was up next. The viva was pretty early into the practical, and frustrated with the professor’s slow drooping voice, I resorted to answering questions in a snap, something which seemed to have perturbed the old man and I was sent off in less than five minutes. The LEDs meanwhile, decided to run my counter from 0-3 only, and some jugad later, I was out of the lab after another bad practical. The worst part was that the worst part was to follow.

 

Power Electronics is my M. Tech specialisation. The first course on it has been a nightmare. With the professor’s incorrigible hissing going un-understood and the promise of no attendance, this course has been quietly ignored all the while. The coordinator decides to make amends and conduct a practical exam. Bad idea- no one, including the professors themselves, has taken them seriously and from the first batch, it’s inferred a diagram with some seven transistors, three different ICs, a brand-new clock-timer (?) and some thirty-one resistors and capacitors is to be learnt by heart. No wonder it was called a firing circuit. I was lucky I got to work with only eleven resistors and capacitors and two ICs, but the other components duly made their mind not to help me. The viva-voce was good fun. I answered the first six questions admirably, and to the next three I said “I haven’t a clue, sir.” The nice guy that he was, the professor asked me to make an educated guess. “I don’t really think random guessing is going to help me in any way, sir. You need to know something to guess, don’t you?”, I snapped.

I don’t know why but I think he was impressed.

 

The end-semester theory exams follow, and I ironically feel relieved I only have to communicate by writing on an innumerable number of sheets. Of course, if I can.

 

P.S. - Old Monks this year has been great fun. While Lefty had one full of allusions, Moh meant business with his last quiz. Bang Bang and Chaukanna had a hilarious last one, and Dude's special was most memorable. Only he could've pulled it off!

 

P.P.S. – You’ve got to stick to your principles.