Stammering In Japanese !

Love is the drive to do good or terrible things.

I sit in the middle of this Japanese Learning Class, inert of all teaching going around, grinning along with frequent eruptions of impish glee luring my instilled attention into a gaze at these smiley faces, in often failing attempts to reckon the meaning of those words that fall on my selectively sterile ears towards the Japanese language only to find something funny in their English translations latter, for one of us often ends up saying things insanely funny or unintentional . Seldom do I utter anything on being prompted by the teacher, stumbling upon every word I say like only I can do, things which make all of us laugh but really meant as much.

Should I be a bit more participant? 

Does learning Japanese matters at all to me?

If not so, why am I attending this class?  

I was never good at maths, living up to the miseries of my father being prolific at it. The well established fact, by my academic performance all the way through junior high, about me being an average student was the only relief. But I struck a new found interest in the subject in early days of high school. Not only did I started doing well in exams, I actually spent hours at home solving problems that were yet to be discussed in the class. Soon I grew in confidence, and threw away my bashful self to answer some of the most challenging questions posed in class that others had no clue of. For the first time ever I experienced how contagious confidence can be, for my extravagant display of skill didn't stop at maths only, but extended to poetry, something that I have always been in love with. There were few pretty girls in my class, but the reason for this turmoil was someone  truly beautiful, my maths teacher.

Back then, I didn't know why I felt an urge to get noticed or why those two most beautiful eyes I have ever seen held me bewildered, gaping at them as if I were the dumbest guy she ever met or she was talking in some foreign language. I do confess there were grey sides to my innocent kiddish mind feeling deep infatuation, like fantasies that I had involving her, but no dark side. It is really hard to avoid painting her verbal portrait here, out of the assortments of memories that come flashing to my mind, but any such attempt would only mar the decorum of my first ever confessions of these feelings.

I do not come here to learn Japanese perhaps, not that I am averse to it, but for sure, it is not that brings me here, but the doting tenderness purging us all of the accumulated stress that the teacher showers. Her elegant ladyship dressed in traditional saree so pleasant to watch that reminds me of my mother, and an epitome of perfect Indian lady she is.

Despite my poor performance, I am sure she has not yet given up hopes on me, this is evident from the way she keeps on prompting me to answer, the disappointment on her face when I handed back a blank answer sheet for the last quiz, the enthusiasm with which she teaches making a thousand gestures with her hands to imbibe in our memories the meaning of every words she says. And that is what draws me here, in a hope that stammering though, I may actually end up uttering meaningful sentences in Japanese !

Amit Kumar Koshta
PM 02:22

My Frisky Abode!

Characters and Hot-Spots at I Top !

A brief sketch of my wing and wingies.

Unlike pleasant languor or the iconic sloth that surrounds the man himself, Raghav's place serves to be the epicentre of all jocund cackle radiating outwards to rather remote and inarticulate corners of our wing, occupied by seemingly studious and frustrated to the limits of nymphomaniacs, CSE guys, with the only source of commotion for those parts being Gargi's early morning chortles of glee on watching BBT which served as excellent alarms waking me up for morning walks last summers. Rattling on the way, very dignified as compared to the rest of the wing, mainly due to some feminine presence, tech savy and gadget furbished, I suppose it would be foolish to call it just a room, Zade Software Labs. Despite all it's ferocity, this noise meets impudence passing through the rooms or should I say territories of Punjabi duo of our wing living right opposite to each other, overwhelming with music composed in extremist ridden parts of Punjab and the sole intent of such music could be torturous vengeance against all Non-Punjabis for all those jokes on Punjabis. Echos of such message of hate trembling lover-spot turned double room of the wing with its only inhabitant making it a place of frequent tryst after long library hours. And the last hotspot of our wing being the extended robo-club where lives the recently blown out of proportions Ayush running after his day's quota of productive work while all around him indulge themselves in counterproductive activities.

The Man That Is KALAM

It's not who you are underneath but what you do that defines you !

The perks of being an IITian seemed very volatile and my recurrent fear of our over-burdened infrastructure yielding disappointment came true when denied entrance to, already over-crowded by then, Main Auditorium visited by Dr Abdul Kalam for the Golden Jublie Celebration of Student Gymkhana IIT-K. So after stuffing myself with some junk food at CCD I ended up sitting at L7 for the live telecast of the function while most other enthuiasts of meeting Dr Kalam were either driven away by trademark glitch transmission, poor video quality, and jarring sound that kept flicking and few remaining were beguiled into sleep, the usual  purpose the Lecture Hall Complex with its comfy air-conditioning serves best on most evenings, even before the auspicious dias were lit. 

Is he closest to what India could get to Einstein?

I am sure a lot of us were pondering over this question when Dr Kalam slouching, with all the dignity, graced the stage and watching his poised  decorum so apt for a senior scientist of his stature misled me into doubting his alias the Missile Man for I, maybe unlike others, had associated a lot of flamboyance or least to say animation with such an alias. Strengthening my doubt were the very few minutes of his speech that started with the usual pleasantries and congratulations followed by sharing of a life experience and  a suggestion to integrate various skills acquired at IIT-K.

But maybe it was the warmup Dr Kalam unlike his missiles does before he actually gets on the wings of fire to aspire the audience and unravel his true self which actually is as vigorous as those wings he rides on for the next fifteen minutes. It all begun with him reciting his poem, and the rest of us following, that sounded almost like one of his missiles, with very simple lyrics and yet so powerful and inspiring, lyrics going like "I have the wings, I have the confidence, I have the will, I will fly".

Dr Kalam, for the visionary he is, is well ahead of our time and that clearly shows when he talks about Indo-Pak relationships and predicts peace and union pertaining to fairly logical deductions from the European history, something all our politicians, diplomats and bureaucrats fail to do.  His explanation of India spending so much on nuclear weaponry, with a strata of society under poverty line, for inhibited development and independence is remarkable.

And finally what sets him apart, and answers my question too, is what lies at the core of his efforts and what he things would aspire us as it did him. Dr Kalam unlike the intellectuals and smooth talkers talks about  bringing a smile on faces of common Indian men. He, as far as I see, seem to be the only one amongst the scientific community to be driven by a passion that has origins linked to a social cause, someone who is working not only because he is passionate about his work but also has a goal that instead of being a scientific agenda is to touch the lives of Indian multitudes. And thus, for me it doesn't seems to be some rocket science to realize, what I am not going to put in words, The Man That Is KALAM.

Amit Kumar Koshta

AM 12:55

26-10-12 

Vijaydashmi'12

At the core of all earthly pursuits, a man is looking for a soul kindred to his own.

Despite of me staying back in the campus this Dussehra, the true spirit of the festival thrives in me, and the savior this time around being food instead of the usual, much cherished and should I say well deserved, given that I being an IITian spend most of my days in "testosterone charged and estrogen starved campus", pleasure of oogling girls. Although some awesome company of Shwet Kumar did play it's part but I would not do myself justice writing about anything else when the only thing I focused on all day was appeasing my first of many to come, 9 days long, and culminating with a Nirjala Upvas on Navmi and  sumptuous cuisines on Dussehra, hunger due to fasting.

If you  have already begun wondering over the stark contrast of the title and content presented uptill now, the tittle is the only possible explanation I could come up with, while I saw Ravaan burning down to ashes with all the heat from exploding fireworks driving away momentously the infant winter chill that hung around, for the pertinent quest that Ram underwent for Sita. And the realization struck me that we being lesser mortals unlike Ram should make at-least a valid effort to connect, with our pursuit being not only to hold on to love we share with old friends and family but also to make new ones specially amongst those around us who end up being on the fringes separating friends with acquaintances. And that I suppose is the true spirit of Dussehra.

Today may have been the day to mark an end of the Dussehra celebrations as I know them to be, and I sorely miss those late night bike rides on congested Jabalpur city roads with people swarming around Devi Idols even as late as 2am, Remix Bhajans being played on loud speakers, delicacies prepared with more piety than hygiene served at pandals, the Kheer that Mom conjures for Aasthmi Pooja, Punjabi Dussehra and all fireworks on display there, and last but not the least the sight of girls dressed in elegant traditional costumes, giggling around looking ever so charming.  But, I do understand that the spirit of Dussehra lives and frolics with new made friends, junky CCD food and lame Ravaan Dahan at Nankari.


Amit Kumar Koshta
AM 02:45
25-10-12

ROOT THREE

There is, often, more to stories than what is told, hidden in plain sight, and to unravel that, to look beyond obvious, sometimes, all it takes to decipher, is a key, a code or maybe just a number !!!

1/3


I crash down on a corner chair and start swallowing coke, watching us being joined by a bunch of other guys. As usual, lost in thoughts, I occasionally look up to say hii and catch words like  McD, AVTAR..........., and sometimes, very rarely though, KRITI and SHRUTI too . I barely know most of these guys.

No matter how hard I try,  it's really difficult to avoid envying him, for the genius and popular he is. Suddenly he gets up to fetch our order, it's his turn today. And for the first time I get a clear view of the table right in front.

It's her !!!
Is she staring at me ?
Does she know ? but how could she know ?

WTF !!! why am I staring back ?

I bury my head deep in the book, gulping diet coke.

Those eyes !!!
Was she smiling ?
She is cute ............and yep I am idiot !!!
So............ should I go talk to her ???

Here he is, back with lunch for the day.


2/3


Most of us are fed up of equations, the monotonous practice of adding, subtracting, multiplying............and hence, solving. But that's all that can be done. Really ??? Imagine if you could see equations hanging in mid air, see them moving, and bumping into each other, and therefore, getting reduced, simplified !!! If you could see logic transforming to equations.

And bingo, here it is, the answer.........But it's hardly been a couple of minutes. So he looks searchingly for the Professor, and looks away the instant their eyes met. The Professor looks back, astonishingly, his expressions are not of appreciation..................., but I am sure ignominy would be an exaggeration for them.

Maybe he should recheck, a cross reference would be a better idea. He peeps across, into her note book, unfortunately, only to find a funny set of equations, wait a second, look at that handwriting, isn't it beautiful. But  who writes wrong equations in this impeccable fashion, specially in this class ???

She was still busy with the equations, and he was simply staring at her, when he realized that the Professor is pointing at him, asking for the answer. He stands up and reads out stumbling over words like only he can do.....
                           "t one over t two equals root three"
It's not difficult to notice the mocking grin on the Professors face as he declares in this authentic voice, his eyes glimmering.......
                             "Once again, our self proclaimed genius here, has renounced
                               the use of pen and paper, fortunately this time it's a
                                                            wrong answer."

He sinks down his chair, gazing at his textbook, all those equations dangling right in front of him, scribbling down equations, reading and re-reading the question, while the Professor points someone else for the answer. There is something odd about those equations !!!


3/3

"Hey could you explain that problem to me,the heat transfer question to find out the ratio of temperatures"
quibbled the guy sitting behind. "Dude I went terribly wrong with that one, and you heard him going mad on me" I replied.
"hey buddy, everyone knows you are almost his favorite, and about going wrong, I guess you said you made some calculation mistake, didn't you ?" he said persuasively.

So I open my note book, and start searching for the solution. But all I could find was the question number and the right answer against it. Wait a second, I answered that question wrong, didn't I ?

Right at that moment, everything made sense, her cute smile, his evil grin, the flaw in argument, the discrepancy in equations, the right answer and root three.

I sank down my chair, gazing at my textbook, all those equations dangling right in front of me, scribbling down equations, reading and re-reading the question, meanwhile, the Professor pointed someone else for the answer, and all I heard was a sharp perplexed voice, voice for a girl sitting right across the walking space, at the corner of the bench, and all she said was...............

Root Three