Majors – 40%
Minors – 20%
Practicals – 20%
Assignments (6-8) and Surprise Quizzes (3-4) – 20%
Prof Dubey noticed the limp response to his greeting and made his voice more exuberant.
“Look at the handout later. Don’t worry, you will get enough of these, one for every course.
Put them aside now,” he said as he stood up and walked toward the blackboard.
He took out a chalk from his pocket with a flourish celluloid-terrorists reserved for handgrenades
and underlined the word ‘machine’ approximately six times. Then he turned to us.
“Machine, the basic reason for existence of any mechanical engineer. Everything you learn
finds application in machines. Now, can anyone tell me what a machine is?”
The class fell even more silent. That’s the first lesson: various degrees of silence.
“Anyone?” the professor asked again as he started walking through the rows of students.
As the students on the aisles felt even more stalked and avoided eye contact, I turned around
to study my new classmates. There must have been seventy of us in this class, three hundred
of us in a batch. I noticed a boy in front of me staring at the instructor intently, his head
moving to and fro, mouth ajar; a timid sort, whom Baku could polish off for snack any given
day.
“You,” Prof Dubey chose me as his first casualty.
It was the first time the condition struck me, where tongue cleaves unto dental roof, body
freezes, blood vessels rupture and sweat bursts out in buckets.
“You, I am talking to you,” the professor clarified.
“Hari, Hari..” somebody inside me called but could only get my answering machine. I
could have attempted an answer, or at least a silly ‘I don’t know’ but it was as if my mouth
was AWOL.
“Strange,” surmised Prof Dubey dubiously as he moved to another student.
“You in the check shirt. What do you think?”
Check Shirt had hitherto been pretending to take notes to escape the professor’s glance.
“Sir, Machine sir…is a device…like big parts…sir like big gears and all…”
“What?” Prof Dubey’s disgust fell like spit on Check Shirt. “See, the standard just keeps
falling every year. Our admission criteria are just not strict enough.” He shook his oiled
skull, the one that contained all the information in this planet, including the definition of
machines.
“Yeah, right. Busted my butt for two years for this damn place. One in hundred is not
good enough for them,” Ryan whispered to me.
“Shshh,” ordered Prof Dubey, looking at the three of us, “anyway, the definition of a
machine is simple. It is anything that reduces human effort. Anything. So, see the world
around you and it is full of machines.”
Anything that reduces human effort, I repeated in my head. Well, that sounded simple
enough.
“So, from huge steel mills, to simple brooms, man has invented so much to reduce human
effort,” the professor continued, as he noticed the class was mesmerized by his simple
clarification.
“Airplane?” said one student in the front row.
“Machine,” instructor said.
“Stapler,” suggested another.
“Machine.”
It really was amazing. A spoon, car, blender, knife, chair – students threw examples at the
professor and there was only one answer – machine.
“Fall in love with the world around you,” Prof Dubey smiled for the first time, “for you
will become the masters of machines.”
A feeling of collective joy darted through the class for having managed to convert Prof
Dubey’s sour expression into smiles.
“Sir, what about a gym machine, like a bench press or something?” Ryan interrupted the
bonhomie.
“What about it?” Prof Dubey stopped beaming.
“That doesn’t reduce human effort. In fact, it increases it.”
The class fell silent again.
“Well, I mean…” Prof Dubey said as he scouted for arguments.
Boy, did Ryan really have a point?
“Perhaps it is too simple a definition then?” Ryan said in a pseudo-helpful voice.
“What are you trying to do?” the professor asked tight-lipped as he came close to us
again, “Are you saying that I am wrong?”
“No sir, I’m just…”
“Watch it son. In my class, just watch it,” was all Prof Dubey said as he moved to the
front.
“Okay, enough fun. Now, let us focus on ManPro,” he said as he rubbed off the word
‘machine’ from the blackboard and the six underlines below it, “my course is very
important. I am sure many professors will tell you about their courses. But I care about
ManPro. So, don’t miss class, finish your assignments and be prepared, a surprise quiz can
drop from the sky at any time.”
Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bhagat
Re: Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bh
He went on to tackle casting, one of the oldest methods of working with metal. After an
hour on how iron melts and foundry workers pour it into sand moulds, he ended the session.
“That is it for today. Best of luck once again for your stay here. Remember, as your head
of department Prof Cherian says, the tough workload is by design, to keep you on your toes.
And respect the grading system. You get bad grades, and I assure you – you get no job, no
school and no future. If you do well, the world is your oyster. So, don’t slip, not even once,
or there will be no oyster, just slush.”
A shiver ran through all of us as with that quote the professor slammed the duster on the
desk and walked away in a cloud of chalk.
hour on how iron melts and foundry workers pour it into sand moulds, he ended the session.
“That is it for today. Best of luck once again for your stay here. Remember, as your head
of department Prof Cherian says, the tough workload is by design, to keep you on your toes.
And respect the grading system. You get bad grades, and I assure you – you get no job, no
school and no future. If you do well, the world is your oyster. So, don’t slip, not even once,
or there will be no oyster, just slush.”
A shiver ran through all of us as with that quote the professor slammed the duster on the
desk and walked away in a cloud of chalk.
Re: Five Point Someone What not to do at IIT Novel Chetan Bh
2
—
Terminator
THEY SAY TIME FLIES WHEN YOU ARE HAVING FUN. IN THE first semester alone,
with six courses, four of them with practical classes, time dragged so slow and comatose,
fun was conspicuous by its absence. Every day, from eight to five, we were locked in the
eight-storey insti-building with lectures, tutorials and labs. The next few hours of the
evening were spent in the library or in our rooms as we prepared reports and finished
assignments. And this did not even include the tests! Each subject had two minor tests, one
major and three surprise quizzes; seven tests for six courses meant forty-two tests per
semester, mathematically speaking. Luckily, the professors spared us surprise quizzes in the
first month, citing ragging season and the settling-in period of course; but the ragging season
ended soon and it meant a quiz could happen any time. In ever y class we had to look out for
instructor’s subtle hints about a possible quiz in the next class.
Meanwhile, I got better acquainted with Ryan and Alok. Ryan’s dad had this handicraft
business that was essentially a sweatshop for potters that made vases for the European
market. Ryan’s father and mother were both intimately involved in the business and their
regular travel meant Ryan stayed in boarding school, a plush colonial one in hill-town
Mussoorie.
Alok’s family, I guess, was of limited means, which is just a polite way of saying he was
poor. His mother was the only earning member, and last I heard, schoolteachers didn’t
exactly hit dirt on pay-day. Besides, half her salary regularly went to support her husband’s
medical treatment. At the same time, Alok’s elder sister was getting near what he mournfully
called ‘marriageable age’, another cause of major worry for his household. Going by Alok’s
looks I guess she wasn’t breathtakingly beautiful either.
I also got familiar with Kumaon and other wing-mates. I won’t go into all of them, but in
one corner there was Sukhwinder or the ‘Happy Surd’ since his face broke into sunny smiles
at proximity with anything remotely human. Next to him was the studious Venkat, who
coated his windows with thick black paper and stayed locked inside alone. There was
‘Itchy’ Rajesh whose hands were always scratching some part of his body, sometimes in
objectionable places. On the other side of the hallway were seniors’ rooms, including Baku,
Anurag and other animals.
Ryan, Alok and I often studied together in the evenings. One month into the first semester,
we were sitting in my room chasing a quanto-physics assignment deadline.
“Damn,” Ryan said as he got up his easy chair to stretch his spectacular spine. “What a
crazy week; classes, assignments, more classes, assignments and not to mention the comingattraction
quizzes. You call this a life?”
Alok sat on the study desk, focused on the physics assignment, head bent down and
sideways, just two inches above his sheet. He always writes this way, head near the sheet,
pen pressed tight between his fingers, his white worksheets reflected on his thick glasses.
“Wha...” Alok looked up, sounding retarded.
“I said you call this a life?” Ryan asked, this time looking at me.
I was sitting on the bed cross-legged, attempting the assignment on a drawing board. I
needed a break, so I put my pen down.
“Call it what you want,” I said, words stifled by a Titanic yawn, “but that is not going to
change it.”
“I think this is jail. It really is. Damn jail,” Ryan said, hitting the peeling wall with a fist.
“Maybe you’re forgetting that you’re in IIT, the best college in the country,” Alok said,
cracking knuckles.
“So? You put students in jail?” Ryan asked, hands on hips.
“No. But you expect a certain standard,” Alok said, putting his hand up to indicate height.
“This is high standard? Working away like moronic drones until midnight. ManPro
yesterday, ApMech day before, Quanto today…it never ends,” Ryan grumbled. “I need a
break, man. Anyone for a movie?”
“And what about the assignment?” Alok blinked.
“Priya has Terminator on,” Ryan beguiled.
“Then when will we sleep?” Alok said.
“You are one real muggu eh?” Ryan said indulgently to him.
“I’ll go,” I said, keeping my drawing board aside, “come Alok, we’ll do it later.”
“It will get late, man,” Alok warned half-heartedly.
I stood up and took his pen, put it into his geometry box. Yes, Alok had a geometry box,
like he was about twelve years old.
“Come get up,” I said when I noticed two paintbrushes in his box. “Hey, what are the
paintbrushes for?”
“Nothing,” Alok mumbled.
I lifted the brushes, painting imaginary arcs in air. “Then why do you have them? To give
colour to your circuit diagrams?” I laughed at my own joke, waving the brushes in the air.
“Or to express your soul in the ManPro class? To draw Prof Dubey’s frowny face?”
“No. Actually, they are my father’s. He was an artist, but he’s paralyzed now.”
There are times in life you wish dinosaurs weren’t extinct and could be whistled to come
and gulp you down. I went motionless, fingers in mid-air.
Ryan saw my face and pressed his teeth together to be simultaneously tch-tch sympathetic
to Alok and stop laughing at me. “Really Alok? That’s really sad. I’m sorry man,” he said,
putting his hand around Alok’s shoulder. The bastard, scoring over me for no fault of mine.
“It’s okay. It was a long while ago. We are used to him like that now,” Alok said, finally
getting up for the movie while I was still hoping I’d evaporate.
When we walked out, Ryan was with Alok, me trailing six steps behind.
“Well, I have lived in boarding school all my life, so I can’t really understand. But it must
be pretty difficult for you. I mean how did you manage?” Ryan continued.
“Barely managed actually. My mother is a biology teacher. That was the only income.
Elder sister is still in college.”
I nodded my head, trying desperately to evince how empathetic to his cause I was, too.
“How do you think I got into IIT? I was taking care of him for the past two years,” Alok
said.
“Really?” I said, finally getting my chance to get into the conversation.
“Yes, every day after school I was nursing him and reading my books.”
—
Terminator
THEY SAY TIME FLIES WHEN YOU ARE HAVING FUN. IN THE first semester alone,
with six courses, four of them with practical classes, time dragged so slow and comatose,
fun was conspicuous by its absence. Every day, from eight to five, we were locked in the
eight-storey insti-building with lectures, tutorials and labs. The next few hours of the
evening were spent in the library or in our rooms as we prepared reports and finished
assignments. And this did not even include the tests! Each subject had two minor tests, one
major and three surprise quizzes; seven tests for six courses meant forty-two tests per
semester, mathematically speaking. Luckily, the professors spared us surprise quizzes in the
first month, citing ragging season and the settling-in period of course; but the ragging season
ended soon and it meant a quiz could happen any time. In ever y class we had to look out for
instructor’s subtle hints about a possible quiz in the next class.
Meanwhile, I got better acquainted with Ryan and Alok. Ryan’s dad had this handicraft
business that was essentially a sweatshop for potters that made vases for the European
market. Ryan’s father and mother were both intimately involved in the business and their
regular travel meant Ryan stayed in boarding school, a plush colonial one in hill-town
Mussoorie.
Alok’s family, I guess, was of limited means, which is just a polite way of saying he was
poor. His mother was the only earning member, and last I heard, schoolteachers didn’t
exactly hit dirt on pay-day. Besides, half her salary regularly went to support her husband’s
medical treatment. At the same time, Alok’s elder sister was getting near what he mournfully
called ‘marriageable age’, another cause of major worry for his household. Going by Alok’s
looks I guess she wasn’t breathtakingly beautiful either.
I also got familiar with Kumaon and other wing-mates. I won’t go into all of them, but in
one corner there was Sukhwinder or the ‘Happy Surd’ since his face broke into sunny smiles
at proximity with anything remotely human. Next to him was the studious Venkat, who
coated his windows with thick black paper and stayed locked inside alone. There was
‘Itchy’ Rajesh whose hands were always scratching some part of his body, sometimes in
objectionable places. On the other side of the hallway were seniors’ rooms, including Baku,
Anurag and other animals.
Ryan, Alok and I often studied together in the evenings. One month into the first semester,
we were sitting in my room chasing a quanto-physics assignment deadline.
“Damn,” Ryan said as he got up his easy chair to stretch his spectacular spine. “What a
crazy week; classes, assignments, more classes, assignments and not to mention the comingattraction
quizzes. You call this a life?”
Alok sat on the study desk, focused on the physics assignment, head bent down and
sideways, just two inches above his sheet. He always writes this way, head near the sheet,
pen pressed tight between his fingers, his white worksheets reflected on his thick glasses.
“Wha...” Alok looked up, sounding retarded.
“I said you call this a life?” Ryan asked, this time looking at me.
I was sitting on the bed cross-legged, attempting the assignment on a drawing board. I
needed a break, so I put my pen down.
“Call it what you want,” I said, words stifled by a Titanic yawn, “but that is not going to
change it.”
“I think this is jail. It really is. Damn jail,” Ryan said, hitting the peeling wall with a fist.
“Maybe you’re forgetting that you’re in IIT, the best college in the country,” Alok said,
cracking knuckles.
“So? You put students in jail?” Ryan asked, hands on hips.
“No. But you expect a certain standard,” Alok said, putting his hand up to indicate height.
“This is high standard? Working away like moronic drones until midnight. ManPro
yesterday, ApMech day before, Quanto today…it never ends,” Ryan grumbled. “I need a
break, man. Anyone for a movie?”
“And what about the assignment?” Alok blinked.
“Priya has Terminator on,” Ryan beguiled.
“Then when will we sleep?” Alok said.
“You are one real muggu eh?” Ryan said indulgently to him.
“I’ll go,” I said, keeping my drawing board aside, “come Alok, we’ll do it later.”
“It will get late, man,” Alok warned half-heartedly.
I stood up and took his pen, put it into his geometry box. Yes, Alok had a geometry box,
like he was about twelve years old.
“Come get up,” I said when I noticed two paintbrushes in his box. “Hey, what are the
paintbrushes for?”
“Nothing,” Alok mumbled.
I lifted the brushes, painting imaginary arcs in air. “Then why do you have them? To give
colour to your circuit diagrams?” I laughed at my own joke, waving the brushes in the air.
“Or to express your soul in the ManPro class? To draw Prof Dubey’s frowny face?”
“No. Actually, they are my father’s. He was an artist, but he’s paralyzed now.”
There are times in life you wish dinosaurs weren’t extinct and could be whistled to come
and gulp you down. I went motionless, fingers in mid-air.
Ryan saw my face and pressed his teeth together to be simultaneously tch-tch sympathetic
to Alok and stop laughing at me. “Really Alok? That’s really sad. I’m sorry man,” he said,
putting his hand around Alok’s shoulder. The bastard, scoring over me for no fault of mine.
“It’s okay. It was a long while ago. We are used to him like that now,” Alok said, finally
getting up for the movie while I was still hoping I’d evaporate.
When we walked out, Ryan was with Alok, me trailing six steps behind.
“Well, I have lived in boarding school all my life, so I can’t really understand. But it must
be pretty difficult for you. I mean how did you manage?” Ryan continued.
“Barely managed actually. My mother is a biology teacher. That was the only income.
Elder sister is still in college.”
I nodded my head, trying desperately to evince how empathetic to his cause I was, too.
“How do you think I got into IIT? I was taking care of him for the past two years,” Alok
said.
“Really?” I said, finally getting my chance to get into the conversation.
“Yes, every day after school I was nursing him and reading my books.”