Purani Jeans - The Chaos of Engineering.

Its been five years since I graduated from Father Agnels; my Engineering college. Of recently, there have been talks about a reunion, and so it seemed fit that there be an article on our days in Engineering. This post has been a long time coming, but it took a final push from a fellow classmate for me, to overcome my laziness and pen down my thoughts. Its a challenge to write such a piece. Its very easy to write an entire book on the subject, but to be able to condense it all into one post, thats a tricky needle to thread. So here is my attempt, and it is dedicated to the class of '04. I truly hope you like it.

Engineering is a testing experience for every person who graduates from Mumbai University. But I speak of a very specific one when I write about my batch of '04 from Agnels, Vashi. It is easy and indeed very tempting, to narrate the whole experience as horror stories akin to those of Nazi concentration camps. And it is easier to turn the whole thing into a teacher-bashing exercise that my fellow class mates would throughly enjoy. But deep inside, we know, it wouldn't be right. For, not all teachers in my college were bad. And so, I am not going to dwell on that unpleasant topic, except to say this; as I look back now, I have nothing but pure sympathy for the few teachers who relished in torturing us. Surely any person who derives such sadist pleasure in the abuse of power and wrongful punishment of helpless students - must have had a rather traumatic childhood.




My story begins in the fall of 2000. I was as naive and green as the rain soaked trees of sector-9A Vashi. Like most recent 12th pass-outs, I was hyper-excited and nervous that first day approaching my college campus. As I neared the iron gates, I saw a group of students to my left, they were laughing and looked happy, and I relaxed, thinking .... this doesn't seem too bad after all. It turned out those students were in fact not from my college, they were from our neighbor's. The mood inside campus was far less jovial, with gaunt, haggard looking students wearing a perpetual expression of distress. Their fervent glances pleading a silent warning: 'This is not for everyone, leave while you can!!' Call it 'Destiny' but I stuck to the place, and to - what would be - the best and the worst times of my student life!


Once the course has started, and the formalities done, you quickly begin to realize, you are in this on your own, the only friendly people you have in the world - are your class mates. And it fosters an intense, duty-bound sense of loyalty and friendship, one that is unique to the stream of Engineering. In just one month, you learn the unwritten survival law, that says, "You may not like your class mates personally, but you WILL help them in every way you can!" There are very few people you can relate to, once your training has started, your friends from before wonder, where is it that you go to - to come back so exhausted, and your parents do not recognize the frustrated individual returning home.


As far as I was concerned, the campus was to be my home. It was my social life, it was my academic, it was the place to study and it was the place for fun. In the middle of our chaos, I found a harmony. It was here that I learnt how to speak in front of a crowd and not flinch. It was here that I leant, how to prioritize and make decisions real-time. It was here, that I laid the foundational concepts of my career. It was here, that I learned to endure stress beyond my limits. And it was in this period that I enjoyed my most untroubled sleep.


There is a distinct quality to Engineers; given any situation, they immediately come to realize what is doable and what is not, they make calls without second guess and they handle events as the situation unfolds. It comes to them naturally. Any person can evaluate and take practical measures, except, Engineers do not feel guilty about the compromises they make. It instills a defiant confidence that remains with you for the rest of your life. And, it has saved me many many times.


At a research meeting, when my professor wanted a paper completed - he gathered my lab mates for a meeting and asked "How much time do you guys need?" My American counterparts answered - two weeks, I simply asked "When is it due??" I did not know how much time would I need, but it was the Agnel-instilled confidence that said - It doesn't matter how much time you need - All that matters is how much time you have!






It is hard to encapsulate the essence of my college and the experience I had, mainly because it doesn't lie in academic transcripts or the courses I studied. It doesn't lie in the concepts I absorbed or the ones I didn't. It is amorphous yet potent. It lies in endless cups of hot coffee over the front steps. It lies in the jokes we wrote and the chits we passed - while we sat day-dreaming and distracted in classes of theory. It lies in the time we spent sitting on stairs, 'bird-watching'. It lies in the distinct sound of that dot-matrix printer on the first floor, which was to us, nothing short of beautiful music. It lies in the intoxicating smell of kerosene and xerox copies. It lies in the suffocating air of notes-littered hallways, as we waited our turn for a viva. It lies in the euphoria of watching all required signatures on our submission sheet. It lies in painful aches and cuts from the workshop of first year - to the carpal tunnel from excessive coding. It lies in our convoluted sense of humor and in our tacit arrogance screaming ... "Yes, we did!"


It is the sum of all parts, greater than the entirety.


It is in the enduring qualities I learnt from my class mates. Every single one of whom - taught me something. They were my team, and I was theirs. Our victories were sweeter because we rejoiced together and our sorrows less painful because we suffered together. They were the support and they were the hope, they were the gems and they were the jewels. They formed the identity of my class, and in some way will always remain a part of me.


The class of '04 and the paragons of my memories! With a salute to all, I offer you these. Come, share a glimpse of my class room, the people who formed me....


Some are not so obvious, they are the silent geniuses like Unmesh Kulkarni.

Some are tall, athletic and capable like Sushant Kadam.

Some are whimsical, albeit pervert in their brilliance, like our very own Ajit.

Some are beautiful, compassionate, generous and have it all, like the beloved Sushma.

Some are the heart of a crowd wherever they go, unmistakably Manavi.

Some are fiery and feisty in everything they did, like Roshan and Nadeem.

Some are flamboyant and larger than life, like Maulik.

Some wont say a lot, but perform proudly, like Amol Gawli.

Some are painfully virtuous, like Tushar.

Some have kept me company and made me smile, Pritam and Priyata.

Some are always up to something, like Sandeep Kaul.

Some you just can't miss, like Divya and Richa.

Some are incredibly talented, like Kripa.

Some are touchingly simple, like Apoorva and Harshada.

And some, will give you a run for your money, like Pankaj.


That is Engineering, these are the people, the paragons of my memories and the best parts of me!


- 100026 (Sanket)


- Sanket

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How Long ?

How long will winter last for the young seed

As it dies alive, its spring denied

How long will the storm rage for the bird on edge

Waiting, for its wings to fly

How long should the capers halt before they lose step

As the child grows up and the boy dies

How long should the strings bear stretch

Their tunes mute, craving a master's hand

How long do the corks stay shut, as the wine waits

For a celebration to come by

How long should the secrets search a ear

Before they lose scent, And their mystery spoils

How long do the eyes fight sleep, their lust longing a touch

And desire succumbs to its own cries

How long do the lips hold shut, And silence the screams

Before they forget how to smile

How long should a heart seek love

Before it fills itself with ungiving sand

How long will the winter last, for the frosted seed

Why was its spring denied ??

- Sanket

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The First Journey Home

A close friend of mine left for India today. Its his first trip since he came as a student into the United States, and it has taken him three years. It reminded me of my own, first journey home, and so this post is written as a dedication to my friend, and in the hope of capturing that magic which grips and enthralls the international student upon his virgin flight home.

[Image used in accordance to Terms and Conditions per www.maharashtra.gov.in]

The first voyage, is, in every possible way, a surreal experience and for the most part while its happening, you feel as though you are some place else. The reality is so intense that initially your mind refuses to accept it. Superstitions arise where logic ruled before - and you begin to wonder, Is it possible to ruin your happiness just by thinking about it ? Are you really tempting fate?? This is especially true if you haven't gone home for more than two years and if you have never stayed away from home before. There is a price you pay - when you leave to pursue a career abroad, a sacrifice you make. And its enormity cannot and is not, initially comprehended.


The moment you land, you realize that you have left everyone you knew, you are thousands of miles away, that even a simple phone call has suddenly become complicated. That you are in a continent whose culture and customs, smells and tastes, cost and currency, weather and warmth, and even time is as different from your home as it possibly can be. As you stand at the revolving carousel, hoping your luggage isn't lost, it dawns upon you - that against all instinct, you really did pack your life into suitcases and left the familiar - and you begin to seriously question your sanity. A sickening anxiety starts to grow in you, its shape: undefined, its origins: unknown and its length: uncertain.

After wonders of the first-world have worn off their fascination, after the charm of novelty has become stale in growing stress, the reality of your world sinks into your bones and its parameters stabilize. As you become busy with studies and are sheared beyond normal, as you juggle between a job and academics, between expense and incessant search for fund, you become pragmatic about your ability and even the thoughts of your country become too expensive to afford.

There is a price you pay, a sacrifice you make, and its magnitude cannot be read - at the time you make it.

Only after you have spent days and months and years in longing - Only after you have budgeted your phone calls and timed your cravings - Only after you have post dated your tears and hung by a memory, do you come to understand what was asked of you. You do know beforehand, that you are going to miss home. But you do not know that you will miss your best friend's wedding, or your sister's birthdays, movies and music releases or new trains and roadways. You do not conceive that the place you were born and raised in - will move on without you. That the mangoes of summer would bloom and crackers of Diwali would sound - with or without you.

And on some days, some horrible days, news comes that your city was bombed. That Mumbai is on fire, and you can not be there to help. That your loved ones, friends and family, the places you are from, rock, stone and buildings are left vulnerable - and there is nothing you have done, nor can you do, to protect them. How can someone deprive you of the right to defend everything you love and are made of ?? And you realize that - that someone is you - and you marvel at your selfishness and loathe every breath you undeservingly take. You realize you can drown without water and be suffocated even as you live.

But adversity builds character and sacrifice renders reward - and this does hold true, on some magical evening the forces of nature submit, and circumstances relent. The constellations in the sky are aligned just right, and you find that the miracle of miracles, you actually have enough savings to buy a ticket home. And so you make the purchase, eager yet defiant, and you count. Count the months and moments, the nights and minutes and days after painful days and everything inbetween. And you cross your calendar, you cross your fingers, you find a friend - and cross his fingers - and you wait.

And so I did, and I waited on the flight home, willing it to fly faster, land earlier and travel safer than it was supposed to. And on a December night, I heard the most melodious voice - that my plane was going to land. And I fastened my seat belt and pressed my face to the window, and on my cue, the clouds parted to reveal my India beneath - magnificent and majestic. And in that hour of the night, I beheld my city like the lover who turns to bride and through the moist of my eyes I saw those shimmering lights and braced my heart - for the Mumbai I missed, every single night. I surrendered tear after saved tear - and with the friction of those tires on home soil, I earned that - which was rightfully mine.

Home sweet home, you can travel the farthest corners and revel in riches beyond, yet there is no place - absolutely no place that can compare to your home. The first journey back - its special - its magical - its beautiful and its spectacular. It is worthy of the price you paid - of the sacrifice you made. It is afterall home sweet home.
- Sanket

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Paper Boat Little

As a little kid, I never studied in school. I hated tests and exams and never scored. In fact, whenever I used to get a graded test back, I would neatly fold the papers into quarters and twist the corners to make a paper boat! We loved our boats. You could throw away a dozen paper planes with no care nor worry, but a boat had to be watched and helped and nurtured for it to sail the distance.

[Image credit - http://moonmaid.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/paper-boat.jpg ]

Call it a sign from above, but the lower I scored on a test, the better of a boat it would make. For the most part, out of sheer compassion, I never told my parents and teachers where and how did I lose my test scores. My partner in crime, 'Bunty' - the ideal student boy next door, never uttered a word either. We thought it was better this way ...

Within the limited confines of our society compound, was a shallow canal made to drive rain water out of the premises. At the end of the canal, the water went into an underground drain and we never knew what happened of it. Bunty had heard from the old watchman that it all went to the sea. And thats what I believed in, one never questioned the old watchman.

During the months of monsoon, I came home only on weekends, and Bunty and I would beg, borrow and steal all the umbrellas from our homes and neighbors, open them up in my living room and cover them all with bed sheets. This would be our make shift tent. Under the tent is where we dwelled, every once in a while we would surface to civilization and ask my mother for more food. It was a good system and we stuck to it. Occasionally when a neighbor had to venture outside, he would find his umbrella missing and come knocking straight to my house. These were troublesome times, as our neighbors umbrella could very well be in the very middle of our tent establishment, returning it would mean a whole lot of trouble, so we would take out an umbrella from the fringe and ask the uncle to exchange it later.

Every so often, when we were busy enacting our adventures under the tent, we would hear loud thunder and rain drops on tin roofs. And I would grab Bunty's arm and say ... " Suuussh, Listen!! " And as soon as Bunty would hear the rain, his eyes would lit up, and we knew fun times lay ahead. And up the tent would go, sheets pushed apart and we would scramble away out the door! Often times without bothering to wear shoes. We would rush into Bunty's room, grab some old papers, and my test results and run to the water canal. We would take turns to shelter the paper while the other made a boat, and on the count of three set our boats lose in the running water.

As the boats took off, we would follow them eagerly around the building - till they reached the drain grill, the boat to touch the grill first, won. It was simple, it was fair, and it was the most fun I remember. As our skill at boat making grew we got more creative with our canal, and place tree branches and bricks in the canal to make it interesting for our boats to navigate around. When we ran out of things to put in, we used our watchman's shoes! On one occasion, our watchman came in to work wearing rubber flip flops, as we tried to set up our obstacle course, to our delight, the slipper itself went floating all the way to drain grill. Knowing we couldn't use the flip flops for our course, we promptly returned them to the watchman - "These are no good, but your chappal won the competition today!" We offered our sympathies as best as we could. Needless to say, the watchman wasn't impressed.

On one such fun routine, as we set our boats to sail and ran around the building compound, we were particularly thrilled, this was going to be a close race, usually one of our boats used to get stuck on the obstacles, but today, luck seemed to be on our side and both our boats were clearing the hurdles - ever so gracefully. The rain was picking up, too much rain and it could flood the boat and it would never float again. There was only a limited window for our race to take place. As we rounded the last corner - running excitedly towards the finish line, I was positive, my boat would have no trouble clearing the last obstacle. I was right, my boat sailed through, Bunty's got stuck. And as we headed for the finish line, I relaxed and beamed up at Bunty with pride, as if to say .... "Hail the victorious!" Though when I looked, I saw panic in Bunty's eyes, "The drain! The drain isn't covered!! "

I immediately jumped to the ground, clawing in a last ditch effort to save my winner boat, but alas! It was too late, the boat had sailed through into the mysterious drain. As the realization hit me, I looked up at Bunty with moist eyes, "Where does this drain go! Come we might still be able to save the boat"

We did not know where the drain went, we had tried before. But Bunty being the gentleman he was, still followed me outside the building and across the street, to see where the canal might be connected. To our expected dismay we only found one open groove in the ground, this one filled with ugly drain water. Surely our canal did not socialize with such filthy structures. Dejected, with a head hanging low, I returned to the building.

"Don't worry", Bunty said patting my shoulder, "Your boat was brave, I am sure it will find the sea."

"I hope it does." I said, "My paper boat little!!"

"How much did you score on that test ?? "

"7/10 " I answered.

"You really aren't meant to study and score, its unlucky for you!" Bunty concluded.

*******

Often times, when it rains heavy enough, and forms rivers on the road, I am reminded of that day, and of that boat. Shortly after that incident, I lost touch with Bunty, his family moved out of our building. As the wet sprays of water drops hit my face, and the scent of moist soil fills the air, I remember our little game.

There is an innocence to childhood that does not breathe without honesty. No matter what the facts, as kids we had unquestionable faith in what was told. Perhaps its the part of childhood I miss the most.

Come to think of it, aren't all of our lives little paper boats. Fragile - with a ticking life span. Like the canal course, we do not know what hurdle our boat is going to encounter, nor what will come of it when it does. As dejected as I may be at times, I convince myself, I will find the sea. Bunty says so. And Bunty got it from the watchman, you don't question the watchman.

Made of paper, pretty and thin, floating away always, a branch and a spin. See my paper boat ... My paper boat little!!

- Sanket

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KARMA ROCKS!!

I have an affinity toward trouble. In that if I do not get into trouble, trouble finds me ! And in a recent spot of trouble I had to accept help from friends. Be it a place to stay or an airport pick up - I had to rely on friends to get things done. What I found, truly surprised me. Assuming the negative, I was pleasantly proven wrong when my friends insisted upon bestowing me favor after favor. And when I resisted, saying I really could not accept - a friend simply said - "Its what you would do for me". At that, I rested my case, caved in and accepted their generosity - ever so gratefully.

It led me to believe that my good 'Karma' was actually coming to rescue. I am a science person, firmly grounded and rooted in the annals of logic, thus an abstract concept like 'Karma' - remained a purely theoretical idea for me. Until, as I mentioned, I was rescued and was forced to concede the possibility that there might be something more to it. Hence my attempt to encapsulate Karma into a logical albeit flawed theory - and thus this post.


I believe a person's 'Karma' begins the minute he starts to take conscious decisions. Given the ethics of each situation and a person's awareness of them, each action leads to good or bad 'Karma'. Sooner or later, people start to associate you with your choice of actions and what they mean. Call it a 'character-score' (c-score) if you will. Like a credit score that tells how financially reliable a person is, the 'c-score' reflects how trustworthy he is. If you keep a promise made to a friend, that friend bolsters your 'c-score'. If you lie/cheat on a person, your c-score is lowered.

Try to visualize your friends, as you see each face, you will realize you already have an established label to go along with it - trusty, selfish, arrogant, supportive ... etc We may not actually quantify what we think about a person, but we can certainly tell if we trust a person or not. When you go to a bank and ask for a loan, the bank looks at your credit score to determine - what are the chances you will pay back? Similarly, when you approach a friend and ask for a favor, the person intrinsically asks, what are the chances you will repay the favor? If your c-score is good, chances are, more friends will do you favors when you need them. Hence the immediate effects of good Karma.

However, I believe 'Karma' in fact does influence more than how your immediate friends respond. In fact one can safely say, Karma influences your chances of success in almost everything you undertake. Barring the essential ingredients of success: hard work, discipline and dedication, when all factors are accounted for and success hinges on pure luck, it is Karma that affects the outcome. Acting acts as your guardian angel - it knows how good you are as a person, and how much do you really deserve success. When all logical reasons are exhausted, it is Karma that bends the arch of opportunity and gifts you happiness.

Skeptics may find this explanation lacking in proof. I offer no proof, just a theory. Every so often, the outcome we hope for, depends on factors we do not control. It may depend on the whim of a person we do not know, who has the deciding power to grant or deny you. I felt this way when I was nearing the end of my Visa interview. There is no way of telling which way the pieces are going to fall and if you will get what you want. Yet, if you have good 'Karma' - the pieces just might trickle down in the order you are pining for.

Consider for a moment, the entire living human population. You make friends, your friends make friends and so on. Thus, a stranger you meet, might be a stranger to you, in that you haven't personally interacted with this individual yet, but you can rest assured that you have touched this person through a chain/network of people you have built. Like they say, we are all connected to each other. A cliche, more veritable today than one might have thought in the past. Thus when you build good Karma - i.e. behave ethically when there is no immediate gain for you, you influence a whole network of people positively. It might take years and decades to reach back to you. And thus the anonymous old woman I helped cross the road years ago, might trickle down a positive influence that led my Visa officer to grant me my dream. 'Karma', often has latent effects.

Yet, in all fairness, this explanation is a long shot from what one might call 'complete'. Is it ever possible to completely capture the reasons of every bad/good thing happened to you? I think not. May be - we will never know - if our Karma patted us on the back, or bit us in the ass. Still it simply makes sense, to be on the good side of Karma.

It is the all important one percent after you have put in your 99 cents of hard work. A self accurate system of cause and effect - which decides if its your turn or not. At the end of the line, you have to account for everything you have done. Some say, if Karma does not catch up to you in this life time, it will surely do so in the next. Who can wisely contemplate on what happens after death? Is it Karma that decides if we go to heaven or hell? I do not know, and I am certainly not going to die just to find out.

For what its worth, I might add, being a good guy really really sucks, you don't have the luxury to make your choices on what's convenient for you - but rather have to base your choice on what's right - which more often than not - is a harder path to choose. Yet, if you do, and if you believe you have built good Karma, I think it really does come to rescue when you need it the most.

In a roof over my head as shelter against a cruel night, in the warm smile of a friend when I was spent and fortune had turned aside. I have felt the existence of my guardian angel. In that moment when I had closed my eyes, and despite disbelief in prayer, prayed so hard - God please please please, just this one time. I have felt life soften in a dimple and seen Karma, save my Life.

- Sanket

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