Grad lessons

I happened to come across my optimization class notes from grad school today. It was my toughest subject in the three semesters, it was the only course I ended with a B for, it was also the class I worked the hardest in (you had to).

It was taught by Prof. Andy Sun and was probably the best course I took, or maybe tied with Le Song’s Machine learning theory. His classes were known to be something else. They transported you to a different world of subspaces and Lagrangians and duals (most of them I remember coherently but might not be able to formulate, but it’s still the best I assimilated of anything). I’m already remembering nights spent on Mecaslin Street in my room, hunched under a desk lamp with my class notes and a textbook from the library.

I spent hours and hours on assignments and always ended up somewhere around the class average when the scores were out. I got used to it, I was already getting much out of it anyway. That’s what I thought at least, though the scores didn’t reflect that (that was new, but refreshing). I always sat in the second row, the first row was mostly folks who knew answers to questions (umm, more like could come up with respectable guesses, that was still admirable if you ask me).

Andy Sun was amazing. My favorite memory is walking with him after class one day to share how I was concerned about my grades. He was known to not emote in class save for chuckling at our horrible guesses (we didn’t mind), but he was surprisingly sweet. Before our final exam, he held an office hour – they were usually hosted by teaching assistants. We huddled around the table, he asked us the assumptions to theorems, walked us through a bunch of questions, as patient as he ever was. It was late fall, and it was dark by the time we got out and stepped into our green trolleys back to Mecaslin street. I remember being extremely emotional that his classes were coming to an end.

On our last day, he shared with us what his (name-drop alert) MIT professor told him – that it wasn’t so important that you are great at something. What’s important is that you always believe that you can do somethingbe something.

I feel like I had that feeling, and so well too, before and while in grad school. Not that I don’t anymore, but the can’s from then seem grounded in a protected, curated world of loving professors and familiar, engaging peers, and 10 storeyed structures built solely for housing generations of students. It’s been 1.5 years since I graduated, and when I saw these notes today I remembered a wholly different person from then. I was also younger and 15 lbs lighter.

I miss sitting in classes like Andy Sun’s, where you are simply blown away by the human mind.

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#5 Postcard – Work, school, weekends

I couldn’t wait to get out of grad school. Now I can’t wait for the long weekend.

In grad school, by the third and last semester, I couldn’t wait to get out of college.

My final semester was fall 2020 (August to December) so the frustration was all the more justified since it followed 5 months of staying home, and we were looking at another 4 months of online classes.

Friends that I spoke to couldn’t wait to leave (“get out”), what with the assignments, job market and the added stress of catching a virus while chasing deadlines. In fact, we all agreed students from my batch who graduated in summer probably lucked out.

I was also done with the lack of free weekends. Really, college is this long extending week that only ends after the final submission. It does help that the schedule is posted at the start of sem so you can plan out your life and, on a cheerful note, take an occasional break. Nobody did though, we just had days of limbo where we got nothing done.

Puneeth said, But once we start working we’ll just go back to waiting for the weekend, I don’t want that either.

I knew he was right, that’s how I remembered workdays as well. That, and the complete lack of energy to ponder or finish a running thought, because you leave early for office and are exhausted by the time you’re back home.

Which is why I love working from home, among other reasons that have been discussed at great length on LinkedIn. Yet by Wednesday I’m waiting for Friday again. It is comforting to know it’s 00:53 on Thursday as I write this.

I’d love to go back to the company from college, but I’d still choose my work over a life without off-days.

the fantastic dream life

Steve Carell, friends, family and my crush – what more could I want in a dream?

Dreams are fantastic affairs these days.

It started in the dining room of our engineering college staff quarters where my family lived until I was 5. My class was all huddled in that room on chairs and other furniture that I really didn’t take note of, attending a lecture. I scanned across but couldn’t identify any faces except for my crush who sat on the edge of a bed (he wore a yellow tee-shirt and trousers). The professor was Steve Carell.

I mean.

Around 10 seconds into the dream it was revealed that I was sick and had to lie in another bed (in the same dining room), it so happened that Steve Carell was also a doctor and administered me a drip. Curiously my catheter had a plaster on it that said 11 Days in extremely conspicuous red. But also it wasn’t just a mere sickness – it was understood that I suffered a highly malignant disease but was getting better, I’m sure the disease had a name that I could grasp the urgency of in the dream but that obviously didn’t translate so well to real life. My doctor was extremely patient and caring, it almost seemed like I was his only patient and his whole life was devoted to praying for my good health.
Well, the more Carell the better. I’m not complaining.

My class simultaneously transpired on the other side of the room, much like you would expect it to while you’re battling a disease some 2 metres away (it wasn’t a big dining room but it was decent). I have no idea what they were studying but who cares when Steve Carell has all his attention to you? I remember wondering if this can go anywhere, then remembered my crush was pretty closeby (a dilemma I can conjure up only in my dreams, it’s only half-real even in the dream).

The doc later came to my bed and said “11 Days..” in his gruff voice, and just sat there looking into the distance and away from the camera with a proud smile and welled up eyes. He had no other dialogues that I can remember now (it’s been some 6 hours), but he looked at me proudly as if I did well with the medication etc. That’s when I realized – there was no future for us. UGH.

The fact that Steve was probably meant as a father figure in the story dawned on me. I crushed any advances (or thoughts thereof) in my head. I mean even in my dream I knew Carell wasn’t making a re-appearance any time soon in my life except on Netflix.


SETTING: Parallel Dream

In the meantime, I have also been walking around, participating in parallel universes. In the living room (of the staff quarters home) is an ongoing tuition class from my school timeline. I see three familiar faces from a different school (I’m friends with their friend, but whatever). They are speaking in hushed tones, and I make out “pregnant”, “we cannot talk”.

I cannot tell if somebody I know might be pregnant, or if they are talking about 13 Reasons Why that I binge-watched recently, but I also cannot remember in my dream-memory if there was a pregnancy on the show (real-life memory: there was). And then, a gang of my friends from college (CET) come out the class, drag me away and tell me Somebody is pregnant and that I need to leave.

And I leave to meet Reshma at Sreekariyam, right opposite the market but a little further away. She checks my temperature, looks at a bunch of papers that look like lab results and tells me I’ll be fine, that I’m doing good, glancing at my 11 Days sticker plaster. I stand there feeling grateful for the hot doctor and doctor bestfriends I have in my life.


My crush is a pretty nervous person. I mean the outgoing but nervous up-close kind. Or maybe he just doesn’t like me. But either way, I’m sitting there in my family chair made with cane and wood (there are 2 of them and are now in the 1st floor hall at our place), just listlessly looking around on what to do with my time until the plot thickens, the catheter still on.

The dude sits there on a diwan next to mine and I can see him from the corner of my eye, as you do with crushes (the diwan didn’t exist during engineering quarters days though, we bought it some 8 years ago only). I am supposed to be frail and in recovery mode, although I really cannot wait to hear about the pregnancy. In my defence I think my brain was 18 in the dream. The class is dispersed but obviously none of the people I’m friends with are here.

And then, as a climactic move, the dude gets up and plonks on to the cane chair next to mine, making no efforts no hide that he’s making a huge effort. I just hope neither of us makes this awkward. Even in dreams second chances are hard.

So 11 Days huh?

It feels good to know this was rehearsed. I mean that was obviously a rehearsed line.

Yes so crazy. -i must not mention how hot my doctor was- but the effort is going to ruin this-

SO how are you doing now?

And like a Mani Ratnam movie that begins a highly anticipated scene and thence leaves the better but probably understood bits to your own imagination (that is probably wonky and not as advanced as Mani Ratnam’s and is probably going to ruin the story), the camera slowly cuts away, hoping that the leads have made it after lending them a good-enough beginning.

Carell left the scene long ago but also this is crush-logic right here : even if Steve Carell were around, if you have a shot with your crush, just take it goddammit.


SETTING: A Flight on the Runway, boarding

It feels like a college tour but my brothers and amma are with me. The inside looks like a tourist bus, we load our bags in the overhead bins, the rest of my class do not have families with them (I wonder why 😐 ). My family soon disappears into the crowd as I scan the seats to see the dude waving at me with an awkward acknowledging smile from the very back of the cabin.

Wow, so that earlier conversation led nowhere. And I can’t even change seats. Great.

And while everyone is settling into the flight-cum-bus, in an extremely uncharacteristic move, my amma goes missing. I rush outside, my brothers and I are separated into two alternate dreams which soon converge as my brothers and amma return from a paragliding trip elsewhere.

We still need to board and there are too many flights parked on the runway one after another as we run past them to the very end. I lead them to the front entrance and as we enter, my mother asks, Is this the right flight?

Obviously we do not have flight tickets or numbers to refer to. There is only one way to find out. I jump outside and run to the back entrance, open the door (because it’s a bus) and peep inside to see a yellow t-shirted figure.
Excu- oh hey! Thanks!

It’s the dude, he turns and an instant reflex of an exhilarated smile pops on his face, the same on mine, and I run all the way to the front (because it’s a plane) and yell, Ammaaa it’s the right flight. Or at least the one we should be on.

Shubham.

Note: I thought a Steve Carell snapshot would be safer.


#10 recipe – tuna sub roti at ~$1

Student economics : Tuna subway roti at 1 dollarish

(This is for when it’s sunny out and you feel like you can achieve anything in the world, or for when you’re stuck at home and have canned tuna in your shelf.)

In Fall, I used to get footlong tuna from Subway very often, it was the closest thing to Old’s Cool’s tuna sub which was (and still is) my favorite.

So I’ve been home for 14 days now and earlier this week I was trying to find new recipes to cook, ended up breaking this thing down. (Really, it was supposed to be beef and rice this week with premium meat from Austin’s farm but we have a lockdown in Atlanta and my friend is hence happily stuck at home so tuna it is. Woeful days.)
The only toppings I ever get from Subway are onion, lettuce, bell pepper, pickles, tomato but even otherwise putting it together should be easy enough. I’ve also never done such a thorough cost-breakup before so this was fun.
Never doing it again.


Ingredients (and price break-up)

Roti : 30 nos. for $8ish from Halal store (they’re small but they’re Haldiram’s so stop complaining)
[$0.267 each]

Tuna : 5oz can at $3.68. I had earlier used half of the canned tuna to make a coconut + tamarind curry (if you saw the shredded fish in the gravy you’d deem it a desecration but there’s nothing like craving meencurry during a quarantine. Also never doing that again.)
This is approximate but you’d need 1/8 of the can for a generous topping on a roti.
[$0.46]

Bell Pepper : $0.99 each. Used one half for 4 portions, chopped into cubes. I also I cannot believe they were Rs. 4 each in Karol Bagh. They were like Rs. 10 back home, but that seems okay now. Also, too much green in your topping is a sham.
[$0.12]

Onion : $2 for a 2lb bag with 6-7 onions. I diced around one half.
[$0.17ish]

Ketchup, mayonnaise.

Kitchen Equipment : Microwave, included with the apartment so add your monthly rent here. Jk. I will not let you sabotage my student economics.
Including taxes, it adds upto $1.1ish or less.

How-to

Scour the surface of the roti with a fork/knife so it doesn’t puff up in the microwave*. Heat roti in microwave for 1min 30sec so it’s crispy and can hold the tuna salad topping.

Mix tuna, bell peppers and onion in mayonnaise, spread ketchup on roti and top with as much tuna mix as you want. I can’t eat more than two at a time, that’s too much tuna for me which is also why I don’t get the footlong anymore.


The first bite was so similar to a Subway that I was disappointed – do they really use canned tuna from Walmart? I guess getting Subway sandwiches only makes sense if you get better toppings on yours, I’m just the sad boring customer.
It was in fact better than my subway because I could finish it faster so the bread would never get soggy from all that salad.
Missed pickles, did not miss tomato. Maybe if I broke down more dishes they’d come out nice too.

* Giving credit where due : Roti pizza from Bon Appetit.

kendeda / nlp afternoons

Spring : Falling in love with winter again

Winter in Atlanta began on my bus stop one November morning as I wore a precautionary sweater to Joel’s class. I could smell the cold in the bus stop air and was immediately transported to my first full winter a couple of years ago.

Fall’s over. Fall break’s done. It’s Spring but it’s colder. The tree at the bus stop now stands bare and naked and on rainy days, clouds loom as if Dementors might appear any moment while the Whomping Willow sways to welcome them.

This semester, I have a class that I can walk to – it’s 10 minutes away and mostly downhill so I walk to class and take the bus back.

I love walking. I walked to a store 1.5kms away and back once and it’s one of my best memories in my entire time here. (Yes, you may judge me if you haven’t already. I get it.)

The straight road connecting my bus stop and the campus has cottage houses on either sides. Most of them appear desolate during the day, like no one lives there. Yet at night the lights go up, during Halloween pumpkins show up and once in a while a stray dirty GT t-shirt is thrown over a chair outside or on the balcony railing.

It’s 12° but the sun is out today and Prateek Kuhad is singing cold/mess about lemon tarts and broken hearts. The houses look empty like they always do with mailboxes on their front yards and I can’t guess when they were opened last.

The dry leaves are already cleared off the roads and the walk, or there’s a guy very closeby doing that with a loud blower. Front yards with green patches returning. Parked cars. Some posh, some ugly.

There’s an open window with bright red curtains and a light inside at 2pm as a young woman takes out a steaming tray from the oven onto the cosy dining table next to a fridge, while her half-dressed-for-office husband puts a drowsy baby to sleep.

But it is very likely it’s an abode of undergraduate students. Tired baggy eyes, gathering assignments and hurriedly packing bags while throwing on the same t-shirt they’ve worn to (different) classes the whole week. Nobody comes out the door though and I walk past the occupants of the haunted house and their busy afternoon.

A board in a balcony says “What’s your biggest dream for Georgia tech?” with a QR code beneath, abandoned after serving its purpose in a sorority meeting or something. 14th street is where most Indians live so I pass by at least one Indian returning home on foot. The layers of hair on my head bounce as I wish I could leave you my love but my heaaaaaaart is a mess.

At the signal a flock of freshmen-looking boys in short yellow shorts jog by and it’s campus already. That’s when I realize I’m Juno again except I’m not 15 anymore, All I Want is You isn’t playing and boys in shorts are just building stamina for their newly-joined team, something I’ll probably never do again.

The green route bus might appear in the frame at this point but NLP is the one class I walk to and hence do not need to repeatedly check the bus location on the app or rush or wait. It’s liberating.

There are university buildings on either sides now. The Bioengineering Systems building with a low wall that I stopped by to rest on the first day of college while returning from bootcamp. I’d seen some students hang around class talking and had made my way back shortly. It was a Sunday (I know right?) and the roads were empty. Google Maps showed 10 minutes to my place as I saw an uphill climb ahead and swore to always take a bottle with me thereafter. I guess I had forgotten what college was like.

The building’s second floor windows have their blinds up, housing racks after racks with coffee mugs and vases and pen holders by the window sill. Desktops on every desk in every building. Lights on. If you pass by at night you’d see the same sight, just more lit rooms and more people at their workstations with desktops on.

At this point my playlist has given way to Masaan. An ID’ed somebody in a blue shirt and slacks rushes out from one of the buildings. He looks like a young professor but might as well be a postdoc, and has just had a lunch he packed from home in foil. He had prepared another for supper.

The postdoc is heading out to meet someone but one can always smile at a kid going to class.
That’s what I like best about being here. I’m a kid, on my way to class.

Or it might be his PhD student’s room after all that I see. A half-eaten sandwich on the desk and lots of jumbled papers. A plant on the sill that was watered late the previous night whenever they remembered to. Or maybe they are actually organized unlike me and have a schedule for it.

Maybe that’s why I don’t keep a plant.

The thing about being warm in the cold breeze and watching trees and skeletons and smiling people is you simply beam whenever the singer goes Tujhe sochoon tho phoot jaatha hoon, whether you currently have a tu to refer to or not. Everyone owns this warm phase of stolen kisses and shy smiles and attempts to catch the other’s attention.
Because this is after all before any of the cold/mess arrived, and I wish Atlanta could see how it breathes life into this song.

I need to stay alert before Ritviz comes on and ruins the mood.


I usually meet Arun or Soumya before every class. There was a nice ECE student that I talked to on the first day and never saw after, maybe he didn’t get a seat and dropped the course.

Honestly it doesn’t matter how fast-track the classes run, I still love them because – well, because.

I get a migraine half-way through the hour on most days because I slept at 4 the previous night and it messes with my brain and looking out the window and/or a screen doesn’t help. But it’s my only class this semester where I do not willfully trance into other thoughts or find myself dabbling in something else while in class.

Yet behind the professor the squirrels jump from one tall branch to another, one bare tree to the other. Skipping back and forth above a sea of fallen red leaves and a lone building behind. They’re quite unlike the plump ones from ISyE or near the Clough Commons – they’re athletic, even lean, with less bushy tails and never landing on the ground, at least two in sight at a time, almost none by the end of class or when it rains. You cannot stop counting after their hopping rears.

Sunlight filters into the class through the ceiling-tall windows onto your shoulders and your laptops and notebooks, and the professor is still teaching and the squirrels still frolicking around the branches. It’s really hard to not have a song playing in your head as this goes on, but I resist.

There must be others in this class of 100+ that have the exact same thoughts as I and are straining to not be distracted, who love this time of the day and this class. Are you in Atlanta? Or are you in a town that drinks four cups of tea a day and uses classic as an adjective?* You never know, there’s only the sun and the bright room and bare trees and bed of leaves and squirrels, seated amidst undergraduates and graduate students. *UCL didn’t want me so probably not London, but you know.

I’ve always imagined a class like this I think. Like back in CET with trees and sunlight and a lot of humidity and young sweat-lined faces all around.

After class I wait at the bus-stop where office employees have a brief meet up, they cheer at each other and ask about a holiday next week. They’re loud and happy to go home at 4, waiting for the bus as the evening sun hugs our coats.

I guess I can fall in love with winter again after all.

PS : I came home one day from class, googled Kendeda and found this.

PPS : I might’ve ruined it for me by writing this post.

#3 Good day – Can’t help falling in love

I spent Christmas at my aunt’s place decorating their tree and enjoying good food and great chats. That’s not what this article is about.
It never is.

I’m listening to Can’t Help Falling In Love with you. It’s playing on the bluetooth speaker I got for our Christmas gift exchange (well, white elephant). The song’s 3 minutes long but it feels like 50 seconds? Today was a warm day, like yesterday. My legs are still sore today and my back still hurts from walking 6 kilometers to and from a Walmart store. It was quite warm yesterday, the sun was out after many days of rain and I just felt like walking. There’s also a nice fountain park nearby, I just sat there to top off the 6kms.

I’m only past the first para and the song’s already over. I’m not too slow at typing, but with this song you have to stop to mouth the words.

The sun was out today as well.

Take my hand,
Take my whole life too.

Some days I don’t believe I’m sitting cross-legged on a mattress on a carpeted bedroom munching on dark chocolate with blueberry inside, drinking water from a flask bottle and wearing an Eddie Vedder teeshirt that belonged to my brother. (Which part can I not believe? Idk either). I once wore it to Grad Expo, somebody shouted I like your shirt from the other end of the stairs.

It’s my brother’s, I yell back.

After the third person said that to me and I only had that same reply, my new friend decides to finally educate me, “That’s a singer from the 80s, he was pretty huge.” She was a mother of two and this was the second week of college. She later dropped out from the course, she’s also a PhD and taught at Michigan etc etc. She was nice. Later after the Expo we had brown rice with shrimp at Panda Express, I had a week of diarrhea following that.

Darling, so it goes
Some things are meant to be.

The thing about short hair is it dances with your head. Only good days end this way.

As I grow I realize my blog titles are more for me than for anyone else. But that works, right?

#1 Uppmaav

Of all the things I do on a weekday, cooking is probably the most rushed. At least as rushed as it possibly could be.

The good news is, you can only rush it so much. That is if you’ve learnt your lessons, want the intended results and not spend an hour scrubbing the vessel after.

So you start by heating some oil – vegetable oil cos it’s cheap, coconut oil if you can afford that wherever you are, peanut if you aren’t allergic and any others if you’ve explored more. The vapors are rising off the oil surface so you now add your black mustard seeds. (no I will never side-note “or cumin if you’re North Indian“. Just don’t bother if you want to add cumin to uppmaav).

So this is where cooking begins to test your patience.
Was the oil hot? Of course.
Are the seeds crackling? No not yet.
Let’s wait 15 seconds. It usually happens in 15 seconds considering 15 is longer than you and I and all of us think it is.
Is it happening yet? You know, if I were home, I’d add some curry leaves at this point to induce crackling, never mind if it’s only the leaves and not the seeds.

Okay it’s finally happening! So now we add diced red onion – the rationed red onion that cost $0.75 each and was chopped while calculating its worth in rupees. This time you really can’t tell why the tears.

Also add some salt at this stage to accelerate the cooking and browning like that uncle/aunty in the TV cookery show told you. (If you opened this article I’m assuming you’re at that age). Keep sauteing – toss and toss and toss.

Is it browning? No not yet.
Did you add the salt? Of course.

See, at this point, you’ve given up trying to rush this. Cooking will take its own time. Which is why it slows you down, often when you absolutely need to and just aren’t aware of it.

I know it’d be low-key insulting to even bother to tell you the rest of the recipe. But to finish what I started, once the onions are translucent, throw in chopped carrots, bell peppers and whatever else is in your kitchen that can be eaten half-raw. Saute for a while. Add the rava, mix well until you’ve slightly roasted the granules. Pour in water and keep stirring until it boils, evaporates and reaches the consistency at which you like to have the meal.

Turn off the heat, take in life at a slightly slower pace than before you embarked on the uppmav.

Bon Appetit!

4 years. College.

Note: Specific references may not get across unless you are acquainted with some of the people mentioned.

I’m listening to “Thiruvaavani Raav” and for some reason the only thing that comes to mind is the pretty bespectacled sister from the movie, and Rohit going, “Enthu nalla kuttya alle” as we leave the theatre (of course that’s not really how he put it :P), the others nodding and sheriya’ing in approval. Next on my playlist is probably some other track with some other strings attached. It’s all fine when you’re still in college and have that sudden rush of memories – the subjects in question are always in sight, even when you might want them to momentarily disappear once in a while.

In a few weeks though, the scene would disperse and all that’s left would be cords and contacts.

sree

Apparently Facebook thinks it’s time for deep questions now since college is almost done.  Pretty sure I didn’t learn concentration at CET. Badjoke level  – Bharath. Don’t judge me.

And now to answer this audacious query.

I remember the first day of college like it was yesterday. It was raining in the morning, I wore my navy blue kurta and black jeans, sceptical if I was shabbily dressed for college. I remember how I walked up the steps of Golden Walkway under the umbrella Amma had handed me in the morning with her customary “Kondu kalayalle paru”. I remember smiling at the drenched and dripping trees on either sides of the Walkway that swayed happily in the breeze as if ushering me in. I had one used 200page notebook from school in my bag, there still were many blank pages left. They won’t actually teach on the first day, no? (yes they will, note that Facebook). I wondered if there’d be seniors waiting in class to rag us. I wondered what the subjects would be like, what the teachers would be like, but mostly what the students would be like. And I wondered what Sandhra and Bharath would be like – they were the only ones I had become friends with on FB after orientation day.

I got answers to all the speculation from my first day in class, never mind if they were right or wrong. I rushed home that evening to tell Amma I wouldn’t survive four years in this place. “4 years potte, I won’t survive a month there OK? Nithya AND Gopika are in the other class AMMA”

“Are the kids in your class not nice?”

“The ones I talked to seemed fine. But they’re not KIDS! Not like the ones from school anyway.”

“Well you’re not in school anymore.”

“Onnu kekkuo!? There was this girl Athira from Kozhikode – she’s the first person Haneena and I talked to – Haneena is nice she’s from Palakkad – and she was just talking to us but we thought she was ragging us okay? So rude! AND she’s in my class! ”

“See you already made friends from two other districts” Amma laughed.

“Onnu povuo, then there’s Physics, Chemistry and Maths. Those things were supposed to be over with entrance no? Rest are all basic this, basic that, BME BCE BSC and ABCD”sree(This was a status I put up during first year university. Even design is better than this shit lol.)

“Okay let’s join All Saint’s next year appo Paru can study Arts, mathiyo?”

“BLAH. I wish I were in some other department. ANY other dept”

I went on to complain about my class, that there were way too few people from Trivandrum, and all the nice (by which I really meant FAMILIAR) people seemed to be from here.

Four years past, that conversation turns bogus, and the nicest of all people you meet in the 4years here HAVE to be from Kozhikode.  And the nicest-people-I-met-here list would go something like Athira (from the first day, yes), Divya, Anapi, Roshni, Niranjana, Nidhin, Renjini, Navas, Sreelekshmi,  Lekshmi, Thasni, Ginu, Arjun only because it’s my list 😀 I should probably mention it’s an incomplete one, just in case anybody from my batch is accusingly glaring at my post.

And I can never thank God enough that I didn’t end up in ANY other department, anything to do with circuits would have killed me. Where else would I be expected to dig pits on the ground and have 12th std Chemitry labs and mix concrete using shovels with picture-perfect lab groups that comprise another Parvathy as thin as me for moral support in times of nervous breakdowns, an Oormila for the timely completed rough record, and a Pramod to discuss episodes of Chandanamazha with? 😀

 


 

The first one and a half years of college Nithya and I were busy deriving *cough* inspiration from seniors *cough* (SHE might actually do Civil services, given the quantum of all the inspiration :D), and tagging poor Gopika along everywhere we went. So if anybody had a crush on anybody and it was public knowledge, I never came to know of it until third year. If two from my class became a couple in that time, I never heard of it until third year either. There was Drishti and Dhwani and ICI and lots of running around, everyone was eager to get to know everyone. All occasions from birthdays to buying new chappals were celebrated together in class by all- well obviously not all-, until stuff settled down. By the end of it Nithya/Gopika and I were arguing as to whose class was better lol. Come to think of it, we still do.

Confession: The first time I cried in my entire life for somebody from class being rude to me was in second year. Yes that happened, and Shemeena the pacifier wanted to know if I planned to weep every time somebody decided to shout at me, “It’s up to you to ignore the shit people throw at you, especially when you know it’s shit”. No she never used those many ‘shits’ but it’s pretty much the gist of what she said. The day I truly realized college wasn’t – isn’t – school.

Everyone is different here. Somebody’s idea of awesome is somebody else’s lame. Somebody’s fun is somebody’s boring/outrageous. Somebody’s rude is somebody’s normal, and everybody’s going to unapologetically be themselves, as they should. And if somebody throws shit your way, you could ignore them altogether, or you could just ignore the shit and be cool even if you don’t think they deserve it. It’s not called being fake, it’s called growing up cos you realize everyone’s wired a little differently. But idk what it’s called if you’re smiling at them and solemnly hoping they’d get hit by a truck, I’m not that evil so I wouldn’t know 😛

That was the first and probably the best piece of advice I received in college.

4 years past, a lot has changed. No more shallow small talk and pointless socializing and definitely no more celebrating the new pair of chappals. But I’ve reached the point where the captions from first year #newplace #newfriends #newlife have turned to #amazingpeople #lastfewdays and memories made that will remain.

So Holi will always be a reminder of THIS day 😀sree.png

And Tum Saath Ho will forever be the vocal team comprising Vinaya, Oormila, Niranjana, Roshni, Divya, Revathy and Malu seated on the last bench of S8C1 and almost resolutely singing the song in chorus. I don’t think Malu sincerely put in her efforts though cos it actually sounded good. 😀

Uptown Funk will be Rintu chanting along with Karthik’s stereo, just as passionately as she dances. I would post the Iski Uski clip here, but she’d kill me.

Right Round will be an entire year of putting up with Nithya’s bass voice in S3/S4 and later realizing in S7 that she’s faaaaar better than Athira 😀

I’ve also learnt that the ‘Trivandrum is rude’ isn’t ALL garbage. But for every seemingly rude “Athinippa njan yentho venam” Trivandrumite you meet here, there’ll also be an innocent ever-helpful ever-clueless Malu asking in her unintentionally rough tone, “Enthu patti paaru, thaan inn despa? Njanoru paattu paadi tharanoo?” You see, for every Sankaran with a heavenly voice, you’ll also meet a lot of terrible singers, and Malu would serve their cumulative effect that can cheer up anyone’s bad day. 😀

For every Adarsh who is in love with CET, there’ll be a Raj Govind who wants to burn the place down. I might have contributed at one point of time.

For every Divya who won’t copy during series tests, there’ll be a Puru who cross-references more than two individuals’ answer sheets before settling for the better one.

For every befuddled-looking Allan, there’ll be an Anapi who never stops smiling.

For every quiet Navajoth, there’ll be a Ginu who never shuts up.

And for every Smitha mam, there’ll be a Jiji sir.

For every all-cool Aishu on the project presentation day (she was practically stoned with the Avomine she’d gulped the previous night :D), there’ll be the rest of the super-tensed project team that goes “Engottelum erangi odiyalo?”

For every Structural project group that finishes their work weeks ahead of the presentation, there’ll be Gopika’s team whose project equipment arrives on the evening of the eve.

And for every Ajay/Jasin/Oormila who spent four years at CET learning Engineering and Quantity Surveying and Structural Analysis, there are those of us that studied that tables should be titled at the top and figures at the bottom 😀

The best stories I heard in 4 years were almost always a part of the reserved ones, the ones who wouldn’t get on the dance floor until the lights are off. And the best speech was delivered by the guy who occupied the corner seat in class quietly, and calmly tolerated (and laughed at) the hilarious shit we did in environmental lab.

So I guess there’ll be no more cursing the UG Professor and putting up #submissionsandshit updates on FB customizing the privacy setting to “Hide from Smitha mam”. No more begging teachers to postpone assignments and queuing in front of Latha mam/HOD/Vijayan sir’s room.

No more large groups huddled around the first bench eating Renjini and Shilpa’s lunch and no more deciding between Thalassery/LH food. No more going to #48 in the evening and listening to Sreelekshmi’s stories before practice. And when everything’s done and everyone has packed their bags and vacated their rooms and hugged and said the final goodbyes to catch trains from Trivandrum one last time, I’ll have the songs in my playlist to remind me of 4 years spent together in a place that offered fun as much as freedom, and made everyone laugh and cry and hate and love and sing and dance.

 


 

I remember the first day of college like it was yesterday. I remember wondering if, after 4 years when I step down the Golden Walkway one last time as a student there, I’d be a different person than the kid climbing those treads. If I’d be taller than the stunted figure I was then. If I’d make enough memories and meet the lovely people I’m supposed to meet in these four years. I wondered if the trees would dance in the rain to bid me goodbye, as they did when I met them the first time. But mostly, I wondered if I’d be sad to leave, if 4 years would be enough in this place.

I have the answers now, all of it, I know that the time we get here isn’t enough to take enough selfies for a lifetime. 4 years of sitting next to Athira/Rintu in the third bench of C1 listening to their stories, or stealing minutes between classes to eat vadas at Civil Canteen, or hearing Divya’s “Oru announcement und ellarum keep quiet” – none of it is enough in the end.

And as we’re asked to collect our no-dues, I wish we could ask, “When do next sem classes begin?” just one more time.

 


 

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CET CIVIL 2012-2016 BATCH.

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