A Year in IITB, Scroll I

It's been a year, I try to convince myself, but the mind is still reeling from the blow. Everything I'd heard of IIT in those days of ignorant bliss now seems like a fairy tale - a conspiracy to mislead.

The cultural shock, I must, admit was no trifle. I found myself one rainy July afternoon seated despondently in an ill-shaped wooden chair of the Convocation Hall, my parents beside me as we waited for the formalities associated with admittance to unwind. As I assured myself for the last time that I had made the right choice (BITS, Pilani ,Electrical, was the option I had given up) an insufferable tune wafted through the crackling speakers - a truly dreadful relic of the 50s/60s film devotionals - and put a dampener on all further conversation. I took the opportunity to crane my neck and study the boys (and the terminally few girls) I would be growing up with. They looked for the most a motley bunch of academics - you can usually tell by their T-shirts which are almost always sponsored by some leading software company - with the odd exception of those fashion enthusiasts with their stained antifits and Livestrong imitations. I confess that, in my mind's eye, it wasn't a very good review that I gave them and I dare say I fared no better in theirs'.

First opinions, some say, are lasting ones. Well, I think I can provide the exception to that rule. As I got to know them better, over the subsequent year, I grew to like them and those oddities so typical of IITians. If there was a misfit in that crowd, it was me.
To begin with, there was the language adjustment. Formerly, I had come to view Hindi as a sort of language of yore, something which was slowly being replaced by an omnipresent English. IIT threw that notion straight in my face. There was Hindi around every bend. It was also, I noted with an initial amusement that soon wore off, a very different sort of Hindi, colourful and littered with slang. The 'ma-behen galis' (incestous insinuations) serve as terms of endearment - almost like some neo-communist replacement for the word 'comraad' (sic). Phrases like "Behen ****, you mugged (burnt the midnight oil) the whole night?" are the basic units of conversation in the mess. In time I found a rare few anglophiles (none of them confess to this openly - it's almost something to be ashamed of in this apparently nationalistic institute).
It's time I reflected the brighter side of life here: the intellectuals. In my first year, I shared a wing with a Chemistry, a Physics, an Informatics and, I think, an Astronomy Olympiad international finalist. This is the place where you will find all the geeks and nerds (and I mean this in a complimentary sense) of India, the guys who'll clear all your doubts and do all your assignments before you can offer them a seat. There is something inspiring to be living under the shadow of greatness. As a kid I often toyed with the idea of a centre of intelligence, based on the rather trite centre of gravity. I'm quite willing to bet that if such a thing existed, in Maharashtra we would certainly qualify as that locus. Then there are of course the dumb happy-go-lucky chaps like me as well, who have only Fortuna to thank. (But we are the unimportant majority).

There are winners from every walk of life residing in these dingy hostels (I'll speak of the rooms in my next installment) and most are reluctant to reminisce their victories. On the whole, they serve as the perfect melting pot to live amidst - and this I believe is the best aspect of IIT. Yes, it isn't the academics or the faculty, or the facilities we have (the library here is a joke - has anyone heard of fiction?). It's the student community and for me - the whirlwind of cultural groups to choose from.

Being the predictable anglophile that I am I unhesitantly joined the ranks of the Literary Club. There I discovered how far one could stretch the definition of 'literary' without actually violating it. There were no recitals from famous works, no poetry readings. The meetings were usually in the form of word games and quizzes (things that appealed to me nevertheless, given my amateur experience of them) and pretty much nothing else. In my spare time (read: weekends) I would rush off to a bookstore, sink into one of the cushy sofas and delve into a book - something almost unknown on campus. Yes, it is one thing I sorely miss from the outside world - the easy access to a library of readable fiction (and I am quite lenient on my criteria for readability - even Middle English Chaucerian tales are just fine) . I make do with the new corporate bookstores that welcome one to sit and read in the hope that one will buy something. It is a hope that I, in gratitude, often fulfill.

Enough for now. The stomach calls and dinner awaits.