Lead Kindly Light!

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Lead Kindly Light!

1983: IIT KGP:

Prof CLR had joined IIT KGP as a research scholar in 1960, five years before I did as an Associate Lecturer.

He told me that (as a typical theoretical physicist) he used to take long lonely evening walks around our campus (Einstein rode his pushbike around his Princeton campus).

CLR's walks used to often lead him to our Hijli School Maze of lanes and bylanes. Whenever he got lost, he used to turn round and locate our Main Building Tower which towered around its surroundings like a Colossus for miles together.

At evenfall the light on its top used to be switched on. Trees were young then and Prof CLR had an unhindered view of that kindly light. So he used to nose in on it till he returned safe to his BC Roy Hall home just in front of the Main Gate.

Four months after I joined and was dumped in a room on the Gokhale Hall top floor, we had this Indo-Pak war, and a threat of bombing was looming on the Kalakunda Air Base 5 miles away (it duly got bombed somewhat ineffectively by our neighbor's PAF in an early morning raid).

So, as soon as war broke out, there was this rigorously enforced black-out. And the light on the Tower was switched off since it could act as a light-house-beacon for the bewitched pilots of PAF.

Personally I felt it was a wrong move...not knowing where they were, our forlorn enemy pilots could have bombed my room on our top floor by mistake instead of going ahead, which they surely would have, had that guiding light been switched on.

Anyway that light was kept switched off for years then on.

And within a couple of decades, trees grew up like giants themselves, many multi-story buildings came up, and a whole new sub-campus got raised in what was charmingly called the Dandakaranya where I lived in Qrs C1-97 for a couple of decades with my wife and son.

And the Tower became useless as a homing beacon.

One wintry night around 8.30 Vaikuntho, the resident "boy" in the A-type Qrs of my friend and senior, Prof BCB, landed up at our Dandakaranya Qrs.

With the message asking for my medico-wife to please visit their Qrs urgently. Apparently the aged mother of Prof BCB was having convulsions.

I asked Vaikuntho to fetch a rickshaw, my wife got into it with our toddler son, and I followed it on my ancient pushbike. The lane that led to the A-type Qrs was parallel to the road to our Tech Market (and then in a bylane).

Reaching there, my wife examined her patient and wrote a prescription for an injection to be given at once.

I offered to go to our lone Srimaa pharmacy in the Tech Market.

And I rode like the Devil and surprisingly got caught up in the infamous Hijli School Maze. And turning left (instead of right) I ended up by the Shiv-Kali temple on the Perimeter Road.

Taken aback, I reversed and rode all the way to the DVC area from where I knew the way back to the Tech Market.

I bought the injection vial and sped towards Prof BCB's hidden Qrs.

Only to arrive at the Shiv-Kali temple. Back again to the DVC and Tech Market; and back again to the Shiv-Kali temple...

And by now you know the "recycling regimen".

Finally I came back to my own Qrs, and instead of getting lost in the maze, I followed the original route of Vaikuntho's blessed rickshaw.

Prof BCB happily declared that his mother's convulsions ceased with fomentation:

"Oh! Thank you Shastri! ! Dr Rukmini says there is no need for the injection shot now. I will drop her at your Qrs in my Ambassador. Please return the injection vial to the Srimaa Pharmacy"

...Oh! No! Not again!

:)

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White Washing Guilt

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1990: IIT KGP:

White Washing Guilt

Prof V Radhakrishnan from Palghat was a dear friend of mine. He was one of the most widely-read gents and had a fund of jokes, both green and yellow, and a hilarious way of telling them.

And he could never suffer fools gladly and had a caustic way of silencing them.

During my father's times there was this rather prevalent custom in our families of marrying one's sister's daughter if she was of a suitable age. 

Because she belonged to a different gotra.

Dr HNA was once ridiculing this South Indian custom. He was from Bikaner, Rajasthan (where they strangle their girl children as soon as they are born, and their widows undergo unwilling sati abolished in Bengal by Raja Ramamohan Roy a couple of centuries ago :)

Once Dr HNA was bursting out laughing:

"How can I marry my sister's daughter? HOW CAN I? She is like MY own daughter!"

Prof VR came back at once thus:

"I didn't know incest is so prevalent in Rajasthan!"

Dr HNA's face fell and that was the end of his taunts...

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

And later on I was living in Qrs C1-97, a huge bungalow with a huge hall, two bedrooms, kitchen, front verandah; all with a sky high ceiling no broom could reach.

And every five years or so the free compulsory white-washing ritual was on.

One fine evening the contractor along with his supervisor and two laborers would arrive and announce:

"Tomorrow is the due date for white-washing your Qrs "

Which meant that the supervisor would arrive early next morning with his two laborers, upset everything in the house...furniture, book shelves, kitchen shelves; and dawdle for the next eight duty hours and would go away leaving us to pick up the ruins and clean the floors, mirrors, electric boxes, and the droppings on the tables, chairs and sofas...a veritable mess.

And I would have to take leave to aid and comfort my wife. And miss my lecture classes, a thing I hated to do.

And I would ask the contractor to come on a Sunday and he would spit out his betel juice aside and say that Sundays are compulsory holidays for laborers in our Marxist regime.

And I would wait out and allure the supervisor with private payment if he could bring four competent laborers and finish the entire job of white-washing, cleaning, rearranging the furniture...all in four hours while I would be relaxing with my wife under the backyard mango tree.

And after much haggling the supervisor's bill would come to a whopping Rs 700, which I could ill afford being perennially hard up.

During one of those trying seasons, it was the beginning of the ten-day Durga Puja holidays when the campus would be deserted...the Bengali families traveling out on their Leave Travel Allowance to far off places. But we South Indians would stay put since our home-travel would alone consume four days in trains. And all the students except those preparing for the Inter-IIT Sports Meet would also leave.

...And I was walking pensively to the campus post office to drop a letter into the narrow mouth of the huge red box grounded on the post office front yard.

And I found to my delight a number of hundred rupee notes lying scattered one after the other on the approach road to the red giant.

And I counted and found that they were all of Rs 700...

And I pocketed them sensing that they were god-sent on my white-washing mission. 

But I was racked with a guilty conscience...

Just then I found Prof VR walking up to the post box. And I explained to him my quandary. 

And he came up with this sage counsel:

"Why should you feel guilty? After all the money is meant for white-washing a government bungalow...not your own house. You may be leaving that Qrs for another anytime soon and you won't be taking those whitened walls with you but leave them to your successor. The sloppy gent who lost his cash was on his way to this post box. So he will be returning (if he likes) to this post box looking for his lost cash. So all you have to do is to scribble a message on a piece of paper in small letters and paste it at the bottom of this post box. 

The legend on the paper should read:

'Person who lost his cash may get it back upon visiting Qrs C1-97 within two days after quoting the numbers on his/her currency notes correctly.' "

...Rest is silence, as Hamlet said...

:)

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Summer Bonanza

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Summer Bonanza

2004: IIT KGP:

In 1987 there was a revision in our curriculum and rules & regulations.

A new concept for us called the "Summer Quarter" was introduced.

Students who failed in their semester exam could now stay back and register for the summer quarter in that subject.

Classes would run for two months (instead of four) and students acquire new grades that would replace their F grade.

On the other hand, if they don't attend the summer quarter but prefer to prepare on their own, the grades posted would be one less than they get in the Supplementary Exam held at the end of the summer quarter.

Very reasonable, and a great chance for those students who wanted to learn.

But who would stay back in the summer vacation and teach the summer quarter without any incentive?

The incentive was Rs 600 per credit; which worked to a whopping Rs 2400 for the usual 4-credit courses then!

Several teachers (in need of hard cash) were queuing up before their HoDs requesting them to allot them the summer quarter.

HoDs felt like kings...

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Nearly two decades later, HoDs had to go round requesting teachers to take the summer quarter. Teachers declined. In some departments the HoDs themselves had to unwillingly take the summer quarter.

Pity!

Reason:

The salaries of teachers went up 5-fold meanwhile but the summer quarter remuneration stayed the same Rs 600 per credit.

Then the Chairmanship of our Departmental UG Committee was thrust on me by our HoD, Prof HNA.

I used to attend the meetings presided by the Dean but stayed mostly silent...there were others eager to speak eminent sense.

In one of those later meetings the HoDs complained to the Dean bitterly about their summer quarter predicament.

Dean got angry with the teachers and threatened to make the summer quarter teaching compulsory.

No one liked this since no teacher would then fail any student even if the student got zero in the regular semester exam.

But everyone fell silent modestly.

I felt that since a teacher was being asked to cover the 4-month lectures in 2-months at double the contact hours, he should get at least 1-month of his pay as the summer quarter remuneration.

And I held up my hand.

Dean asked:

"Yes? Professor Shastri?"

"Raise the summer quarter compensation 5-fold"

Everyone was stunned by my temerity: fell silent for a whole minute; and then said that they supported "Professor Sastry's Formula".

The meeting ended there.

Later on I tried discreetly to find what transpired to "Professor Sastry's Formula".

No answer. Well-kept secret.

The next semester was my last of teaching the Jumbo Physics Freshman Course.

There were all of 700 students of whom 20 failed miserably.

So to save my HoD from running around I offered to take the summer quarter myself.

Moreover I wanted the money :)

A week after classes started the Administration let out that "Professor Sastry's Formula" was partly being implemented: the remuneration was hiked 3-fold.

Not bad.

And then Prof G caught me in the corridor and accosted:

"Sir! You didn't allot me summer quarter this time!"

"You declined it last year!"

"Shaar! Ami jaantaam naa kintu"

:)

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Policing Students

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Policing Students

1990: IIT KGP:

In all my 40 lovely years at KGP there was only one duty I hated:

"Invigilation"

I felt I was recruited to teach my students, not police them.

There were other specialists in this task keen to do it...and I was left alone in the exam hall to relax.

I loved reading the question papers set by engg profs for their students.

And many students used to bring their text books and leave them on the dais after their last minute mugging.

I used to browse them.

Once, I read in the exam hall the absorbing essay "Shooting an Elephant" by George Orwell; and that very evening I bought that English Prose Text Book that is still with me now.

And once I wrote the Introduction of my Physical Review paper sitting on the last bench in the gallery of Raman Auditorium for three peaceful hours.

But not everyone was that lucky.

My young friend Dr G narrated to me his experience:

He was sitting in the chair lost in reading a text book he found on the dais. 

And then entered this very senior Professor-in-Charge of Examinations, Prof KM (otherwise highly admired and respected for his teaching). Dr G didn't notice him. Prof KM lost his cool, approached Dr G, pulled out the text book from Dr G's hand, and threw it on the dais, all action in front of 150 students.

Dr G, known for his volatility, got up from his chair and caught hold of Prof KM's collar...

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

When I joined IIT KGP at 21, I was looking boyish; average build, no moustache, wearing slack shirt and slippers.

When I entered for my first lecture class in C - 136, it was brimming with 90 rowdy students (combined 4-year and 5-year batches).

I skipped the attendance, got up onto the dais, wrote Coulomb's law with shaky hands on the black board, and was trying to draw the torsion balance.

A paper arrow hit my back.

I turned round and started explaining to them the lovely experiment verifying that law, in a subdued voice.

Nobody was listening, all having fist fights with their neighbors.

I was on the verge of breaking down.

Then this sardarji, Bhogal, got up onto the dais, turned back and shouted:

"Shut up all of you! I want to listen to what this professor wants to say!"

Rest is history...

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Somehow I kept my boyish looks till my hair turned grey.

25 years later I was the Hall-in-Charge of the exam in the Raman Auditorium. I entered along with two of my junior invigilators; we started the exam, I told them to hold the fort for five minutes, and left the hall to check my own question paper in the Bhatnagar Auditorium at the other end of the corridor.

By the time I returned, I found the late-coming invigilatress Dr Indira-di sitting on a chair facing the quiet students.

As I approached her, she blasted me:

"Late-comers should go and take their seats in their allotted places in the gallery quietly. The invigilator will supply them the question paper and the answer book. Go take your seat!"

Some of the front-benchers looked up and were smiling.

And Dr AD rushed to her saying:

"Didi! Aapni ki korchen! Ini amader professor shaastri!"

...And then I had to run away to the canteen to escape her profuse apologies...

:)

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Chitraguptas

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Chitraguptas

2003: IIT KGP:

Our Caste System...It fascinates me.

So does it the Americans.

RK Narayan wrote of the day when one of his ardent fans, an American lady, visited him in Mysore saying:

"I am researching on the Caste System in India. Do you have it in your house? Could you please show it to me?"

In my school years in Muthukur the village had a Munsif who was the richest Reddy landlord. 

And working for him was a Brahmin Karanam (keeper & manipulator of land-records).

This karanam was the equivalent of Chitragupta to Lord Yama.

And Chanakya to Chandragupta.

In Hyderabad we are never shy of flaunting our caste. There is this caste of Kammas, the richest Andhra  non-brahmins. And they have their "Kamma Sangham", a vast palace rented out as banquet hall for the rich, in the posh Ameerpet.

They also advertise their "Kamma Sangha Kartika Masa Vana Bhojanams".

In the North India they turned shy of revealing the caste in their surnames in Post-Mandal politics. So, in my class of 15 there were once as many as 3 "Anil Kumars". I was always curious to know their surnames.

A decade ago Prof R from IIT Madras met me in Hyderabad:

"Sir! I was your student at KGP 25 years ago in Krishna Kumar's MSc batch. And I was the only one who knew his surname"

"Not so...not so...Krishna Kumar was my Project Student and when he came to me for getting his thesis signed, I refused to do it until he revealed his surname :)

But there was this lady who didn't hide her surname:

"Sir! I am a Mathur. A kayasth. My ancestor was none other than Chitragupt. We are very clannish and we have a "Kayasth Sangh" in our campus whose most prominent leader is Prof B. We are also known for our cleverness and we are rather proud of it"

So, here are some of my memories of Prof B.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

There was this Prof M who had inherited a vast lab a decade ago and kept it locked, with the key hidden securely in his Qrs. He never worked in that lab but somehow refused to surrender it.

But Prof B, whose own lab was getting too small for his growing equipment, wanted Prof M's lab-space.

In the Faculty Meeting discussing this matter, Prof B went up to the dais finally and spoke:

"Labs are much like humans. They are born, grow up, and die. And then their corpses have to be disposed of before they begin to stink"

There was loud clapping and commotion and by and by Prof B got what he wanted; and some more.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Prof X joined as a senior faculty. He was new and had a chip on his shoulder. He was allotted a sitting room in the same corridor as Prof B's lab.

Prof X used to get the key of that corridor's collapsible gates issued to him, open the gates in the evening, pocket the key, go home, and return late at night.

And here is their dialogue as narrated to me by Prof B:

"Prof X! Kindly do not keep the collapsible gates open late into the night. There are many costly items in my lab in this corridor and theft is rampant"

"Who are you to advise me? I am senior to you. I won't take orders from juniors"

"No professor! It is not an order but an humble request"

"No. I am not going to oblige you. What will you do? What will you do? Will you go and complain to the Director?"

"No professor! Certainly not! I will...I will...ignore you as a negligible quantity...a small delta"

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

One Sunday afternoon when I was working in my office, there was this TERRIFIC hail storm. And it continued raining hail as big as lemon-sized stones. My car, which I had parked in the open, had its wind-shield broken right before my eyes. Most of the window-panes in the Institute Qrs were getting shattered as reports poured in.

I locked my office and walked down to the ground floor front-space to watch the ongoing Nor'wester, along with a handful of colleagues...all of our faces grim.

Only Prof B was grinning.

I asked him why and he smiled:

"Vohra must be celebrating"

"Vohra who?"

"Our Institute's glass-pane vendor"

:)

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Friendly Fights

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Friendly Fights

1965: IIT KGP:

Most every home with kids used to have two sizes of carrom boards in our small towns during my childhood. These were labeled Junior and Senior.

But when I reached Gokhale Hall, its Common Room had what to me looked a veritable Giant.

It was huge, its walls led practically to what I learned as "elastic collisions", its pockets were not tiny holes but big arcs of circles, its floor was as smooth as what our Lalu called "Hemamalini Cheeks", its coins were bigger, flatter, and stronger; its striker glided and collided multiple times with the walls zigzagging and scattering coins on its way like the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, and the whole setup invited power-play rather than the touch-play we were used to.

There were several passionate devotees of the game.

Dr P always carried his ivory striker in his pocket just in case; Dr Y canvassed for carrom championships at the national and international level; Dr X bought packets of the costly boric acid lubricant powder (rather than the cheaper chalk version) and used to fill up homeopathic vials with his powder and brought them down when he wanted to play.

And there was this Dr A who didn't believe in power-play. 

He had a wee tremor in his hands. And when his turn came, he would place the striker in position, make a loop with his thumb and forefinger, place the combo behind the striker, and wait and wait and wait shivering till he finds a fleeting moment when the tremor seemed to subside.

Meanwhile his opponent would go mad but could do nothing. And when Dr A's forefinger gently released its striker, the coin invariably slid into its intended pocket.

And the next again again and again..

He won, not so much by skill, but hypnotism.

You may think that only contract bridge led to postmortem fights (and divorces when wife and husband partnered).

Carroms was no less...

My friend, Prof NP Rao, related to me this crazy incident to which he was witness:

This Mysorian Dr M was playing a singles-match against this Punju Dr B, a clutch of boarders watching in the common room.

Apparently the Punju learned a few Kannada galis (bawdy oaths) from one of his friends. And whenever he lost his strike he released one of his Kannada oaths:

"xxxxxxxxxx"

And Dr M protested and requested his opponent not to utter that vulgar oath since it disturbed his concentration.

But next time around the Punju would release a different one:

"ffffffffffffff"

After a few more failed requests, Dr M released the only Punjabi oath he knew, as a revenge:

"CCCCCCCC"

And then both got up and were at each others' throats....

Then this political Bengali gent Dr R tried to separate the warring lions...

And then this wily Malayali Dr N took hold of the Bengali's collar, pulled him back shouting:

"Let go! I have been waiting and waiting three years to witness a prize fight in our common room; and when God granted my prayer you bob up from nowhere and try to spoil the show!

Shame on you!"

End of fights :)

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Swargarohan

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Swaragarohan

1965: IIT KGP

It was the first weekend of my joining Gokhale Hall as a young teacher...all of 21 years...in a single room with a single cot and a single table and a single chair, and a single bathroom shared by a dozen rowdies.

There was this gentle knock on the door and a lad my age and build entered.

"Dhobi sir!"

"Name?"

"Mithai Lal sir!"

"Where do you live?"

"Dhobi Ghat sir!"

And he took my wash and returned it the next Saturday...and the next Saturday...and the next Saturday...for the next 40 years till I retired from a palatial 3-bedroom, 3-bathroom, 2-balcony flat.

Acquiring a wife and a son in the mean time.

Mithai Lal remained gentle as he aged along with me.

He was the sole literate, non-smoking, non-drinking gent in the sprawling Dhobi Ghat community housing about 200 related families from Bihar...Mithai Lal, Rasoi Lal, Kanhai Lal et al.

So he soon became the favorite of the perennial local MLA, Gyan Singh Sohan Pal, who used to regularly visit the Dhobi Ghat to solve their problems for votes.

...A decade from our first meeting, Mithai Lal brought his infant son:

"Name?"

"Vinod sir"

"Not Vinod Lal?"

"No sir!"...with a gentle smile...

...And soon thereafter:

"Sir! I got a job as khalasi in the Railways sir!"

"How come?"

"Sardarji helped sir!"

...Another decade later:

"My son got a job as helper in the DRM's office sir!"

"How come?"

"Sardarji helped sir!"

...And thereafter:

"My young D-i-L got a job as Hindi teacher in the Railway School sir!"

"How come?"

"Sardarji helped sir!"

...Another decade later:

"We built our own house in Jhapatapur sir"

"Sardarji helped?"

"Yes sir!"

...Another decade later he was in my flat the day I was leaving KGP:

"When will you retire, Mithai Lal?"

"Another 15 years sir :)"

"Sardarji helped?"

"Yes sir"

And then he fell on my feet. 

I lifted and embraced him.

And smelt Ethyl Alcohol...

:)

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