Growling Shriek(s)
DISCLAIMER: This is an admittedly light-hearted conversation about the trends of our most beloved IIT Indore between two not entirely happy-go-lucky stalwarts about to graduate. Following the tradition, this can be considered as a whole-hearted, but nonetheless well-intentioned rant. Reader discretion is highly advised.
By Amey Ambade and Ashish Bharatwal
(SCENE 1: SILVER MESS)
(It’s about noon on a Saturday in March. Amey is sitting on the wildly recognizable red chair, steel plate on the beige table, as ‘Tip Tip Barsa Pani’ plays loudly on the TV, almost in sync with the water dripping off the water filter behind him. He dons a grin as Ashish joins him, visibly frustrated.)
Amey: Dude, what’s up with your mess refund?
Ashish: Motherfuckers. They should be drowned in their own broth.
(Murderous glances from judgemental postgrads across the table)
Amey (unconcerned): Hard luck, eh? What did you expect, though? Four years on, they’d understand why you dislike them? Didn’t you get to fill a pointless form to get something out of it?
Ashish: It’s not the first time I am getting the short end of the stick in IITI.
Amey: Not the first time you’ve said that.
Ashish (smiling): Not the first time you’ve said that. You tend to be able to predict each other’s moves after this long a swim in the shitpool as comrades.
(Random Mess Guy comes up: ‘Bhiyaa, mess fees pay kar di na?’ They look at him disapprovingly, and taking the hint, he promptly disappears.)
Amey (doubtfully breaking a piece off a roti with bare hands): Amen to that, brother. Chal, aaj khane mein kaunsi insect species ki discovery hogi dekhte hain. Although looking at you, one would think you couldn’t give two shits whether you were eating insects or moong bhajiye.
Ashish (chuckling with disgust): BTW, speaking of shits, look at this — Lauki Ke Kofte. BC’s trademarked turd-sized dumplings® are turning out to be a favorite of those who haunt the Jain food counter. Tatti khaaye par pyaaz na khaaye.
Amey (proud to not have made the unfortunate sabzi choice): Chuck that, chal Fresco chalte hain, Snickers pe fir se PayTM cashback aaya hai.
Ashish: Yeah, I have to get a couple of photocopies too. These B-schools! Why do they even have CAT if that is just meant to be a ‘Fuck you!’ to mediocrity?
(They leave the mess, their untouched food-laden plates still on the table. The freshness outside is liberating, it’s like getting out of a green fart convention.)
Amey (finally inhaling air): Perceived mediocrity… Thodi toh political correctness chahiye, bhai. But yes, I agree. I’ve been swamped with my MS applications lately, and they are equally exhausting. Thinking about our lives after graduation is perhaps more frustrating than trying to maintain a straight face when Batra talks. Add to that the lifelong terror that we will take away from boarding harmfully yellow buses, and lo, you have the recipe for a migraine.
(They reach Fresco, and scan through the hastily placed products. Amey discreetly picks up a Zandu Balm)
Ashish: Remember when as freshmen we were singing at the top of our lungs the lewd version of ‘Chahun Main Ya Na’ and didn’t give two shits when we noticed a furious Batra peering over us ominously from the half-open door? Ah, I miss those careless times.
Amey: And the countless number of times we partied with complete disregard for the neighbors or Digant? It helped that we had no immediate neighbors, aur guards to apne jigri thhey. But with no authorities to piss off now that everyone except us is thankfully in Simrol, it’s like, hum kiske dimag ko shot de ab?
(They’ve collectively picked up stuff worth 150 bucks but will pay only a hundred because subsidy. They also have pockets stuffed with Mentos and Hajmola that don’t belong to them. Yet.)
Ashish (showing his phone screen): Hey, look at this article in ToI: Fluxus event winners haven’t received their prize money. This one guy says IITI owes him fucking 10k. Much ado about Fluxus every year. The only ones happy are the OCs, until last year, right? From what goes around in the campus, they reported earnings of 3000 from Sunidhi’s concert, and an attendance of 3000 in the media. What an absolute load of crap?! 70 lakh mein toh teen decent Fluxus ho jaayenge BC.
(They’re walking, surrounded by the white buildings with eerily jail-like black railings that have defined their time in Silver Springs. Now that Silver isn’t infested with overexcited juniors, final years are loitering in the quaint streets.)
Amey: I still stand by my idea to only have an e-Fluxus to save the money and the Kejru-level shaming.
Ashish: Haha, if only you knew e-Fluxus actually happened this year. We had a middling singer Shirley Setia adorning the terrains of Simrol. I also heard Aditi Agrawal was their second choice, now that she has her own YouTube channel. Way to go!
(They get to the lift, sharing it with the classically unconcerned 4th floor wali aunty as they hear the dulcet voice on loop, touting “Please. Close. The Door. Krupaya. Darwaza. Band. Karein.” Somewhere, Hodor’s soul is shedding a single heavenly tear.)
Amey: The terrains of Simrol! There’s some places in our new campus that look like scenes from True Grit, Blazing Saddles and Mad Max were filmed there. I could swear the dust twisters could effectively upend an unsuspecting Simmi and Avnish holding three Cormens each. Avnish will probably be ecstatic about that, too.
Ashish: It’s miraculous how so few cases of asthma have popped up given the dust bowl Simrol is and the number of students cooped up in there. We are a resilient lot, I must say.
(They get out of the lift on the famous 3rd floor and enter D-314)
(SCENE 2: ROOM)
Amey: We’re wasting an entire sunny afternoon for my bloody transcripts. (He pauses to check a news notification on the antics of a certain orange unhinged toddler-psychopath.) You have to agree, though, with all the negatives aside, isn’t it actually pretty convenient to navigate around the half-built pods in pyjamas?
(They change in a minute, time is important here, and Amey reaches for his shoes. There’s no way he’s going into the arid Wild West in flip-flops. Ashish checks the bus schedule on his phone. They have bus schedules, for fuck’s sake, doesn’t that say a lot by itself?)
Ashish: Yes, but that doesn’t outweigh having no good food, good booze and good company in a ten-kilometer radius, does it? Taste Butts? Screw you, Rohan Rathore.
Amey (disapprovingly): No cash, only college Smart Cards accepted. And you have to try the infamous Chicken Fried Rice. Nothing screams appetizing as half-cooked rice with boiled chicken bits and spring onions sprinkled on top to emphasize the near non-existent efforts that went into serving it. Maybe if our batch was shifted to the forsaken place too, we wouldn’t have had such a pessimistic opinion. Maybe angoor khatte hain.
(Both take a minute to check if they haven’t forgotten their ID cards and proceed to exit the building. ID cards hold more importance in the Simrol campus than platinum credit cards.)
Ashish: But then I wouldn’t have been able to go to TIME for classes twice a day at ungainly hours. (Phone pings) Iss Utkarsh Kumar Singh ko chayn nahin hai. And then there’s the IIT Indore Discussions and Complaints and Grievances and Suggestions and Repercussions and Discombobulations and Fornications page. People have no chill, this Gymkhana has no chill. Which is a good thing, actually. This one tried its best to make things right. The Constitution was a pretty good move.
Amey: Yeah, they tried to right some wrongs. Avadhesh is hands-down the most proactive Gymkhana President I have seen, especially in regard to being responsive. Can’t say the same about the vigilants-in-their-own-right juniors who were more concerned about lengthening the mail threads with their bull than making their contribution count. The juniors really get on my nerves sometimes.
Ashish: Sometimes? Hah. What have the Quiz and Literary Clubs been up to? I count one… two… three… Three events in the last year, both our clubs combined — no aggressive, only passive, these runts. I’m pretty sure we left the clubs on high notes, but the future for these exclusive groups of students seemingly aspiring just for PoRs is obscure at best. The clubs are almost decrepit now, but the enthusiasm to forward mails from other institutes’ fests has not dwindled a bit.
Amey: Our work defined these clubs, but I agree, lately, confusion seems to have taken them to a standstill.
(They board the dangerously yellow bus after a 10-mile walk)
(SCENE 3: FREAKISHLY YELLOW BUS)
(Amey proceeds to sit on the right side of the bus. Arey naive child.)
Ashish: Bhai, uss taraf dhoop aayegi.
(They sit on the double-seat and share a headphone. Ashish bangs ‘Another Day of Sun’)
Ashish: I can listen to the ‘La La Land’ soundtrack on end. This and Abusive Aunty Mix and Ch*du Singham… Did you know they caught a third guy for downloading umpteen gigs of porn @36MBps in Simrol?
Amey: Kya?! Yeh kaise hua bhai? That poor pervert.
Ashish: The IT guys can obviously track you in the new hostels. The surprising thing here is, they cared enough. They ALWAYS care when it comes to the quotidian aspects of student life gone slightly haywire. Khaane mein keede se koi problem nahin hai, par Frooti ka payment overdue hai toh expulsion.
Amey: Well, if one guy hogs the whole network, others have to come jumping like it’s The Dawn of The Rise of The Dusk of The War for the Planet of The Apes. I remember how we used to go bat-shit crazy when someone was downloading the latest episode of Game of Thrones from our gareeb 80GB limited Airtel networks when we already had it. Some people were so goddamn serious about the bandwidth they’d become whinier than a Goth kid trying to find his eyeliner.
(The bus hasn’t started yet. CultSec boards. Bus revvs.)
Ashish: Here comes our poor sacrificial lamb. He should wear a tee that says, ‘My name is Kalash and I am not a terrorist’.
Amey: Sir, I have known him since my first day at IIT Indore even though that is technically impossible, but impossible is just a word at IIT Indore and apparently everyone had such a good rapport with him so they decided to keep him 22 km away. <insert GRE words image here>
(Both chuckle and greet Kalash, who proceeds to sit behind them.)
Amey (checking phone): Naya email. Best BTP submissions ke liye. Alag hi! BTP awards are farcical. No interdisciplinary uniformity in grading or evaluation. Two submissions from Mech and both got some prize or the other at the Symposium because of their presentation.
Ashish: Or just plain luck. Still, man. Our BTPs saw some real effort. Our many advisors deservedly became Associate Professors. It was high time, wasn’t it?
Amey: My faith in the IITI academic system is still maintained thanks to these hardworking guys. You remember how hard they had to fight to get us great courses for a Minor degree?
Ashish: The Minor program was unarguably the best decision that defined the academic policies for our batch. And the future batches too.
Amey: Personally, I’d love to see a core subject Minor for the new batches. And Abhishek Sir is the best DoSA we have had since Granny’s left Silver Springs. He’s doing a commendable job, especially given all the student shenanigans.
Ashish: I think you discount the students’ role tad too much. Our batch has some of the best coders in the country. Utkarsh and the Shah bros are going to the ACM-ICPC World Finals, hopefully turning it into an institute tradition. Then we have prodigies like Tripathi. These guys have done a lot to promote the coding culture at IITI, if only by setting examples. Look at the placements and internship trends you and I noticed this year at the PO: we are near the top of the ladder in India as far as CS is concerned. But more focus on other branches would not do harm, would it *rant intensifies*?
… Look at the abysmal performance by Electrical and Mechanical; for a decent salary we non-CS guys either have to learn programming and leave our core studies for the night before the exams, or go into research, or take GATE or CAT or IES or IAS or KLPDS and what-not! While we as students need to grow balls and learn how to not get swayed away by first CTCs, some push from the institute would be great.
(Amey isn’t listening. Notwithstanding the growls and *shaking* of the bus, Amey is cozily napping.)
(The bus stops at the campus main gate after what seems like the whole length of ‘Jodha Akbar’ and ‘What’s Your Rashee?’ combined.)
Entry Gate Security Guard: Sir, ID card. (Ashish has been pretending to sleep too because guard overlook karne ki probability 80% hai and as accent-torn Deepika Padukone in xXx quotably says: he likes his odds.)
(These adamant seniors are not giving up)
Entry Gate Security Guard: (unable to cut the bullshit, nudges Ashish) Ser! ( shudder) ID.
(reluctantly pulling out his ID, Ashish mumbles under his breath.)
(The insidious dust has broken Amey’s sweet nap. He coughs as the scarily yellow bus proceeds into the vastness of the campus.)
Amey: Look, kids with donation boxes for used clothes. AVANA has consistently been on a roll. Although the sight of someone silently looming over you as you sleep, whispering ‘Thatty Rupes’ is almost as scary as the time we watched The Descent and shit ourselves simultaneously crying and laughing.
Ashish: (in an impressive Marathi accent) Nepali Vachli bhau. Nepali Vachli. (Both share an inside joke as the bus comes to a halt. Destination reached.)
(SCENE 4: SIMROL)
Amey: (getting down) In the end, that’s what matters. Although persisting regionalism is a good talking point for students, with all its pros and cons.
Ashish: Closely-knit antelope herds are not easy to penetrate.
Amey: Is that the first time you’ve said that? (another chuckle shared, this is getting cheesy) I don’t even remember why we came here. Oh yes. Transcripts.
(A friendly junior smiles and greets them. In contrast to the shade thrown in Simrol, cordiality is still burgeoning here.)
Amey: There are perhaps no stronger polar opposites than AVANA and SESC. I might be horribly wrong, but from what we’ve noticed, it seems like SESC has become redundant and unproductive. The startups they have been promoting either sold stationery or just took the MHRD grant for pizzas, getting bundled up in a matter of months.
(They approach the Physics Pod complete with cinderblocks to cranes and the evergreen sounds of metal hammering.)
Ashish: Yeh bik gayi hai SESC. Ab is SESC mein kuch nahin hai. Yeh saare milke humko pagal bana rahe hain m —
(Ashish stops abruptly as Professor Vishvakarma passes by, greeting them briefly.)
Amey: This guy is THE man. Our Placement Office and the IAC would never be as well-established without him. What’s up with IAC this year?
Ashish: Santosh Sir worked selflessly for both Placements and the Conclaves. Never will the student members be as happy and well-fed as we were under his rule. Haan, this year’s IAC is going to be a mish-mash effort by Rajveer — all hot air and no real content. Ah, who cares? It is anyway under a different professor now.
Amey: But you must admit, PKU sir has been a worthy successor to SKV. The Placement Office is working as a well-oiled machine thanks to him. Won’t you miss our Placement Office perks?
Ashish: Do you mean the divine morning coffees, occasional mayo sandwiches and sour-ass lemon teas or the long hours of highly productive meetings and equally unproductive bakchodi? We’ll definitely miss both.
(They get to the new Academic Office. Ashish listens to the incoherent dialogue between Amey and Rinki Ma’am, and watches as she hands Amey his precious transcripts.)
Amey (whispering): Tapesh sir and Rinki ma’am have really grown on us fourth-years, haven’t they?
Ashish (whispering back): Yeah. I used to get a cold shoulder earlier. Last time I was offered tea. I guess they understand how being seniors is difficult and that our problems begin to get more genuine as we grow through the college. Familiarity here bred sympathy, instead of contempt.
(Cut to: One hour later they leave from SS in an Uber to the city as the dangerously catchy Swachh Bharat jingle is being heard everywhere. Pity the driver of those poor garbage trucks, people. You can only listen to so much of Kailash Kher and the Chorus Kids. Hey, Kailash Kher and the Chorus Kids sounds like a decent band name.)
(SCENE 5: INDORE CITY)
Ashish: Yahaan Johnny ke paas rok dena, bhaiya.
(They get out of the Nano and pay using PayTM because demonetization. The driver is conveniently named Ramesh. He frowns over not having received cash. Bitches.)
Amey: Where our fuckbois at?
Ashish: Dugar and Bapat are at Sam’s (free) Momos, they tell me. Diggi, Govil, Dhaivat and Avnish are having Fire Paan. Prajwal is at Nafees for biryani. Damn! His attraction to biryani is borderline sexual!
Amey: Can you blame him? It is magnificent. Though not as magnificent as the one we had at the notorious Love Palace party. Our juniors will never experience the thrill of gatecrashing a wealthy Punjabi’s lavish food fiestas.
Ashish: That was quite a fiasco! The Curious Case of Love Palace! The slaps, the drunken brawls, the humiliation, and, in the midst of it all, the most delicious meal we have ever had, owing in large part to its absolutely undeserving our shorts, slippers and hoodies.
(For our unwitting readers, on 24th February 2014, allstudent received a mail inviting us to the housewarming celebrations of an ostentatiously built residence, the Love Palace that falls on our way to the Axis Bank ATM in Silver Springs. We turned up in full strength, especially the first years who were early to arrive and plunder and leave. Our super-seniors flocked to the open bar, exhausting it of its offerings within an hour. As it turns out, the mail was a hoax perpetrated by *insert_mysterious_name_here* and we were actually not invited. The hosts were gonna have none of that shit. What followed was some lit slapping and thrashing game from our truly Punjabi hosts, which effectively ceased all the faggotry in mere minutes. Amey and Ashish obviously escaped unscathed because they were dressed decently, which was a camouflage. The Bhatias, in the week that followed, saw the wrath of the slap-ees in the form of broken car windows and some dope graffiti. Some of the first-years got their long-overdue slaps well in advance, though.
This event was perhaps one of the most happening ones at IITI, even more than a few Fluxuses. Or is it Fluxii?)
(As they gobble up a hotdog each, they see their homies approaching and a shitstorm of banter follows)
If you’ve manage to read all of the rant above, you can flatten as you go up. The writers want you to know that despite all its flaws, IIT Indore is actually a pretty good place to be, and they cherish their years here. Ashish (rather suspiciously) knows the roll numbers and names of all the people here, and Amey knows how to ignore them. The best hostels in any IIT system, the united outcry that we so often witness (*cough* mess *cough*), a filial feeling that comes with the perk of having a small student population, and the shared respect for friends, professors, and everyone else around, definitely make our IIT Indore journey memorable.
(BONUS)
director@iiti.ac.in : Wish you all a great life ahead, Batch of 2013–17!
lenka@iiti.ac.in : And I
