Avant-garde Avanti

IIT Madras was a strange, intimidating place when I first stepped into it. In fact, I was close to wishing I had never been so uncharacteristically mindless as to think I, the very opposite of a fiercely independent, never-tied-to-mummy’s-pallu possessor of a devil-may-care attitude, could actually survive in a place like this, full of the multi-talented brain-iacs of the country as it was.

           

Of course, as I often am about such things, I was dead wrong. JEE preparation was a difficult time, a whirl of confusion and the feeling that I was in a never-ending race for my life, which I managed to save by the skin of my teeth. I felt as if my existence would be even more difficult in this mean green jungle that was now my home. I am not proud to say I was not above the popular reference to a chicken.

           

As I got used to things, life became new and exciting. I was lucky enough to be able to explore everything that caught my fancy and develop every little talent I possessed. I was finally made privy to the existence of Avanti Fellows in this, my first year at IIT, and the work they proposed fascinated me. My worries seemed to shrink into nothing, and I was heartily ashamed of having such petty problems and fears. As I began to realize what this ambitious non-profit organization had set out to accomplish, I was awed by the sheer willpower behind such an aim.

           

Alumni from IIT Bombay courageously decided to form Avanti, a mentoring organization wherein underprivileged children of the 11^th and 12^th standards with big dreams are coached for JEE by students of IIT wishing to do so. I was initially apprehensive of being responsible for part of a student’s education so early when I was so unsure of my own, but the thought of all the better facilities I had during my own JEE training as compared to these innocent starry-eyed children steeled my resolve, and pushed me to help them in any way within my power.

           

I was made in charge of a lovely young girl in the 11^th standard, Vasuki, who had passed screening tests and was now a fellow at Avanti. She is always eager to learn and I do everything I can to clear her many doubts, all the while reminded of my own difficulties during preparation. That is the beauty of Avanti. Teachers are people who are willing to work out of goodwill, and have themselves experienced various entrance exams recently.

           

As enlightening as my experience with Vasuki was, an incident, which truly opened my eyes to the sad situation a dream without funding is in, occurred some time after my induction. I was assigned the task of paying home visits to possible new students for Avanti along with a second year senior, also a mentor. The purpose behind these visits was to talk to the students’ parents, put them at ease when it came to the start of their child’s experience with Avanti, and make sure that they were indeed of the underprivileged.

I was not prepared for what I next saw. The pride on parents’ faces in the houses we visited was evident enough, along with their happiness and sense of gratitude. Equally evident were the conditions they lived in, the tiny rooms and meager furnishing that were occupied with ease and no dissatisfaction at all. I was silenced, overpowered, humbled by their hospitality and happiness against all odds. Equally fascinating were the bright minds we found there. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that this country possesses talent everywhere, unbound by material boundaries, talent that deserves to be nurtured and honed.

I can neither understand nor speak Tamil. That did not keep me from understanding one mother’s emotions, fears and hopes as she conversed with my companion unaffectedly in the only language she knew. Her expressions said it all. She was determined to provide her daughters and son a better education than she had received. And she had succeeded already to a large extent, we realized as we conversed with her daughter.

We cannot deceive ourselves by expecting all the students (fellows) of Avanti to get into an IIT, but we can always strive to do all that is humanly possible to at least afford them a decent shot at it. Whether they make it past JEE or not, they will always be a better-informed set of individuals than they would have been without Avanti. It is this conviction that drives all Avanti workers and helps bring fellows closer to their goals.

I always look back at my unreasonable dissatisfaction at the beginning of my life just before, and at, IIT with a guilt which has taught me something priceless. I will always feel an immense sense of gratitude for being given what Avanti works hard to give its fellows: a shot at their dreams.

^ Avanti fellows during Shaastra, IITM's technical festival

Not all that much Above Average

Jane Austen wrote, “ Let us leave it to the reviewers to abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over every new novel to talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the press now groans…from pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers.”

Above Average is a novel by Amitabha Bagchi, written relating to his own experiences in life revolving around his stay at IIT. I cannot go so far as to say it is a part of the oft-lamented trash Austen accuses reviewers of condemning, but to say that Bagchi has foes as numerous as readers when it comes to this book is no exaggeration. But it is neither pride, nor ignorance, nor fashion that leads me to make such a statement.

This is a story written from the point of view of Arindam Chatterjee, a seven point someone while at IIT. Written in a highly confusing way to put it mildly, it seems to be a collection of passing thoughts that the author chose to write down using his life and different names. A very strange hodge-podge of events in this person’s life as he grows from adolescent to adult forms the entire story. The strangeness I mention is entirely to do with narration, not the events themselves, which are at best mildly interesting or alternatively, shocking and at worst mind-numbingly boring.

Starting in a Tamil prep school in New Delhi, this Bengali kid’s life is something we can all relate to, having gone through various similar bouts of anxiety and pressure during our own JEE preparation. Passing with an All-India rank of 62, the 17-year-old looks all set for a B.Tech in Computer Science at IIT Delhi. The rest of the story takes him from boyhood to manhood back to boyhood once again to manhood to…and that never really ends.

While on his journey of life, he encounters a whole range of different characters, ranging from junkies to rock stars, the uninterested to the over-interested, the nerdy to the artistic, and the brutally honest to the tall-tale tellers. He explores his family life, values and friendship with those of other castes, besides matter-of-factly stating the various sexual goings on of the hormonal guys he is destined to acquainted with. His scandalous-tale telling friend seems to know the entire goings on of doodhwaalas of Mandawli and girls of Preet Vihar. Little everyday things of life in Delhi and relationships with friends have been indeed brought out naturally, if a little emotionlessly.

Male characters are numerous in this story, and girls but three, much like life in IIT. However, the girls leave an impression on the reader which is far more than can be said of most male characters. Each character, though having more than a single side, is poorly developed, and at times, rather forgettable. Despite tears being shed more than once in this story, the connect necessary to feel the characters’ pain is just not there, which leaves the reader feeling a rather odd restlessness to move on with the story.

Oddly enough, the character that features least and says but a few lines is the only one I felt for, the only one that rent my heart and evoked sensations other than confusion or downright boredom. Not central to the story, this girl is Arindam’s friend’s niece, an innocent child of fourteen when first introduced to the reader.

The story continues to be a confusing tangle of isolated incidents in absolutely no chronological order, and slowly takes the reader through competition, jealousy, dispute, anxiety, friendship and reflections at IIT during Arindam’s stay there, exploration of his own interests, musical as well as relating to his subject, a rather hilarious description of a class by a famous researcher, changes back home, and his colony friend’s and his own early infatuations.

Love forms but a small part of the whole, and is not dealt with much sensitivity, besides being entirely without dejection. The reader is also taken on a short journey with Arindam to Baltimore, where he completes his PhD, and describes his sensations there, a dark period.

The author does not seem able to settle on a tense for narration, and at several points, repetitive use of the word “would” nearly defeated my will to go on with the story.

Joining the league of the numerous books written on IITians’ lives, this book certainly is not deficient when it comes to being able to relate to it, but it fails to capture the reader’s imagination. It picks up slightly toward the middle of the book, but falls back toward the end. The reader is left feeling as if the story is incomplete and hasn’t been developed enough. It took me a while to go through it entirely, and almost giving up was not a one-time-only experience. All in all, this is not a read that is much above average.

The Hostel All-Tell

If I said that I fell in violent and irrevocable love as soon as I stepped about a year ago into the large, bustling building that is Sharavati Hostel, I would be making a laughable (not to mention: wholly unbelievable ) attempt at a gigantic falsehood.

 I was perhaps not unlike one of those pitiable little scared-out-of-their-wits mice you imagine caught squealing and kicking in a trap (that appeared as if out of nowhere!) so entirely unknown to them. Quite irrationally, I was wildly accusative toward my parents for unceremoniously kicking me out and dumping me into this (gulp) strange, unfamiliar territory full of so many intelligent, intimidating, and (if rumours were to be believed) rare creatures: girls on campus.

                Of course, about a week into my stay there, I was having the time of my life (really, it was as if the mouse had been freed into a private heaven made wholly of cheese).  The oft-mentioned, cheesy, clichéd saying of hostel life being the most memorable time of your life, I was firmly on my way to whole-heartedly acknowledging to be true.

A series of ‘interactions’ were destined to signify the commencement of my life here. These were completely innocent and as angelic as the seniors I had these singing-dancing-gen-fun intro sessions with (I was definitely not told to say that)! Every lost little fresh(ie) face became a fast friend, and we were already running head-on into night-outs full of laughter and heart-to-hearts. Predictably, adjusting to life on our own was different from the mummy’s-kids treatment we were used to, but seeing as pretty much everyone was in the same boat left us admirably unconcerned.

In this first year, we lived three or four to a cramped room, officially that is. Of course, one of these was always chosen as the general, unmentioned hang-out location. It was left only for a bed at night, a giggly brushing-session with at least five others, a hunt for an unoccupied, working, clean bathing stall, or alternatively, a washing-machine of similar description.

We lived in envy of the seniors who lived one or two to a room, and in awe of their all-knowing, or so it seemed, presence. They pretty much kept us afloat and saved us from sinking into a storm of new information. They also gave us our first lessons in insti lingo. “Gen putting peace” is now indispensable to us.

Hurrying five floors down to fill up our water bottles, mumbling to ourselves of the inconvenience of every dispenser on every intermediate floor being extraordinarily empty, and chatting with the security lady once there is a routine in Sharavati. As is scouring for movies, songs, lectures, notes, papers, every heard-of thing in existence on the LAN we cannot live without. DC++ is dearer to us than our dearest friends.

Granted, the lizards took some getting used to, but I love all the other creatures I met there! Food is common property, and I’m not talking about among us humans alone. Monkeys feel themselves entitled to barging into our rooms and snatching our dearest eatables, often just as we are about to taste them. Brooms transform into the deadliest weapons in our fearless hands at such opportunities to display bravery!

The notice board of announcements right opposite the ground-floor dispenser is the most visited place in the building (the full-length mirror next to it may be instrumental to its popularity). It is our window to opportunities in the institute, be it robotics, chess, dance, music, theatre, sport, literary or any other event. There is something for everyone on that beloved black board!

The colourful way Holi is celebrated here I will not forget. Election time sees extensive campaigning as we choose the most eligible leaders to manage affairs in their third year at Sharavati. Exam time sees extensive cramming, and is largely a combined freaking-out session, often lasting all night. Inter-hostel competitions are even more assiduously prepared for, with multiple night-outs. There is always something happening at this dear place (pun intended)! And a year into my stay, I can now safely say: I am most violently (and irrevocably) in love with the wonder that is my life in Sharavati Hostel.