The journey

After an initial set back, I got an opportunity to visit IITM. It had been seven months since I left Insti, five months after I started my corporate life. It was Diwali week. I was taking a bus to Chennai, the first time to travel by road to the place. During college days, it was always Pinakini express that carried me back and forth. Besides the fact that train journey was fast, we didn’t have buses plying between Ponnur and Chennai. I used to look at the highway running beside the railway track, and wished that I was traveling by bus. I don’t exactly know why I like it, but it has more to do with the fact that a road trip takes longer, and one can get to see different places more closely than what is possible in a train. It may be also due to my liking for the Dhabas on highways. They may not be great places, but a brief stop at a Dhaba will make me feel that I have got a little understanding of the place, its people and most importantly, the way they make tea. Funny it may sound, but it’s only the need to refuel myself periodically with tea that makes me look for a Dhaba and I have sampled tea from quite a number of places, from Bidar to Sullurpet, all during my long road journeys. With all this enthusiasm, I embarked on a journey that was supposed to take ten hours.

In order that Murphy’s Law is fully obeyed, and reiterated, the bus was late. With the joy of going back to Insti, I didn’t care about it. It was mostly an eventless journey, but for the fact that we had a brief stopover at a Dhaba near Sullurpet. I had a sudden feeling that the world has become very spacious. Having been on the crowded and cramped Hyderabadi roads for months, the highway seemed to be very wide and free. There weren’t many vehicles, except for the cargo trucks and buses. One tea at the Dhaba in the cool breeze of the place made me feel fresh. I sat through the rest of my journey watching the landscape change from hilly to plain terrain, and become more.

As the bus was nearing Chennai, I was immediately able to recognize the village that I had once visited as a part of my NSS activities. I was then told that the road led to AP, and now I was able to link up facts. As we neared the city, the roads started getting congested again. We passed through the industrial estates of north Madras that were once the subjects of my study for the pollution and health hazards they caused. After a few traffic jams and delays, I was at Chennai Central by 11am. First I walked to the book seller beside the subway, bought a few books and then took a local train to Guindy. The first signs of being in Chennai were already showing up, I was sweating profusely in winter. However, the trademark Chennai effect came only later. I tried hiring an auto from Guindy to Insti and for a distance that was hardly six or seven kilometers, they demanded sixty rupees. That killed away the feeling, the special feeling that everything is good in Chennai. As I got into a bus to Insti, the feel good factor restored. I realized that seven months is very short time to change the notorious auto drivers of Chennai to good law abiding citizens carrying people for normal meter fares.

A sense of emotion gripped me as I entered Insti. I looked around to find acquaintances, and the first one I saw was the security guard who used to be in Tapti hostel during my second year. I went and spoke to him. He inquired about me and my job, and after a small chat, I left. There was a battery van in the bus stop, and the driver was sitting under the trees whiling away time. I understood that it was going to take some time before the bus would start, but gave up plans of taking a lift. I sat there in the bus stop, looking around, at all those things I hardly noticed during the four years of my stay there. The small garden at the entrance, the Institute emblem standing on a pillar, bus stop, everything seemed invaluable.

The brief ride to the hostel was so exhilarating that it brought back memories of childhood trips to my mother’s home in a village, some fifty miles* from Ponnur. As a child that was the most awaited part of my life. During holidays, my uncle used to come to Ponnur and take me there. We had to change buses at a town in between, and the last leg of journey was most exciting. I used to sit beside the window and wait and wait, as the bus rolled forward slowly on the dusty road. I had a similar feeling now, and understood how emotional attachments change over time. As a child, I was more attached to my grandmother and her village, as I moved to Hyderabad; it was Ponnur I craved for. Now, Insti took the place. It was the same emotional attachment, the same old feeling of happiness. As I passed through GC and Cenlib, memories came flooding by.

As I got down at Gurunath, one of my hostel juniors met me with a smile. I walked to Tapti, the place that has become my home for three years, and still continues to retain the same status. Nothing much has changed, expect for the new dining hall for residents of Taramani Guest House, which was set up in Narmada hostel mess. I walked into the hostel, ignoring the question mark faced security, and banged the doors of my wingies open. Ahak was awake, and I put up a small fight to wake up Venky and Bombay.

It’s good old days; again.

* Now that I am reading R K Narayan, the old English has caught my fancy, and hence the miles instead of the SI system.

{For readers who may not be familiar with the names, here is the legend. Ahak, Venky and Bombay are my hostel mates pursuing their final year dual degree. GC, Cenlib and Gurunath and places in IITM, that come in the same order while traveling from main gate to hostel zone.}

Looking inward

Some sort of unhappiness, a feeling that I am doing the wrong thing, that I am not able to enjoy what I am doing is haunting me. Don’t know if that is a similar feeling to a majority of you or if I am an exception. I am pained with life, the people, the circumstances and everything in general. Not being able to pursue what I like or what I enjoy.

Please help me, and give me some suggestions as to how I can get out of this mess.

Bicycles and Bikes

The first vehicle I owned is the “Black beauty”- a Hercules Thriller bought during my IIT days. Before I became an IITian I had been riding either dad’s or my sister’s bicycle in Ponnur. Though I knew how to ride a scooter, I never borrowed my dad’s scooter fearing an accident. Ponnur is a small town, and one can find acquaintances on the road where ever he goes. That was one thing that prevented me from scooter riding, what if I hit some or the other friend of my dad accidentally. The other thing was that I wanted to earn {the money for} the petrol I used. So, I never used a scooter though my school friends have shifted over to bikes and scooters as soon as we passed our tenth class - this tenth class restriction being imposed by our tuition master. He never tolerated school children riding powered vehicles, for his own reasons.

The black beauty was a thing to cherish for me. Being “first” may be the reason why I used it carefully. IITM roads were good and ditch-free and enabled my bicycle to stay in shape for four full years. I never rode too fast, neither used rapid braking. Be it to class on weekdays or joy rides in the campus on weekends, it was there for me. Whenever I rode it over a speed-breaker or accidentally rode over a bump, I apologized to my black beauty and promised to be careful next time. It was cleaned and oiled every weekend. As always there will be contenders, Vamsi and Sriram also maintained their cycles well. I tried to stay ahead always in this funny competition but Sriram with his knowledge of Tam and Chennai outperformed me once. He was the first one to get his name written with radium stickers on the cycle. Of course I followed the next weekend.

I was so meticulous in maintaining my bicycle that by the end of my second year, I was the only source of bicycle to the ones in need. Most of my classmates’ cycles were either lost or rusted and gone out of use. While Ahak changed three cycles and Subbu bought two cycles, mine was almost new. The biggest moment of happiness was in my third year, when a second year guy tried ragging me, mistaking me for a freshie because of my “new” bicycle. In the first two years, I even hesitated to lend it to friends. Whenever some one came to borrow it from me, I either offered to give them a lift to the place or gave reasons and declined to lend. By third year friendship outweighed that fear and people like Prof made full use of it. Life was beautiful- paining Prof as he came to borrow it or re-scheduling things so that GT could go to his lab on my bicycle.

As I finished my engineering, I made it a point to get the black beauty transported to Ponnur carefully. After serving me faithfully for four years of college life, it now rests peacefully in the store room of my home. I didn’t want to give it off to my cousins or sell it. Though my dad points to the rusting rims or aging tires, I act deaf.

The second vehicle is the Honda Shine which I recently bought. I wasn’t confident of driving in city traffic, but the irregular office timings made it necessary to have a bike. All I did was to choose the color and stickering of a Honda Shine. A 125 cc engine appeared to be a good tradeoff between power and pick up. I took a small test ride in the lane beside the showroom and felt comfortable. For the first few days, I practiced driving in the mornings. But to drive during traffic time, that too Hyderabadi traffic is another thing! At first the new cylinders gave me some pain. The bike would stop whenever I slowed down and as my Mechanical Engineering background suggested, it needs to run it for at least a thousand kilometers before the piston ring wear brought the engine to a steady state. So I made use of every chance to put it to use and wear the piston rings.

I needn’t explain Hyderabadis how chaotic the traffic here is. But for people from other places, here is how it feels. Imagine a primary school with classes in the third and fourth floor. When the school bell rings at 4 in the evening, all the kids without even heeding teacher’s warnings rush to the stairs. They try to get into what ever space possible, even climbing on to the railings of the stair case and trying to get down. It’s almost the same here. Cyclists and bike riders get onto pavements too. They travel through the narrowest spaces, rubbing shoulders and rear view mirrors with other bikers and pedestrians. And if you want to ride like a Good Samaritan, waiting in line behind the cars at a traffic junction, it’s assured that the journey will definitely take an hour longer. Colleagues at office have expressed their utter disbelief at the way people here drove. It was this traffic that I ventured into, third day after I bought the bike. After a few near-misses with cars and a few more thud-thuds into deep holes on the road, I am a Hyderabadi driver now. The roads are worst too. As long as it is dry, the only concern is the man hole covers and telephone pits on the road. Traveling at 50-60kmph, not only is it difficult to sever aside, but also the risk of being hit by the guy behind is large. The shock absorbers get damaged, but all that I can do is feeling sorry for the bike.

By mid august, it started raining here. It was then I realized a basic funda: It’s easier to clean a bicycle than a bike. The roads become small cesspools, for the excellent shape they are in. Traveling on a bike, I used to get drenched both from the rain as well as the splashing of water on the road, thanks to four wheelers. Nature has its own way of doing justice to everybody and so is human design. When it comes to traffic jams or crossing signal lights, bikes are an absolute advantage. You can squeeze into the little space and race forward. But when it comes to rainy days, four wheelers are better. One can sit dry and comfortable and look at water splashing from under the wheels onto bikers beside you. I had this experience too. The helmet doesn’t let me see clearly during rain and one day I lifted the cover glass up for a better view. In no less than a minute, a car splashed the dirtiest water on the road onto my face. At that moment, I felt like killing myself. Bike getting dirty is another story. As I came back home, I could see dirt all over it, and it isn’t easy to clean it either. To wet clean, a high pressure jet of water is needed and to dry clean, 50% of the dirtiest parts are inaccessible. I gave up on maintaining it.

This is how my life changed after graduation, from a neat and clean bicycle to a dirty and ill maintained bike. GOD, grant me salvation.

Of auto wallahs and shop keepers

After a long gap of almost three months, here is my new post, something about the place I am now in. Well, Hyd is not exactly the place I like, may be because of the Ramaiah effect. My first spell in this place was marred by many troubles and painful events, one of which was Ramaiah. I wrote about it in my previous posts and will write more of it in the ones to come, but let me now confine myself to the current topic: auto wallahs and shopkeepers of Hyd.

Before I first came to Hyd, I spent most of my life in Ponnur, a relatively small town in coastal Andhra. It was only school, home and play ground, and as the distances involved were very small, I never had a need to hire an auto or take a bus. Rickshaws were the main means of transport, and the rickshaw wallahs were always obliging and never picked up a quarrel. If they wanted a higher price, they would try to convince you in a polite manner.

If you have had an experience with the auto-wallahs of Hyd, you would understand how enlightening the experience can be. Leave aside the six year old memories, even when I came here recently to join the office, the fist auto wallah that agreed to take me home from the bus stand picked up a quarrel demanding more money. Such was the welcome I got. He could have refused to take me had he found the bargain unsuitable. Instead, he chose to try and extract money from me by trying to sound rude. I remember one particular incident during my Ramaiah days that’s worth mentioning. When waiting at the bus stop, auto drivers used to come and try to pick up a passenger or two. They would rudely drive on to the people at the bus stop, make them jump from their places and stare at them asking if they wanted an auto. This happened to me most of the times and I got used to jumping this way and that to avoid being hit by an auto. One day, a fellow came dashing onto me, and shouted “punjagutta, punjagutta.” I chose to ignore him, for I felt it was no use talking. He shouted a few more times and asked me “Are you deaf?” Now, that stung me like anything and I replied “Go and mind your business, you fool.” That he was piqued was evident as he got down and tried to scare me, but a timely interruption by an old man standing beside me made him refrain. All the passengers at the bus stop spoke for me, and criticized the auto wallah for his rude behavior and he left, staring threateningly at me. Now that I am in my twenties, no one dares to do that to me again.

Next in line are the shop keepers. I still don’t understand whether they don’t know what a customer means to them or they don’t care to lose a customer, but I found a few shopping experiences in Hyd really troubling. Back at home, almost everything we needed was brought from some one or the other we knew for years. Right from groceries and provisions to getting dresses stitched, we had a man for it. We even had one court – cobbler (like the courtiers of a king) to whom we went to gets our shoes mended. If he wasn’t there, I would just come back rather than going to another once. All of them knew me and when ever I had to buy a book or get something needed at home, I would just go to the shop, pick it up and credit it our account which my dad paid as soon as he received is salary. So, I had no idea of the costs involved, and I never asked for them of course. It was when I came to Hyd that I had to do a lot of things myself, deal with unknown people and pay directly. The costs of even small things seemed to be very high and I hesitated before I bought something. Now I am aware of the general price levels demanded here, and if it’s a service that’s being offered, the cost is at least thrice the one I pay back at home. For those wanting numbers, haircut at a decent shop in Hyd costs you around 60 bucks, while you can get the same done for Rs15. But this is not the issue I am bothered about. It has more to do with the behavioral science.

When I go to some shops, typically the traditionally run stores etc, the way they respond or treat me really irritates. All that I have read in marketing management, that customer is supreme and that he had to be satisfied at all costs seemed to mean nothing to these men. They would shout back rudely or try sarcasm. Just today, I went to a small shoe shop, and asked if I can get my shoe mended. They guy asked me back “What does this look like? Do they mend shoes in a show room?” What crap I thought, so much for a small shop that doesn’t even measure a thousand sq ft. At that moment, the thought of those big brands and those large showrooms came to my mind. If they too chose to behave the same way, shopping would be a night mare. Thank God they are educated in dealing with a customer.

But that’s not all. I made an observation recently that I have failed to make during my initial stay at Hyd. For each one of the guy that pains, there is some one else, who is good and makes you feel comfortable. For the shopkeeper who was thinking too much of himself and his showroom, I found a road side cobbler who mended my shoe despite the rain. For the Airtel guy that pained me by barring my services and giving unclear assurances, I found a Hutch fellow who helped me recharge my old mobile number and put me back on the grid, while I was leaving to Chennai. More about the SIM card story later, my hands are already giving me clear hints that typing on the lap top is painful.

refresh

its time to hit the refresh button or ctrl+R or what ever. joined the new office, and connected to the grid (WEB) again. so dear readers its time to hit the blogsphere with new articles again.


thank you.

A prayer

Dear god,

I won’t ask you to change the people around me,

But don’t change me either;

I won’t ask you to instill gratitude in them,

But don’t let that ingratitude stop me from helping others;

I won’t ask you to make them feel responsible,

But don’t let that take away my sense of responsibility;

I won’t ask you to make them reciprocate,

But don’t make me insensitive to delicate feelings that matter;

I won’t ask you to make someone standby me in need,

But don’t let me move away from them in difficulty;

I won’t ask you to change the people around me,

But don’t change me either.

Written in a moment of extreme frustration, after years of taking all that the world had in store for me. These are feelings I wanted to express, opinions I wanted to voice and ego I wanted to exhibit. I didn’t want them to come out, wished I could bottle them up and keep them to myself forever, just to be accommodating. But today, it had exceeded the limits, I can’t keep it to myself, and so I vent off here.

Being in Love

As most of us would agree, being in love is the most beautiful feeling one can ever experience. It makes everything around us feel good, enables us to put up with the most irritating situations and gives us the strength to bear the most excruciating pains. It never takes away the smile from your face, and as far as I know, it also enables us to understand the actions of other people and see world from their perspective. There will be no moment to sulk and complain, for when ever you feel low; the thought of your loved one is enough to lift your spirits, even in the worst distress.

Pleasant thoughts fill every moment of leisure and every wait is enjoyable, even if the wait is for a ticket at the railway station. Love makes a poet out of common man, and it is interesting to see those transformations. Every song appears to be meant for you, every poem heart touching. The simplest displays of Nature, may it be a cool evening or a sunny morning, appears romantic and awakens the inner soul.

It is only with experience does one get to know all this. And yes, it only means one thing; I have been through all this. Taking the heart for a canvas, there have been pictures on it. Not once but many a time. If love means cherishing the thoughts of something or someone, thinking of nothing else, then most of us would have been in it. Let me come back to pictures on the canvas.

During childhood, it was mostly inanimate objects. As a kid and like every other child, I was fascinated with toys. Aeroplanes, cars and various other things filled my thoughts. I still remember the toy dog my mother bought for me when she had to visit a doctor and left me with my grandma at home. I was three then, and of course, it is still there in my collection of toys. Each time I go home I see it there in the show case, painted red and black in places, a display of my artistic excellence. More about it later. As I grew up, my attention shifted to cars and trucks. I would buy cars when ever possible and stack them up in the old iron box on the attic.

By the time I was in seventh class, I first saw a hand held videogame. An uncle of my classmate bought it for him from Hyderabad, and it captured my attention immediately. Day and night I thought of nothing else but brick game and snake game. I got one for myself and every evening as soon as the school got over, I would rush home and would be engrossed in playing with it. After all I had just one hour between school and tuition in the evening, and at night my dad would order me to eat and sleep as soon as I came back from tuition. Thanks to it, my eyes turned myopic and I was sporting a pair of glasses in less than two months. Later TV video games entered the scene and Super Mario and Islander became the buzz words. In class we would discuss nothing but how to cross various stages and how to get more powers.

As I grew up, animate objects (faces, rather) starting appearing on the canvas. It would be as most of us know, the girl in the next section or some distant cousin whom you meet at a marriage, that captures attention. A mischievous act or a cute smile is enough to make one admire them. Agreed, I or in fact any one of that age, lack the maturity to see beyond external appearance. But the admiration is short lived too. A slightest disturbance, a silly quarrel was enough to erase the face. In retrospect I laugh at myself, thinking how silly I have been, but that is what makes life beautiful. Faces appeared and disappeared, and the frequency with which this happened decreased over time. To make it clear, as I became older, a face took long time to appear and it took even longer to erase it from memory.

All this happened till I finished my schooling. The days of my intermediate education were some of the most painful ones in my life and I was fully troubled with Ramaiah and JEE coaching. I never cared about others, not a moment to think of some one else. It was perfect, I was just following Henry Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, I come first to everything else. And there was nothing on the canvas, except a good JEE rank. Those days in Gowtham, when I was repeating for JEE were golden days. I still wonder how focussed I was on the exam; I cared about nothing else, food, sleep nothing mattered. It was that dedication that earned me the nick “Machine” with my friends there. It was for the first time that I understood how enriching it is to love one’s dream.

A year after I came to the Insti, the face that was to last, appeared on the canvas. Of course, I was the culprit, and it was my fault to cherish and nourish meaningless thoughts. Nevertheless, it helped me in its own special way. I started enjoying the beautiful nature in the campus, and the smell of soil after a rain. I became a poet and many other developments took place. It was all one sided, and now I realise that I was lucky that it was so. When you don’t get to know the other person, you tend to idolize and attribute all good qualities to her/him. It doesn’t hurt you, as you don’t get to see the harsh realities and there is nothing to disappoint you. And so I lived in utopia, for a half and two years. The goddess was deaf and the devotee dumb. The former wouldn’t hear and the latter couldn’t speak. But to call a spade a spade, it was really a beautiful feeling. I never had a moment to complain, and nothing would disturb me. Everything was pleasant and fine. So did life go on until I realised that, after all she is human too and had her own shortcomings.

I don’t have much to say about a two way thing. But literature survey (read literature survey: experiences of friends and fellow men) indicates that there can be two cases. The first case is when it’s mutually enhancing. One complements the other and life can become a really wonderful experience. The second case is when the opposite happens. Each one tends to restrain and mould the other to fit to their ideas and life becomes painful.

Let me come back to my story, the whole point of writing it. Now there is a new face on the canvas. A fresh and an altogether new experience. This time I am sure that I will not fail. It’s going to be a life long relation, an enriching one. For it isn’t the face of any other girl. Not a human with all possible problems and traits that may disappoint me. All that can happen is that I can become a better individual. It’s the worlds most beautiful face; the face of Miss Ego.

Formals

I saw him at Gurunath, eating maggi. He seemed to be fully preoccupied with thoughts, as he did not even lift his eyes to look at me, when I stood at his table.

I saw him walking down the road, talking to someone over a cell phone. I smiled at him, as I usually do. His eyes met mine, but they didn’t seem to recognize. He walked past, still speaking. I could see something missing.

I saw him at Tiffanys. Precariously balancing coffee in one hand and a file in the other, and walking through the maze of tables. I tried again to strike a conversation with him, but something in me warned. I heeded the warning and left.

After a few more similar events, I started thinking about him. We used to talk and chat freely all the while. Neither he nor I ever hesitated to start a conversation before. Yet, now here I am shy and hesitant.

As I started thinking more about it, many thoughts began to arise. Will he mind if I go and talk to him as usual? Or will he find it offensive, as a sign of mockery? Will he take my silence as lack of my care for him? That is the last thing I want, to be perceived as a fair weather friend. I wanted to talk to him, tell him that I am with him, hear what he wanted to say, and console him if possible. But something in me is preventing me from doing it. Is it a characteristic to this place? Or did I fail to develop intimacy with him? No, we are good friends! Lack of intimacy is not the reason. Why this stale-mate then?

I was pondering over it, when the reason dawned upon me. I was in a similar situation, times when I thought of The Fountainhead and Ayn Rand. Some of my close friends too went into silent mode during that period and almost forgot me. One day, I could not hold it up any longer and called up one of my friends, and asked him why he forgot me. He replied, “Machha don’t know how you would take it.” I am in his place now, hesitant to talk to the other one.

My dear friend, I am with you, ready to share your feelings. Please don’t take my silence for indifference, and don’t count me out. The only fact is that I lack words!

ALL THE BEST.

[Dedicated to the guy, still awaiting placement.]

My intern story

Let me get back to the posts I promised earlier, how I got an intern, how it was non technical and how I became a binder.

As soon as the first announcement regarding internship was put up, I busied myself, trying to get fundaes from seniors regarding various interns and how to crack the interviews. It was only then did I write my resume for the first time ever. Downloaded the Insti format, the one with the table, took out my grade card and listed all the courses faithfully. It became some 4 page resume with large spaces, but I didn’t know then that it was arbit. I made extensive preparation for the first interview, which was by Reliance. I didn’t even know there is something called a shortlist, and went on to buy a dress and a pair of shoes two days ahead of the first interview.

The day finally arrived, and I felt pained to bunk classes for the interview. After the first class, I came back to my room to dress up formally and went to the placement office. Instead of the interview, there was a pre-placement talk for the seniors and we were asked to attend it. The interview was in the afternoon and a shortlist has been put up after the pre-placement talk. Some ten of us have been short-listed on the basis of CG and the interview was a mere formality. Just before the interview, I had plans of dropping out, hoping to make it to ITC. Timely intervention by a good friend of mine saved me, who explained me how difficult it was to make it to ITC. Two months later, ITC came for intern recruitment and only then did I come to know the level of difficulty involved. The interview with Reliance went on smoothly and I was selected, right in August 2005 for my intern in May 2006.

This may have given me peace of mind avoiding all the trouble my friends experienced in finding an intern, but only during the placements this year did I realize that I lost something with that early selection. I had no fundaes about a Group Discussion, nor was I used to interviews. [And as luck would have it, the people who conducted mock technical interview for me this year were also from Reliance.] And that lack of experience clearly showed up during interviews this year, all my GDs cupped.

Coming back to the intern story, the projects were assigned somewhere in March 2006, and were mostly based on company requirements. They weren’t core mechanical for they had nothing to do with Design or Technology. Instead they dealt with operations related problems of the company and I chose one related to Maintenance Management.

I reached Surat on 13^th May 2006. We had a day to familiarize ourselves with the company, where we were explained about conducting ourselves in a petrochemical complex. [I have already written about my plight with the food in Surat, here.] The first two weeks slid away, without me figuring out how to go about with the project. And I knew nothing about Maintenance. So I started studying about maintenance management from the material available there, and read a few books on six sigma and lean production systems too. My mentor asked for a plan to be chalked out on how I was going to do my project, but wasn’t satisfied with my first plan. Fortunately, I found one employee there who gave me an excellent idea to carry out my project- A survey. The only thing he said was “Do it a consultant’s way!” I caught up his idea and quickly proceeded with a plan. Read various maintenance management programs and made a questionnaire.

The hardest task was getting it answered. Most managers took it as an intrusion into their authority and felt that I was cross examining them. One was even rude to me. [Here is the account.] Some delayed it indefinitely, while others wanted me to sit with them to get the thing done. There were a few good managers, who appreciated my idea and made sincere efforts in filling up the questionnaire. It took two weeks for the questionnaires to be filled up. I made a presentation and my mentor was extremely pleased. The final presentation to the management went well, despite it being the last one, after six hours of presentations by my friends. My final report was two books of 29 and 52 pages each, one for RIL and one for my Insti.

On the last day, I got the report printed from my co-mentor’s brand new colour printer. To get it bound was a different story altogether. Only the documentation centre has a binding facility, and the employee there told me plainly that he was only going to show me how to punch holes for a few sheets. I had to do the punching myself for the rest of them, put the sheets together and then use a comb binding strip. As it always happens with me, there was a correction in the report that I made for my Insti and my mentor corrected it. The writing on the printed paper looked odd, and I wanted to change the sheet. So I went back to my computer, made the correction in the page printed it and went back to the documentation centre to re-bind it. I had to be careful to see that the page was properly punched and that the alignment was right. I pulled out the already bound report and switched pages with a sense of satisfaction. Finally towards the evening, Sardie, the IITD friend of mine wanted me to help him in binding his report. He had some other work to be done and I had to bind his report too. This is how I became a BINDER. I learnt spiral and comb binding. This definitely would have been one of my options for self employment, hadn’t I been placed.

That night, at 1 pm on 15^th July 2006, I took a train to Mumbai, amidst the tense atmosphere in Surat. I was supposed to take a flight to Hyderabad the next day evening from Mumbai. I missed it, and that is the story to come next.

Dont Quit

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up, though the pace seems slow -
You might succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt -
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems afar;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit -
It's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.

This poem has been the guiding light, through my years of engineering here, and will continue to be, for years to come. When my life seems to be in wrecks, when I feel low, when I feel devastated, I still look for this poem, on the wall of my room to give me the strength to keep me going.