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Five Point Someone
Terminator
THEY SAY TIME FLIES WHEN YOU ARE HAVING FUN. IN THE first semester alone, with six courses, four of them with practical classes, time dragged so slow and comatose, fun was conspicuous by its absence.
Every day, from eight to five, we were locked in the eight-story insti-building with lectures, tutorials and labs.
The next few hours of the evening were spent in the library or in our rooms as we prepared reports and finished assignments.
And this did not even include the tests! Each subject had two minor tests, one major, and three surprise quizzes; seven tests for six courses meant forty-two tests per semester,
mathematically speaking. Luckily, the professors spared us surprise quizzes in the first month, citing ragging season and the settling-in period of course;
but the ragging season ended soon and it meant a quiz could happen any time. In every class, we had to look out for the instructor’s subtle hints about a possible quiz in the next class.
Meanwhile, I got better acquainted with Ryan and Alok.
Ryan’s dad had this handicraft business that was essentially a sweatshop for potters that made vases for the European market.
Ryan’s father and mother were both intimately involved in the business and their regular travel meant Ryan stayed in boarding school, a plush colonial one in hill-town Mussoorie.
Alok’s family, I guess, was of limited means, which is just a polite way of saying he was poor.
His mother was the only earning member, and last I heard, schoolteachers didn’t exactly hit the dirt on pay-day. Besides, half her salary regularly went to support her husband’s medical treatment.
Ryan, Alok and I are probably the last people on earth you want to ask about getting into IIT.
All we would say as advice is, if you can lock yourself in a room with books for two years and throw away the key, you can probably make it here.
And if your high school days were half as miserable as mine, disappearing behind a pile of books will not seem like such a bad idea.
My last two years in school were living hell, and unless you captained the basketball team or played the electric guitar since age six, probably yours were too.
But I don’t really want to get into all that. I think I have made my disclaimers, and it is time for me to commence.
Well, I have to start somewhere, and what better than the day I joined the Indian Institute of Technology and met Ryan and Alok for the first time; we had adjacent rooms on the second floor of the Kumaon hostel.
As per tradition, seniors rounded us up on the balcony for ragging at midnight.
I was still rubbing my eyes as the three of us stood to attention and three seniors faced us.
A senior named Anurag leaned against a wall.
Another senior, to my nervous eye, looked like a demon from cheap mythological TV shows six feet tall, over a hundred kilos, dark, hairy, and huge teeth that were ten years late meeting an orthodontist.
Although he inspired terror, he spoke little and was busy providing background for the boss, Baku, a lungi-clad human toothpick, and just as smelly is my guess.
| Author | Chetan Bhagat |
| Language | English |
| Pages | 148 |
| PDF Size | 1.14 MB |
| Category | Fiction & Novel |
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