The general specific theories

The warrior and the green eyed monster

2010-01-15T06:08:00.000-08:00

Dedicated to the green eyed monster in my life!

Japan , 1845

The door of the Ryokan, the ancient Japanese inn burst open. Several pairs of eyes followed the well built warrior as he walked into the Ryokan, sat down, and placed his sword next to him. All the villagers of Ozato village eyed him with fear and suspicion. One villager walked up to him boldly and asked him:

“O warrior! Who are you and what brings you to the peaceful village of Ozato?”

“I am a Rourni, a wanderer. I come in search of the green eyed monster, Nisimah.”

The villager ordered O-Sake and a bowl of rice for the warrior. Other villagers slowly gathered around the warrior.

“Tell us your story, O warrior!”

The warrior sipped his glass of O-Sake and began his story.

‘It all started one terrible night in 1830. I was only 6 yrs old. The village Honjo was attacked by the green eyed monster, and everyone, all the farmers, including my family perished. The entire village was wiped out in one night. I however managed to escape. My house was burnt down and I walked for miles without food or water. A man came to me and asked me who I was. I told him about my family and their fate. He took me with him to his home and told me that from that day, I was to consider his home as my own. Master Saicho took me in as his son and taught me everything I know. I trained in the dojo, with other students, mastered the bow and the arrows, and learnt how to fight with the sword. For fifteen years I have trained hard with only one motive in my mind, to avenge the death of my family and slay the green eyed monster, Nisimah.’

“Nisimah, the green eyed monster lives just beyond the mountains” One villager interjected.

The eyes of the warrior blazed with anger.

‘Before leaving the dojo, master Saicho presented me with the golden katana.’
The warrior pointed at the golden katana, the magnificent sword that won him many battles.

Before parting, master Saicho looked at me with tender eyes, “Son, I have taught you everything I know about swordsmanship, but alas, the purpose of your sword is revenge and not peace. A true swordsman is one who is at peace with himself and those around him.”

The warrior thanked the villagers for their hospitality and resumed his journey to find the monster.

It took the warrior three long days, traveling through perilous terrains, crossing treacherous rivers and trekking through the mountains to reach the monster’s lair.

“Who dares disturb Nisimah?” thundered the green eyed monster.

“A warrior from Honjo village. I have come here to kill you.”

The moment the warrior had been waiting for fifteen long years had finally arrived. And so, the battle began.

The monster swooped down at the warrior with its poisonous talons, but he was too quick for the monster. His sharp Katana ripped though the monster’s skin with ease. The monster roared with rage and stuck a blow with its claws, injuring the warrior’s leg. He limped with pain and again struck the sword at the monster. The battle waged on between the monster and the skillful warrior.
Finally, the monster accepted defeat.

“O warrior! You are indeed a worthy opponent. I am ready to die. Please make it quick.”

“Before I kill you, tell me, why did you attack my peaceful Honjo village fifteen years ago?”

“We never kill humans for food. Yet, fifteen years ago, villagers came to my den in the forest and it ablaze while I was out hunting. My offspring died in the fire. I vowed to take revenge and attacked Honjo village.”

“But we are farmers. Our villagers would never have set fire to your den”

“I realized that much later on and vengeance didn’t solve anything. I know how you must be feeling. I am truly sorry for destroying your village and killing your loved ones. If killing me makes you happy, then I am willing to die.”

The warrior stared at the monster thoughtfully. He withdrew his sword, the golden katana, turned his back to the monster and slowly walked away.

The warrior had learnt the final lesson. He had forgiven the monster. He was finally at peace.

A state of fear

2009-08-23T04:45:00.000-07:00

The world never waits
As we wait for the world to heal itself
To renounce upon faith
the darkness that lies beneath

As the world rushes past us
In quiet slumber we wait
An eternal peace of mind
A quiet contemplation bestowed upon us
Makes us dream of another dream

For those among us
Who love the war
With guns in hand they stand
And look at us through the iron gates
Sunshine, open, close , open.

For they live in another world
Of greed, passion , hate and emotion
As anger bestows action
And the world embraces revolution

We constantly live in a state of fear
Not knowing what lies ahead
A distant hope that keeps us alive
A spark in the darkness, a glow at night

For we are alone in this mission
Together , but in solitude
We wait for the right moment
For the world to give us credence
As we sit in a conclave, lost in thought
What is to come, we know not

Some call it 'philosophy'
While most brand it 'catastrophe'
As time trickles by
Minute after minute, second after second
We are so close,yet so far away

Will the day of reckoning finally come
When the guilty shall be punished
And peace will reign
When history is understood,
Not to be repeated again
When the heart leads the way
And the soul never wanders astray

We will wait
For patience is a virtue

The chicken that never crossed the road

2009-07-08T23:59:00.000-07:00

NOTE: The following article is highly pessimistic and sarcastic in nature. Any resemblance to events, places and people (living or dead) is definitely intentional. All ‘optimists’ and ‘realists’ are advised to take a hike. The Himalayas are great this time of the year!

The Background: The protagonist is a chicken, a citizen from a distant country called Bratpur. Bratpur is country with more than 50 states, Upperpur and Mahapur being the more prominent ones. Mahapur is situated somewhere in the southwest and Upperpur, as the names suggests is in the north. The past decade has seen farmers migrating from Upperpur to Mahapur in search of greener pastures. One such farmer migrated to Mahapur and set up ‘Laltu farms’.

It all began when a chicken from Laltu Farms had an epiphany. She decided to go farther than any chicken had ever gone before. She decided to cross the road! Somewhere along the middle of the road, her foot got stuck in a pothole, which the BMC (Bratpur Metropolitan Corporation) had failed to repair. She struggled to get her foot loose, but got ran over by a passing car. It was a clear hit and run case. Unknown to the chicken, a reporter from a prominent TV channel, ZDTV, had captured the entire sequence of events on tape.

The tape showed the license plate of the vehicle that ran over the chicken. It also showed that the reporter had ample time to save the chicken’s life but chose not to do so as his promotion and the channel’s TRP mattered more to him than a chicken’s life.
Sure enough it made breaking news and the reporter got his ‘well deserved’ promotion. The driver of the car involved turned out to be the son of an influential and affluent politician. He would not spend more than a few hours in jail and would be let out on bail. After all, in Bratpur, laws of the land were applicable only to the poor and the destitute.

What followed after the accident can only be described as utter chaos. Correspondents from various news channels including till now, yesterday’s news flocked to report the news. The distraught farmer was overwhelmed by the loss of the chicken and was left speechless. The reporters interviewed anything and anyone who could speak. They got hold of a cow in the nearby farm and interviewed the poor creature. All she could say was ‘MOO’. Politicians soon arrived in the scene. A member from the leading party wanted to hog the limelight and offered his condolences in front of the cameras. He even offered to compensate the farmer monetarily for the loss. The BMC officials were nowhere to be seen and the MNS (Mahapur new formed soldiers) were stoic about the incident as the chicken was originally from Upperpur. The leader of the opposition did not want to be left out either. He alleged that the whole incident was a conspiracy by the leading party. They openly and shamelessly bickered in front of the cameras.

Five days after the incident, a memorial service was held at a prominent location. People lit candles and bowed their heads in respect. The chicken even appeared on one of the late night debate shows where the so called ‘experts’ share their so called ‘expert’ opinion. One of the experts suggested wider roads to avoid the accident while another guest speaker concluded that all chicken should be slaughtered to avoid such a mishap in the future.

Ten days zoomed past and the chicken was soon forgotten. Nothing had really changed. The farmer remained poor. The influential politician’s son went on a killing spree and the BMC pothole was never repaired!

Welcome of Bratpur , where we sweat all day
So that all politicians can be merry and gay (And erect bronze statues)

Facts , Figures and love

2009-05-19T00:26:00.000-07:00

Its been nearly a year since I left college. I still keep in touch with my friends and an ideal online chat conversation with a college friend would proceed as follows:

Me : Hey there! Hows life. How are things?

X(the other person): Life’s great.. things are going fine..

Me: And hows work ?

X: work goes on .. blah blah blah blah

Me: Oh.. same here , blah blah blah ..

X: blah blah

Me: Blah blah…

‘X’ would then ask the most inevitable question:

X: So ... found a girl for yourself yet?

Me: Nope!

X: What the BEEP! You live in Mumbai.. full of hot chicks. How come you don’t have a girlfriend?

This article is dedicated to my countless friends who have asked me this question. I intend to offer them an explanation.

A month has on an average 30 days. I spend 6 days a week at work (there are no girls there) and come back home tired. I get four Sundays off , that’s 4/30 days or 13.33% in a month. Studies have shown that an average human being requires at least six hours of sleep. Out of the 96 hrs(13.33% of a month), 24 hrs are spent sleeping. , leaving me 9.99% in the month (assuming I don’t eat, take bath etc).

In this 9.99% , lets assume that I actually get to talk to a girl and begin to like her. Things would proceed well and our relation would blossom. I would eventually ask her out; she would either accept or ‘see me as a friend.’ Thus the probability of me getting a girlfriend in Mumbai is 9.99/2/100 = 0.0499. My probability of NOT getting a girlfriend however is 1- 0.0499 = 0.9501.

On an optimistic note, I would like to say that stranger things have happened in this mad mad world. Maybe a beautiful girl might actually meet me on the local train platform, look and me in the eyes and say ‘Let us NOT be friends. I love you and hope you love me too!’ All I can do now is micro observe and carry on with my life.

Misplaced Chivalry

2009-04-02T23:59:00.000-07:00

Is chivalry meaningless in today’s world? If so, who is to blame??

This happened to me when I was in college. One of my good friends, Patil and I decided to attend a cultural fest to be held in another college. Sashi (another friend of mine), told us that Miss Marple (who happened to be Sashi’s school friend) was also attending the same fest. Miss Marple was a stranger to both Patil and me. Nevertheless, on Sashi’s request we decided to meet up with her.

Miss Marple turned out to be a squirmy little creature who took an instant liking to Patil(perhaps because he works out in the gym and I am a crouch potato! ). She decided to completely ignore me and allowed me to merge with the background. It was a two way conversation between Patil and Marple, but I was happy to be left alone.

Miss Marple then suggested having lunch in a restaurant, which according to her was the best in town. Its surprising how girls seem to magically know the most expensive restaurants! We ended up in the restaurant (Patil had dragged me along).

Everything was overpriced. Roti was no longer called roti and all vegetables seemed to have a fancy name on the menu. Marple seemed to be at home in this restaurant. She even ordered an expensive dessert with a fancy French name which looked suspiciously like plain chocolate ice cream. The bill arrived. Both Patil and I took out our wallets, waiting for her to pay her share (we were after all students on a tight budget). We indicated to her indirectly that we were running short of cash. No use. Her handbag lay forgotten. Women rights activists who fight for social and economic equality seem to have conveniently forgotten to mention equality while paying a restaurant bill. I found myself paying for some random girl who treats me like a piece of furniture (was it chivalry, politeness or mere stupidity?).

We left the restaurant and plans were made about dinner (Didn’t Marple just have lunch?). Patil agreed to have dinner with her. I refused. At about 10 pm, Patil returned and I asked him about the dinner. “We talked” was all he could say. I asked him innocently if he had paid the bill. Apparently he had. They had exchanged e mail ids and telephone numbers. Was this a beginning of a Bollyhood like love story?

Quite the opposite! His mails and calls were completely ignored and she was never heard of again.

Maybe Marple and I will bump into each other some day, and when we do I am sure that I will be walking rapidly at a uniform speed of 5 kmph in the opposite direction.

Its wrong to expect or assume chivalry. Earning it is a better way to go about it!

The Great Divide

2009-03-14T01:40:00.000-07:00

What does a notorious terrorist have in common with a 19th century German?

a) Nothing
b) They both were circus clowns
c) Both loved spicy parathas
d) Both were civil engineers

No need to go “50 - 50” or “Phone a friend” on this one. The answer is option‘d’.

He is about 6’4”, weighs 160 pounds and was born in Saudi Arabia in 1957. The only son of Muhammad, (a billionaire Saudi businessman) and Hamida Al Attas; he completed his schooling in 1976 and decided to pursue a course in civil engineering. He never did complete his graduate studies and was distracted by religion. He occupied himself by interpreting the Quran. As the founder of Al Qaeda, he vociferously opposed the stationing of US troops in Islamic countries. Osama Bin Laden graduated from handling a dumpy level to holding a gun. He is a mass murderer, with a reward of up to 25$ million to anyone who knows his whereabouts.

John A. Roebling was born in Germany on July 12, 1806. He was a visionary who wanted to achieve his dreams by designing and building big bridges. As a student of architecture, bridge construction, foundation engineering and hydraulics, he migrated to America to fulfill his dreams.
In 1867 Roebling started design work on what is now called the Brooklyn Bridge. In 1869, barely two years after the conception of his design, he met with an accident and was admitted to the hospital. His condition deteriorated until it was clear he had tetanus, and 24 days after the accident he was dead.
His son, Washington Roebling decided to continue his dad’s legacy and finish the bridge. He made alterations to the original design and personally monitored the progress of the bridge. Decompression sickness due to working in compressed air under the river, combined with over work, shattered his health and rendered him unable to visit the site He became an invalid, was bedridden, could not even speak but monitored the progress of the bridge from his bedroom window. He communicated to his wife Emily using only hand gestures, telling her to make changes (wherever necessary) in the bridge. Emily would go to the site and carry out her husband’s instructions. The Brooklyn Bridge was completed successfully in 1883 and is one of the oldest suspension bridges in the world. The bridge is symbolic of the dedication and the devotion of the Roebling family and connects Manhattan and Long Island.

Both Bin Laden and Roebling were civil engineers. They attended classes not unlike you and me. They must also have hibernated in the hydraulics class, groaned in the geotech class, and carried heavy theodolites during their college days. What they later became was solely decided by the choices they had made. While one engineer bought a gun and started a war, the other literally connected people (like Nokia!).

The choices that you make in your life depend on you and how you want to be remembered. Make the right ones!! All the very best.. :)

The Three P's of Rock

2008-10-01T10:54:00.000-07:00

Choose ten random strangers and give them an hour to interact with each other. Tell each person to jot down the characteristics of every other person. It will be observed that no two individuals will have the same perception. Let A, B and C be three such individuals in the group of ten. B may perceive A as an introvert of remarkable intelligence. C on the other hand might be under the impression that A is reserved because he is too dumb to string two words together and form a sentence. Each person is perceived differently by different individuals. This leads to ambiguity and conflict in perceptions.

Rock is no different. Ask any rock lover the basic question: “What is the essence of rock?” and a variety of answers will crop up.

Most rock lovers consider the rock lead as the driving force behind rock. Joe Sat, Steve Vai and Stevie Ray are considered as idols in the temple of rock. A rock lover devoured by the psychedelic lyrics of Pink Floyd might be tempted to conclude that lyrics are the soul of rock. Lyrics reflect the emotions of the composer. Hate, love , sorrow and loneliness are some of the most common themes. Some lyrics can be so mind boggling and abstract that the listener is left stupefied. The title ‘An American Poet’ given to Jim Morrison of the doors in well justified in this regard. The impact of well composed lyrics can be exceptional. John Lennon’s lines ‘You may say I am a dreamer, but am not the only one’ created waves in Britain during 1970’s. Lennon believed in a conceptual world with no wars, no discrimination of any kind and equality to all. His lyrics inspired thousands to support his cause. Great lyrics however are useless without the music. Mere enchanting poems! Lyrics are like diamonds. They need to be polished (with music) to bring the sparkle.

Some rock lovers might associate rock only with the insane headbanging. These headbangers insist that rock is meaningless without oscillating one’s head at breakneck speeds in sync with the music. What these dolts forget is that The Beatles who revolutionized rock and roll in the 1960’s did not compose any songs that needed headbanging. Metallica’s Nothing else matters and Led Zepplin’s infamous Stairway to heaven demands the listener to sit back, relax and be swept away. Headbanging might be one of the ingredients of rock but does not define rock.

For the love of ROCK!

A compound is a mixture of its constituent elements in an appropriate ratio. Rock too is the culmination of a great guitar solo, mesmerizing lyrics with a touch of headbanging and amazing vocals.

Posers of rock: For the present generation, rock has become synonymous with cool. A person who rocks is one who is cool and popular. This has lead to the emergence of two kinds of people, people who truly love rock and rock posers (losers). Rock posers taint the sanctity of rockhood. They consider themselves as rock lovers but cant really differentiate between Britney Spears and Iron Maiden. A girl in my college, who claimed to be a rock lover, was found headbanging to a Backstreet Boys track. May her musically inclined soul rest in peace!

Rock posers welcome each other with a ‘cool’ hifi. ‘Fuck’ and ‘motherfuckers’ are the two most common words in their dictionary. A rock poser ideally does not know more than 10 rock songs but thinks he is an expert. He permanently wears a rock band t-shirt, has untidy hairstyle, smokes weed, talks in a fake accent and tries to act cool. Such people deserve to be mocked at, to be publicly humiliated at and should me made specimens for humour.

“I know I love rock. I don’t need to go about flaunting in public trying to prove that to everyone! ” remarked one of my friends. He listens to bands most guys wouldn’t have even heard of and participated intensely in discussions about rock. He is a simple chap, someone u might just bump across on the road and move on without so much as a second glance. So, the next time you are travelling in a bus, just remember that an ordinary guy wearing a plain dull t-shirt sitting next to you with a bored expression on his face might just turn out to be a true connoisseur of Rock.

Parallels of rock: A few weeks back, I ended up attending a Nityashree (carnatic singer) concert. It struck me then that parallels can be drawn between rock and other forms of music. The similarities between Indian music and rock are astounding. The guitar lead in rock is replaced by a violin or a veena lead. For the drums in rock, there exists the ghatam, Mridungam and tabla. The base in Indian music is provided by the droning shruti box. Talented carnatic vocalists such sing high noted and pitches simulated only by gothic singers in rock.

It is said that while visiting Ettayapuram, a small village in Tamil Nadu, the great composer Muthuswamy Dikshitar was anguished to see the drought-hit arid land and people facing severe water shortage. Moved by their plight, Dikshitar looked up to the sky and burst forth in praise of the goddess in a raga called amritavarshini. He beseeched Devi to bring rain and alleviate the plight of the drought-hit people. It started raining soon after he finished singing the raga.

Such is the power of Indian music and it cannot be ignored. Rock lovers must occasionally take a break from rock and indulge in other forms of music, thus expanding their horizons. Thus the Indian classical artists are rockstars in their own world of music.

Rock is like Cerberus, the mythical three headed dog. Chop one head off, and two will take its place.. KEEP ROCKING!!

The Mocked Bird

2008-03-24T08:16:00.000-07:00

When we are divided in the ecstasy of passion

Beyond the division of our souls

Though we endow the act of love with every power of imagination and poetry

It remains the act of two divided solitary beings.

We are mocked like two birds seeking each other through the glass pane.

- H.R

Stepping down the Chevrolet, I made my way to the marriage hall in Malleswaram. It was the first time I was attending a marriage uninvited. I entered the hall without hesitation. A simple fake moustache with a French beard had ensured that I would pass by unnoticed. The classic case of each spouse’s family thinking that I belonged to the other’s ensued.

The bride was sitting on the altar looking radiant. She was my first love. The courtship that we had shared was love in its most innocent form. Things hadn’t gone quite the way both of us had expected or imagined and we had to break up. Three long years had passed since then and fate had led us on different paths.

The reason I was attending her marriage was perhaps because at some distant corner in my heart I still cared for her and wanted to see her happy. Seeing her married would give me the permanent closure that I needed.

I looked on as the gold taali was tied to her neck, a ritual indicating that her heart now belonged to the silent man on the altar. Our eyes met, but only for a second. I walked towards the huge pile of marriage gifts. I deposited my gift, smiled at a little girl in a dhavani and made my way to the exit. I did not look back even once and boarded the Chevrolet.

She would later unpack my gift to find a elegant necklace and earring set with a note attached:-

To a happy wonderful life ahead

- The Mocked Bird

The Weekend Trip

2008-03-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

Life at NITH can get extraordinarily monotonous sometimes. The same trees, the same people, the same old Nescafe with engrossed couples can get to a person. A change becomes mandatory, especially during the weekends.

Desperately seeing this change, I packed my bag and decided to go to Mcleodganj for the weekend. The trip was different as I relied on my I pod to give me company instead of people. The bus journey was uneventful with four long hours of music. I reached Dharmashala at 8 pm where I was greeted by a great masala dosa, four tasty vadas and a hot cup of coffee. I rummaged around Dharmashala desparetely seeking a roof over my head. Lying down finally on a comfortable bed, I heard the wind howling with great gusto in an attempt to break the window off its hinges. I was so tired that I didn’t know when I actually dozed off.

A road in Dharmashala

Getting up at 7:30 , I headed to the bus stop in Dharmashala. I stumbled upon the ever eating couple of our college in the bus stop. Mutual astonishment was apparent. The three of us (couple + I) boarded the overcrowded bus and ended up in Mcleodganj. I bade the lovely couple goodbye and made my way to an obscure Tibetan restaurant. Munching on Tibetian bread and Jam, I conceived the next course of action. After the I wandered aimlessly in Mcleodganj. The entire Mcleodganj was covered within a span of 1 hour. I then decided to cover a distance of 10 km between Mcleodganj and Dharmashala by foot. En route to Dhamashala, I explored St John’s church in the wilderness, a church built in the 1800’s by the British.

After having lunch in a small dhaba in Dharmashala, I boarded a bus for Hamirpur.Just as luck would have it, the same bus was boarded by my juniors Vinod and Rajeev who gave me company till the institute. The wonderful weekend trip finally ended at about 8:30 pm when I finally reached the institute

Caught 22

2007-12-22T01:46:00.000-08:00

It was a cloudy Friday evening. The Starbucks on platform no 2 Victoria Station was bustling with customers as usual. A man was sitting all by himself in one of the corner tables. Hari Ramanujam was sipping cup of coffee and seemed preoccupied. An innocent passerby would have described him as a man of medium height and Asian features with a pronounced pointed nose. Ramanujam did not seem to notice the waitress approaching him.

“Would you like to order anything else sir?” she asked.

Hari looked at the nameplate on her chest. It read Pam Johnson engraved in gold.

“Another cup of coffee would be great.” he replied.

He thanked Pam and she in turn thanked him. She hurried to place the order.

London was a city where everyone loved to thank each other. Hari realized this fact the moment he had set foot in London six years ago. He had a work permit but still held an Indian passport. The first time he had traveled in a public transport bus, he had noticed the strange ritual. The passengers would thank the driver before getting down at their respective stops. The driver would then thank them and wish them good day. The passengers would reciprocate this by thanking the driver and then would go about their way. Back in India people lacked both the time and the attitude to perform this simple ritual.

Sipping on the second cup of coffee that had just arrived, Hari started gazing at the other customers. A couple sitting two tables away caught his attention. They were young, cheerful and full of energy. He was reminded of that fateful day fifteen years ago when he had met Anita. He had met her at a coffee shop in Bangalore. He had been alone. She had also been alone and sipping coffee. Hari had plucked up enough courage to go up to her and strike up a conversation. One thing had lead to another and they had started dating each other. She was all he could think about. She was his power, his pleasure, his pain. She was now his wife and was probably waiting for him. He saw that it was 7:00 pm already. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, got up, paid the bill, thanked Pam and walked to the nearest subway station.

It normally takes Hari about 50 minutes to reach Upminster, where he lived. Today was no different. He took a seat next to an old lady. Hari had about 45 minutes to kill. He was bored and soon started thinking about his childhood in India. He remembered the good old days when he used to run barefoot across the streets of Bangalore, break windows while playing gulley cricket, climb trees and roam the city in search of his next adventure. His children will never have the childhood that he had experienced. His kids never had as many friends as he had back then. Indians were still treated as second rate citizens in Britain. Even professionally, he could observe this. His boss had promoted his British colleague. Hari was sure that he was more capable than his colleague and deserved that promotion. Going to Britain was like visiting a rich kid’s home. He could play with their toys, but India was where he actually belonged. His children hardly knew anything about Bangalore or India. They had never visited India. Even in school, he noticed that his children liked to hang around Indian kids. Hari then decided that he would go back to Bangalore, look for a job there and give his children the childhood they deserved. The more he thought about it, he was convinced that it was the right thing to do.

Hari reached home and decided to talk it over dinner with Anita. His wife was reluctant at first but later acceded. Hari took a few days off, boarded British Airways and landed in Bangalore. The Bangalore that he had left behind had changed drastically. The once calm, peaceful, serine city had taken the toll for the worse. The city was swarming with IT professionals buzzing like busy bees all over the place. Hari was shocked to see the traffic in Bangalore. He had never seen such a chaotic and disorganized traffic in his life. The area in which he grew up had been demolished only to be replaced by shopping malls. At that very moment he had a change of heart. He booked a ticket in the next flight back to Britain.

Aboard the British Airways, Hari realized that he could never ever adjust to the new Bangalore he had seen.'What good is an Indian who acnt live in his own homeland?'he asked himself. He certainly wasnt British and would always be treated as a second rate citizen. He was certain of that. He was neither Black nor white, but an inevitable shade of grey. He looked at the clouds and sighed deeply. Fate had played a game of chess with him and had him checkmated. It dawned upon him then that all his Indian friends in Britain were stuck in a similar warp zone. He sighed again, waiting for the flight to reached its destination.

Life @ NITH

2007-12-22T01:38:00.000-08:00

The life at NIT Hamirpur is a rich blend of varied experiences, both unique and commonplace. From the day a student signs the registration form for his admission till the day he graduates, there is never a dull moment for the budding engineers and architects of NIT Hamirpur.

A freshman is met by students from all over India. As weeks roll by, he quickly earns the respect and friendship of his fellow students. For most students it is their first time away from home. They start making their own decisions, start thinking independently and learn important tools which help in developing their personality.

Events are held at regular intervals by departmental and student bodies which exercise the grey cells of students. These events impart self confidence to the students and prepare them for the future.

Festivals such as Diwali, Durga Puja and Holi are celebrated on a grand scale. Students lighting firecrackers or spraying jets of water on each other can be found either grinning or with contented smiles on their faces, happily posing for their photographs. These photographs would later remind them of their life in NIT Hamirpur.

Tourism comes as the icing on the delicious cake i.e studying in one of the prestigious eighteen NITs. With weekend getaways like Shimla, Manali, Dharamshala, Jalandar and Chandigarh only a stone’s throw away, life has indeed never been this good.

Time flies while having fun. This is true and students realize that they are already about to graduate! Students look back and realize that the life @ NITH is one that he would cherish and remember for years to come.

"Super" Kapoor

2007-12-22T01:37:00.000-08:00

“The world is safe once again! Thanks to ......” Sounds familiar? The world we live in has been saved innumerable times by a wide variety of superheroes such as Batman, Superman, Spiderman and other interesting characters. These heroes have been successful in protecting us from villains whose sole motive is to either take over the earth or destroy it (only god knows why!). These heroes have however managed to entertain millions of kids in India and billions abroad!

To cater to the needs of 40 something year old ladies, Ekta Kapoor popped right out from nowhere. With her stereotype daughter- mother-in-law quarrels, one actually wonders how people still keep watching her soaps. History repeats itself, more and more soaps are screened and loyal viewers can be seen sitting glued on to their TV sets.

Let us imagine that by some bizarre twist of fate (god forbid!) that Ekta Kapoor decides to make use of these superheroes in her soaps so that it appeals to a larger majority of people!

Main Characters:

Batman: The Head of the family

Batgirl: Mother (looks 20ish in spite of the fact that her son is 40yrs old)

Superman: Son

Wonderwoman: Daughter-in-law and Superman's wife

The episodes would proceed as follows:

Episode 1:

(Title song for 3 mins!)

(Commercial break for 2 mins).

The stage is set. The episode begins and a humongous house (fit for a king) is shown. The rooms are so lavishly and expensively furnished that even the owners of the five star hotels would turn green with envy. A joint family is shown with Batman and Batgirl getting up from their bed dressed as if they have been to a party (Batgirl is still wearing expensive clothes and jewellery!). In another room far far away, Superman gets up, looks around, is not able to find Wonderwoman, and gets angry for some reason. Meanwhile Wonderwoman can be seen cooking in the kitchen.

A telepathic conversation takes place:

Superman: Wonderwoman.....Are you there?

Wonderwoman: Yes dear....Go on.

Superman: Where is my electric red underwear? I have to save the world from vile villains. (In a thunderous voice)

(A commercial break for 2 mins)

(A recap of the conversation that took place before the interval)

Wonderwoman: I am sorry dear. I have given it for dry washing.

Superman: What?

End of episode 1.

Title song for 2 mins!

Episode 2:

(Recap of episode 1)

Superman flies into the kitchen with god like speed, looks at Wonderwoman and zaps her using his laser vision. A harassed Wonderwoman takes out her lasso and starts whipping it at Superman. Hearing all the commotion, Batgirl rushes into the room, sizes up the situation and blames her daughter-in-law for everything that happened. Wonderwoman bursts out sobbing.

Episodes 3, 4, 5, 6: Wonderwoman still sobbing! New characters such as Green Goblin, Flash Gordan etc are introduced who try to console her, but all in vain!

Episode 7: The red underwear has been brought back from the dry wash. Seeing the underwear, an argument again surfaces. Batgirl gets angry again and a fight breaks out between Batgirl and Wonderwoman. The fight aggravates to such an extent that Batgirl slaps Wonderwoman. Wonderwoman storms out of the house and swears that she will never set a foot in the house ever again! She decides to go to her mother’s home.

Episodes 8, 9, 10, 11: Superman is angry with Batgirl for sending Wonderwoman home. Batgirl and Batman both try to justify why the course of action adopted by them is best for the entire family.

Episode 12: Family hears that en route to her mother’s home, Wonderwoman’s invisible jet has crashed and she is in fact dead!

Episodes 13, 14, 15, 16: Mourning begins for Wonderwoman’s death. A picture of Wonderwoman is kept in the pooja place and the family can be seen crying out loudly. Everyone is regretting that she had to leave this world so early. She had to leave without saying goodbye. Characters like Spiderman, Flash can be seen consoling the family members.

Episode 17: Wonderwoman is alive but unconscious. It took some time for the rescue team to find her jet as it was invisible! She is admitted to a nearby hospital.

Episodes 18, 19, 20: Hospital scenes! People visit wonderwoman give her flowers etc.

Episodes 21, 22, 23: Wonderwoman returns home. Superman hugs her and they hold a grand party on her return in the same grand house.

Episodes 24, 25: Life proceeds normally in the Superman home. The normalcy and day to day instances are illustrated in these episodes.

I just demonstrated how easy it is to come with episodes of soaps by Ms Ekta Kapoor which have an uncanny habit of beginning with the letter “K”. My advice to the ladies who watch such soaps is to stop watching them. Watch something meaningful rather than wasting your time with mundane and awful soaps. For the kids who love superheroes, I urge them to keep on watching as long as it doesn’t turn out to be an addiction.

I request Mrs. Ekta Kapoor to come up with better plots (which can at the least entertain the entire family!) and get rid of mother-in-law and daughter trifles. I beg her to be more innovative when it comes to naming her serials and never ever get the bright idea of using superheroes in her soaps! Lastly I would also recommend Mrs. Kapoor to get a life!

The Story

2007-12-22T01:36:00.001-08:00

Rajat Kumar waited impatiently for the red light to turn green. He glanced at the digital clock in his Ford. It showed 10:20 p.m. It would still take him approximately 20 minutes to reach his mansion in Sion. The merger deal had finally pulled through. The company was his life. He wanted his company to be the best and the deal was a giant leap towards achieving that goal.

The light turned green. The street was empty. Rajat shifted gears and accelerated rapidly. He remembered the look on Mr Jain’s face and smiled. Sanjay Jain was his rival, a fierce competitor who had lost the deal narrowly to Rajat. He was too preoccupied to notice a young man attempting to cross the road. Finally noticing the man, he hit the breaks as fast as he could. It was not fast enough. He heard a thud as the young man’s body hit the car and slumped to the ground. Rajat quickly got out of the car, looked at the face of the unconscious man, pondered for a while and panicked. He got back to the car and sped towards the mansion. He knew that the young man’s face would haunt him forever.

Two days later, Rajat was arrested on a hit and run charge. He called A.K Ganguly, a renowned criminal lawyer who immediately agreed to take up the case. The trial was scheduled to take place three days later giving Ganguly enough time to study the case.

The day of the trial had finally arrived. Honourable judge G.S Maurya took his seat in the Mumbai courtroom and turned towards Praveen Gupta.

“Is the prosecution ready?” judge Maurya asked.

“Yes, your honour” replied Praveen, the lawyer for the prosecution.

“Is the defence ready?”

“The defence is ready, your honour” replied Ganguly.

“Please proceed with the case, Mr Gupta” the judge said.

Praveen stood up, looked at the judge, the jury, the rows of spectators and spoke with confidence.

“The prosecution wants to prove through its witnesses and evidence that the defendant, Mr Rajat Kumar, is guilty of the hit and run charge. The victim, Ajay Bose succumbed to injuries and died on the way to the hospital. I call the first witness for the prosecution.”

The witness after being sworn in was ready for questions.

“Please state your full name and occupation.” Praveen said.

“My name is Vikas Kumar. I am a software engineer, currently under the employment of arc instruments.”

“What were you doing on the 18^th of this month at about 10:30 p.m?”

“I live in Sion. I was driving home from work.” Vikas replied.

Praveen looked straight into his eyes.

“Did anything unusual happen that night?”

“At about 10:30 pm, I saw a man get into a car, reverse and drive on. An unconscious man came into view as the car pulled back. I am sure that the car must have hit the unfortunate man” Vikas replied.

“Statement objected to as it calls for the conclusion of the witness. The witness did not actually see the car hit the man” Ganguly interposed.

“Objection sustained” snapped judge Maurya.

“What did you do next?”

“I waited for the ambulance to arrive and left the scene.”

Praveen turned to Ganguly

“You may cross examine.”

Ganguly walked up to the witness and asked him to describe the car.

“It was a white Ford” replied Vikas.

“Do you know the licence number of the car ?“

“No sir.”

“Then the car could have been any of the hundreds or even thousands that ply on Mumbai streets.” Ganguly dismissed the witness with a wave of his hand.

However the next witness, Shefali Rao, a student, identified both the car and the defendant positively. A doctor from Sion hospital produced the death certificate indicating the cause of death as a head injury. The case of the prosecution was further strengthened when Arpita Bose, the wife of the deceased had a nervous breakdown in the courtroom, leaving a profound impression in the mind of the jury.

The jury gave its verdict. Rajat Kumar was found guilty under sections 279

and 304 A of the Indian penal code and had to serve a sentence for five years.

Rajat was escorted to the central jail by armed guards.

”I don't deserve this.” Rajat said in a sad monotone. One of the convicts laughed mirthlessly.”That's what everyone in this place says. Welcome to central jail. I am Parmeshwar Prasad. Call me Parry. Everyone does.”

Five years later, Rajat walked the streets of Mumbai, once again a free man.

A business magazine in the pavement caught his eye. Two faces stared back at him from the cover of the magazine. Rajat's rival, Mr Jain had become become highly successful and had made it to the cover page of the magazine. Rajat was shocked and devastated to see the familiar face of Laileen Jain, Mr Jain's son on the cover of the magazine. Rajat knew then that he had been imprisoned for a crime he had never committed.

He knew then what he had to do. Rajat headed straight to an antique shop at the end of the street. The letters “Shanker's Antiques” gleamed in gold. He entered the antique store and found Mr Shanker polishing an old lamp.

Rajat walked up to him and said without any preliminaries

“I need a gun.”

Old Mr.Shanker gave him a bizarre look and told Rajat that the store sold antiques, not guns.

“Parry, the convict told me about this place.”

Without uttering a single syllable, Shanker led Rajat to a secret room which was stocked entirely with rows of guns of various sizes, shapes and makes.

Rajat went and picked up a well oiled gun. The serial numbers of the gun was scratched out making it practically untraceable.

“Thats an Austrian manufactured Steyr M. A very fine piece of machinery. Compact and yet powerful” informed Mr. Shanker.

“What's the guarantee that the gun will work properly?”

“I give you the same guarantee that I give to all my customers. My life. As you can see, I am still alive”

Rajat paid the requisite amount and headed for Mr Jain's mansion.

The mansion had two sentries posted at the main gate. Two guards continuously patrolled the mansion grounds. Rajat climbed over the fence, gave them the slip and made his way to a bedroom window. He managed to open the window. He stepped in only to hear the security alarm system echoing loudly. The bedroom light switched on and Rajat found himself face to face with Laileen Jain, the young man whom Rajat had supposedly killed in the accident five years ago. Laileen Jain was a dead man walking. A few seconds later, Mr Jain entered the bedroom carrying a gun.

“Well, well Mr Jain. Its been five long years. I should have killed your son five years ago in that accident. Your son is Laileen. I read that in a magazine. Tell me then, who is Ajay Bose ? How did he die?”

Mr Jain looked at Rajat calmly.

“When Laileen was admitted in the hospital after the accident, I had a brilliant idea. Ajay Bose was a man who had died the same day due to heart failure at the Sion hospital. I merely substituted the death certificates, bribed the doctor, and paid his wife Arpita to keep her mouth shut. With you out of the way, the rest was easy. Too bad you wont live to tell anyone.”

Jain pointed his gun at Rajat's chest. The footsteps of guards approaching could be heard in the background.

Rajat glared at Mr.Jain.

“Mr Jain! Life is like a game of chess. You can think three moves ahead but are allowed to make only one at a time. Only one will die tonight. You have made all your moves. Its time to make mine.”

Rajat aimed his Steyr at the bedroom light and pulled the trigger. The room was plunged instantly into darkness. A few seconds later, another shot echoed in the mansion.

An hour later, the homicide department arrived at the scene to find the body of a dead man. Rajat had been right. Only one had died that night

The Simple Things

2007-12-22T01:28:00.000-08:00

The in-flight speakers beeped to life and a mechanical voice spoke up. “Welcome to Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport. The temperature outside is 29 degrees and humidity 73%. We hope that you enjoyed your flight with us and we look forward to seeing you in the future. On behalf of Jetsons Airways we hope that you have a pleasurable stay in Mumbai. Thank you.”

I turned around and looked at my wife. She gave me a big smile. I returned that smile and was soon absorbed in my own thoughts. After months of intense planning, the day had finally arrived. The college reunion had finally become a reality.

Making my way through the dense Mumbai crowd, I finally managed to hail a taxicab. En route to the venue of the reunion, The Taj Mahal Palace, I began thinking about my friends. It had been nearly ten years since I had graduated from NIT Hamirpur. I was still in touch with most of them but had not met them in a long time. Stepping out from the cab, both my wife and I were awestruck by the beautiful and the magnificent hotel. Standing next to the Gateway of India, with its back facing the Arabian Sea, this famous and prestigious hotel still held its charm.

As I made my way to the entrance of the hotel, a familiar voice greeted me. “Yo junior! Look at the third button!” Our eyes met and we burst out laughing. I remembered the first time Rahul spoke that sentence. It was in our first year in NIT Hamirpur. As a freshman, one day, I was lured into room D-102(also called the club house back then) where my batch mates pretended to be seniors and took me for a ride. I was made to sing and dance and do other weird and embarrassing things. After about five minutes or so, they confessed that they were my batch mates and had a hearty laugh. I was disappointed that I had been fooled so easily, but cheered up considerably as they found the next scapegoat.

Another voice called out to me. “Kk ccha? Tero Katie ramri ccha!.” In English this translated to “How are u? Your girl is beautiful!”. My sophomore roommate greeted me in Bhutanese. I introduced my wife to him, they exchanged a few words and she went in to join the other ladies. As I looked across the grand majestic hall, I realized that I was in the presence of great and eminent people. From entrepreneurs to DRDO scientists to consultants, there were certainly a wide variety of people present.

Carrying a glass of wine, Vivian made his way towards me accompanied by his wife Kumkum. Vivian now was the deputy managing director of a prominent software company that produced software for Linux. None of us could ever forget Vivian’s (ahem!) interesting ghost story in the first year at NIT Hamirpur. It went something like this.

After his tenth standard, his friends (two guys and three girls) decided to go for a drive with him. Driving the ambassador, they started talking about ghosts. Someone apparently made a remark saying that he didn’t believe in ghosts, and if ghosts really existed, the car would stop immediately. Believe it or not, the car broke down at that very instant! Seeing no one for miles, they made their way to a nearby empty mansion (typical ghost story!). As night approached, the front door started creaking and one of the girls started weeping. Guess who comforted them? YES! It was Super Vivian to the rescue. They started praying, the car repaired itself and they carried on about their way! Later the group learnt that the mansion was haunted! As soon as he completed this story, Reddy spoke up.” Hey Vivian! Which movie is it from?”. We laughed till our ribs cracked. To this day, I still remember the details of his story.

Vivian and I started talking about our college life in general. From crushes to interesting people, we discussed all the experiences we had in our college life. Vivian remembered the manner in which the festival holi was celebrated every year. Shirts would be torn and the students (guys) would dance, sing and move towards the girl’s hostel, encouraging them to join the festivities. The entire hostel would be wet with jets of water flying off in all directions. The subject of teachers came up and we remembered the illuminating and unique characters who taught us. We had had characters who pointed to wooden objects and asked “What is my name?” Thus the topic of teachers was never a dull subject.

I went around talking to my other former college mates, laughing all the way. I was very happy to see them. They had definitely changed a lot.

Dinner was served and the violinist started playing melodious music. I soon found myself drifting away and was lost in a deep reverie. As I began recollecting my experiences, I realized that it was the smallest details that I remembered the most. It was the subtle exchange of words ten years earlier that still had an impact on me. I knew then that the small and the simple things which people generally ignore would turn out to be experiences that they would cherish and treasure the rest for their life. May it be a short walk on a moonlit night or a conversation that took place over a cup of coffee in the canteen, these experiences last a lifetime. I remembered a movie I had seen when I was a teenager. It was called “The Butterfly Effect”. It was based on the chaos theory. It is based on the fact that small things in life eventually translate to bigger things which govern the working of the entire planet! I thought of a simple example to refresh my memory. Had I got one mark lesser in AIEEE (qualifying exam in those days), I would have been in another institute, taken up something else, would have had a different set of friends and would certainly not be attending this reunion. The one mark, which seemed so unimportant then, is what ultimately governed my entire life!

“You were always a daydreamer! Snap out of it!”. My wife was hovering over me, smiling, and squeezing my hand gently. Time certainly had flown and the much awaited reunion had come to an end. Along with Vivian, Kumkum and Reddy, I made my way to pose for the reunion pic. A copy of the photo was distributed to everyone present. I was due to return to work the next day and I caught my flight back as soon as the reunion got over. Bidding farewell to my friends and their families, we got in the taxicab and made our way back to the airport.

As soon as I reached home, I framed the photo and placed it next to the photo taken ten years ago when we had graduated. I began to wonder where we would be ten years hence. I also began to think about ‘the simple things’. I am sure that my thoughts on ‘the simple things’ (during the party) is one of those simple things that I would certainly remember for a long time to come

The Dum Maro rap

2007-11-12T22:12:00.000-08:00

For Hill Affair 2007(thats my college cul fest), the orions belt wanted to do something different..... So we decided to make a rap remix of Dum Maro Dum.
The lyrics are as follows.....

These four years have just gone by
And now its time to say goodbye
I feel so cool yet empty inside
Just be with me and see me fly

This is for u ppl just sitting out there
Just throw your hands up in the air
Say hi,ho,hi when and where
You dare to dream and scream to scare

Oh girl, dear girl just be there for me
Sing for me and be a part of me
When can we leap and how can we weep
Lets go someplace where we can be free

Life is like a great game of chess
You can think ahead, but dont make no sense
Take your life as it comes along
Think about this moment, right here, right now

Tilak is where I wanna eat
The most popular guy in NIT
Remember that samosa, that great half fry
You cant forget them even if you die

Think about that dog near nescafe
my only true gf in this place
She looks at me with those beady eyes
A look of hope of fire and ice

Canteen, Juice bar and nescafe
Thats where we drink and sip all day
Nagraj and Tau is what meddys say
They look at each other and laugh all the way

:)

Muggles In ‘Mirpur

2007-08-28T04:21:00.000-07:00

Joanne Katherine Rowling is the author of the best selling Harry Potter series and has taken the world of fiction by storm. When asked what was it that inspired her to write the Potter series, the millionaire novelist replied by saying that a matured picture of Harry just came to her mind! The Potter series initially was targeted to capture the imagination of young minds, but surprisingly it became just as popular with the older generation as the younger one. The author has another feather to add to her literary cap….the word ‘Muggle’ (meaning non magical people) has recently been added to the Oxford dictionary. Six books have been written till date and the fans are eagerly waiting for the seventh one. The books focus on Harry Potter, an orphan, who lives with muggles and suddenly discovers that he is no ordinary boy, but a wizard. The books take you through the life of Harry Potter as he meets interesting and dangerous people as well as creatures. Creatures like dragons, goblins and elves come to life in this enchanting and enthralling series. So then, are we, the students of NITHAM magical wizards or mere muggles? That remains to be seen….

For the students of NIT Hamirpur, the first train journey is always a memorable one. The would be freshers can be found thinking pensively aboard the Una- Himachal express which departs from platform 10, Old Delhi station at 2310 hrs. The sophomores, pre-final and final year students can be found laughing, singing and talking excitedly about the varied experiences in the holidays. A similar scenario can be found in the magical world as well. The Hogwarts express leaves Kings Cross station at 1000 hrs departing from the magical 93/4 platform under similar circumstances. As the Una express comes to a halt in the quiet, neat and lonely Una station, the Hogwarts express terminates in Hogsmede. Refreshments aboard the Hogwarts Express are taken care of by the witch with the trolley. We NITians , however have to settle for Una dhabhas(beware of the spicy gobi!).The young wizards are transported to the Hogwarts castle by invisible creatures called thestrals. Well, the students of NIT need to be contended with cab drivers playing (ahem!) interesting Punjabi songs. It is a competitive world out there with all of us aiming for the top. All of us have undergone rigorous examinations to get into NIT, not to mention AIEEE and the tedious registration process. Students are then allotted various branches. All this is taken care of by the sorting hat in the magical world. Young wizarding minds are sorted into houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin) based upon their capabilities by the talking sorting hat. This is followed by the grand banquet consisting of varied dishes, but as NITians, Rajmah Chawal is our best bet. Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts usually delivers the welcoming speech. This is done by the worthy Director during the orientation of the freshers. Students of Hogwarts look forward to the precious seven years ahead and similarly the students of NITHAM look forward to their engineering life.

For the first few days (for the freshers), Kailash Boys Hostel is a maze with its mind boggling hallways and staircases. One would climb down two flights of stairs from the ground level and find himself again at level zero! Same is the case with the young witches and wizards of Hogwarts who find it difficult to maneuver through the spiraling stairways and fake doors in the Hogwarts castle. As the year progresses on, students of both communities (magical and muggle) come across various illuminating and creative characters. There are also these imaginary swimming pools that exist only in the NITs’ Marauders map and signboards that lead absolutely nowhere ( like the one near juice bar pointing towards the ‘Library’).Surprising, there is a lot of similarity in the type of teachers in both the worlds. They usually come in three varieties i.e the good, the bad and the ugly. From Mad Eye Moodys with affinity towards pdf files to men with weird suitcases to women who move cheese all the time, these people truly transcend dimensions. These inmates seem to be running the asylum. As the year progresses, we come across various subjects like the history of magic with extremely boring teachers. Not to mention the dementors that suck out all the happiness out of the air. There are also these unforgivable curses. The first one is the Avada Kedavra(death curse) which translates to getting a year back. Next is the Cruciatus curse (a curse that makes you suffer a lot) which means a supplementary in a subject. Finally there is the Imperious curse (a curse that is used to control people).Well now….we are indeed restrained both by our parents as well as out teachers to some extent.

The students of Hogwarts spend their free time strolling on the grounds or by taking a quiet walk alongside the lake (which has a giant squid!). In the muggle world also people can be found going for long and pleasurable walks. A game called “Quidditch” is very popular among the magical community. It is a game in which everyone flies on broomsticks such as the ‘Nimbus 2000’ or ‘The Firebolt’. The game has seven players on each side. It has three chasers, two beaters, one seeker and one keeper. The three chasers constantly pass the ‘quaffle’ (similar to a flattened ball) and score , the two beaters constantly try knock the players off their brooms. The keeper has to prevent the chasers from scoring. The game usually ends when the seeker catches the golden snitch (a tiny fast flying golden ball) and the team with more points wins. We the muggles need not get disappointed. We have Counterstrike to boast about which is a rave in most of the hostels. Its a game in which two teams (terrorists and counter terrorists) battle it out between themselves. Each arena has two bomb sites ‘A’ and ‘B’ where the terrorists can plant their bomb. It is up to the counter terrorists to prevent the terrorists from fulfilling their objectives by eliminating them. If one is not careful he could be a victim of a dangerous ‘headshot’ from interesting characters like ‘Expect Mercy’! With varieties of arenas such as the dust, nuke, aztec(just to name a few) and a wide range of guns like the nitehawk, maverick, AK47, counter strike truly is the ‘Quiddich ’ of the muggle world. Apart from this, there is also the Triwizard Tournament (sports meet, Nimbus and Hill ‘Ffair) in which students enjoy and participate actively.

Days turn into months and months swiftly into years. A fresher ends up in the final year before he knows it! Its time to give the O.W.Ls’(Ordinary Wizarding levels) and NEWT(Nasty and exhausting wizarding tests) which translates to placements and interviews which everyone eventually has to face. Every final year student certainly wishes that he/she had a ‘time turner’ so that he/she can go back to the past and re-live those glorious four years of engineering life with his/her friends. Its time for the young witches and wizards of NIT Hamirpur to go out to the real world to prove themselves and face the challenges the world outside throws at us. So then, are we witches or wizards? After having numerous magical, wonderful and memorable experiences in the college, the answer would definitely be YES! We are indeed witches and wizards with the experience and the determination to succeed in everything we do. All the best to all in the magical community (and muggles) out there, the worlds are ours to conquer!