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Posts Tagged ‘college’

Inspired from Manasi’s (her’s from here).

Simple logic: title says it all!

Theme: things related to Singaara Chennai.

Reliance opens new iStore. So sterile!

Naidu hall: the family store. Really?

Sterling joins College: Haddows is born.

Rajini film release. 1st week house-full.

Sathyam cinemas: expensive, but worth it!

“Mylapore to Airport auto.” “Rs. 500.” Walk.

Chennai metro underway. 100ft road halved.

Kapali temple Therottam festival. Colourful joy!

House without mummy. Full bottle thanni.

Swine flu in Pune. Chennai-ites masked!

ARR concert. Off city. Still rocks!

FB chat with Nick. Better theme:

What else, but full-time college bitching?

Four years in Hellore. Leeds. Yay! (dedicated to Nick)

Four gone. Two more again? WTF?! (my sad plight)

New ProCs. New reforms. Still sucks.

Convocation day. Party hangover pending. Whaaaa?!

Mid-night walks, random spots, missing dots. (?!)

Open ticket. Two hour travel. Home! ūüėÄ

New IRCTC eat-out in Katpadi. Yum!

Feel free to add more lines.

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Here’s my rough understanding of how the Indian education system works:

  • Kids are pushed into school when they’re three two-and-a-half two one-and-a-half.
  • They’re grown up to believe “studying” is the only way they could come up in life. All those sports people who became billionaires through endorsements playing good sports are cheats, and aren’t good enough to be considered role-models.
  • Class 10 is when their intellect is tested the first time. From parents to teachers, kids hear: “this is the most important exam in your life: it makes or breaks your future. Don’t screw it up.”
  • Now every parent’s kid needs to get into a science stream, to become a doctor or an engineer. Those who go into commerce rot in hell.
  • So whether they fare well or not, whether it could be afforded or not, whether the kid wants to go or not, they put them into some engineering colleges (and for the more flamboyant, medical schools).
  • Students pursuing engineering degrees usually get tired of the methods by the end of their first year at college, and branch out into two three kinds:
    • ones that understand the system, and just run smooth. These have bigger plans in mind, and they aren’t really bothered about the system: they just run along till they get out.
    • ones that just care about big grades, and to make maximum worth for the tuition they’ve paid. These arguably pursue it for the sake of holding a degree in hand, and for a job at the end of it.
    • ones who really don’t care a rat’s arse, who eventually rot in those institutions till they clear their exams later or get kicked out.
  • So if you’re a parent, you’d probably argue saying, “at least my son/daughter has passed out with a job in hand. On campus placements make the degree totally worth it. Even if it is an IT job (which in nine out of ten cases has nothing to do with the course endured).”

Or so you think. Step out of the college utopia (?!) and you’d be slapped by the harsh reality of the corporate world. Since folks are hired in bulk (much like contract labourers who go to the middle-east), they’re made to wait.

This is to inform you that your senior batch has just been called. Do keep your fingers crossed, we will call you in due time. In the meanwhile, spruce up your computer skills and be prepped for an eternity of damnation.

After the painstaking wait is done, the call finally comes. And to help the newbies, the previous batch of people who made it to the same company give them tips on how to face the first year:

Dear Friends,

Pls carry these documents when you are going to join the company. These are very important, please dont leave behind anything.

  1. First to Last Semester marksheet (attested xerox + original)
  2. Consolidated marksheet (attested xerox + original)
  3. Transfer certificate (attested xerox + original)
  4. Provisional degree (attested xerox + original)
  5. 10th(X-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)
  6. 12th(XII-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)
  7. Birth Certificate should be in ENGLISH ( attested xerox + original) if in case u don’t have your birth certificate u have to get an affidavit from a lawyer towards ur birth place and
  8. date of birth (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name). NOTE: any other proof is useless as they are very specific about this Birth certificate or affidavit.
  9. Passport, Pan card  (attested xerox + original),
  10. An affidavit from a lawyer that there are no criminal cases pending against in u (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name).
  11. Ur service agreement in a 100 rupees Indian non judicial stamp paper. NOTE: The person who gives this surety must be an income tax payer.
  12. Form 16 of the surety giver’s attested xerox must be brought and attested passport xerox of the surety giver or PAN card attested xerox of the surety giver must also be brought. these are the supporting documents for ur service agreement and are mandatory.
  13. Call letter and Offer letter.
  14. Formal dress is a must inside the training campus. better have atleast six set of formal dresses.(for gents full slag formal shirt ,formal pant, leather shoes ,belt, tie is must).
  15. Passport Size Photograph.

The person who didnt get the call, u pls check the mail atleast once in a day. Mail may come in Spam Folder also, so check the Spam Folder too.

First to Last Semester marksheet (attested xerox + original)
Consolidated marksheet (attested xerox + original)
Transfer certificate (attested xerox + original)
Provisional degree (attested xerox + original)
10th(X-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)
12th(XII-th) marksheet (attested xerox + original)
Birth Certificate should be in ENGLISH ( attested xerox + original) if in case u don’t have your birth certificate u have to get an affidavit from a lawyer towards ur birth place and
date of birth (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name). NOTE: any other proof is useless as they are very specific about this Birth certificate or affidavit.
Passport, Pan card  (attested xerox + original),
An affidavit from a lawyer that there are no criminal cases pending against in u (affidavit should be in a 20 rupees Indian non-judicial stamp paper bought in ur name).
Ur service agreement in a 100 rupees Indian non judicial stamp paper. NOTE: The person who gives this surety must be an income tax payer.
Form 16 of the surety giver’s attested xerox must be brought and attested passport xerox of the surety giver or PAN card attested xerox of the surety giver must also be brought. these are the supporting documents for ur service agreement and are mandatory.
Call letter and Offer letter.
Formal dress is a must inside the training campus. better have atleast six set of formal dresses.(for gents full slag formal shirt ,formal pant, leather shoes ,belt, tie is must).
Passport Size Photograph.
The person who didnt get the call, u pls check the mail atleast once in a day.
Mail may come in Spam Folder also, so check the Spam Folder too.
Note: This guideline is sent based on Last years call letter format. This mail is meant only for prior preparation for ur joining.

Note: This guideline is sent based on Last years call letter format. This mail is meant only for prior preparation for ur joining.

And this informative mail is followed by a lousy all the best (but the guy who sent this should be thanked: at least he gave an insight to those¬†dorks who’re¬†oblivious of what’s coming their way). Read once through and you’d know how preposterous the corporate world is. The apparel: wearing a full-slack formal shirt with a tie in Indian weather is the single most excruciating thing one can be subjected to. They want attested copies along with the originals? Just doesn’t make sense: if you’re going to show them your original certificates, why do they need to be attested? The intellect of these dumbass corporate bosses are just too incomprehensible. It isn’t just¬†bureaucracy, it’s plain dumb.¬†So at the end of it all, I’m convinced into saying, “is this really worth all the pain?!”

God save those who fall into this trap!

And another of my pet peeves: xerox is the name of a company, the copier makes photocopies. Get your English right!

P.S.: Yes, my descriptions of the corporate world have been made based on my knowledge about one IT company (biased perhaps?!). No, I’m not falling into the same trap by signing up for that offer. And yes, I’m glad to pursue academic research.

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Warning: longer than usual post. And my experiment with fiction. Fiction, yeah right!

Having spent much of my life like¬†HawkEye’s hero, there hasn’t really been much to tell others about me. Forty years of my life just passed by, talking with the neighbourhood¬†vetti fellows, reading the newspaper, staring into the sky wondering why the stars are up so high. Had enough wealth from my father-in-law to last this lifetime.

It was all fine, until last week. After years of intimidation and mocking, my wife finally gave into my neighbours accusations of my being a danda soru, bringing up a big fight at home. I’m sure her husband will go jobless one day and my wife would have her fair share at her. Hmph. So the big fight at home led to this job. I’m new to this. It comes with a uniform, with a pretty funny looking cap, kinda like the ones cops wear. “I’m proud of you,” said the wife this, handing me the multi-level lunch carrier containing arguably the best food I’ve ever had since I’ve been married. I got a fancy enough cycle to go to work, which wasn’t far away – I’d always seen bright young faces run to that place year after year. They all go past my house with those huge bags, mattresses, almost as if they were going to start a family here.

I never really wondered how the place they all run to would look – the place where I’ve gotten my job. But somehow, despite the lack of my curiosity, I’ve gotten the opportunity to find out just what happens in there. I didn’t want to be late for my first day at work. Took the bicycle (the tyres of which my brother-in-law had promptly filled air in, so that it shouldn’t hamper my going to work this morning), pedaled my way up to work. Parked it in the lot, where I bumped into Murugan, who is also on the same shift as I am. “First day, eh?” he asked, needless to see me searching for parking space.

“Yes, do I leave my cycles here?”

“What-pa? This place only for big-people like the boss. We have to leave ours under the sun out there. You are new to wokr right, you’ll learn in due time. And be careful when you talk to our boss – he is ex-military.”

“Oh, okay brother.”

“What’s your name anyway?”

“Kandaswamy, like in that new Vikram movie that didn’t do so well.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to the big guy and help you out.”

In half minds, I followed him. There was this little orientation programme, I have to learn what I have to do, and I better learn quick. There he was – the man who could save me from possible humiliation at home by not firing me right on the first day. The though had passed by me – of getting fired right on the first day. But hey, how difficult could this job be? Time to find out. I feel like how Harry Potter would have felt in front of the sorting hat when he saw it the first time.

The retired army officer sees me. I make my upper half stiffer, and look straight (that’s what my uncle who was in the army asked me to do when I face one of their kinds). He was quite impressed with my constipated expression, gave me a little pat on my shoulder and finally let the golden words out, “you’re in boy! Just till we find out how efficient you are.”

And there was my duty: I need to stay in front of this building for six hours, and er, do whatever I was doing for the past 40 years. As he briefed me upon the responsibilities this job needed me to show, he handed me the biggest weapon: a whistle. A friggin’ whistle. That thing kids blow when they need to get attention and annoy the others at the same time! And he told me the secret behind it, “son, this has powers beyond you can imagine: the freshers would be terrified by your shrieks, and the seniors would have had enough by now; either way you get your way through; but remember: with great powers come great responsibility.” And with that he left me. Me the security guard. Me the security guard at the local university. Me:

Guard

The extended belly was always an advantage. I knew it would one day help me find a job with law maintainance. So I was put with this other guy, a bit younger than I am, a bit fairer than I am, but I was the one with a newer whistle. He was instructing me as to how I should react when people pass by me without noticing me: you see a guy walking with a staff tag, you salute; if you see no tag and the person’s young, you blow; and if you see someone with a tag, you ask them to show it to you.

And with these, he moved off to have his fag this hour. So here I was, all by myself, with a whistle in my hand. I have the freedom to exercise all my lung capacity on the passerby. First guy, out came the shriek, he pulled out his ID, and I signalled a positive thing for him to go in. Not bad at all, it was pretty easy and it seems to me that I’m in power in this neighbourhood.

So now I start wondering if it’s just if I stick to my territory – the building is boring anyway, not many people keep walking all the time. So I take my weapon and take a little stroll. There, a couple – and OH MY GOD, they’re holding hands. That does it! Wheeeeeel! The shrill almost scared me. So I decided to improvise this time: “arey bhaiya give me your ID card. You are not allowed to sit here.” And I must admit I wasn’t prepared for his response, “why anna? why not? do you know anything about human rights? I am a citizen of this country, a student of this college, and I have every right to sit here. do what you want to.”

Phew. Don’t panic I told myself, tried to stay cool, and eventually played the sorrow card. “listen bhaiya, I am also like you only. What I do? My officer tell me. I have family. I have children (I don’t). They go hungry if my job gone. Please don’t tell anyone,” and I walked off. Dodged a bullet, like they say in tamil, thalaikku vandadu thalappavoda pochu (what came to strike my head took off with just the hat). So then came along this unassuming guy with absolutely no idea as to what was happening around. So I stop him, “bhaiya stop – you can’t go in. You are student?”

“No anna, research scholar.”

“Oh, so staff?”

“Research scholar.”

“Oh, <had to scratch my head for a while – no one told me about these creatures on campus>, okay sir go.”

I later got to know that they’re the kind who are actually students, but get to throw their weight around. The other chap taught me well to keep away from them. Everytime I see them – sends a shiver through my very soul. And before I know it, the clock strikes one and I’m set to break for lunch. Off I go!

*My look alike picture courtesy Docsuns Security.

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If

If I started my own private engineering college,

  • I would call myself the chancellor to the college, and make my children pro-chancellors at the age of 10 in order to get a place in the Limca Book of Records. Don’t blame me, if you want, build your own college and make your 2 year old son a pro-chancellor.
  • I would locate it on either sides of a busy railway track and use bright spotlights so as to attract attention from people passing by. Don’t blame me, the shiney prospectus isn’t doing much good.

Location

  • I would employ the best photographer in town to take pictures that show shining faces in front of huge buildings to promote tourism, oh sorry, to attract students. Don’t blame me, people like to see beautiful looking campus.

Prospectus

  • I would accept donations for building the college, selling engineering seats. Don’t blame me, I’m just taking money from those who have it.

Seat

  • I would sanction 20% reservation for women students to access elevators. Don’t blame me, I’m just helping them grow in the society.

Lift

  • I would employ security guards, provide them with whistles and ask them to shreik when they see people of opposite genders within two feet of each other. Don’t blame me, I do support the abolition of section 377!

Gay parade

  • I would put up vast lawns, water them with semi-treated water (which still contains ammonia in order to spread its wonderful aroma). Don’t blame me, I’m recylcing water.

Recycling

  • I would put up huge walls around the women’s hostels (that even prisons would consider a high-benchmarks), barbed fences over the high walls, and 4-feet deep open-stormdrains right outside so that there’s no escape. Don’t blame me, I’m just concerned about their security.

Hostel security

  • I would issue hostel ID cards in order to keep a tab on how long each one of them are going out. Don’t blame me, I am answerable to parents should their irresponsible 20-year old child goes on vacation.

Hostel ID

  • I would impose a minimum 75% attendance per month criterion¬†for students. Don’t blame me, I can’t bear to watch classes empty.

Attendance

  • I would increase the student intake exponentially every year. Don’t blame me, I’m providing an opportunity for people to study.

Intake

  • I would put up speedbreakers that are so high that even people walking would have to slowdown to jump over. Don’t blame me, safety is of prime importance.

Speed breaker

  • I would change college policies faster than people normally update facebook status message. Don’t blame me, no one else survives in my college beyond 5 years.

Tweet

  • I would waste paper by setting up an elaborate feedback system that could be computer-read, and make every student fill one up without ever taking the feedback into consideration. Don’t blame me, I just want the form to look cool.
  • I would enable wifi access throughout campus, however block over half the sites that are there. Don’t blame me, I’m just making sure everyone uses the internet right.

wifi access

  • I would make students fill several unnecessary forms for the same thing, and update the forms from time-to-time without any notice. And I would employ double the number of people to sit and type the filled in forms in excel-spreadsheets. Don’t blame me, I’m just providing jobs.
  • I would make people write letters for things others might consider trivial. Don’t blame me, I’m just making sure that the paperwork is clean.

Letter

  • I would allow everyone who is a staff to exercise power they don’t have. Don’t blame me, I’m just empowering people.

Hierarchy

Disclaimer: This blog-post is a work of my creativity. Any resemblance it might have to anything in reality is purely co-incidental. Yeah, right!

Picture credits: The elevator picture is derived from realityRN.com, which can be found here. Gay simpson cartoon courtesy Slap Upside the Head. Spongebob picture courtesy Parodies. The attendance shortage image was developed from this image up NCAH’s website. The speedbreaker image was lifted off cartoonstock. Tweets and firefox error page altered with the help of a script¬†from here.¬†All other cartoons, graphs, and smartarts were made using microsoft office, with help from good ‘ol photoshop.

P.S.: Do look through my newly updated blogroll.

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Collision course

Sometimes we’re on a collision course, and we just don’t know it. Whether it’s by accident or design, there’s not a thing we can do about it.

On a thursday morning like any other in Bordeaux, three ticket-inspectors were chatting in the lobby of the Pessac railway station; a 15-year old girl was trying to finish her homework due that morning. At the same time, I was taking a shower before leaving for work. Meanwhile the girl had finished her homework, and put on her coat to leave, while the ticket-inspectors were discussing the prospect of France winning this year’s football world cup. By now I had gotten out of my dorm, and sprinted to the tram-stop outside my building and barely managed to get into the tram that was leaving as I jumped in. The girl was now halfway from her home to the bus station when she realized she had forgotten her bus membership card, but didn’t bother going back to pick it up because she was already late for school. The ticket-inspecters were still discussing football, smoking their cigarettes outside the entrance of the Pessac railway station. The girl was now in the bus, and the bus departed. Although she did not have her bus-card in hand, she didn’t bother purchasing a ticket just for the day. The tram reached the terminus near the same bus terminus as the bus left the place with the girl inside. I ran towards the bus, but it had left and the driver obviously didn’t notice a mad man running towards it. It was then that I decided to outrun the bus to the next bus stop. I ran down the nearest road, ¬†wondering if at all it would lead me to the next bus stop. While I was on it, the bus was stuck at a signal outside the Pessac railway station. Just before the signal cleared, those ticket inspectors standing near it decided to get in. In the meanwhile I was finding my way to find avenue Curie, where the next stop was located. The bus paused for an old lady to cross the road, while the ticket inspectors inside were arguing with the girl without her bus-card, and I was still running towards av. Curie. I finally got a glimpse of the bus turning into av. Curie. The bus driver tried to vouch for the girl, but the ticket inspectors had to ask her to get down at the stop.

If only one of the things had been different: if the girl had finished her homework earlier, if she had remembered to take her bus-card, if those ticket inspectors didn’t bother getting into that bus, if the tram I travelled in had reached later, if that girl had bothered to buy a ticket for just the day, if I had not bothered running to the next bus stop, if the bus driver hadn’t paused for the lady to cross the road, the bus would have driven by, and I would have had to watch it just leave again.

But life being what it is: a series of intersections of people and incidents, out of anyone’s control, the girl did get off at that bus stop, and the bus waited just long enough for me to get in. And as I walked into the bus, panting and my legs begging me to give up, I looked up and muttered merci.

Yes, I have shamelessly copied the narration style from The curious case of Benjamin Button. And here’s the irony in the incident: there was absolutely no necessity for me to rush to work that morning. It was a plain whim, which made choose a mad-chase to the next bus stop over waiting another 15 minutes for the next bus. But I must admit, the first two seconds inside the bus made all of it totally worth it!

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Good ‘ol college days

Nostalgia – I’m not sure if the word is over-rated. Seven weeks out of college, two weeks all by myself in foreign land, farewell videos played a dozen times, soothing sad music (now is that an oxymoron or what?!), dark lonely night (now this sounds like Shashank’s research topic) – I think all this has finally managed to kick in some sadness into me. College was good – it had all of it that’s required in Bollywood masala movies – from the comedians, that darned villain, the people of the opposite gender (to declare to the world that I’m straight till date), the best buddies (sidekicks), to the hero (Woohoo! Me the protagonist). Four years wooshed past in no time. So I’m writing this entry (without any trace of alcohol in my bloodstream) to tell myself that I’ve had some of the best times of my life go past. This post would be very pleasant to read (by myself) sometime from now – probably ten years down the line.

The four-bedded room – the room-mates from various states – the first time ragging experience – the songs sung to make those seniors cry – the first days in class – the first acquaintances made – the times spent lapping (as Bharath rightly put it) VIT’s main building talking to someone – shopping in Vellore – that special Baskin Robbins ice-cream – the computer programming lab – the chemistry-lab that choked us all – the history lessons that I barely managed to pass – the first summer vacation – bringing my house down – the class that was split into two – the late-night corridor talks – the impossible number of times photos had ¬†been clicked – the loneliness – the Saturday-night walks down to the stadium – the birthday bashes (boy why on earth did I turn 19 that year?!) – the first industrial visit – the organizing skills – the class representative post – the time spent talking with everyone about everything – the department fest – the planned outbreak (with it’s leak to the Dean) – the first chance to become “politicians” (LOL!) – the GRE coaching classes – the celebrations for the department fest – the secret trip to Ooty – the million photographs shot – the one amazing week at college – the graduate record examinations – the talks about grad-school – the trip to Hosur – the first kiss (followed by yet another break) – the first booze party – the freedom out of hostel – the darned power-cuts outside campus – unlimited access to the internet – the million house/prison break episodes – the Simpsons! (d’oh!) – the talk-till-three with Mota – the chosen electives at course – the farewell party – the class party (darn we made that bus take a detour to avoid college security guards) – the tears shed bidding farewell – the pack-up all the way home – feels like it never ends . . . (now I’m using an ellipsis knowing it’s correct grammatical usage).

Well as they say, “life goes on.” And here I am in France utilizing every chance to ogle women, enjoy the romantic weather, post photographs, and oh, learn French (this apart from my work of course). Good ‘ol times. Every one of the above mentioned memory is special to me. I’ve gotten them in near-chronological order, but there definitely are more. And I’m sure all of you would have at least some of those memories lingering in your mind. So here’s a toast (on my blog) to good ‘ol college life! ūüôā

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