7200 seconds. One word.

It took me two hours, that drawing of the traveling and standing wave patterns of voltages, currents and what not. Two hours in the week preceding the mid-sem exams. Two hours in a week when I had two million other things to do, and two hours less to do them in. By the time I was done I hated few other things as much as I hated that diagram. If it wasn't so perfect, I fumed, I would never had reproduced it in my lab report. What was I doing it for? One cursory glance by the professor, after which it would be ignominiously consigned to the ever-growing heap of loose-leaf sheets in my room.

Well, cursory glance it was, but every detail of the drawing was taken in, and then came the one word I'd least expected to hear: "Beautiful.."
And that one word compensated for every one of the 7200 seconds it took me to draw it. Just like that..

On joining IIT..

I awoke that morning in a tiny but tidy room, to the scent of the rain-washed Earth and a strange tingling in my tummy. As the first waves of consciousness swept over me, I became vaguely aware that I was on the brink of something momentous - that the day had come to give shape and form to the dream of a lifetime, to breathe life into my longing and give dimension to my desire, and to transform my phantom fantasy into a tactile reality for all the world to see.

As I slipped seamlessly from dream world to reality, I opened my eyes to stare up at the ceiling of a hostel room inside IIT Kanpur. It was the day of my interview.

* * *

Heat from the rain-intoxicated Earth rose up and enveloped me like the breath of an alcoholic who is too far gone to care. All around me, students cycled past with the measured, patient tread of those whose cycling days are far from over. I looked at it all through a stranger’s eyes at that time, through the eyes of a worshipper who has been allowed to step across the threshold and into the presence of his sacrosanct deity – part fear and part awe, and a third part wondering whether they deserved to be here at all.

* * *

It has now been over a month since I moved into IITK. IIT. Indian Institute of Technology. Now, I might be in the minority here, but I’m still waiting for that to completely sink in. Waiting to feel, with every pore of my body, that “I am an IITian” – the four words that every Indian youth wishes to say, every Indian youth’s parents wish to hear, and every Indian coaching class wishes to mint money out of.

I felt the first stirrings of that sense of pride during the Asst. Director’s address, when he said “You will all remember July 23^rd 2008 as the most important day in your lives, for it is the day of your true birth, and the day from which you will take on a new religion – IIT.” But as he moved on to other things, the blood that had begun to boil in my veins cooled back down, and I was left pondering the question – Is it possible for one to translate seamlessly from the awe and sense of sanctity of the IITs that is so deeply ingrained in us, to actually accepting oneself as a part of the very ideal that we have aspired to for all these years?

When, I asked myself, does the feeling really sink in that one is an IITian? Does it sink in at the rate of 5% every time one cycles past the main gate that says ‘INDIAN INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY KANPUR’? Or does it sink in @ 100% when we hear that Abdul Kalam has personally sent us a letter expressing his hopes and aspirations for us, along with a nine-point oath? Does the feeling of being in a parallel universe really get to us when we cycle through the immaculately clean roads, even at the most ungodly hours feeling as perfectly safe as a baby would in its mother’s arms? Or is it when we see two signs: “Do not spit” and “Liquid Nitrogen Plant: No Admission” nestling next to each other?

Because there’s no denying that being an IITian means something to each one of us. It might be the only voice of hope inside your head whenever you feel that all else is lost – the voice that says “Hey, big fella! You got here, didn’t you? You can handle this, surely!” It may be the greatest triumph of your life, or the starting point of a historic first conversation (been there, haven’t ya? good for you! if not, don’t fret, there’s still plenty of time), or it could be the stepping stone to an illustrious path that your footprints will be the first to tread.

And so when do we know that we have been marked permanently by this institution, and that we won’t just wake up one day and find it all gone? Is it when we get out own login id: @iitk.ac.in? Is it when our notebooks are marked ‘Specially made for the students of Indian Institute of Technology Kanpur’? Is it when we buy our first IITK t-shirt? After our first exam?

I fulfilled each of these rites of passage one by one – some joyously, others dutifully, and yet others with a great amount of trepidation - but still, I did not encounter the one clear moment where the import of what I had achieved would suddenly, fully and cleanly come home to me.

And it was when I was pondering these things that it suddenly hit me – it never would come home to me. I mean, it might probably sink into me at some point that I was here to stay, but that would never be the end – I would never cross my legs, dust my hands and say “Ok. That’s it. I am done.” For getting here is like unlocking a locked door which has been tempting you with its secrets – unlocking it to discover that behind lies a series of many more locked doors, each more seductive, mysterious and tantalizing that the last.

“The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are permitted to remain children all our lives”, said one of the greatest human beings of our time, (though he’s best remembered for being a kickass scientist) Albert Einstein - and so it is, for I will still continue to marvel at the knowledge of my professors, be mesmerized by the student who is always one thought ahead of me, and clap my hands in glee (well, mentally at least) whenever I hear or read of a cool new concept.

What the IITs had embodied to me when I was aiming to reach them, was knowledge, perfection, and truth, and those things are like the proverbial sweet-smelling fruits of Tantalus, dangling just out of reach, leading us on endlessly, teasing us and driving us mercilessly to new heights.

Is it worth chasing these unattainable things, then? But of course it is, it always is - for success, like life itself, is not a destination, but a journey – like following a lush, unexplored uphill path, filled with the sweet scent of pine and the sounds of woodland creatures, and then being confronted by a breathtaking vista when you get to the top – a vista of a whole new world laid out in front of you – new roads, new sights and sounds that you had never even dreamed possible, and of course new hills.

And this, dear friends – this, where we are now - is but the first, or one of the first, of our steps on the journey. Where does it lead? Does that matter, when the road is so endlessly enticing?

The Beginning…

The Last Straw

Okay. That does it. I am funny. I am intelligent. I make good conversation. I sing, I can play the keyboard, and, if my life depended on it, the violin and the guitar as well. I cook, for chrissake. Yet, ironically, I constantly find myself in situations where I am called on stage and expected to dance. Yes. Dance.

Some hip-shaking number with a groovy beat spews forth from the speakers, and immediately all those on the stage with me begin to shake their hips and groove to the beat as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Some people are just naturally born to dance, aren’t they? When you see them dancing you feel that they are fulfilling their purpose in this universe. They seem to me to possess the grace of a gazelle, the eyes and smile of a Grecian immortal and the finicky precision of a kamikaze bomber. I, on the other hand, look like a fish on a cold slab of ice in the last throes of its existence. Not generally, you understand. Only when I am dancing.

I still remember the first time this happened. It was that time when Oshin, the Japanese serial on DD-1 was all the rage, and as a mark of appreciation, all of us girls in Std.I were sticking pencils into our hair. Dad's office's annual day came around, and along with it came the stick-weird-things-on-your-kid-and-show-us competition, also known to laymen as Fancy Dress. I was dressed as your friendly neighbourhood vegetable vendor, and my best friend, who was appearing in a Japanese costume drama organised by our teachers (I missed out on a role cos I was too tubby to fit into the costumes) promptly appeared at the fancy dress venue in a golden-yellow kimono with a colourful waistband, a foldable Chinese fan in her hands and what suspiciously looked like knitting needles in her hair. She pirouetted around daintily, her elegant kimono fluttering prettily with every move, batted her pretty eyelashes behind her fan, and said, of course, ‘Sayonara’. I could see that the judges were floored. Applause and ‘cho chweets’ rained down on her like fireworks on the Bird’s Nest stadium at the opening ceremony last month. I was up next. I felt two big hands envelop my small form and cannon me onto the stage. And then, as I began my routine, extolling the virtues of my fresh vegetables (get your dirty minds out of the gutter, i was 8. EIGHT!!), I sensed a collective frown settle on the brow of the judges. Undeterred, I carried on for a while until, unable to bear the mounting tension in the room, I paused midway between the carrot and the bitter gourd, and the following conversation took place:

Judge 1: That’s all very well, kid. But can you dance?

Me: Wha-??

Judge 2: You know, dance! C’mon kid..

Me: Erm.. Dance?

Judge 2: You heard me..

Judge 3: (helpfully, in the worst attempted rap I have ever heard) C’mon! Shake what your mama gave you! Shake what your..

Oh, I shook all right, ladies and gentlemen – shook with the righteous indignation of a vegetable seller whose freshest stock has been sullied, shook like a trembling leaf whose stomata have been called into question and which has been asked to stop photosynthesizing and take a shot at oil painting.

The judges were getting fidgety now.

Judge 3: That kid before you did a very good Chinese dance, you know. Did you see that? Can you give us some moves from that?

Me: (the floodgates finally bursting open) Chinese? CHINESE?? She was a Japanese woman. Sayonara is Japanese! You’ve missed the whole point, haven’t you?? And I can’t dance! I’m not supposed to dance. I’m a vegetable vendor, remember? Haven’t you ever heard of character consistency?

Well, I didn’t come away with the first prize. Nor any prize. Nor the Little Miss Congeniality award. I know what you’re thinking. Weird, huh?

And that, dear children, was the beginning of a series of situations, circumstances, occurrences, events, happenings, incidents and occasions, in which I was called on stage, time and again, not to sit quietly in a chair and read, or play the national anthem on a piano with my teeth, or even cook up a very steamy bowl of instant noodles, but to dance. I played an immobile Lord Krishna in my class group dance as the gopikas cavorted around me because when I moved it looked like Lord Krishna was having trouble with his bowel movements. I was a tree in Panchatantra : The Musical - the tree which knocked a terracotta elephant over in the final scene when the whole forest comes to life and dances with joy. I was probably the one with the really awkward moves at your DJ party whom the entire crowd took a moment to gawk at while pausing in between songs.

But last month, my friends, I encountered the proverbial last straw. The final milligram of weight that, when placed upon the accumulated heap of a lifetime of dance-related insults, broke my barrier of patience and called upon me to avenge two decades of pent-up anger by blogging about it six weeks later.

I went to see a play. With a couple of friends. Now, for those who had arrived early, there was a special attraction – certain unused props had been placed in an area (silver cloaks, swords, wigs, hats), and we could use them and strike poses in teams of three, and the best tableau would win. Wheeee!! So we got a-dressing, struck some poses, and forgot all about it after the play began. Well, midway through the play, they announced the results of this, and it seems we’d won! So we were called up on stage, and the lead actor went “Well, ladies, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you’ve won a free salsa dancing class sponsored by us. The bad news is – it’s right now!!” And boy, was that bad news!

Well, to cut a long story short, we danced. At least, my friends did. Me, I stood there and tried not to look constipated. And that didn’t escape unnoticed, for as we were given a round of applause and shoo-ed off the stage, an actor remarked “Some of you girls dance like a skunk skates!!” Dance like a skunk skates indeed. I wonder how many times an unsuspecting skunk sitting quietly in the audience has been called on stage randomly and asked display its rollerblading skills. Hmph.

But that, dear readers, was when I made my decision. No more dancing in public. I, like Fred Astaire, but for a very different reason, will no-more co-operate in on-stage terpsichorean displays. If such a situation should ever arise again, I will gently but firmly march up to the person responsible for arranging it, and say “WHAT HORRENDOUS ERROR IN JUDGEMENT LED YOU TO BELIEVE I COULD DANCE, YOU SAD MISTAKEN IDIOT?? I DONOT DANCE, I HAVE NEVER DANCED AND I WILL NEVER DANCE, NOT EVEN IF HELL FREEZES OVER. I HOPE I HAVE MADE THAT VERY CLEAR TO YOU, AND IF EVER YOU OR ANY OF YOUR ACQUAINTANCES CALL UPON ME TO SHOW MY DANCING SKILLS AGAIN, THEN I GUARANTEE EACH OF YOU A VERY UNPLEASANT TIME WITH ME AND A PAIR OF GARDEN SHEARS. Now, would you like me to play the national anthem on the piano with my teeth?”

That should do it, don’t you think?

Salaaam Namaste!

Four Sundays ago, as I sat in my new single room in the IIT Kanpur Girls Hostel, and as a whole world of possibilities for the next two years - new friends, new food, new teachers, new subjects - stretched out gloriously in front of me, I realised that I still felt alone.. strangely and totally alone..

But then I remembered.. I have you guys!! U guys who are always ready to share my joys n sorrows, u guys for whom no joke is too trivial to be laughed at and no tragedy is too small to be disregarded.. So here comes a spankin' new Salaaam Namaste, all the way from Kanpur....

Salaaaaaaaaam Namaste ppl!!

I have reached IITK, and have more or less settled down to cutting..er..attending classes. My branch, for the benefit of those vapid readers who read my mails thru' one eye and immediately eject them out thru' the other, is Laser Technology. L-A-S-E-R
T-E-C-H-N-O-L-O-G-Y. If you ever forget that, I will come to wherever you are and beat the stuffing out of you. So there.

Well, that brings us to the news headlines. I'm the only girl in my department, (L-A-S-E-R T-E-C-H-N-O-L-O-G-Y) and also the only girl in all my classes. (In this sem we have 2 core n 2 elective papers, but our core courses are open electives for the BTech, MTech, PhD ppl of all branches, and so the classes r all mixed.) I notice that the boys very rarely take notes. They seem to be thinking that they can copy down stuff later from my book. Are they in for a surprise or what?? Heh heh!! Gimme five!!

Coming to the faculty, they are fucking amazing - and I mean that. One moment they'll be telling stories from the panchatantra to highlight the flaws of the examination system, the very next moment we'll be sent on a hypothetical trip to a vegetable market on Mars to illustrate the meaning of the S-matrix. They quote shayiris to prove theorems, rub their hands in glee when we answer tough questions correctly, and tell us that good scientific thinking comes from the heart and not the brain. In fact, one prof even said "We won't really mind if you take of your clothes and run through the campus at mid-day. All we ask is that you scream 'Eurekaaaaaaaaa!!' while doing it!!"

But hey, hardcore MES-ians, don't you worry. I religiously wear my tryst '05 t-shirt around here, and if you ever happen to hear an IIT-ian telling you that they've heard of a legendary college in Kerala called MES (where intelligence meets creativity) which routinely holds multi-billion dollar tech extravaganzas called tryst and so on, just don't act surprised. That's all I ask.

Much love,

Sangeetha.

PS: Am absolutely cash-strapped, having bought a guitar in a fit of - well, you know, the kind of fits that people have. Oh no - not those fits - well, I'm sure you know what I mean. Will call up only after I start getting my stipend - next month @ the earliest. Ciao!

Its official!!

Salaaaaaaaam Namaste ppl!!

First let me apologise for not having blogged all this while. I was actually waiting for my M.Tech admission plans to crystallize, so that I wouldn't have to end with 'And finally, as of now, I'm utterly unemployed, completely bored, frustrated, depressed, and borderline suicidal... Keep in touch!' :-)

Now, coming to the point..
Yes!! Its true!! At last!! Gimme a hug!! I'm going to IIT!!! Wheeeeee...!!

Ok, enough dancing wildly around the room. Now sit down and let me explain.. (and explanation is absolutely necessary, since those who knew me well and loved me dearly @ school & college tend to ask: "Irinjalakuda Institute of Technology, right?" Grrrr....)

The inside story on this is as follows:
Based on my GATE score, I got an interview call from IIT Kanpur for Laser Technology branch. Initially I was not even considering it as I knew that I would comfortably qualify for VLSI in REC Trichy. But then one day, as we were discussing this @ home, dad said "Even if u did go to Kanpur & get through this interview, I wouldn't let you study there..." When a parent says those magic words, how can one let them go unchallenged?? Within two hours, I had found out the route to Kanpur, and booked to & fro tickets, and arranged accommodation for me and dad. (Yeah. I know his credit card numbers. Memorized them when I was 15.)
This was 2-3 days before the interview. And I barely remembered the full form of LASER. So I dug into my bookshelf and found some untouched optical communication photostats, (Yes! Remember? John Senior! Numerical Aperture! Acceptance Angle! Core! Cladding!!), rolled up my sleeves(metaphorically), and started reading. (I actually prepared well, aided more or less by the fact that the train journey took 48 hours - Karnataka -TN - Andhra - Madhya Pradesh - Rajasthan - Uttar Pradesh! and I had nothing else to do)
D-Day dawned. I took my place opposite a panel of 5 professors. And they asked me questions from every possible subject except optical communication. My answers, of course were also varied, ranging from the simple 'Glub!' to the more erudite 'Spgfftthblikk!!"
Yet the questioning went on and on. At one point, a professor finally started to wrap it up, whereupon the HoD said "No! I haven't asked her physics questions yet!" And on it went. Sigh.
Well, to cut a long story short, I came out, roamed around the awesome campus, and went back home. Two days later, they called and said that I had made it through, and also that I've been offered a teaching assistantship. Yes, I'll be teaching the B.Tech kids @ IIT (I can hear what you're thinking. The standard of IIT will fall. Mwuhahaha. Absolutely right. It is my evil plan to thus make MES the Number 1 Engineering Coll in India. Ssssshh!! Don't tell anyone, ok?)

So there it is.. Hope this time I will be a more successful student than last time!! Classes begin July 22nd. Until then I'm in Bangalore. (Parents have shifted here. J.P. Nagar, to be more specific.)
Well, that's about it from my end..
Signing off...

Old Lamps 4 New...

Hey junta, hope you r all doing good. So am i.. If you call hanging off a very sheer rock-cliff with one hand gripping the edge 'doing good', then yes, my dears, I'm in the very pink of health.. To those who have been attacked by Alzheimer's/Short term memory loss/good ol' amnesia, I'm awaiting the (catastrophic) results of my GATE exam.. And to be frank, I wouldn't at all mind if you promptly forgot this li'l tidbit..
Now, onto more serious things...
I am going to paraphrase, in the next 128 pages, the result of the enquiry committee's investigations regarding the viability of India's nuclear deal and its impact on our relationship with the SAARC countries.
Ha ha! Gotcha! Who cares about SAARC anyway? I'm gonna talk about my blog..
Welcome to my blog.. Old lamps 4 new...
This name has a very nostalgic association for me.. It is the most memorable line from one of the first stories we've all heard as small children... Right you are! It's from Aladdin, that ever-captivating tale of princesses and castles, genial genies and evil magicians, and a cheeky young man and his quest for love, luck and happiness that all started with a lamp. As did my fascination with the wonderful world of stories. A fascination that has accompanied me ever since, and has pinched, pushed, poked, prodded, prompted and propelled me onward in my quest for all things bookish.
Old lamps 4 new appeals to me on a different level also. Exchanging old lamps for new is the calling of an artist. A good storyteller is one who tells an old story as it has never been told before. A good photographer is one who captures a commonplace thing and makes us see it in a new light. A good cook is one who brings out exotic new flavours from the same old herbs and spices that have been in use for centuries.
And so, as I journey on through the roads of Life which have been traversed by millions before me, I will attempt to depict in this journal of mine, the experiences and realisations, temptations and privations that I come across, and I hope that as you, dear reader, read what I write, you will see in each of them, something old, something to identify with, and also something new, something to wonder about…
Bon Voyage!