After an amazing holiday back home and some not-so-amazing absence from classes, I was back in the campus to hit the semester with a bang! The excitement so immense, the faith so deep, the expectations so high, I entered the department with a resolution to show every mortal in the upcoming engineering community, that I too can compete with the world with my substance! It was a war! A war between us (ie. The students) and them (ie, in this case, the faculty). I was game.
The day began with the class of Introduction to Chemical Processes. A young chap with a pathetic English and horrific diction entered the class in his typical fashion. The usual proceedings followed. After the attendance and calling out of names in every possible manner, but for the real one, he got settled and so did we. Those in the front were all ears for the pearls of wisdom that were to flow from his ever hydrated mouth. There were others who had their Archies and Vikatan (some local mag) opened below the desks, while still others, the "intellectuals", were busy searching the marker they had left in their Da Vinci Codes and Jeffrey Archers. Well, I did not belong to any of these categories, remember my resolve!
Nevertheless, I did end up in a seat which boasted of enabling the seated to see everyone from behind, yet none behind him, thanks to my last minute entry to the class. My mates were involved in heated discussions and hot gossip about the happening pair in campus and the talk-of-the-town rumors from Opal, the girls hostel, the moment the young guy in front started his rendition. Alas! Once upon a time, I was a part of them (in this case, my blokes) too. But not anymore! I had a mission, a cause, a battle! Remember my resolve!
The class progressed and so did the no. of students whose nostrils were flaring up to suck every molecule of oxygen around him/her. But I was determined not to go astray. Took down every word he said, every line he drew. I was for once, a changed wannabe techy! I could feel it. Thanks to my resolve!
"What is froth flotation?" came the question from the lecturer. Froth flotation? Did I hear Froth flotation?? "Man that's 9th grade crap in metallurgy! Remember?" asked myself. There was a sudden commotion and guys were talking with each other. The lecturer was getting annoyed at the murmuring. Later, for specific reasons, I was told that he did not encourage inter student clarifications for any questions he asked. Anyway, I didn't understand the reason for this much confusion, because the answer was so simple. I decided to tell the answer to Sunny, who was sitting next to me. "Froth flotation is a process by which the ore which is lighter than the gangue can be separated. The raw material in the powdered form is taken in a mixer and then mixed with pine oil or any other frothing with the help of compressed air introduced into the mixer with the help of rotary perforated tubes."
The guys in front of me, Ram, Laveesh and Chatley turned back and gazed at me with awe and admiration! I was elated! YES! I have proved that I am capable of being an engineer! I have my fundamentals as strong as the foundation of the tallest towers in the world!
"You! You there! Get up! What is your name?" asked the lecturer, pointing his chalk to me. The cold stare was a bonus. I bet President Bush Jr felt lot better when the planes crashed into the WTC on 9/11.
"Sir, Alfi Ashraf" came the reply from a courteous me, who stud up in respect.
"what's your roll no.?" he was quick to ask picking the attendance register.
"Sir, IC10201."
There was pin drop silence in class. All eyes gazing at me, while the butcher in front, who had butchered all my enthusiasm, stood there marking something in the register.
"You can sit down." and thus he continued with his rendition.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Guess I'm in the Wrong Place!!
That's what I realized in the Sharjah International Airport. Sometimes, one falls prey to the treacherous hands of destiny, that by the time he/she realizes the magnitude of the position, its too late and the damage would have been already done. This time, it was, undoubtedly yet expectedly, the poor me again....
A week's break after the rigorous set of papers and the auxiliary rituals, the nightouts and material hunting!! It was a gift from the angels of paradise! "Just one week!" exclaimed my friend in Banglore, doing his BCom in Christ College. "One week is great, dude! You won't understand that." He should have taken up engineering. But it wasn't "one week" as he said. To me, it was larger than that! My optimism, what was left of it anyway, translated one week not just as 1 week, but as 7 days, or 168 hours, or perhaps 10,080 minutes! That's really big!
The usual flight, the usual old and ugly air hostesses, the usual organic junk what they call in flight catering service. After 5 hours of staying in the sky, I finally touched ground at Sharjah. All through the journey the thoughts were about home, how they would react to my emaciated physique, the middle parted hairdo, the french beard, and of course, about the malls, the pretty ladies, the bird-watching adventures et al. And voila! I have finally touched the ground of the very place which promised nothing less than an awesome holiday! Meanwhile, I was being beckoned to answer the nature's call, thanks to the breakfast of masala dosai and the in flight junk.
It was a long wait as my visa had not arrived at the airport and I couldn't get out. But that didn't stop nature from calling me. She was screaming at the top of her voice, but I was determined to wait since the visa could have arrived any minute; the excitement of getting out of the airport was such. But she didn't seem to show mercy! I was being summoned relentlessly. A helpless me could not help making my neighbours feel uncomfortable and run away. But I was determined. But for how long?
Neither had the visa arrived, nor was my bowel ready for a ceasefire. I had to give in. I gave my hand baggage to an elderly person there and rushed to the nearest restroom, of course, propelled by the gaseous fuel, only to find the one with the signboard of faceless man on the door, locked. A notice on the door read "Restroom Under maintenance. Use the Next One. Inconvenience Regretted" GOD! How cruel, of these guys as well as my wicked bowel! Without wasting time rushed to the next one.
Luckily, I didn't have to make a dash. It was just a couple of steps away. Threw the door open and found a vestibule for myself. Aaah! What a relief! Felt a lot lighter after giving vent to my burden. Of course, the odour was unbearable, but that was pardonable, considering that the restroom was empty. I heard the main door open and a clatter of footsteps rushing in, but there was no speech. I realized that I was not the only one in this world who had his bowels betraying him at the wrong hour. Just then , I heard another person entering, or perhaps they were two of them. I began to get a little a embarrassed because of the strange sounds and the odur of the undigested lentils and potato. I did hear a chuckle or two, but who cares? They were, after all, just guys, I thought.
After the business was done, I got dressed and was ready to get back. Its been quite sometime in here. My baggage, my visa! I opened the door of the vestibule only to find a pleasant suprise. Two ladies turned back from the mirror and gaped at me with horror and awe!
A week's break after the rigorous set of papers and the auxiliary rituals, the nightouts and material hunting!! It was a gift from the angels of paradise! "Just one week!" exclaimed my friend in Banglore, doing his BCom in Christ College. "One week is great, dude! You won't understand that." He should have taken up engineering. But it wasn't "one week" as he said. To me, it was larger than that! My optimism, what was left of it anyway, translated one week not just as 1 week, but as 7 days, or 168 hours, or perhaps 10,080 minutes! That's really big!
The usual flight, the usual old and ugly air hostesses, the usual organic junk what they call in flight catering service. After 5 hours of staying in the sky, I finally touched ground at Sharjah. All through the journey the thoughts were about home, how they would react to my emaciated physique, the middle parted hairdo, the french beard, and of course, about the malls, the pretty ladies, the bird-watching adventures et al. And voila! I have finally touched the ground of the very place which promised nothing less than an awesome holiday! Meanwhile, I was being beckoned to answer the nature's call, thanks to the breakfast of masala dosai and the in flight junk.
It was a long wait as my visa had not arrived at the airport and I couldn't get out. But that didn't stop nature from calling me. She was screaming at the top of her voice, but I was determined to wait since the visa could have arrived any minute; the excitement of getting out of the airport was such. But she didn't seem to show mercy! I was being summoned relentlessly. A helpless me could not help making my neighbours feel uncomfortable and run away. But I was determined. But for how long?
Neither had the visa arrived, nor was my bowel ready for a ceasefire. I had to give in. I gave my hand baggage to an elderly person there and rushed to the nearest restroom, of course, propelled by the gaseous fuel, only to find the one with the signboard of faceless man on the door, locked. A notice on the door read "Restroom Under maintenance. Use the Next One. Inconvenience Regretted" GOD! How cruel, of these guys as well as my wicked bowel! Without wasting time rushed to the next one.
Luckily, I didn't have to make a dash. It was just a couple of steps away. Threw the door open and found a vestibule for myself. Aaah! What a relief! Felt a lot lighter after giving vent to my burden. Of course, the odour was unbearable, but that was pardonable, considering that the restroom was empty. I heard the main door open and a clatter of footsteps rushing in, but there was no speech. I realized that I was not the only one in this world who had his bowels betraying him at the wrong hour. Just then , I heard another person entering, or perhaps they were two of them. I began to get a little a embarrassed because of the strange sounds and the odur of the undigested lentils and potato. I did hear a chuckle or two, but who cares? They were, after all, just guys, I thought.
After the business was done, I got dressed and was ready to get back. Its been quite sometime in here. My baggage, my visa! I opened the door of the vestibule only to find a pleasant suprise. Two ladies turned back from the mirror and gaped at me with horror and awe!
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Nothing
Yeah!! That's right! Today's post is something about nothing. True, there is no compulsion, however, for an amateur who has just installed himself in this realm of BLOGGING, it would be injustice to permit him taking a break from his lately found pastime.
It was just another of those days in the campus. Nothing really interesting to do. The next paper, Data Structures And Algorithms is on the 29th. I have another day for that, so that makes me jobless today. It is against the engineering ethics to hit the books before 12:00am, considering that the tests commence only at 9:30am. Being a disciplined devout of the engineering cult, boredom had begun to stare at me, of course with its hungry watery mouth, waiting for a chance to pounce on the poor me. I waited for the bill from the parliament of the cosmos to issue orders for some alternative, to save me from the glutton. My faith in destiny did not disappoint me this time, which of course is something that is really very rare.
After the Signals And Systems test and the brainstorming about the Bird and the Egg, I could find nothing to write about. That's when I realized that I could write about nothing. Well, the success of this post would be a slap in the face of all those mortals who have the preconceived notion that one can write nothing about nothing.
In reality, one does not need anything to write about nothing, for it is such a trivial concept that anyone can churn out words to describe and glorify nothing, yet explain hardly anything. I believe that this is an experiment, rather a challenge, which I must proudly say, only a jobless, bored and uninteresting engineering student, who has to appear for an exam a day later, can dare. And voila! Here is hotICE at your service!!
Life in some of the esteemed engineering institutes, credible for being the machinery producing the finest techies of the nation, is such, that creativity simply feels lazy to wake from the deep sleep it fell into the very night the to-be-engineer got his call letter. No doubt, he writes everything in a day, from dull lecture notes to laboratory records. Be it a lousy C/C++ program or a boring project report, or perhaps the semester tests or the arrears, he is writing something which he believes would get him firmly placed in the greener pastures awaiting him! How (engineeringly) romantic! Seldom does he realize that he needs to take break sometime and try, for a change, write nothing, or maybe, as in my case, write about nothing.
That brought this bored wannabe, groping in the darkness of creativity, to The Melting Pot of ICE . By now, the reader who opened the lid, must have realized that there is nothing in this post. Isn't Nothing better than something?
It was just another of those days in the campus. Nothing really interesting to do. The next paper, Data Structures And Algorithms is on the 29th. I have another day for that, so that makes me jobless today. It is against the engineering ethics to hit the books before 12:00am, considering that the tests commence only at 9:30am. Being a disciplined devout of the engineering cult, boredom had begun to stare at me, of course with its hungry watery mouth, waiting for a chance to pounce on the poor me. I waited for the bill from the parliament of the cosmos to issue orders for some alternative, to save me from the glutton. My faith in destiny did not disappoint me this time, which of course is something that is really very rare.
After the Signals And Systems test and the brainstorming about the Bird and the Egg, I could find nothing to write about. That's when I realized that I could write about nothing. Well, the success of this post would be a slap in the face of all those mortals who have the preconceived notion that one can write nothing about nothing.
In reality, one does not need anything to write about nothing, for it is such a trivial concept that anyone can churn out words to describe and glorify nothing, yet explain hardly anything. I believe that this is an experiment, rather a challenge, which I must proudly say, only a jobless, bored and uninteresting engineering student, who has to appear for an exam a day later, can dare. And voila! Here is hotICE at your service!!
Life in some of the esteemed engineering institutes, credible for being the machinery producing the finest techies of the nation, is such, that creativity simply feels lazy to wake from the deep sleep it fell into the very night the to-be-engineer got his call letter. No doubt, he writes everything in a day, from dull lecture notes to laboratory records. Be it a lousy C/C++ program or a boring project report, or perhaps the semester tests or the arrears, he is writing something which he believes would get him firmly placed in the greener pastures awaiting him! How (engineeringly) romantic! Seldom does he realize that he needs to take break sometime and try, for a change, write nothing, or maybe, as in my case, write about nothing.
That brought this bored wannabe, groping in the darkness of creativity, to The Melting Pot of ICE . By now, the reader who opened the lid, must have realized that there is nothing in this post. Isn't Nothing better than something?
Friday, November 26, 2004
The Bird and The Egg
No no no... We are not going to have another "Which came first?" argument over here. However, the bird and its egg have an important role in something that had happened a few days ago.
The conglomeration of the Mallu community in the mess at dinner time had the usual ingredients of gossip and cribbing. Do not get us wrong, but these are some of the few sources of leisure for the frustrated lot of engineering students. The community does boast of its share of entertainers. We are ever ready to make fools out of anyone or in some cases, get ourselves to play the victim.
"I have a question for all you guys." declared Ashish Murali, taking a break from the battle he was waging to finish the organic matter in his plate. "This one figured in one of IIT Madras' question papers." Did we hear IIT? IIT Madras? The next instant, all ears were for the man.
"This is the scenario. A tank measuring 5x6x8m is filled with water to the brim. At the moment of observation, a bird is spotted flying over the tank, at an altitude . At the instant the bird is at a position which is directly above the centre of the tank, it lays an egg. Deduce the consequence."
Hmmm... Interesting problem! So interesting that at once everyone left their platters with its contents and indulged themselves in deep revision of the basics a la the engineering way. Classical laws of motion and projectiles and concepts of centre of gravity and centre mass were brushed up. Doubts regarding the necessary and sufficient conditions were raised. Feasibility of the scenario was questioned. Suddenly someone broke off from his private conversation.
"Are you sure that the egg fell straight into the centre of the tank? Because the bird is flying with a constant velocity in the horizontal direction, while the egg's motion is directed vertically downwards. Hence the resultant motion of the egg must be a projectile with the end of the trajectory displaced from the target."
"Assume that the egg is in free vertical downward fall" Ashish was immediate to clarify.
"Well I guess the egg would break once it comes in contact with the water surface. Considering the height from which the egg falls, it would have immense kinetic energy which abruptly becomes zero when it comes in contact with a barrier posed by the water surface, thanks to the surface tension. This results in gross instability of the system and hence the natural control mechanism counters this by forcing the energy on the shell, resulting in the egg breaking."
"Gosh!! What a national waste! That egg could have been the bread omlette of a hungry man!" was what a philanthropist among us had to say about the problem. Though intended as a joke, he found no takers. Apparently, philanthropy and bread omlette had no place in a serious case study of the crisis at hand with an engineering approach, which was, more or less, the fate of an egg.
The debates continued but was losing steam since Ashish seemed not at all convinced with the arguments and the probable solutions suggested. The IIT tag carried by any problem magnified its true difficulty to explosive dimensions, so mush so that every wannabe techy is ready to break his head to find the possibilities. It is a matter of extreme prestige to crack a problem of the level and it often knighted the victor with titles like "Fundoo" and "Phod-Phad". Well, not one seemed to claim the prize this time and that was a gross disappointment. Everyone seemed to have run out of ideas, but definitely not tired to debate.
Now that everyone had given up, Ashish was challenged to give the real solution for the problem. The star of the night, Ashish, without any second thoughts about whether his answer's validity would be questioned, with his signature expression, revealed to the bunch of the wannabe engineers, who were prepared for a fight if they were to be unconvinced.
"You guys!! When egg laid by the bird falls straight into the tank of water, it would get wet! That's all! So simple!"
The conglomeration of the Mallu community in the mess at dinner time had the usual ingredients of gossip and cribbing. Do not get us wrong, but these are some of the few sources of leisure for the frustrated lot of engineering students. The community does boast of its share of entertainers. We are ever ready to make fools out of anyone or in some cases, get ourselves to play the victim.
"I have a question for all you guys." declared Ashish Murali, taking a break from the battle he was waging to finish the organic matter in his plate. "This one figured in one of IIT Madras' question papers." Did we hear IIT? IIT Madras? The next instant, all ears were for the man.
"This is the scenario. A tank measuring 5x6x8m is filled with water to the brim. At the moment of observation, a bird is spotted flying over the tank, at an altitude . At the instant the bird is at a position which is directly above the centre of the tank, it lays an egg. Deduce the consequence."
Hmmm... Interesting problem! So interesting that at once everyone left their platters with its contents and indulged themselves in deep revision of the basics a la the engineering way. Classical laws of motion and projectiles and concepts of centre of gravity and centre mass were brushed up. Doubts regarding the necessary and sufficient conditions were raised. Feasibility of the scenario was questioned. Suddenly someone broke off from his private conversation.
"Are you sure that the egg fell straight into the centre of the tank? Because the bird is flying with a constant velocity in the horizontal direction, while the egg's motion is directed vertically downwards. Hence the resultant motion of the egg must be a projectile with the end of the trajectory displaced from the target."
"Assume that the egg is in free vertical downward fall" Ashish was immediate to clarify.
"Well I guess the egg would break once it comes in contact with the water surface. Considering the height from which the egg falls, it would have immense kinetic energy which abruptly becomes zero when it comes in contact with a barrier posed by the water surface, thanks to the surface tension. This results in gross instability of the system and hence the natural control mechanism counters this by forcing the energy on the shell, resulting in the egg breaking."
"Gosh!! What a national waste! That egg could have been the bread omlette of a hungry man!" was what a philanthropist among us had to say about the problem. Though intended as a joke, he found no takers. Apparently, philanthropy and bread omlette had no place in a serious case study of the crisis at hand with an engineering approach, which was, more or less, the fate of an egg.
The debates continued but was losing steam since Ashish seemed not at all convinced with the arguments and the probable solutions suggested. The IIT tag carried by any problem magnified its true difficulty to explosive dimensions, so mush so that every wannabe techy is ready to break his head to find the possibilities. It is a matter of extreme prestige to crack a problem of the level and it often knighted the victor with titles like "Fundoo" and "Phod-Phad". Well, not one seemed to claim the prize this time and that was a gross disappointment. Everyone seemed to have run out of ideas, but definitely not tired to debate.
Now that everyone had given up, Ashish was challenged to give the real solution for the problem. The star of the night, Ashish, without any second thoughts about whether his answer's validity would be questioned, with his signature expression, revealed to the bunch of the wannabe engineers, who were prepared for a fight if they were to be unconvinced.
"You guys!! When egg laid by the bird falls straight into the tank of water, it would get wet! That's all! So simple!"
It was RAMKALYAN'S PAPER!#@!!
The faces of the 37 students who had rushed into the examination hall said it all! The look in each one's face was echoing in unison, "YOU ARE DEAD MEAT!!", yet the silence in the hall was deafening. All I could do was, settle down with the question paper and the answer booklet and give my analytical skills a race for the price.
In an engineering college, speculation has its own coveted position in the academic life of every aspiring techy. For speculation is what earns him the crucial 50% marks to escape that dreaded noose of arrears. The preparatory hours before the exams witness crucial debates on the pattern to be expected and it is in these trying times, that the role of the one with the inside information, like me, becomes indispensable. The community that I represent, are committed to gather information about the person who sets the question paper, its pattern and of course, the evaluators' legacy of sparing the grades.
This time too, my reliable sources tendered that Mr Bennet had set the paper for Signals and Systems and that he would definitely stick to his modus operandi of lifting the questions from his humoungus assignments. The source was infallible, since it was the office of the department of Instrumentation and Control Engineering (ICE) , that gave this information and mind you, the department offices seldom lie. As a consequence, the Xam-eve was a usual night-out, with the guys running hither thither in search of the solutions for the assignments, which I am sure, even Engineer Hercules would have felt humbled. Yet the deed would be done and for a while, conceptual learning takes the exit and enter the sacred deed of mugging.
After all this strife, you are confident of escaping the arrear sentence, or perhaps, yet another arrear sentence, and enter the exam hall to face the battle, only to realize when you get the question paper in hand, that you were indeed caught in the conspiracy of the cosmos, falling prey the trap it had laid; that the paper was not set by Bennet, but another department tough guy, Ramkalyan, who is known for his jigsaw question papers. It is of course, a fait accompli that correct information means a blessing, no information means ill luck, but wrong information means capital punishment!! And the condemned? The informant, who, in this case, is poor me.
Curses and a garland of the finest vocabulary available at the tip of the tongue, apt for the occasion, were the constituents of my remuneration for my invaluable service. Most of the 37 did not wait for 3 hours of test time to lapse. Battered by Ramkalyan's cannons, all we could do was surrender the answer booklet and leave the hall.
But trauma is never an ingredient in the life of an ICE Samaritan. Outside the exam hall, at the end of the accusation trading and words of praise for Ramkalyan's ability to single handedly crush 37 answer booklets and declare them as nothing but jargon that could fetch worth only to scavengers, the junta was back to their usual selves. What more? A smiling Chatley, capable of knocking one's senses off with his surprise, confidently shook hands with moi and declared with his usual penache, "Same place, Same time, but next Sem!!! All the best for the arrear!!"
In an engineering college, speculation has its own coveted position in the academic life of every aspiring techy. For speculation is what earns him the crucial 50% marks to escape that dreaded noose of arrears. The preparatory hours before the exams witness crucial debates on the pattern to be expected and it is in these trying times, that the role of the one with the inside information, like me, becomes indispensable. The community that I represent, are committed to gather information about the person who sets the question paper, its pattern and of course, the evaluators' legacy of sparing the grades.
This time too, my reliable sources tendered that Mr Bennet had set the paper for Signals and Systems and that he would definitely stick to his modus operandi of lifting the questions from his humoungus assignments. The source was infallible, since it was the office of the department of Instrumentation and Control Engineering (ICE) , that gave this information and mind you, the department offices seldom lie. As a consequence, the Xam-eve was a usual night-out, with the guys running hither thither in search of the solutions for the assignments, which I am sure, even Engineer Hercules would have felt humbled. Yet the deed would be done and for a while, conceptual learning takes the exit and enter the sacred deed of mugging.
After all this strife, you are confident of escaping the arrear sentence, or perhaps, yet another arrear sentence, and enter the exam hall to face the battle, only to realize when you get the question paper in hand, that you were indeed caught in the conspiracy of the cosmos, falling prey the trap it had laid; that the paper was not set by Bennet, but another department tough guy, Ramkalyan, who is known for his jigsaw question papers. It is of course, a fait accompli that correct information means a blessing, no information means ill luck, but wrong information means capital punishment!! And the condemned? The informant, who, in this case, is poor me.
Curses and a garland of the finest vocabulary available at the tip of the tongue, apt for the occasion, were the constituents of my remuneration for my invaluable service. Most of the 37 did not wait for 3 hours of test time to lapse. Battered by Ramkalyan's cannons, all we could do was surrender the answer booklet and leave the hall.
But trauma is never an ingredient in the life of an ICE Samaritan. Outside the exam hall, at the end of the accusation trading and words of praise for Ramkalyan's ability to single handedly crush 37 answer booklets and declare them as nothing but jargon that could fetch worth only to scavengers, the junta was back to their usual selves. What more? A smiling Chatley, capable of knocking one's senses off with his surprise, confidently shook hands with moi and declared with his usual penache, "Same place, Same time, but next Sem!!! All the best for the arrear!!"
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