In search of myself...

The control room is filled with scientists. The rocket is ready to be launched. Everything seems to be in place. The glorious vehicle, in a few seconds, will reveal its destiny. Tension grips the minds of everyone witnessing the launch. The most trivial of technical faults could put an end to years of hard work in a matter of seconds. If the lift-off does not occur, things could be set right and the launch could be deferred. But after lift-off, the vehicle is controlled internally. It could only be manually destroyed if it malfunctions in its trajectory. Crores of rupees, years of labor, loads of fuel and tons of strategic material would have to go down into the sea along with the rocket. Imagine the feelings of those involved in the project. Those ten seconds must be passing like decades. If the mission is successful, everyone is to be credited. How many come into limelight after a successful launch? If it fails, who is to be blamed? Hats off to all these people who take such heavy fa

We entered the SHAR premises after the routine security checks. The whole place looked forlorn and there was nobody moving about. The stranded roads inside would lead to security gates at regular periods. Thankfully, there was a scientist aboard our bus to save us from getting lost in the labyrinth. We got down from the bus to visit the spot where static testing is carried out - a long, wide corridor with a high roof and overhead cranes all around. This was where the motors (rocket engines) were tested for various parameters. The most interesting thing about the enclosure was that the entire roof was mobile and could be slid out during the testing process. Nobody stayed within a radius of 3 km during the testing. A single testing operation needs six months of preparation. Then, we were led to the first of three launchpads. This was where my respect for engineering grew manifold. The entire rocket would be assembled on a platform in an enclosed structure that is 51 meters in heig

Thursday dawned and the unseasonal overnight downpour had not affected my excitement. It was a pleasurable drive to IIT on my motorbike. I was anticipating all kinds of things that might happen at SHAR. Throughout the ride, I dreamt of fabulous rockets that I would see and some technical snag that defeated all professional expertise available there and was set right by me! Excuse me for this, but day dreaming is my favorite pastime. The bus turned right on that busy Chennai-Kolkata highway. A turn I knew, would take me to a place in India that only a lucky few would get to visit. A board said that the entrance to SHAR was seventeen kilometers from there. It did not take me much time to note that once we had left the highway, we were on a road that was flanked by tranquil marshes of the Pulicat lake on either side. As far as one's eyesight could go perpendicular to the road, there was nothing but marshland. The sky was pregnant with water vapor and could deliver anytime. An odorless

During my trip to the Sriharikota Range(SHAR) earlier this month, I felt proud for one reason and humble and insignificant for many more. Yes, India's only satellite launch station, to me, is home to engineering marvels. I am proud because my nation is now self-sufficient with regards to space technology, thanks to people like Vikram Sarabhai, Satish Dhawan etc., the pioneers in this field. I feel humbled and insignificant because my education (undergrad earlier and postgrad now), has contributed little on such scales. A sea of difference separates people like me who, until recently, took pride in making designs on computers and showing them in different colors and perspectives, deriving approximate empirical relationships between invisible parameters typing away pages and pages of code after making a million assumptions, and those who put things into practice. Engineering is what I call the latter. Maybe I am getting a little sentimental about the entire trip, but I don't find

That cricket today has become extremely competitive is not unknown. To match its credibility, umpiring too, has grown to elite standards. Substantial technical assistance is offered to umpires on the field. The introduction of a third umpire into the game has provided welcome relief to both players and a lot of umpires who have borne the brunt of erroneous decisions. Further advancements (e.g. hawk eye) that have taken place and technological credibility in the game could now support appeals for any mode of dismissal. But still, the licence for a majority of the decisions, lies with the two officials on the playing field. This decision to confine the powers of the camera-aided umpire seems to have added spice to the game. One surprising decision could turn entire matches around. Whether this is good or bad is secondary. It has brought in a small thriller element to what would have been an otherwise boring game.

The dismal performance of the Indian Cricket team in the World Cup earlier this year has brought shock to many. Chappell was dismissed on grounds of proven incapacity and Sunny Gavaskar had his own way of putting things against Chappell, for he remarked, "Batting has floundered under Chappell". Now, when Chappell took over as coach, the team saw quite a number of victories that were attributed by the same "experts" to Chappell's Australian aggression. That was a period when the duo of Rahul Dravid and Greg Chappell was deemed invincible. Mahendra Singh Dhoni was supposed to be the find of the period. After the world cup, where are all these people? All their reputation has gone underground. Now, why has this happened? Problems in managing players are bound to occur. But taking those problems onto the playing arena only shows incompetence on the part of the team. Still, winning and losing should be taken in the stride and it should be understood that it is not e

The R.K. Narayan novels kept me company yet again. It was past noon when the train reached Vizag. I did not want to repeat the mistake of booking my meals in the train. The previous journey had taught me a lesson the hard way. I detrained and saw what best I could get to eat on that platform. Again, I had dosas. Then, a glass of cold pineapple juice to supplement this. Not surprisingly, when the train reached Vijayawada at night, I went in search of food and again got dosas to eat. After this, I had a cup of coffee and went back to sleep. My hatred towards dosas had grown manifold in this short trip to Bengal and I cursed myself for it. I was longing to reach Chennai and eat something better. The train reached the station at 4:15a.m on Sunday. My dad was waiting there and I relished the stench, characteristic of Madras Central – Home Sweet Home. It was the most satisfying drive back home in our car and I felt a new surge of energy unleashed into my circulatory system. I came h

Bidding farewell to Shekhar was tough. I was amazed at how well we had got on with each other in such short notice. After a few final words and some promises to keep in touch (which I have not stuck to), I boarded the Howrah Mail at 11 p.m. I slept very well and woke up only at eight the next morning. I only had a second class ticket this time and I should admit that the experience was rewarding in more ways than one. This time, I was able to see things outside more clearly. There was a Bengali family traveling in the same compartment and I was amused at the matriarchal society they had in miniature. Their son bore the brunt of the lady’s attack. What the lady said, had to be done without second thought, by the son. Even her husband was not spared. The dominance was of such magnitude that the husband and the kid had to visit the toilet or drink water, only at the lady’s will. I swear I am not exaggerating. Any gesture of disagreement and the lady would take her role as chief counselo

The counseling was scheduled at nine in the morning. We did not want to risk our moods by taking breakfast and directly went to the counseling hall after a cup of tea. Those of us who did not have the demand draft were asked to book their seats when their turn came and then get the draft – a welcome suggestion much to the relief of many. Seats had also been filled on the previous day by the candidates who enjoyed reservations and by an elite few, who had very high marks in the qualifying examination. Shekhar and I were basically interested in Engineering Design, though our scores were not deserving of the course. He was not ready to compromise and said that he would walk out of the hall if there was no seat in Design. But I was a little more flexible in the sense that I had more options in mind. When I went into the hall, I saw seats in Metallurgy, Materials Science, Physics, Ocean Engineering, Industrial Engineering, Cryogenics, Reliability, etc. – all of these are good branches of st

I cursed myself for having chosen SBI from among three banks located inside IIT Kharagpur. But all was over and I walked back with Shekhar towards his hall of residence, hoping to get a room. Luckily I got one right opposite his and that was the only happy thing both of us saw that day. At dusk, we went to the football ground there and sat down to enjoy the cool breeze that drove away all the humidity. It felt good, but both of us were tired and could not walk any more. The ground was a more than a kilometer away from the hostel and we had actually come out in search of a canteen that could offer better food. On the way, we had stopped to refresh ourselves with some tea at a shop. For the first time, I was served tea in an earthen cup. I liked the idea, but the cup was not well baked and the moisture was felt. I drank the tea and each sip that I had, brought with it, millions of particles. I did not know if that was unfiltered tea dust or the earthen cup wearing off, thanks to the h

I still had to get a demand draft for the counseling. Shekhar and I went to the SBI located in the campus. It was about twelve thirty when we reached the bank and I took my position as the seventh man in the queue. Shekhar had already got his draft from his homeplace, a town called Akola , in Maharashtra . The clerk processing the drafts was a middle-aged man with round glasses, who worked slower than a tortoise. He coolly lit something that seemed to be a cross breed between a cigarette and a beedi. Lunch was scheduled at two in the afternoon. This person would take out a bunch of notes from the drawer, count them, and put them back. This he did for all denominations, once every ten minutes. I was losing my temper and so were the other people in the line. The clock struck two and I was still sixth in position. The employees of the bank showed their punctuality and in a jiffy, all were in the dining room. The clerk returned to his seat with a mere fifteen-minute delay and that dirty na

We had been promised accommodation in one of the halls of residence at IIT Kharagpur. But what happened was the contrary. The warden plainly said in a mixture of Bengali and Hindi that all rooms were full and none could be allotted to me. I stood there with my luggage wondering what to do when divinity showed itself in the form of Ingle Chandrashekhar, a guy from Maharashtra who had come there with a similar purpose. He had checked in an hour before me and had been lucky to get the last room available. He led me to his room and eased me off my luggage. He compelled me to have a bath, which I refused. He then gave me company wherever I went. We were together all the time in that godforsaken place. I now wonder what I would have done in his absence; maybe roamed around that mammoth campus with my luggage under the merciless sun. We were famished and decided to have our breakfast at a nearby canteen in the campus. Again, being vegetarian, both of us could only choose the Tandoor

The next morning, I was disturbed by the snores of my co-passenger who had boarded the train close to midnight , at Vizag. I woke up and he followed me very shortly. Deep down in my heart, I cursed him for having woken me up so early. Talking to him, I learnt that he stayed in Kolkata and had been to Vizag on an official errand. He asked me about my work experience. I said that we manufactured valves. Snap came the question from the Bengali, “ Oh! ‘Balbes’ !!” I felt like laughing my wits out, but diverted the topic and showed some decency for the first time in life. The train crawled into the Kharagpur station, which boasts of being home to the longest railway platform in the world – a massive 1072.5m in length. I thought that the place had been deprived of another credit – the most malodorous station in the world. I took an autorickshaw to the institute. Again, here was an engineering marvel – an automobile chassis with a body held together by not more than two pairs of rivets. The r

It was dusk when I reached Rajmundry in A.P. I gulped down a whole packet of chocolate cream biscuits to erase that nagging taste of the lunch(read previous post) that I had taken. The journey continued and the server came again, asking for an order for dinner. I was told that I would get rice with curd and sambar for dinner. Overjoyed, I fell into the second trap. Dinner came. Rice was good. Curd too. There were a few pooris that were not larger in size than the palm of a ten year old. They tasted better and I reserved sambar for the end – a sin. One spoon of that sambar had brought before my eyes, my past and my future. Everything seemed to be reeling and I was finding it difficult to handle the onslaught. But my stomach was almost filled, thanks to those biscuits. I returned the sambar with a few good words to the server. But I should be thankful because the food had not played with my stomach...

I had applied for admission to the M.Tech programme at IIT Kharagpur and was called for counseling in the month of May, 2006. I was very pleased when I saw the reservation chart at Madras Central on a bright Wednesday morning. The ticket to Kharagpur fthat had been booked in a two tier A.C compartment had been upgraded to first A.C due to a dearth of seats in the former. I was all alone and learnt a little while later, that the only other passenger who had a seat reserved in that cabin would board the train at Vishakapatnam – a healthy twelve hours of seclusion. So, there I was, trying to derive the best from my only pastime on the train – a collection of novels by R.K.Narayan. I should admit that I have never read like that before and was amazed at how a little loneliness could cause such changes in me. The tinted glass permitted little visibility and I was longing to get out from that cabin and look at the vast expanse of greenery that characterized the route. I was happy for one oth

I was on this train to Bangalore, which is the only place on earth I seem to reach when I have my holidays. This particular experience was different. I have come across eunuchs demanding money in very atrocious ways on north-bound trains from Chennai Central. This time, Brindavan express fell into their hands as well. The eunuch came and clapped when I was listening to music with my earphones on. I paid no heed. Had it been on any north-bound train, the eunuch would have simply pulled the earphones off and demanded money. But this one seemed literate and more importantly, educated. The eunuch patted my back and requested me to take the earphones off. And then, in a most cultured tone, asked, "Excuse me, Sir. Could you spare me some change?" I was surprised at the tone and stared for a while and later sent it away telling I had no change. I overheard a few conversations between the eunuch and a few other passengers in my compartment and learnt that it was comfortably speaking

It's almost evening and a boy is about to return from school. A look into his house would tell a lot of things. The lady is busy making rotis for her son, when the doorbell rings and mama rushes to open it. Enters our hero, a ten-year old, with his progress report. Mama snatches the card in anxiety and throws a look of utmost perplexion at the kid, who, in the meantime, has managed to switch on the television set to watch his favorite programme. Ensues the mother's dialogue... "Rohit! How dare you switch on the tv when you have managed only eighty five percent in mathematics and science? Your dad works so hard to send you to school and tuitions and all you give in return is this? Shame on you. I will accompany you to your tuition class today and tell the teacher to increase the number of classes to four a week. And no more music classs for you. Tara aunty engages tuitions for science and you will be attending them from next week. After tuitions in the evening, you will co

I have been longing to write on this topic for quite sometime. My attempts to control my emotions over serials on television have gone in vain. No more shall I curb my instincts. The clock strikes eleven and that sounds the death knell for my tete-a-tete with the television. The fair sex (rather unfair at most times...) at home are done with their chores and take their places in front of the idiot box (I find it an idiot box only when people watch serials, else it's fine) with more passion than they show in any household activity. Ask them to allow you to watch TV for a day and they all shed tears like someone very close just kicked the bucket. One fine day, I decided to sit and watch what it really is in those serials that attracts women at home. One mistake I learnt never to repeat. Every serial seems to be the same. One lady, supposedly the lead actress, grows up in a poor household where the father finds it difficult to make both ends meet. This lady is burdened with all diffi