The Medallion

My parents tell me it took a great deal of persuasion from them to make me enter the school gate on my first day in kindergarten. It was with the promise of my favourite chocolates that they could finally bribe me into spending eight hours away from home in the company of complete strangers. With a tiny bag and a water bottle, I set off on the path to enlightenment, completely unaware of what would lie ahead.

The process of 'education' commenced with learning the alphabet in carefree idleness, without having to bother about tutorials and pesky homework assignments. I had no competitors, for every rival was an innocent friend helping me build a sandcastle or planning fanciful treasure hunts in and around the school premises.

Gradually, smiling primary teachers were replaced by shrewish middle school instructors and then nutty professors whose facial expressions were, at any time, representative of the characteristic function 'f(x) = constant'. The contents of my schoolbag became heavier with each passing year. Academics now was a rat race in which mediocrity was not any better than failure. There were rewards to keep me motivated in this arduous enterprise. Every time I stood first in class or did exceptionally well in the annual exams, I received dainties from the school canteen, and sometimes, a bicycle or a holiday vacation present from mom and dad. 'Dolce far niente' was no longer permissible; it was displaced by drudgery and tedium, often resulting from my innumerable attempts to unscramble the Schrodinger equation.

Aspirations and expectations changed with time. Come Roorkee, I no longer cared for the occasional reward or censure. There was the higher motive of launching a successful career and smoothly transitioning to a life in which profession was the attribute that determined a person's ultimate destiny. Four years went by in a hurry, and all of a sudden, my 'education' was complete.

With the final oath, the convocation hat tossed in celebration, I have been vested with the right to pronounce myself an engineer. Today, as I stare at my degree certificate and the accompanying silver medal, glistening like a radiant emblem in all its lustre - now a souvenir from the past, things seem to have abruptly come to an end. I wonder if there's something to look forward to. If only I could relive the last four years....So long, alma mater !

REMINISCENCE

The crowd erupted in unison as Dhoni heaved his bat ferociously in his trademark helicopter-style, the bowler ducking for dear life. The poor Sri Lankan captain could only watch in vain as the ball disappeared into the stands, never to come back in play again. India had won the World Cup 2011, and I had been witness to a defining moment in world cricket history. A huge uproar resonated through the corridors of Ganga Bhawan; my own celebrations lost in the din of the numerous cricket-crazy rooters who had been cheering Team India right through the tournament. People all around me were dancing, clapping, brimming with pride and the joy of victory. Amidst all the jubilation, a complete stranger emerged from the congregation, greeting me with "Jeet gaye !" and locked me into a brief although firm embrace. It was then that I suddenly realized I can start counting my days at Roorkee, and how much I am going to miss this place after my purpose here is complete.

Hardly a few days have passed since I bid adieu to dear Alma Mater, yet each fleeting minute instills a fresh memory of the past four years. It seems as if all of it happened only yesterday as I tread nostalgically down memory lane.

The day I had been dreading had arrived. I stepped reluctantly into the cab that would take me to Delhi, from where IITR and I would part ways. The engine roared, and I waved goodbye to Pinky and his battalion stationed outside Cautley Bhawan, waving back at me. When I could no longer see them, I reclined against the soft cushion of the backseat and looked back at the years I had left behind. A succession of images flashed through my mind to merge into a kaleidoscope of my fondest memories of the four Golden years that constitute my life at Roorkee.


One

1. I was guarding my side of the room when Abhas entered, examining his roommate for the next one year and greeting me with a smile.
2. The freshers party had us swaying to the music, dancing to funky bollywood numbers for over two hours, with no sentience of time. It's surprising so many people wear moustaches in that picture - PJ, Chatter, Shirish, Pandu, Prateek, Mitwa, Doga and everybody else.
3. The Institute Cricket League, or ICL, inspired from the sport's latest Twenty20 avatar and the associated moolah, was catching up fast with the IITR junta. We had entered the tournament expecting nothing less than the trophy, and had emerged runners-up, owing to a laudable contribution from the Meta supporters jeering and howling insults at opponents, causing them to lose their focus and a piece of their minds.
4. The journey back from Crystal world. The first (and probably the last) time I have demanded a lift from an inter-state goods carrier with all kinds of fancy labels adorning its tough metallic frame.
5. Room no. G-75, RJB - the wing's bakar room, tutorial printing press, first-aid center and general store. Abhas and I trying to create more room to accommodate half of the meta batch inside.
6. Strikey. Pinky feeding the poor pup little crumbs of bread along with cookies mom had made for me with so much affection.
7. The NCC camp.

Two

8. A notice on my door ending with 'Issued in public interest. :)'
9. Midnight Football.
10. Sunsigns. I've never hated them so much. Working for a startup for the first time.
11. The phone call informing me I was now a part of IEEE. A 'geek'.
12. Thomso 2008 - the Karaoke misadventure. My first attempt at singing in public, of course, failing miserably.
13. Gandhi's tutorial class, MT-1 batch. A raging debate on the Economic turmoil shrouding world economy, and the United States' credit policy responsible for the crisis. Yet another assignment evaded.
14. Rafting in the Ganga for the first time. An adrenaline rush. Lying in coarse sands along the riverside, drenched in the Gangajal.

Three

15. The long wait outside the interview room in the placement complex, for our first company interview at IITR (Tata Steel).
16. Cognizance 2010. Sitting in the Cogni office as Chief Editor, writing for 'Souvenir'.
17. Bakar in the dark during power cuts - a regular occurrence before every mid term and end term.
18. The train to Chandigarh. Slipping by the examiner at Chandigarh station, unnoticed. Kondy emerging from the exit gate, grinning through his craggy teeth.
19. Communication skills class. Garvit trying hard to control himself from laughing as he speaks while Mahajan and company make funny gestures from the last bench.
20. Dhawal with his newfound talent in PJs.
21. A gang of counter-strike enthusiasts donning headphones huddled up in front of their laptops in Rajesh's room at midnight, with the Midsems commencing in a few hours.

Four

22. My first suit-up moment with Prateek and his camera, and the problem with the background (Mukul sir's door inscription in perfect disharmony with the attire).
23. Bhuppi's antics and the ensuing laughter.
24. Sandeep Kumar and Anunaya arguing, the topics - dowry, higher education abroad, corruption in government undertakings, and the common man. I always hoped they settled on a consensus sooner.
25. ZS's final interview, sketching a graph for the most random function ever, Jude keeping an eye over the lines appearing on the piece of paper pinned to the desk in front of him.
26. The Nainital trip - lovely montains, lush green fields, boating, watching the sun rising from a valley, Ranikhet's winding roads, hat(s).
27. Working in the prized Thermomechanical Simulator Lab with Shaibba, doing the most meaningful study and research I have engaged in till date.
28. Checking the grade against my name on the B.Tech Projects gradelist repeatedly to confirm if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. Best Bachelor's Project award.
29. Geek Gazette farewell. Dracula, Green Goblin, Joker, Bin Laden and various other supervillains huddled up as the stars of the occasion. The entire team wishing me farewell by scribbling lines on my t-shirt to express their goodwill.


A loud bellowing of the horn brought me back to my senses, just as I reached the Security post. When the Tata Indigo exited the institute's main gate, it felt as if something was tugging at me to stay behind, for the track playing on the stereo abruptly changed to

"Dill tod ke na jaa
Muh mod ke na jaa...."

INCOMPLETE

The sky changes colour from the bright blue of dawn to the crimson of dusk as our tenure at Roorkee comes to an end. And with it, perhaps our love for sightseeing and excursions that have managed to draw our minds away from the nettlesome clutter of engineering chores and maintain our faith in the notion that college education is every bit as fun as it is enlightening.

My aspirations for life have been vacillating ever since I was a kid - from becoming a soldier or lawyer or scientist or pilot or famous athlete, to assuming the role of the country's Prime Minister. Now when my career goals are more definitive and less obscure, I fail to fulfill the smaller ambitions that have gradually sprung into existence, and have accumulated over time, often snubbed for some higher calling, but all the same, waiting patiently for that one opportunity to present itself so that they may be heeded. For as long as they aren't met, I will be incomplete.

It seems the approaching end has once again brought my attention back to these unattended little errands. All of a sudden, I'm brimming with energy. I want to jump off a bridge and hang upside down in mid air - more popular amongst adventure entusisasts as bungee jumping. I want to tie myself to the rear of a speedboat and fly over the ocean - parasail. I want to spend nights camping by the riverside, in the warmth of a cosy bonfire, with friends for company. I have always desired to dwell in a bivouac in the forest, in the lap of resplendent nature amongst its myriad exquisite endowments. I would love to set sail on a voyage across the sea. I want to explore, to discover, and enjoy life to the fullest, before it gets too late.

There is so much left to do, yet so many constraints.
Nevertheless, it is some some before the sky will acquire a blackish tinge - time enough to make a few amends.

As they say,

Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost !

THAHAKE

There are reasons I prefer a journey by train over a jaunt by air when I travel, even though the former might stretch over several hours, and sometimes face vexatious delays at the end of which one would feel completely enervated. It allows me to discover the varying landscape and diverse flora and fauna flourishing across different regions in the subcontinent, and to revel in the beauty of the path that would take me to my destination. But most importantly, it often results in serendipitous confluences that would perhaps occur in no other setting - pleasant encounters that leave an indelible mark in memory.

When I boarded the train to Delhi, I looked around to see the people I would share my compartment with - a habit I've developed over years of commuting. There was a sexagenarian, a stern-looking septuagenarian, a wannabe model and a rather sleepy coeval girl. Recalling I'm not really good at hitting a conversation with either the fairer sex or the elderly, I presumed this was going to be yet another journey where I would spend half the time sulking over a snoring co-passenger and the other half lying lethargically on the top bunk.

Mom and Dad weren't making it any easier by ranting out instructions about taking care of myself until I arrived in Roorkee. I can never really understand why parents fail to realize every journey is not the first time we travel on our own.
"Beta ! Don't take random victuals from lorries stationed at the platform." or "Remember the last time you nearly missed your train? Make sure it doesn't happen again."
Through the corner of my eye, I chanced a quick glance at the girl. She had now woken up, and was smiling at the scene presented before her. I felt as if I was back to age 10, listening impatiently to mom's characteristic words of advice and caution, and was definitely a little flushed.

The engine hooted and slowly pulled out of Vadodara station. I was climbing to the top berth when the sexagenarian intervened - "Itni jaldi so rahe ho? Abhi to bahut time hai. Chalo tumhara thoda manoranjan karta hun."
Only a fool would deny free entertainment, especially when there is no other means to amuse yourself. I gladly accepted and climbed back down.

It so turned out the old man was a hasya kavi. Soon, all the boredom had escaped my mind. I was thoroughly enjoying myself as one verse followed another, each inciting a tingling sensation in my belly. Some compositions portrayed typical human vices of greed, corruption, stinginess and temptation; others underlined the virtues of wisdom and altruism. Each composition carried forth a message to the audience, serving its purpose of delivering a moral at the end while keeping the listeners guessing for the next line. I had no idea how the hours passed by, because it seemed the journey had been ephemeral when I noticed 'New Delhi' displayed on the railway platform.

Of the various modes of self-expression, poetry stands out as being the most evocative. With satire and sarcasm as ingredients, it is capable of putting across abstruse philosophies and grave issues of concern through beautifully crafted lines and aptly depicted situations, at the same time, maintaining a comical tone to draw attention of the audience. A potent tool to spark a revolution and unite the masses to fight for a common cause. I'm certain Gurudev's free spirit would testify to the validity of my earlier statement.

If only more of us were poets, we could really make a big difference to the perception of the people around us, and contribute towards changing the world for the greater good.

STALEMATE

Lost in a state of torpor, I struggle to hide a muffled yawn as my eyes water up from the exhaustion of having to listen to another lecture on 'Mechanical Working'. I manage to steal a quick glance at my watch, taking precaution the professor scribbling away notes on the board doesn't discover my impatience, and I rasp under my breath in frustation when I realize it's only been 20 minutes. Another 40 minutes to go - of course Ash Ray has no idea. He happily prods along, squawking in his omniscient but insipid tone, ever reminding us of how little we know of our own discipline. The particles of chalkdust settling on his beard and caput blend perfectly with the pale white pigment coating his hair. Unperturbed, he rattles on. He probably knows the pen I hold in my hand is never going to make contact with the blank diary resting on my table. And yet I can do nothing but listen, and fake interest.

Not long ago, I used to listen in ceaseless attention to each word he uttered; each principle or theorem he dictated making its way verbatim to the pages of my notebook. I was a 'first-bencher', a distinction not many would possess - not even the voracious pedant feeding on piles of textbooks and the sound of a learned professor giving away 'upadeshas' on the nuances of engineering. I remember raising my arm time and again to ask questions. I was the revered note-maker, the most reliable scholar for classmates. I was 'Baba' in the true sense of the word.

The times are changing.

In a few month's time, I will graduate as a Metallurgical and Materials engineer. Convocation is within sight. Soon we shall complete the ceremony announcing the end of four years of ordeal, and pass into a completely new world. I am about to make the transition from a student to a professional - I am employed. I also fancy a call from an IIM, the next big thing after IIT.
But I am no more the inquisitive student, the knowledge seeker, the 'first-bencher' - not in the classroom atleast. I have accomplished what I had planned for all this time, albeit a bit differently than imagined. With no purpose left, I can feel the inner flame within me wavering. I no more possess the driving force propelling me towards yet another goal, the inner unrest that would keep nagging and cautioning me - "Something is still lacking !".


I am stuck - clearly in need of a more meaningful pursuit during the last few months at Roorkee. Football, music and Cogni are just pastimes. I'm in search of a bigger challenge, a new objective - hoping to find a new 'me'. I wonder what it'd turn out to be, what I would turn out to be. For now, I'm just a 20 plus person aspiring to become a 20 minus dilettante once again, just so I am not devoid of a fervent tenor to keep moving forward.

The January chill has subdued my spirits for now. I'm waiting for the sheath of winter ice to melt away, so that I may free myself of the freezing frost immobilizing me, and feel the warmth of a new, illustrious sun rising.