Bade Sahab Engineer

This is something that I scribbled in my notebook while in one of my journeys during my one year stint at TARA Nirman Kendra. It is not complete as I like it to be but I cannot reproduce what feelings I had then. So, I completed this in whatever way I could, almost 4 months later.

Rewa to Sidhi (4-May-2011)

Even in the most desolate of places, one can see smoke rising from a thatched roof in the distance. One feels the urge to go and ask the inhabitants about the life they live, where do they get their basic needs… but we are rushing. No time to waste. So the house remains there with the unknown inhabitants cooking their lunch perhaps. Sitting in the car, I try to answer the questions in my head from whatever experience I have of people and settlements from the last one year.

The stories are more or less same everywhere. A couple, a few children who haven’t washed for a few months. The wife would be cooking in front of a smoky chulha. The source of all the smoke. The man would be lounging on a wooden charpoy, laziness and procrastination hollowing out his body and mind of any skill that he might know. The children, with a line under their noses, caused by the runnings of the nose on a face matted with dirt.

On asking the question about where they but their basic requirements, the woman looks at you at the stupidity of the question and replies matter-of-factly, ”Why, from the town of course.” For a split second you think what a stupid question to ask. Then it strikes you that the nearest town might be 20kms from this god-forsaken place. Then why are these people still here? Because it is the only place they have. It is still better than the inhuman conditions that manual labourers live in cities like Delhi and Mumbai. Manual labour is the other way for these people. Dumbing them down and killing their skills. Do these people not have a right to live? Yes, they are not living. They are just existing. It is also very easy to impress these people. They are simple folks. Maybe the reason why they are kept in that condition, generations after generations by the ‘elected’ representatives. Because they are very easy to impress. Such is their state that even a penny of help earns their gratitude. One mason in a village once sang a little song for me. I forget all of the words except this line,

“Bade sahab engineer aae, Chuha Faas rang layi…”

‘Chuha Faas’ would be Laurie Baker’s rat-trap bond brick masonry, which we were supposed to train them in. As part of a mason training programme in low-cost alternative building technologies. When I heard this song(there were about 5-7 other lines), I did not have words to say. He looked at me expectantly, for some response. I could only manage a smile.

Mukhya Mantri Awas Mission-Madhya Pradesh

India is a country of multi-billionaires,Mr.Forbes would like us to believe. We have more billionaires than Germany, going by sheer numbers. And the PMs(Prime Minister and Pranab Mukherjee) want to churn out more from the Indian Billionaire Manufacturing Company, by the looks of it. But lets check the reality. India also has the most number of hungry stomachs, malnourished limbs and homeless heads, people living on less than 20cents a day. It is for these people that the PMs and their ilk think of innumerable ‘yojanas’. If all these yojanas were successful, India would be nothing less than Heaven. The population increase would be due to people from other places of the world migrating here and not a problem of our brains draining. Lets not get into the fluffy yojanas now and come straight to the point. The MukhyaMatri of Madhya Pradesh, one of the unimaginatively named states of India (why not then call Gujarat-Pashchim Pradesh; Maharashtra-Pashchim Pradesh-II and Rajasthan-Pashchimi Uttar Pradesh) has launched another yojana called “MukhyaMantriAwasYojana”. In which the government plans to construct hundreds of thousands of houses. The difference here is that they plan to use non-conventional building technologies like plank and joist roofing, rat-trap bond brick masonry, micro-concrete roofing tiles etc. (google??)

To initiate the villagers to these technologies and train masons in using them, MP government decided to construct a community building in each district and in the process train ten masons. TARA Nirman Kendra, the place where I work, was entrusted the job of doing the training in 17 districts of this vast state. This piece is about beginning training in three of these districts namely, Gwalior, Damoh and Panna and the adventures in the process.

The trip to the heart of India begins from Gwalior through Jhansi and Orchha. Development Alternatives (the sister concern of TNK) has a base near Orchha, a small tourist town in Madhya Pradesh. It is where we stay when on assignments there, as most of our development work is centred in Bundelkhand. The nearest railway connectivity is Jhansi junction. The journey to Gwalior began early in the morning by Rajesh’s Taxi. We were greeted warmly by government official apathy in the village where the training was supposed to happen. With no masons to train in sight and no materials at the site, we waited. At last, sometime after lunch, a few masons appeared and we commenced the training programme. Everything else went on more or less smoothly after that. It was late night when we returned to TARAgram (the DA base near Orchha).

The next day was a scheduled visit to Pipra village. DA has undertaken a rural housing project here. Construction work had commenced and the houseowners were eagerly waiting for the bank loan amount to be sanctioned to begin work. Pipra is a small village like any other village in this part of India. Surrounded by green fields on all sides. For us, urban colonisers, who are used to seeing buildings taller than they are wide, it is a romantic experience to see wide green fields with bright yellow sunflowers moving lazily, sending waves of yellow as the wind caresses them. To see potato plants with fat little green potatoes still intact. Here people do not go to pubs and malls to spend their evenings. All leisure time is spent in playing cards at the village ‘chabutara’ and consumerism is limited to the local grocer. Here, Father Time drags his feet. People still go with a ‘lota’ to the fields early in the morning. The ‘lota’ might be replaced with a plastic bottle in some cases.

Next day being a Sunday, we were supposed to leave for Damoh in the afternoon. Before that, there was the task of arranging for two masons. These masons are supposed to stay at site during construction and supervise the newly trained masons. One was arranged for without much ado. Then began the search for Lachchhi Ram, the second mason.Lachchhi is an old and experienced hand who does not use a mobile phone. This proved to be the biggest hurdle.

We first enquired at a pan joint where he is frequently found loitering. An old man with white handlebar moustache offered to come with us to help us find Lachchhi. But since we were already three of us on a motorcycle, we just asked directions to Lachchhi’s ‘Kuva’ ( as a field or ‘khet’ is called here in Bundelkhand). The old man also said that Lachchhi was supposed to attend a puja at some mandir opposite TARAgram. We knew of only one mandir in the vicinity and enquired there. There was no sign of anybody except another old man who wanted a ‘beedi’ before talking anything. Since none of us carried ‘beedis’, we left him in his state and proceeded to search for the ‘kuva’ of Lachchhi Ram.

We went to all places possible to traverse on a motorcycle with three people on it but in vain. At last, we dropped off one of us in TARAgram and went back to the old man who had offered to come with us. We took him with us and followed his directions. Till we reached a point where a bike could no longer go without three of us falling into a stone mine pit. One of us, the guy driving, decided to stay with the motorcycle and I with the old man with the moustache went ahead on foot. I should mention here that TARAgram is surrounded on all sides by wilderness, locally called ‘Bavadi Jungle’. Me and the stranger descended into the depths of the jungle in search of the elusive Lachchhi Ram.

We walked and walked, crossed a small stream by a stone crossing. Similar to the ones in Takeshi’s Castle, only none of the stones I trod upon, tumbled. We walked further into the forest into whatever path we could make out. I had lost all sense of direction and all around me was a dense growth of thorny bushes. My hands got scratched and my shirt got stuck in thorns but we trundled along. Around this time I grew wary of the man’s intentions. This place has known robberies by armed dacoits. If the man suddenly turned on me with a knife, robbed me and made a run with it, it would take me hours to get out. To make a nice happy combination, there was no network on my phone, so much for ‘atoot network’. We kept walking, I kept a large distance from the man, so that even if he turns on around, I have time to react and run. At one point, the old man showed surprising agility and climbed up a tree. From there, he called out a name. Once, twice, there was no response. On the third call, there was a return call from somewhere in the wilderness, somewhere deeper. This alarmed me further. But there was something in this guy’s demeanour which made me trust his intentions. But the rational side of me still asked for caution. So, I followed him but kept the distance, just keeping him in view. He told me that Lachchhi was involved in conducting a puja to some Baba which involved sacrificing a goat. My agitation grew further. What kind of bizarre ritual was I going to witness in the middle of nowhere?

After a lot of walking, we at last seemed to reach some sort of a clearing. Getting closer I could make out around 5-10 people including women and children. I recognized one of the men as Govind, another mason. He too recognized me. And if he was surprised on seeing me there, he did not show it. My fears were somewhat allayed on seeing him. And there was Lachchhi Ram, sitting in front of a small temple on a raised platform.

I was relieved. My trek in the forest was successful. There was also a goat there, tied by the neck and held by one of the women. One of them asked to remove my shoes and join them in their puja on the platform. I politely refused. The ritual turned out to be chopping off a corner of the ear of the goat. Bizarre, but less than what I had imagined at first.

Lachchhi found, our training team was complete. We left for Damoh. The road flanked on both sides by fields. Now, Orchha is situated in the banks of the river Betwa. So, fields here are green as ground water level is high. As we went farther, any number of ‘NeherPariyojanas’ notwithstanding, more and more fields were barren brown instead of lush green. Villages were almost empty and bus-stand crowded. People going to Delhi in search of a livelihood.To go to a life of further suffering, living in inhuman conditions and an uncertain future.

We reached Damoh town by night, had dinner and asked directions for Pathariya, the town near out training location. The official who was in-charge of the training in the district had informed me that we would find a place to stay there. But all of the people whom we asked directions advised us to stay in Damoh for the night. Since we had to leave the car that same night, I decided to go as near as possible to the village. I also had the officer’s words in mind.

Damoh to Pathariya is just around 30km, but the journey took us one-and-half hour. Such was the road. I expected a peaceful night’s sleep after all the day’s excitement, but alas, that was not to be. We roamed around the town at 1 in the night enquiring for places to put up. But to my frustration, there were none. The people were as helpful as a roadside dog would have been at that time. I called up the official at that time of the night, but found that he was as spineless. The only way now was to go back to Damoh. The driver of our car was obviously not pleased. I too pitied him, but there was no other way. To add to my worries, a few policemen informed me that the road to Damoh was not safe for travel at night. But seeing my resolve, he wished me luck. So, chanting The Goddess’s name we began our journey back to Damoh.

We reached Damoh at 4 in the morning. ‘Everest Lodge’ was to be our place of stay for the night, or what remained of it. We had a mattress without a bedsheet and quilts which must have been white two decades ago. Cockroaches crawled on us when we slept. To make matters worse, yes they could have been, the fan spluttered to a stop. Not that it was really hot but mosquitoes sang and kissed us without it. Me and another engineer who shared the room, then changed rooms. When we slept, it was breaking dawn outside.

The next day then passed away without much excitement. We stayed the night at the government resthouse in Pathariya. Though we had to change rooms here as well.Due to the arrival of some ‘minister ka PA’ who wanted to have dinner in the room. He was obviously more important than us. And it would have been foolhardy to pick a quarrel when I had two frail humans to support me.

The whole of the next day was spent in travelling to Panna for a pre-training visit. The bus chose to move at 20kmph and stop wherever there was a semblance of habitation. Five hours in a cramped bus was another experience altogether. Work done in Panna, we left for Jhansi in a much more comfortable sleeper bus.

So, ended an eventful trip to the heart of India. Heart physically,as also metaphorically. This is the real India. As the cliché goes, “India lives in its villages.” And as part of TARA Nirman Kendra, I have the opportunity to work in the ailing heart and remove whatever blockages I can.

Lok Awas Yatra (http://www.lokawaasyatra.net)

Day 1:

The first thing that strikes in Shimla is the chill. Even with three layers of warm clothes, I was shivering. A hot cup of coffee did a world of good.

The day began with ‘mooli paratha’ and ‘achaar’. Registration of ‘Yatris’ was to begin by 9.30. So, we rushed to the conference hall of Indian Institute of Himalayan Studies. A small but well-equipped room.

The presentation introducing ‘Lok Awaas Yatra’ was attended by the ‘Yatris, DA (Delhi and Shimla) and research officers of IIHS. Mr.Bansal, head of IIHS was the guest of honour.

After lunch, began the never-ending journey to Koti village. The roads are treacherous and all of us had to taste the soil of Shimla, such was the dust in the air. The journey took us almost 5 hours, 5 hours of jumping about in the bus.

But the visit to Koti was worth the journey. One has to see to believe that a small village, tucked away in a corner of the hills of Himachal, having a population of hardly 500, has invested so much in terms of non-conventional energy and development of basic rural infrastructure.

The winter night had started creeping in by the time we left Koti, with all its darkness and chill. At 11.30pm, after a whole day’s rumbling about, simple roti-subji with a glass of piping hot tea never tasted better. And at 1am, the bed never felt warmer.

Day 2:

Time:11.30pm
Place: Jibbi
Atmosphere: Clear sky dotted with innumerable stars. Many many more than you will get to see in Delhi.
Altitude: Around 3000m
Temperature: 2 degrees below zero. I think they should start measuring temperature in Kelvin, here in these parts. 271oK looks hot!!

Wooden floors with a green carpeting makes for a cozy room. One though needs to think twice before drinking water, for then, arises the needs to relieve. Which, I can assure you is an experience in itself. The bathroom is attached....to an open balcony, which is attached to the room.

At the ATC, we saw a prototype Trombe wall, a thermosyphonic air heating panel, a window box heater, at HimUrja we saw a central blower, all for heating up rooms. WHY DID NOT THEY USE ANY OF THESE HERE??

A few lines dedicated to the driver who brought us here. A young fellow with a love for cheesy Hindi songs (ones like ‘mera dil jiss dil pe fida hai, ik bewafa hai..’). And one who seems to know every third person on the roads. Though his driving skills are never in doubt. The way he is negotiating the curves gives one the creeps sometimes. At one point in our journey yesterday, we missed a turn. So, we had to turn back from a dead end. The ease with which he negotiated the turn, while we panicked, was an example of the safe hands (and feet!) we are in.

Day 3:

India, is such a land of diversities. Goes the cliché. It becomes more and more evident as you see different parts of the vast country. The topography, the food, the culture, the people.

The beautiful landscapes have to be seen to be experienced. The car manoeuvring snake-like winding roads, with a rock cliff on one side and a gaping valley on the other. A stream gushing some where below. The sound of flowing water rising above the drone of the engine and the tyres displacing small rocks off the roads. Then as the covering of trees clears, one can see the water flowing, making white frothy formations over rocks coming in its way.

On all days, we have broken the fast with ‘Paraathas’, of different flavours of course. The lunch has been at different places, so the quality of food also has been different on all days. Same goes with dinner. But a common point for all meals is that they are invariably followed by steaming tea. Tea, with some spices to keep you warmer. Another speciality we tasted today at the Great Himalayan National Park, was ‘Seddoo’. A momo like steamed preparation which has a rich filling consisting of apricots, groundnuts etc etc. Unlike a momo, the skin of this one was much thicker. Most of us said they could not eat one full, but I managed to eat two. Another difference with momo was, it is supposed to be eaten with desi ghee. And you have to do that fast or else the ghee will harden on your plate.

As for the culture and the people, it is too early to say anything. One needs to stay and interact more with the locals to understand the culture. One thing that I did mark was that the people are generally more cordial. Especially compared to the kind of behaviour we are used to in Delhi.

Another thing noticed was a school in progress in Jibbi. All children lined up for the assembly in a sunny, flat piece of land and began the day with some exercises. Prayers followed, beginning with “Vande Mataram” and a prayer that went, ‘agar kissi ka achchha nai kar sakte to bura bhi mat karo’. Then one of them who seemed to be the eldest muttered ‘attention-stand at ease’ a few times. The others moving about their legs at will. Then classes began. In the same piece of land. Under the winter Sun. The benches lined up in rows. How the teachers decided which class was supposed to do what, was a question that remained unanswered as we had to move on to our next stop. It was a great idea nevertheless. To study, and beat the winter chill at the same time.

The chill is getting on to me now(though its much better than yesterday, when the fingers had started turning blue with the cold). More for tomorrow, which promises to be another hectic day.

Adios.

Engineer's Day 2009

Engineer’s Day ’09, its over now. The pics have started appearing on facebook and being exchanged with a lot of viruses along with them. The structures are ready and being appreciated and criticized equally. The report is out and some post Eday work still left.
All in all, an Engineer’s Day to be proud of. Highlights of the event would be the 4 structures made, the 5 paintings (discounting the white wall), IP Gautam-Municipal Commissioner as chief guest, the Academic Exhibition-in which each and every slide was new, and last but the most important-the theme for this year “Development and Maintenance of Urban Municipal Schools”.
The topic ‘social infrastructure’ was suggested by the General Body, for the first time in recent memory. Then we zoomed down on the education sector and then Municipal Schools. A topic, which was criticized by many as not being related to the field of us-engineers. But as one able faculty member once said, ”they are not engineers yet, and it is in our hands to see whether they become one or not.” Even as engineers there are some social responsibilities that are as important as building bridges and skyscrapers. Its this responsibility that we have tried to fulfill this Engineer’s Day. We tried to answer the question why municipal schools are marked as the lower rung schools. We may have not answered the question fully, but we made inroads. The attempt was not just to accuse the government, but also to show a way. There is still a lot of work that needs to be done.
There was a conscious attempt this time by the council to reduce the faculty involvement in some issues like getting work done out of the students. But truth remains that things streamlined after a certain GBM. Truth remains that fourth year turned up for the second tree plantation (yes there was a first) only after it was announced in the class by a faculty member. As always, truth is hard. For us as well.
But, there is another truth. That the above truth was just a mole on a beautiful face, a beauty spot you might say. That for every oversized a** that didn’t work, there were many who forgot to see the time when they worked. Perhaps that is how it is to be. Names have already been taken, so now for a positive reason. Applauds to fifth year for standing together as a team for everything, in everything. Report making, Academic Exhibition, Presentation, a structure, a painting and fourth yearites for lending a huge helping hand in each one of them. Cheers to the first year, who were there at all times. Working their a**es off at all times. Second year for being in everything, a structure, a painting, wall cladding, basin(!). Bit off more than they could chew? They ended up digesting all of it, so no worries (whatever meaning you take out of that). Third year for their two structures.
Money matters, when there is so much activity on campus happening, it has to be backed by funds. Hard money, hard fact. There was no support, it was like a green field project, nothing to build up upon. The sponsorship team started from the foundations and ended up constructing a tall building. Tall enough to meet the needs and have something left for future use.
Its 560 words already. So summing it all up, an event to be proud of, as an SBSTian. There is that empty feeling, kind of like the ones you have after you come back from a vacation. Back to submissions, tests, reports, presentations.
Nothing is perfect in life, we aspire to achieve that perfection. We make efforts to reach the pinnacle. We have got another chance in the form of Techfest. Lets not cry over spilt milk. Just mop it up and go to the dairy again. :)


Note-in-note: We had a meeting with respected Dr. Vakil sometime back and he was more than just pleased to see our work. He wants us to go ahead with our idea of developing the school in Maninagar. The work that we have done this year, the paintings, the structures everything was wholeheartedly appreciated by him. More on this later.....

Council Diaries

1st
Location: office of the municipal schools administration, School no. 'Chaar', Navrangpura.

This was sometime after Engineer's Day. After we made the presentation which flattered the municipal school board so much that none of them were present and the municipal commisioner had to sit through alone and even release the book(report).
After they(the municipal school wallahs) realised that they have to do something to please the commish. They asked us to make a logo for them. For some scheme for education, which was supposedly a 'pet project' of the chief minister.
The idea is,"Cept wale hain, logo design karwa do." Then its immaterial if they are building science or whatever.
Now, Vishrut had some more work to do, after Engineer's day. He made a few logos. Three to be exact. And Harsh made one. I got them in a pendrive and decided to get the prints.
I got the prints at some cyber cafe near the navrangpura bus stand. Genius fellow, the way he worked on photoshop.
Now Soham and I went to the office of the officer who asked us to make these logos(the one who did not come inspite of an invite).
He was not there. Expected. So we asked his secretary, or the one who looked liked one, about our purpose of visit.
He asked another guy sitting beside him with a computer screen in front, to copy the images onto his system. He was reluctant. Maybe he was not sure how to copy or he might have anticipated what was going to happen to him, dont know. Anyway, I showed him how to copy.
Now, he was doing some typing work in Gujarati. Its quite difficult, you will know if you have seen it. And he was as comfortable as some of our faculties in doing it. Like, he was using only his index fingers to type, his other four fingers straight, in the same plane.
He had, in this way, managed to type 3\4th of a page.
Now, as soon as he copied the images on to his computer, his computer screen started flickering. It went on for a while and then all dark. He restarted the computer. It started. Soham and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, on the page in which you need to enter the username and password, the user name field was filled with full stops. And they kept increasing. The computer accepted no other command.
The poor fellow held his head. "me atlu badhu type karyu hatu!!"
Soham said,"nikalte hain"
And we went out of the building without a backward glance.
Outside, we burst into peals of laughter.

The last we heard of the poor guy's voice was "kyan jao chho tame loko?? Aa theek kaun karse??"
We are construction engineers, not computer walas. Sorry.

I scanned my pendrive on my computer. It showed 50 infected files.
It seems the genius cyber wala, was not a genius after all.
I have not heard of the education project since. Pets die young, sometimes. Or maybe, just maybe, a big maybe, we killed it.

The real India

The real India does not travel in Metros. The real India does not use expressways or flyovers. The real India is not bothered about some volcano erupting in some obscure country.

The real India wants food, shelter and a good health. The most luxury it wants is a light in its home. If we haven’t been able to provide this in 62 years of independence, all these years have gone in waste. We have been a failed state. Face it. When there is gaping valley between the haves and the have-nots, its time you accepted the fact.

All the engineers building beautiful bridges, spare a thought for the real India. These bridges, these huge buildings are a way to divert the attention of the masses to non-existent problems. Why will population in cities increase? When there is nothing to do in villages. When the crops dry up due to drought. When high profile dams are completed but not their canals. When cottage industries shut down due to cheap foreign made shit. Then they say they need wider roads to accommodate this population.

We don’t need to host the Commonwealth Games. When it requires us to push the real India out of the city, to show the westernized city. We should stop trying to become INDIA, the name given to us by western invaders. We are Bhaarat, we are Hindustan. We don’t need expressways. We don’t need BMWs, Mercs. We need food, water, shelter. Very simple it is.

Then why have 62 years passed without complete addressal of the problem.

What do you do when you see a beggar on the road? Out of your air-conditioned car window. You give him a rupee? 10 rupees? 100rupees?? Ever wondered what happens to that money? What does that beggar do with it? Maybe he buys food for his family. Maybe he will collect it and invest in a new plastic sheet to protect his family in the monsoon months. Or maybe he will buy tobacco for himself and his family. Maybe he will buy liquor for himself, to make him forget his worries. To make him forget that he has a family. A family on some footpath of the city. He might not even be sure his shanty home will be there when he gets back. It might be sacrificed to the city’s ambitions. If you cannot address the problem at the root then you might as well turn a blind eye to it. To give alms to the beggar is never the solution.

Thank God if you are able to read this. It means you have a computer, an access to internet. And you are aware enough to have a facebook account. How many people in this country have not heard of internet in their life? Spare a thought. They are Bhaarat.

It might sound like a communism. But this is the fact. An extreme part of this thought process is called naxalism. Was moved to tears seeing the suffering of a small not-yet-able-to-speak child, don’t remember after how many years, when I was getting all worked up due to a stomach problem.

So next time, dont fuss about a little sweat when travelling. Think of the people who are afraid to sweat, lest they dont have the resources to replenish those droplets of salt and water.

SBST Remembered

This is in continuation and supplementing the piece I wrote for SUBSTANCE. Which I did not get a copy yet(Nirmit, listening?).

School of Building Science and Technology, the place we love to hate. We hate it when we are required to wrote another exam after proving once that we are not interested in exams altogether. Case in point, supplementary exams or simply ‘supplie’. We hate it when we are made to go over the monotony of a subject again or a whole year again, when we have proven that it does not interest us at all. Rule-makers will argue that it is all for a good cause, for preparing us for Life. Whatever. We hate it when, we are made to show our ingenuity in reproducing assignments done at some previous time, by somebody who showed his ingenuity in turn by reproducing another’s work. We hate it when we have to compromise a peaceful night’s sleep to stay up and draw line on an ‘ultra-white’ sheet of paper, light-to-dark, top-to-bottom using different grades of pencil lead. Never a 0.5mm lead, mind you. We hate it when we get a marksheet in our hand and the Enlightened ones compare their marks with us, lesser mortals. We hate it when these enlightened ones get better grades for the same thing scribbled on the answer sheet. We know it’s the same thing, because its copied from the Enlightened’s paper, with our valuable inputs as well. Come on. We hate it when we have to spend our weekends eating cement at some bungalow being made for some rich ass. And listen to the life’s sorrows of the guy called ‘site-engineer’. We hate it when we have come for a four-month vacation to explore a new city and they make us write reports running into hundreds of pages every month. We also hate it when we expect to relax after four-and-a-half years of relentless toil in studios and sites and we are made to report to the ‘grand-old-man’ of SBST every month of what we could not achieve in the last month.
We hate SBST for many reasons, some of them material and some of them relating to people who claim to run this place. But we love this place for the same reasons. We will remember this place fondly for the same reasons. Not convinced? Let me explain.
We love it when after putting in real extra work, we manage to have more marks in the final marksheet than some of our sort who managed to scrape through at the first attempt. Its fair considering that we put in a semester more of back-breaking hard work than them. We love it when we are applauded for a reproduced assignment when all that we have done is show advanced skills of MsWord. We love to compromise our sleep for a visit to VS for maska-bun and chai in the name of staying up for ED-BCD. We love to stay up the nights, studying, before an exam for some more maska-bun. And still looking for the prying eyes of Rajendrabhai(name to be read in his accent only) to look the other wayin the exam hall. We love to go for ‘field studies’ and learn the tricks of tricking the site-in-charge. And obviously, keeping an eye on the phone for any news of a surprise visit by the faculties. We love to go to a new city and look for new places to quench our thirst. Especially Gujarat being so ‘dry’. And at site, wearing a helmet and safety belt for the first time and feeling,’at last I feel like an engineer.’ We love the four months of freedom from classes and anticipating the day of complete freedom from the bondage.

As the day comes closer, the anticipation increases. Till finally it arrives. We suddenly find that , all that we have lived for is over. Just simply over. It is the end of a life. A part of life, Enlightened ones would say. But these five years are a full life lived, and maybe more. The life had much more than what I could think of and put to words. It had many things more which if I start to pen down, will get monotonous, as we all have experienced these things and are experiencing now(juniors..). And there are some things which cannot be mentioned at a public platform.

Personally, SBST remains a place where I found friends for a lifetime. The period is mainly concerned with episodes we had together. Without them, especially living away from home, would have made this…I dread to think what. After all that, the final year has been a perfect climax. The council days made me see life in a new way. The joy of achievement was interspersed with the feeling of disgust and disgrace sometimes. Only to be lifted to another level of contentment in a short time. There were many things which I set out to do, but found I had to select. Some things I pulled off, but the revolutionary ideas I had, remained just that..ideas.
It is now that I realize what I have gained in five years and what I lost after that. Life has come a full circle. I have come back to where I began. It has to be a new beginning now. A beginning of much better things I hope. There are memories and memories. Some are forgotten as time passes and some remain as if they happenend just yesterday. These years are certainly part of the latter.

Aisi Karni Kar Chalo,
Tum Hasso
Jag roye.