MNIT Days - I
Come the monsoons, and I am reminded of the day I landed in Jaipur as a fresher in MNIT Jaipur. It had rained that day, much to my surprise, for I had always imagined Jaipur to be some drought stricken place in the middle of the desert. After winding up the paperwork for admissions I reached the fresher’s block in Hostel 3, to get my room allotted. I was one of the inmates of the 3 seater, T-shaped room with their characteristic stony exteriors. Being on the groundfloor, and because of being sheltered from the sun the room remained markedly cooler than that of its other counterparts in the hostel.
There were new faces all around. The first day was spent in getting acclimatized to the new surroundings. A decree had already been issued by the seniors to wear formals (in the strictest sense of the term) to class, with a caveat that the violators would have to face dire consequences. The class itself was a microcosm of India, with students from every state of the country. I don’t remember much of the academic stuff taught to us in the 1st year because neither are they worth mentioning nor remembering. However, what I do remember, was my abysmal performance in Electrical Science (taught by Prof. Niyazi who was dreaded for his binary marking) in both the mid terms and how I struggled to cross the last mile in the end terms but ulitimately made it through. The workshop had its own share of experiences. Chivalry was on display here during the sessions on filing where the boys often gave the damsel in distress a helping hand. They stood by as the boys got drenched in sweat, sanding the rough edges of the job.
Girls are an endangered species in an engineering college and MNIT was no exception to this rule. So, it goes without saying that even the females who otherwise would have been relegated to oblivion outside the campus became the cynosure of all eyes. However, a few among them rightly deserved the deluge of attention from the menfolk. Ragging was often used by many as a pretext to propose the lady and a few lucky ones did succeed in their endeavour. Sometimes it was a meticulously orchestrated exercise by the suitor himself and sometimes it happened with the connivance of the seniors who had discovered the junior’s Achilles’ heel.
There was this place called GMP where the freshers were summoned regularly by their seniors for a session of ragging, where they were grilled with questions which could be anything under the sun. The juniors bowed submissively as a gesture of respect. As they bravely fielded a volley of questions they weren’t supposed to smile which at times became a daunting challenge. Any breach of this protocol was enough to invite a hurl of abuses which over a period of time, our ears became accustomed to.
In the evenings, the freshers socialized on the lush green watered lawns of hostel 3 (it was not as posh as it sounds, but was good by MNIT standards) over a cup of tea. A person in uniform was put on guard to ward off any imminent threat to the freshers from hostile seniors. Like the Americans, who have their own highly secure Green Zone in Baghdad, the 3rd hostel lawn was our own little Green Zone. The gossip here was centered on their daily experiences and what it was that was coming their way in the months to come.
Ragging was more of an organized activity in MNIT. Any Tom, Dick and Harry did not have the prerogative to rag. One was affiliated to a group which generally consisted of people of his state and only they had the authority to rag him. This was an arrangement handed down as a legacy to successive generations and it became a bounden duty of the progeny to uphold this tradition at all costs, come what may. As we later realized when we became seniors ourselves, it was more about discharging this “sacred” responsibility than about having “fun” or retributive action to compensate for the ordeal the seniors underwent themselves as juniors the previous year. Normally many freshers (at least some of them) would expect ragging to be on a declining trend once the college freshers was over, but to their dismay it would only get worse with the frequency and severity of it increasing exponentially. The college saw a strike the year I joined and to make up for the losses we had to stay back in December for the end term exams and not to mention some unwarranted sessions of ragging. I still remember going to my seniors place to copy assignments for them at 2 am in the night as the mercury plummeted to unbearable levels outside. But I was not alone in all this, and almost everyone barring a few faced this ordeal with courage.
There was this interesting incident when I had to board the Brahmaputra Mail from Old Delhi Station at 10pm. But due to some delays on the Delhi - Jaipur highway I came on the brink of missing the train. On enquiring, the autowallah at Dhaula Kuan threw up his hands conceding his inability to reach the station on time. However I insisted, and gave him my word that should he accomplish this seemingly Herculean task he could rest assured of a generous tip from my side. He agreed. It was a late December night and the chilly air hit my bare face like needles as the auto scurried towards the station. However as we approached the narrow lanes of the old city the tyres of the auto gave out and we had to cover the remaining distance in a rickshaw. On reaching the station, without wasting precious time I handed over my baggage to the porter and followed him to the platform. The train had already started moving and I somehow managed to cling on to the door handle of the coach. As I gasped for breath and was basking in the glory of accomplishing a mission impossible, came a familiar authoritative voice from behind, “Oi”. It was my senior, Abhiroop. I bowed. I wished him and then proceeded to my berth. It was a hell of a night, and should anyone think that I just cooked up some cock-and-bull story here, in that case FYI, Nilim Binoy Das was a witness to this ordeal and I sincerely hope he would vouch for me.
I was one of those denizens of Hostel 1 as some of my friends lived there. The inmates of Hostel 1 had a reputation for being full of life (not that others weren’t, should you think I am being prejudiced). Come some festival like Lohri or Diwali, and they would invariably paint the town red. There was this one incident that happended on the eve of Diwali. Along with Nilim, I had bought some crackers, mostly rockets. Nilim had this penchant for rockets and was dreaded for using his bare hands as a launch pad. I made the naïve mistake (which I still regret) of reminding him that by launching a projectile at an inclination of 45 degrees one can get the maximum horizontal range. Little did I know that he had taken my advice seriously. And the rest is history. Luckily, Dhillon Bhai (Suraj Dhillon) had a close shave that day as one of the rockets flew past him over his shoulders, dangerously close to his face.
I admired the fact that the authorities had named the semesters as spring and autumn rather than naming them even and odd. The former nomenclature lent an identity of its own to the semesters whereas the latter appeared lifeless. Returning to the campus for autumn after a long and monotonous summer holiday one would find the otherwise barren landscape being enveloped by a veneer of greenery which was as ephemeral as many other things in life. It felt akin to stepping inside a renovated house which was in shambles a few months ago. With the monsoons drawing to a close and winters approaching the greenery gave away to the familiar barren surroundings once again and before winters became unbearable it was time to head back home. In the spring semester till March weather would be quite pleasant after which it was time to brave the scorching summer and the occasional dust storms. And then the rains and then the greenery. This is how even weather came full circle in MNIT.
There were new faces all around. The first day was spent in getting acclimatized to the new surroundings. A decree had already been issued by the seniors to wear formals (in the strictest sense of the term) to class, with a caveat that the violators would have to face dire consequences. The class itself was a microcosm of India, with students from every state of the country. I don’t remember much of the academic stuff taught to us in the 1st year because neither are they worth mentioning nor remembering. However, what I do remember, was my abysmal performance in Electrical Science (taught by Prof. Niyazi who was dreaded for his binary marking) in both the mid terms and how I struggled to cross the last mile in the end terms but ulitimately made it through. The workshop had its own share of experiences. Chivalry was on display here during the sessions on filing where the boys often gave the damsel in distress a helping hand. They stood by as the boys got drenched in sweat, sanding the rough edges of the job.
Girls are an endangered species in an engineering college and MNIT was no exception to this rule. So, it goes without saying that even the females who otherwise would have been relegated to oblivion outside the campus became the cynosure of all eyes. However, a few among them rightly deserved the deluge of attention from the menfolk. Ragging was often used by many as a pretext to propose the lady and a few lucky ones did succeed in their endeavour. Sometimes it was a meticulously orchestrated exercise by the suitor himself and sometimes it happened with the connivance of the seniors who had discovered the junior’s Achilles’ heel.
There was this place called GMP where the freshers were summoned regularly by their seniors for a session of ragging, where they were grilled with questions which could be anything under the sun. The juniors bowed submissively as a gesture of respect. As they bravely fielded a volley of questions they weren’t supposed to smile which at times became a daunting challenge. Any breach of this protocol was enough to invite a hurl of abuses which over a period of time, our ears became accustomed to.
In the evenings, the freshers socialized on the lush green watered lawns of hostel 3 (it was not as posh as it sounds, but was good by MNIT standards) over a cup of tea. A person in uniform was put on guard to ward off any imminent threat to the freshers from hostile seniors. Like the Americans, who have their own highly secure Green Zone in Baghdad, the 3rd hostel lawn was our own little Green Zone. The gossip here was centered on their daily experiences and what it was that was coming their way in the months to come.
Ragging was more of an organized activity in MNIT. Any Tom, Dick and Harry did not have the prerogative to rag. One was affiliated to a group which generally consisted of people of his state and only they had the authority to rag him. This was an arrangement handed down as a legacy to successive generations and it became a bounden duty of the progeny to uphold this tradition at all costs, come what may. As we later realized when we became seniors ourselves, it was more about discharging this “sacred” responsibility than about having “fun” or retributive action to compensate for the ordeal the seniors underwent themselves as juniors the previous year. Normally many freshers (at least some of them) would expect ragging to be on a declining trend once the college freshers was over, but to their dismay it would only get worse with the frequency and severity of it increasing exponentially. The college saw a strike the year I joined and to make up for the losses we had to stay back in December for the end term exams and not to mention some unwarranted sessions of ragging. I still remember going to my seniors place to copy assignments for them at 2 am in the night as the mercury plummeted to unbearable levels outside. But I was not alone in all this, and almost everyone barring a few faced this ordeal with courage.
There was this interesting incident when I had to board the Brahmaputra Mail from Old Delhi Station at 10pm. But due to some delays on the Delhi - Jaipur highway I came on the brink of missing the train. On enquiring, the autowallah at Dhaula Kuan threw up his hands conceding his inability to reach the station on time. However I insisted, and gave him my word that should he accomplish this seemingly Herculean task he could rest assured of a generous tip from my side. He agreed. It was a late December night and the chilly air hit my bare face like needles as the auto scurried towards the station. However as we approached the narrow lanes of the old city the tyres of the auto gave out and we had to cover the remaining distance in a rickshaw. On reaching the station, without wasting precious time I handed over my baggage to the porter and followed him to the platform. The train had already started moving and I somehow managed to cling on to the door handle of the coach. As I gasped for breath and was basking in the glory of accomplishing a mission impossible, came a familiar authoritative voice from behind, “Oi”. It was my senior, Abhiroop. I bowed. I wished him and then proceeded to my berth. It was a hell of a night, and should anyone think that I just cooked up some cock-and-bull story here, in that case FYI, Nilim Binoy Das was a witness to this ordeal and I sincerely hope he would vouch for me.
I was one of those denizens of Hostel 1 as some of my friends lived there. The inmates of Hostel 1 had a reputation for being full of life (not that others weren’t, should you think I am being prejudiced). Come some festival like Lohri or Diwali, and they would invariably paint the town red. There was this one incident that happended on the eve of Diwali. Along with Nilim, I had bought some crackers, mostly rockets. Nilim had this penchant for rockets and was dreaded for using his bare hands as a launch pad. I made the naïve mistake (which I still regret) of reminding him that by launching a projectile at an inclination of 45 degrees one can get the maximum horizontal range. Little did I know that he had taken my advice seriously. And the rest is history. Luckily, Dhillon Bhai (Suraj Dhillon) had a close shave that day as one of the rockets flew past him over his shoulders, dangerously close to his face.
I admired the fact that the authorities had named the semesters as spring and autumn rather than naming them even and odd. The former nomenclature lent an identity of its own to the semesters whereas the latter appeared lifeless. Returning to the campus for autumn after a long and monotonous summer holiday one would find the otherwise barren landscape being enveloped by a veneer of greenery which was as ephemeral as many other things in life. It felt akin to stepping inside a renovated house which was in shambles a few months ago. With the monsoons drawing to a close and winters approaching the greenery gave away to the familiar barren surroundings once again and before winters became unbearable it was time to head back home. In the spring semester till March weather would be quite pleasant after which it was time to brave the scorching summer and the occasional dust storms. And then the rains and then the greenery. This is how even weather came full circle in MNIT.
Comments