Excursion report: Condensed and Accurate

As the title goes, I am not going to waste my time over beautiful metaphorical and allegorical descriptions about our experience of the industrial excursion to BSNL, Dhanbad.  What follows, is an ultra condensed and accurate description of the excursion that can be framed into a report and can fetch you good grades. So, its no big deal: just facts.

We (that implies fifty odd CSE and nine mathematics students) boarded a bus headed for BSNL, Dhanbad at 10:30 AM.

Reached destination in 10 minutes

The official at the BSNL office naively inquired as to what bizarre circumstances made CSE and maths students plan an excursion to BSNL as they were interested only in Electronics or Electrical engineers.

A lot of irrelevant things happened which included demonstration of large cabinet size machines with multiple glowing LEDs. The kind which one likes to break using a crowbar while playing first person action games.

During the demonstrations, the official instructor mentioned cryptic stuff which I noted down. They are as follows:

"E1000B STS CSNMM SMC SMA SMYA SMT PCM (32 channels) TAX Tier 2 BNG"

Anyone who has any idea about what the above line means is whole-heartedly welcome to enlighten me.

In an hour, everyone was tired of learning and wanted to have beer. We tried to convince the teachers in charge but failed.

We returned- tired and exhausted and suffering from an overdose of industrial exposure and therefore we decided that we will not be attending any classes in the afternoon.

Yay! Another feat added to my CV.

We will not forget...

The boy was shivering. He hung his head in shame. The teacher had hit him hard on the back. Sixty pairs of eyes stared at him. That is more than sufficient for a boy aged 16 to be grieved beyond limits. But then who comes prepared for answering questions in the very second class of the year. He tried to reason. His inner voice screamed out: “The teacher told everyone to prepare, but you simply weren’t attentive. Now this is the outcome.” The teacher slowly walked away, firing questions at random unsuspecting students, punishing his victims. “Sparing the rod” was a phrase he had never learned. The iron routine would be followed on and on for the next two years as well. Computer Science at intermediate level wasn’t exactly a cakewalk.

The teacher’s effect on his students was tremendous. Initially fuelled by fear, even the lowest of the lot would restore to study the subject. There would be an unnatural silence in the class with all eyes on the masterful teacher, as he moved from topic to topic laying down the foundation with care. Later, the fear would be replaced by respect and a newborn urge to master the subject. My fellow Flowerites would admit that back in the good old days, when people cared about exams, the tests he put us to were the toughest and their level was unmatched by even that of the comparative university papers. Questions were never repeated and brainstorming became an obvious habit.

On the lighter side, he was immensely popular among the students and in every batch, by the end of high school; he would be having a set of fan followers. Those that came to know him beyond the classroom and the rigorous tests would talk about his expertise in almost every known programming language and popular software. Mimicry of his Tamil accent became a favourite pastime of almost every Flowerite. I hereby recount some phrases, clichés, and incidents that people always associated with him:

• Short statured and dark complexioned, he would walk in the class with rolled up sleeves and palms smeared with chalk. Almost every class began with: “last class we had gone through...”

• The words: “You, corner one, come to the board man...” to an unsuspecting student was a nightmare to all of us.

• “How did you get two marks out of sixty?” (Often asked to some girl on the day papers were shown after some examination.)

• There would be a thump in every heart and nervous faces as he would announce marks of every student to the entire class –a habit despised by most Flowerites.

• “Write a C BLUS BLUS program to ...” was a phrase we heard at least five times in every class.

His passion, devotion, uncanny zeal and enthusiasm motivated scores of students to take up Computer Science and related subjects as their career or at least develop immense potential and interest in the field. He may not remember us but we know that there was:

• A Rajeev Aggarwal (‘99 batch), graduated in CSE from IIT Kanpur. He completed his MS in the same from Stanford University.
  

• A Abhijatya Pandey (2k3 batch), alumnus of ISM University (Mineral Engineering)whose programming skills were well known and well utilized at college and now overseas where he works at BHP Billiton (global giant in mineral processing) with a pay package of over Rs. 30 lacs p.a.
  

• A Sankalp Bose (2k3 batch), currently in final year M.Tech CSE at IIT Kanpur, placed at Qualcomm.

• A Manavendra Roychoudhury (2k2 batch) who is a successful Applications Engineer at Oracle India.

• A Siddhartha Kandoi (2k5 batch), who is currently pursuing his masters in Mathematics and scientific computing at IIT Kanpur. He works in the domain of cipher and cryptography and coordinates the SUN programming club at IIT Kanpur.

The news hit me like a bullet when I came to know, a few months back that he had left the school and went back to his hometown in TN. Last week, I had to apply for a scholarship where there was a field that said: “name of your favourite teacher.” With a heavy heart, I penned down almost instantaneously: “Sir Vasanthraj.”

Femme Fatale!

I was about to pen down something weird about operating systems when this crazy incident happened which has left me in splits. Well, it so happened that this third year of college has been teaching us professional begging, which people sometimes mistakenly call: requests for sponsorships. It’s high time for us to wind up our fest preparations, but all I see is people virtually falling on their knees before HRs and night after night of intense phone calls pleading for that coveted association. So, one fine evening while I was busy contemplating about the messy condition of my bed and counting the no of objects permanently on it which has now taken a static figure of twelve and includes clothes, a bottle, locks, keys, coins and a pen; Cheema walks in with a cell-phone in his hand, looking for a guy who speaks Bengali. “Here are the contacts of three tentative sponsors for that event related to Geophysics. Two of these are our alumni and the third is a lady. That should be easy picking for you. Just employ that sweet Bengali tongue of yours and let the bucks flow.” I promptly came up with a “sure, I’ll do it” reply. Now I’ll be frank and end the possible confusions that could have emanated from my affirmation:

• I have no particular interest in geophysics. Truly speaking, I have absolutely no idea regarding what the subject is all about. All I feel is that, what dt: the infinitely small time period is to mathematicians, a millennia is to geophysicists. These people are mostly concerned about what is going to happen to earth in the next thousand years, nothing short of that.

• I speak Bengali with an ‘UPish’ accent and have been screwed for it a number of times at Kolkata.

• I do not like to impress lady CEOs and alumni of our college. I do not think any good is ever going to come out of it.

So why did I say ‘yes’? Simply because it is so hard to say ‘no’ to things which let you spend time in the always welcome ‘no brainwork’ fashion.

I sailed through the first and the second telephonic conversations, chanting in Bengali, the well mugged up stuff regarding how fantastic our fest really was, with the actual multiplied by four number of participants visiting the campus from the actual multiplied by two number of colleges from all over India. The bait was well set and they fell for it. Finally, I managed to obtain their email ids and promised to mail them the details ASAP. With the smile of a winner and an unfamiliar confidence, I now dialled the third and final number. It was the lady’s turn.

I have said that the lady wasn’t an alumnus and therefore my strategy was to introduce my college first and then proceed with the pleading –an art which I seem to be mastering in this year. When the conversation began, I came to know that she was in a train (probably local) and was asked to be ‘loud and clear.’ I proceeded in English this time. (I usually like to talk in English with an accent, especially when I am feeling jovial. Don’t ask me why. I do not know.)

“......................................... and so ma’am we would like you to associate with us in the event. We guarantee widespread publicity to your company.”

She: So dear, (now that’s a start) it is so nice of you to have approached us. I will see what I can do. By the way, may I know your branch?

Me: Uhhh. I really don’t want to sound stupid by dropping that I am from mathematics, seeking sponsorship for a geophysics related event. Anyways, what would this lady know? So here goes my bombshell. Ma’am I am from third year Applied Geophysics.

She: Oh! Final year of the postgraduate course? Well, how many students do you have in your batch, dear?

Me: I really don’t get the hang of what she just said. Nor do I realise the deep pit I was sinking in. I simply look at Cheema for aid who mumbles something. I stammer out twenty three for no apparently obvious reason.

She: Twenty three! So many students these days! Oh, my God! So what is the placement scenario like? Are all of you placed?

Me: I was falling down the rabbit hole. The thud was coming. Well, three; no ma’am; two are still to be placed. Economic recession period ma’am, you know. Tough time ma’am, really tough...

She: Oh! I am so sorry! By the way what all companies visited this year? I need to get down from the train but keep talking. It is so nice to hear about my old college.

Me: I cut the phone. Let her get off the train. What was going on? (I suddenly felt the urge to play Hangman with Cheema. His turn first to be hanged!)I knew I had to call back again but companies, placement scenario of geophysics: I didn’t have the faintest idea. I looked at Cheema for aid. This time he was smiling. The game wasn’t up yet. I dialled.

She: The phone got cut somehow. So, you are in this postgraduate course. Tell me about the companies that now visit the campus to recruit you guys.

Me: Cheema has been trying hard to pursue the petroleum engineering course at our college. He definitely had more idea about geophysics than us –guys whom our department wishes to call mathematicians of the future. (Laugh out loud!) He starts stating one by one the companies that recruit geophysicists and I repeat along with him on the phone. I now realise that postgraduate course was ‘deep waters’ and so: Ma’am, actually I am from the undergraduate integrated course. I can mail you the exact details of our seniors if you please.

She: So you are not even confident about your seniors? Undergraduate course... hmmm... you must be JEE qualified.

Me: My chest swelled with pride on having heard her mention JEE. Uncyclopedia describes my feeling in the best way:

“Oh, you are an IITian. You must be very intelligent.” ~ What every IITian wants to hear.

The quote also applies to ISMites. Guys unfortunately tagged by JEE as ‘people supposed to be brilliant.’(Laugh out louder!) Anyways, the ball was back in my court. Then the bullet hit me.

She: Tell me, who is the HOD now?

Me: This time, I seriously thought the woman was making a fool of me. She wanted to prove that I was an impostor. HOD... I thought hard. Then I remembered my friend Siddhant from geophysics. I slammed heavily on his door. It was locked. I knocked on several doors for aid. Seniors and friends from all sorts of branches came out. None from geophysics though. They were all eager to watch the show. I thought hard. Siddhant had mentioned someone. I had already been silent for 20 seconds now. “ Srivastava... Dr. V.K. Srivastava.” I blurted out. I must have leapt at least two feet in the air. The bulls-eye was hit.

She: Oh! Fine enough. Is R.K. Shaw sir still there? And who else is there in the department?

Me: The woman was killing me. I stamped my foot hard on the floor. I hadn’t heard anybody by the name Shaw in the past two and a half years at college. I decided to play a blind. No ma’am, he left three years back. I had the heart in my mouth as I mouthed the letters D-I-A-R-Y to the small group of onlookers surrounding me. Cheema rushed for it. I must have sounded like a typical newsreader as I said: Ma’am, we have one professor.... and in the associate professor category there are...... and three more assistant professors. I fought hard to keep a straight face as the ace was being played and finally gave a sigh of relief, not finding anybody by the name Shaw.

The lady must have finally decided to call it a day. She gave her email id and asked me to mail the brochure. My pen shook heavily as I burst out with laughter, while still on the phone.

Later Cheema mentioned: “You managed to sail through!” “Heh! The sea was rough though,” I replied.

Could it be?

I had been pacing up and down the Computer Science department, waiting for a chance to get one of my numerous proposals forwarded. The proposal was supposed to benefit the computer student community at our college in general and thus my anxiety was justified. A meeting was underway and I could hear the haughty discussion going on, making it absolutely clear that I was not welcome. The teacher, I was interested in discussing my proposal with was known for his ego which usually overshadowed his kindness to students. Frankly, it was not in my best interests to cross him. Hence the thump in my heart was quite natural and I constantly wished myself a successful and quick discussion.

After ‘toing and froing’ for about half an hour and seeing that there was no end in sight for the meeting, I let my thoughts drift to more interesting channels, when the other Devdeep came up with this crazy idea: why, cannot this meeting be held on GTalk, with the various professors engaging in button punching sessions from their rooms to decide the supposed fate of this department. I would then be able to discuss my agenda without interrupting the meeting. I knew that the other I was talking both sense and nonsense. Sense because had we not participated in numerous such meetings, exchanging ideas, having endless debating sessions in whatever extra -curricular activities we engaged ourselves at college. Also, let me add that these meetings usually continued for hours, often through the entire evening and well into the night. Therefore such ’fruitful’ meetings were actually possible. On the other hand, it was nonsense to think that the professors would acquire such a habit because of the simple reason that they were um,’ professors.’ Can’t compare them to us, frolicking students you know.

But could it be? Could our teachers, with all their experience and knowledge possess the mentoring and the warmth of our seniors? Imagine a college where you can simply barge into the chamber of your most senior professor and he would greet you with a friendly smile of ‘wassup?’ The hierarchy among the Profs on the basis of their official post would not let them cover themselves in the veils of superiority and their every success or promotion will be followed by a gala treat. Would we hesitate then to throw a separate party to them after landing on that 10M package of glory? This is supposed to be a serious post but allow me to say that that my mathematics department is the only one progressing in this direction by giving us regular company at the campus tea stall.

Not that this euphoric dream of extra friendly professors includes the perception of curtailing the seriousness of the job of a teacher. The dream does not allow a student to disobey the teacher without receiving a harsh punishment in return. For that matter, do we not obey our seniors and carry out their errands as if we were part of a team. The dream will only make us obey our teachers with a more willing attitude. Also, we still allow them to set the toughest question papers in the ever formidable examinations albeit with the warmth and enthusiasm with which we set the seemingly disastrous papers of technical competitions. However, this also enforces them to conduct the classes with the attitude of a final year conducting a workshop for his juniors. This should ensure that no stone is left unturned to impart the most difficult concepts in the best possible manner. Imagine a classroom, where the matter is presented through the most professional slides prepared after hunting resources from the global library called internet; where every class is followed by rigorous doubt clearing sessions at the end of which a student is simply left craving for more. Also, the hypothesis ends where you start imagining booze parties with your mentors that you are so familiar with, in the company of seniors.

Now that I have managed to capture your attention by letting you savour this delightful dream of mentoring teachers; like a good mathematician I wish to contradict the foundation of my very own hypothesis thereby stating that achieving this dream is too unrealistic and maybe, too good to be true. The reasons being:

• The age difference between us and our teachers is significantly larger than that our seniors and hence their mentality cannot be compared. Hence a teacher-student relationship is lot more formal than a senior-junior relationship
• The control of our seniors on us is only virtual while teachers virtually control our careers. Hence the seniors need to be friendly as well as strict to their juniors so as to team up with them in order to accomplish a task.
• The comparison between a workshop and a classroom is also unrealistic since a teacher needs to deal with a seemingly endless syllabus. Also, bringing quality into the teaching is not mandatory since teachers need not desire their classroom to be audience puller which is obligatory for the workshop organisers.
• Often the cause of unfriendliness of a teacher towards a student can be attributed to his personal frustration and intra-departmental tensions.

Look around you and you will find even the best and most cordial teachers keeping you at an arm’s length due to one or more of the aforementioned causes. However, if you remember the teachers at your school or at your coaching institute, you would know that they actually come a long way in fulfilling this dream. Hence somehow I still feel that this distance can be bridged, the passage can be levelled. Maybe it requires a total reconstruction of the system, a total remodelling of the mentality and general attitude towards the profession. So what do you think, could this dream be lived? Could it be?

RANDOM THOUGHTS @ 3 IN THE NIGHT

With blogging as a newfound hobby, comes a plethora of miseries. The constant clicks on the refresh button to check for new daggers. The excitement every evening to check for updates from my allies leading to the anger to see that many of them are almost as miserable in the art as me. There are a few who don’t update their blogs in months. Can’t think of what other hobbies they have engaged themselves in. Then there are others, who update their blogs so frequently that they make the entities comprising the first set think ‘why didn’t I engage myself in some other hobby?’ Talking about comments, here is some real time Gtalk chat that adds to my list of miseries:
The real Devdeep: give some comments on my attempt at blogging (in case u have gone thru it)...
AL: i did go thro it... it was kewl...i din comment over there...but it was cool.....
though i was not much familiar with ISI scene... it was a good attempt to make us understand
watever im saying... if theres a mistake pl do matiyao it... im drunk ill tell u my actual comments tom !!!!!!

Tomorrow never comes. I firmly believe that AL, my good friend's face will serve as a great pincushion. By the way, ‘matiyao’ means ‘procrastinate’ according to our college lingo. All fellow non ISMite bloggers with ‘miserably wide’ vocabulary should know that this one word precisely describes the sole truth of my college life. And probably yours too, unless you are this dude who played the electric guitar since the age of six or this geek who has been breaking into international security since dad brought you a computer for your high school project work. By the way, the ‘miserably wide’ expression does not make sense to me either.
Not all aspects of blogging are disheartening. Take for example, the profile. For a long time, I had left the ‘occupation’ field blank. I had wanted to fill in ‘amateur gamer for life’ or ‘replacement for Enrique in his videos’ or any such interesting stuff. However, I realized that it is still a long way before I can actually write something more worthwhile than ‘penniless couch potato’ and decided to fill in the entry with the names of two illusions, which I have unknowingly allowed to take control of my life in the hope to end the misery of not possessing an Audi.
These days thinking about jobs, gives me goose bumps. You would get those too, if you could imagine that the company you land on one day may cease to exist the other day. Creepy nightmares, with me pinned before a creepier HR is now a common affair. Here is one such interview, I fear to face someday or the other:

What sort of inspiration made you study Mathematics/Computer Science in a mining college?
The same sort which inspired these two departments to open these courses in a mining college. It is known as extreme optimism.

So I am guessing that you are an optimist?
Actually, no. I used to be, until I understood the proposition on which these courses were started.
"Any start-up which is marred by loopholes can be fixed to utter perfection within the next fifteen to twenty years."
I now fear that the above proposition may be true.

Okay. Let us talk academics. What is the part of mathematics that you like the most?
The part that makes you spend evenings at the campus tea stall along with your departmental professors. This is the part they taught us diligently in all the semesters. Rest all the subjects were one night stands before the end of every semester.

Tell us about your organisational skills. What all extracurricular activities did you engage yourself in?
Our college is a harbour of sinking ships. I served as the captain of one such ship. (If this sentence does not make sense to you right now, wait for my future posts. I may decide to write something on this later. No commitments now.)Also we have this annual cultural cum technical festival of ours. I had some role to play in that.

Ok. That would have been interesting. Tell us in detail, how you helped in the organization of your annual fest.
Well, I was an Application Engineer then, which best describes my work. Now before, the reader imagines me taking a plunge into the pool of sheer geekdom, let me explain what I meant by me being an Application Engineer (AE). Being an AE means you need to write numerous applications and letters to all sorts of people. I have written letters to tentative sponsors that involved drowning your event into certain awesomeness that never existed. I have helped in the chalking of tens of proposals and requests to different sections of the administration that makes me feel like an incessant whiner. Really, I will always remember my third year at college for my role as an AE.

Enough! Why should we select you after all?
I may be able to chalk out a proposal to sell out your company in time. That is before you decide to buy another company with your virtual assets and merrily open the Pandora’s Box on us.

I sincerely hope that writing this down, will cause my nightmares to cease once and for all.

MEMORIES AND MEMENTO

"Before entering into the blogger world, I wish to commend the authors of:

• Fish Faced Follies @ www.adlibbingalltheway.blogspot.com: Although I do not know the author personally, I think that this blog is a masterpiece in itself and is my greatest inspiration.
• Same Difference @ www.whatsinsidshead.blogspot.com: The author is one of my best friends. It is he who introduced me to the delight of this fascinating hobby."

My last few days at the Indian Statistical Institute, Kolkata during my winter project revealed new and interesting features about the ‘monochrome’ campus. Take for example what it does to the residents who dare to stay on campus for a period more than three weeks (because that is the time we stayed and we are sure that we are still the same). It causes them to develop a certain addiction to locking themselves in their rooms on the pretext of promoting ‘high level research’ giving the campus a curfew like atmosphere throughout the day. However to people like us who possess the innate capability of inserting ‘Enrique’, ‘Shakira’ and ‘Prison Break’ intermissions in between the most rigorous schedules, the campus is lot more lenient. It just contents itself by giving them a ghastly grin, letting them explore new and innovative ways of killing time. Now, after having watched ‘Memento’ for the umpteenth time, the other Devdeep decided to figure out, what would the situation be like if I developed the same condition as Leonard, once I walked into a lifeless campus as this.

SCENE 1:

Venue: The godforsaken mess of the institute.

Characters: Me and my project partner Viz. Also a few ISIites , also referred to as nerds.

Me: Look, did I tell you about the strange fix I am in?

Viz mumbles something indiscernible while trying to fish out prawns from the small ‘pond’ that was served. You see, the mess at ISI, tried to feed you with the queerest kind of dishes, one can possibly imagine. But that is another story.

Viz: I know the fix that we are in now. This food!!

Me: Well... you see... I have developed this condition. It is called short term memory loss. Since the time I have entered ISI I have forgotten the very purpose we are here for. Also I am unable to make new memories. Anything that lasts for a bit too long fades.

Viz tries to comprehend the situation and his face resembles the one on my profile. (For those who are unaware of the character, look for Mike in Disney’s Monsters Inc.) In doing so, his attention wanders to the table nearby, where two nerds are discussing the differences between a generator and a ‘God only knows what.’

Viz: Look this is what we are here for. We are here for churning out our brains on whatever our guide serves us on a plate.

For that is what projects at ISI were like. You were given a topic. That’s all you could expect as a receiver. Beyond that it is all up to you. Anyways, while Viz is explaining this I suddenly get interested in a notice that hung by my side which went on something like this.

THE ADVENTURERS

For the first time at ISI

Rock Climbing Training at Darjeeling

Those who are interested, please contact _______

Me (Hardly hearing whatever Viz just said): Hey! Why don’t we go for this? Sounds cool.

Viz(Irritated Mode): Let us move out. I will explain on the way.

SCENE 2:

Venue: Out in the cold, in the curfew like environment of ISI campus.

Characters: The same old. What do you expect? I am no Shakespeare or Bernard Shaw. By the way, we also have Dr. Guide in this scene, who doesn’t speak a word for reasons soon to be clear.

Situation: Viz has got this strange idea of throwing me in front of the instructor with a stranger hope that putting me in an even greater fix will help me recover from my condition.

Me: So where are we heading?

Viz: You mentioned rock climbing right? That is where we are heading.

Me: Did I? You see, I have this condition...

Viz: I have realized that. I hear this every time we start a conversation. Tell that to the person we are about to meet.

Me: So who is he? Rock climbing instructor?

Viz: Yeah. Just call him instructor. Will you remember that?

Me: Sorry! And stop blabbering. You speak too much. I have started to forget why we are going to this man after all.

Viz(Super irritated mode): You will soon know. Just call him instructor. And you need to do the talking.

We climb the stairs to reach the eighth floor of a nine storey building, thrice during which I have tried to explain to Viz about my condition at the end of which he repeats the instructions narrated previously. The last instance of this cycle happens just before we enter the concerned chamber.

Viz: Hello! Mr. Guide, we are here for...

Me: Rock climbing, dear instructor.

Refer to my profile picture again to if you cannot imagine the expression on Mr. Guide. For some strange reason, Viz suddenly becomes greatly interested in his over-chewed nails.

Me: So when do we get to practice on the equipments? Please... now?

Viz understands that his foiled plan was about to lead him to a life of pain and suffering, proceeds to explain Mr. Guide about my condition, while I try to tug what seems to be a thick cord which turns out a cable connected to Mr. Guide’s Apple Mac at one end and loose at the other.

Apple Mac: CRASH!!!

Viz seems to decide that it is time to say goodbye to Mr. Guide. He fights a raging battle between the intimate desire of setting me on fire and the sincere hope that this short term memory loss is communicative and both he and Mr. Guide have a weak immune system.

SCENE 3

Venue: My room (Room no. 4, M.Tech. Hostel)

Characters: same old and a nerd.

Situation: I have just returned from the showers and am showing my bare skin to whoever is interested. However, presently there is no one in the room but me.

All of a sudden, Viz enters the room with a black marker in his hand.

Me: What the hell!!!

Viz: I had no time to look for needles and colours and I am not gifting you my cell camera this Christmas.

Me: What do you mean? And what the hell are you blabbering. By the way, can you just help me get my clothes? Can’t remember where I placed them.

Viz does not seem to hear a thing. He forces me on the bed and yells with his mouth near my ear: Let my write a few things on you. It is going to sort out this problem.

All this scene and commotion makes the nerd next door shout something indistinctly similar to “Brokeback.”(Readers unfamiliar with the term may check out IMDB for the 2005 blockbuster Brokeback Mountain.)

SCENE 4:

Epilogue

It is Christmas time. When midnight strikes, Viz walks in with two cans of super strong beer hoping to revive his spirits and keeping his fingers crossed against the notion that the beer might clear my head. Fast forward two hours.

I simply ask the reason as to why there are numerous scratches all over my body, and who was the guy with a broken PC whose face had been stamped on my door? Also my next door neighbour’s behaviour seemed utterly mysterious to me. I mean why should someone send me a bouquet of roses with a card that says: “With lots of love!”?

A few days later, Viz lures me to Howrah and sends me back to Dhanbad. He himself returns a week later after completing the project. He has still kept the bouquet as a memento to something he simply ‘can’t remember to forget.’