On Man-Eating Tigress, Mindless Bollywood

The village visit was a short bus ride (4 hours) to a place in West UP. The academy did not skimp on academic resources for the village visit. However, even the moderately thick village visit manual was no match to the verbiage awaiting us at the district headquarters. The thick tome of documents was in Hindi, making it doubly dense for me. I had to bring to my mind all the prashaasanik Hindi picked up during Hindi language classes to get through the first two paragraphs of the first page. Around 1000 more pages await.

A curious incident happened at the state border between Uttarakhand and Uttar Pradesh. Since we were to visit villages in a district in western UP, we were met at the border by a sub-divisional level officer along with a pilot vehicle. I was flattered and flustered at the same time. Flustery outweighed flattery. We found no reason for the show of strength, however nominal. We were just a bunch of well meaning OTs-  I am sure we meant no harm to anyone and vice-versa. So, all those gun toting batch of half a dozen UP wala police bhaiyyas, in my opinion, were unnecessary.

There was an unobtrusive news crew with a video camera at a way-side stop near the UP-UK border filming what may have been an out of the world sight for them- couple of dozen out of shape OTs alighting from a bus and making haste to find a tree behind which to relieve themselves. Fortunately, to the relief of the OTs, the media and even the dignity of the senior civil services, bathrooms were close by and were duly used.

The police escort was not the only 'culture' shock I have had today. There were the garlands and about 30 odd staff of the district administration gawking at the OTs at the place we were put up. It was all thoroughly embarrassing. I scooted from the garlanding silliness but am not sure if I will have cover for my disappearing acts in the future. I have come to love my anonymity more and more.

The most significant piece of advice given to us by a senior functionary of the district administration was to stick to the premises allotted to us and under no circumstances to stray, particularly at night. There was a man-eating tigress at large. The most recent kill was that of a 10-year old boy.

One should never underestimate the power of the Fates. Only yesterday I was making fun of Shah Rukh Khan running around in make-believe rural settings, mustard fields, berating Bollywood for lack of authenticity, among other things. Today, I was caught unawares and ended up watching half of 'Happy New Year.' The movie was so egregious that I had to leave the theatre at the intermission stage. Looks like Shah Rukh Khan has had the last laugh. I shall watch out for such twists of Fate as best as I can. Lessons learnt. Still, one wonders as to what got in to the heads of the movie makers and the movie watchers. How can a sane person ever conceive, leave alone watch, such a movie? The movie makers need to be tried for human rights violations. The movie 'Happy New Year' is a clear violation of a right to dignity of life.

And so we were given a taste of the things to come. Man-eating tigresses. Mind violating Bollywood stupidity.

On preparation for a village visit

How much law can a human mind take in one day?

The batch is primed for the week long village visit. We will see how it goes. Like trek, the village visit is the defining feature for the Foundation Course. The expectation is that the visit will sensitise the OTs to the lifestyle of Bharat, the face of India that is strangely sanitized in our media and cultural references. Therefore one sees the brilliant blue skies and the mustard fields and Shah Rukh Khan and Kajol or Kareena Kapoor running after each other looking for some good old hay to roll around in, frisky as they were, living out a yuppie's idea of rural life. You will not find a single villager doing any work in the fields in the movies when the hero and the heroine are around on the screen. More power to the Bollywood.

Few OTs are rather pleased with the location of the village they are visiting. Thanks to Google Maps, they learnt the location of the nearest MNC burger chain. The village is not so much a village, according to them, as it is a dispersed mall. You have the synthesized food store chains, you have the branded textile outlets elsewhere, you have the latest smartphone selling outlet as well as a dish TV connection. A collection of hutments blooming on the summer slopes of the wide ranging consciences.

On Wardrobe Malfunctions, High Table Dinners and Science Day Celebrations

It is late in the day. And it was a long day. There will be times in the FC when a day just does not seem to end. The day starts with the PT. Even the most optimistic, rationalizing human being would find it hard to wake up early in the morning and trudge down to Polo grounds in the increasingly biting cold, day after day after day. What may be an unequal compensation for the disruption in sleep, comfort and warmth? A glimpse of the sky shy of dawn and full of stars.

Then there are guest lectures. Thanks to small and very rare mercies like documentaries/short films/clippings being shown in auditoria. If the support staff supports by dimming the ambient lights one can catch up on few much needed winks. Even if one tries sincerely not to sleep in the class, taking such extreme measures as skipping breakfast etc, one can be assured of a visit by the Nidra Devi. 

This day was celebrated as Science Day, commemorating the 105th birth anniversary of Homi J Bhabha. There were couple of lectures on implementation of innovative technologies by government agencies. Contrary to the commonly held belief that the abundant number of government run labs and scientific organizations do negligible work, there are few such government run organizations headed by passionate, knowledgeable, courageous civil servants doing commendable work. However, they may be more an exception than the rule. We still have a large number of autonomous, semi-autonomous, deemed autonomous, wannabe autonomous and other manner of organizations purportedly researching weighty matters in science and technology, guzzling public funds like many fat caterpillars and nothing to show for their years of existence. Instead of a bias for action, the bureaucrats and technocrats of these organizations have a bias for status quo.

 As a part of the Science Day celebrations, a declamation contest was held on whether science can be an equilibrium between development and sustainable existence.

The 3rd Cultural Programme was a qualified success. I must clarify, the qualification is of the highest order. Why do I put everything in bureaucratese? The highlight of the show, in my juvenile opinion, is that of the image of an affable gentleman officer trainee holding the dhoti up by both hands, protecting his modesty with admirable ease. We need more near wardrobe malfunctions to spice up the staid proceedings of the FC once in a while. There were glitches in the programme but considering that the OTs were quite hard pressed for time, even the effort of putting up the show was admirable. I always believe that trying one's best despite adverse conditions shows one's character. 

The evening does not end here though. The highlight of the evening was the lecture by Dr. Raghuram Rajan, Governor of the Reserve Bank of India. He has had a distinguished career as an economist and academician. It was interesting to listen to his experiences in navigating the political and bureaucratic maze in India. The lecture was followed by a formal dinner with the chief guest. It was an awkward sight, the chief guest and others at the high table and couple of hundred OTs gawking at the admittedly handsome alum of IIT D and IIM A. One needs to get used to more such awkward sights I suppose.

On Shattered Hubris

Most of the batch went rafting on the Sunday. Yours truly skipped the adventure sport. How many times can a man bop up and down in a raft over the same rapids?

From second hand reports of rafting, one gathers that the said event was the highlight of the FC so far. I salute the spirit of eternal curiosity and enthusiasm among my fellow OTs who had it in them to raft in the infernal cold waters immediately a day after pounding the tarmac on a 10km run.

Over the past couple of days, one was in an artificial psyched mood over an essay that needed to be written. An important lesson this exercise taught me was to curb my hubris. It was a good lesson. I assumed that I would write not one but three essays of 5k words each. In final analysis, I was lucky I could complete at least one and that with a vast deficit of words required. Thus eating the humble pie, which despite the bitter taste was filling, I slipped the offending inferior literary work under the hypothetical online door with barely minutes left. The adrenaline rush was nice. That however does not explain the binge eating and insane caffeine injection. Or the compulsive movie watching and fiction reading (not fictional!). The movie 'Paprika' (2006) by Satoshi Kon was a revelation. I had watched 'Perfect Blue' (1997) and 'Millennium Actress' (2001) by the same director, earlier. 'Paprika' seemed a distillation of a decade of the finest Manga that Nippon has ever produced as interpreted by a very gifted director. I am a poor reviewer, for, even three days after watching the movie, one is in awe of the movie. This movie review in the grand old lady of news papers, is a good read.

All this gallivanting instead of sincere application of one's mind to an essay was not without its fruits. One learnt two new words-fernweh and sehnsucht. Both are German and each has a profound meaning. For example, fernweh means literally "farsickness" or "longing for far-off places." It may reflect an intense urge for self-development by experiencing the unknown, confronting unforeseen challenges, getting to know unfamiliar cultures, ways of life and behaviours. (Wikipedia).  Sehnsuch means yearning, longing (wistful or melancholy desire). It has been referred to as “life’s longings” or an individual’s search for happiness while coping with the reality of unattainable wishes. (Wikipedia).

On Facebook Likes

Narcissism is a must have attribute for writer pretenders. Compulsive checking of number of 'likes' on Facebook and the page view count on blogger are examples of narcissism. Is narcissism harmless?

The 'likes' on Facebook are value neutral. Say, for example, a morally unscrupulous fellow may 'like' many posts and signify virtual acquiescence or enthusiastic endorsement of the content. How would anyone know if the fellow was 'liking' the post in a mocking manner? Likes dripping with sarcasm, perhaps? None would be wiser. Why does not Facebook give a colour code to the 'like' icon? Like, green if the object of FB like is of barf inducing quality or a jealousy triggering post. Yellow for Coldplay's song. Blue for the warmest colour. Metallic pink for iron willed women with a penchant for girly things. Acid red for all things wrong with social network narcissism. Et cetera.

One tries and tries to increase the 'like' count. Most efforts would be quite futile.

 

On the other hand, there are posts by certain others which garner millions of 'likes' and gain one's eternal enmity.

 

However, one knows that the likes are like turds out in the open. They smell only for a short duration and they disintegrate soon enough. Probably the reason why open defecation is still the most preferred and popular method among OTs on long treks, villagers and other country men.

The inbound traffic for this blog is Facebook in preponderance. However, few innocuous Google queries too land an unsuspecting visitor on this blog. A curious cat wanted to know 'chicken being served in lbsnaa,' another finicky citizen queried as to how lbsnaa is pronounced. The chicken being served in lbsnaa is delicious to say the least. We are also served mutton, fish, paneer, fruits according to season, eggs to order, fresh fruit juices, coffee and tea (the milky varieties), delicious brownies, dosas, idlis, uthappams, indeterminate 'Chinese food' and other edible items. Is the chicken being served halal or jhatka? Is it from a certified, free range, organic, natural farm and sustainably marketed? I am not sure. As for pronunciation of lbsnaa, it is pronounced 'labaasna.' If you can do it with an accent and finesse, you can even pass it off as French.

Enough of navel gazing. There is an act for Prevention of Corruption. There are institutions for tackling corruption. There are punishments for the corrupt public servants. Yet we have not moved an inch towards a corruption free country. 

Civil servants are expected to be acquainted with quantitative methods among other desirable skill sets. And so I meet my two old enemies- stairs and statistics. Hopefully they will no longer be my enemies by the end of this FC.

The cross country run race is scheduled for tomorrow. All the best for the long distance runners.

On Sex in the Snow

The Himalayas 'encourage men to search for something as exalted as the summits he can see.' For some, the ultimate exalted summit is love. Love that can not be found in the plains, at training academies etc is sought to be found at high altitude. From my observations I can only say that love is as elusive at 4000 m as it is at sea level. Then there are searchers like me, content with sights of the craggy peaks, forested hill sides, moon lit valleys and a million stars in the sky. I am a plainsman who grew up in the flat lands of the Godavari river delta. The highest point I had climbed in my childhood was a guava tree. Therefore, it is with wide eyed wonder that I view these glimpses of the Himalayas. I can identify with the Lama from 'Kim' by Rudyard Kipling who when he steps in to the mountain region in his quest for the River of the Arrow says of the mountains, "These are the hills of my delight! Shadows blessed above all other shadows! Here are my eyes opened on this world...out of the hills I came- the high hills and the strong winds. Oh just is the Wheel."

The mountains can evoke many passions in men. And women too. A common theme I used to find odd was the constant recourse to mountain backdrops for picturization of 'love' songs (duets, group songs etc) in Bollywood and Tollywood movies. Many melodious songs have been picturized in the mid-Himalayan region and this phenomenon has been explained to my satisfaction in this scholarly article, "Sex in the Snow: The Himalayas as Erotic Topos in Popular Hindi Cinema" by Philip Lutgendorf of University of Iowa. The plains man hero- hill woman heroine romance has been examined and explained in this article, building up on the mythological and cultural depictions of the hills as areas of liberal (liberated?) sexual atmosphere. Since I am constrained with regard to time, allow me to copy paste the synopsis of the article here.

"Fantasies about life beyond the front range of the Great Himalaya have been a trope in lndian literature since at least the period of the Sanskrit epics. The demi-divine beings believed to inhabit the high country were famously sexually active, and even the human "northern Kurus" (as residents of the region have sometimes been called) were rumored to have long, happy lives unburdened by inhibitions, especially in sexual matters: their women were allegedly free to enjoy multiple extra-marital liasons and polyandrous marriages. Such legends appear to persist in popular 20th century narrative through a much-used trope in Bombay cinema: the depiction of the Himalayas as a realm of uninhibited romantic fantasy. Although this trope is often confined to virtually extra-narrative song sequences that whisk the hero and heroine to Himalayan (or lately European or even New Zealand alpine) locales, a number of highly successful films have given it much more extended treatment by romantically pairing a plains-dwelling hero with a Himalayan heroine. This article briefly traces the history of this scenario and then considers the contextual and cultural implications of its use in two notable films: Raj Kapoor's Ram Teri Ganga Maili (1984) and Mani Ratnam's Dil Se (1998)."

Source: Lutgendorf, Philip (2005) "Sex in the Snow: The Himalayas as Erotic Topos in Popular Hindi Cinema," Himalaya, the Journal of the Association for Nepal and Himalayan Studies: Vol. 25: No. 1, Article 7.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.macalester.edu/himalaya/vol25/iss1/7

This article makes for an entertaining read, please do go through it. Apologize for using a classic bait and switch tactic with the use of a titillating title and then sticking a research paper to you. Though one did hear of PDAs in the hills, that is about all I can write here without venturing into tabloid type speculation and outright lies. Let them who search for love find it where they will and those of us unrequited with the mere sight of the exalted peaks may yet summit them someday.

On (in)Human Demands in the Himalayas and Few Photographs

The Gandhi Smriti Library at the academy is a delightful place. There are three fat volumes of Calvin and Hobbes cartoons, an absolute must read (or reread in my case) for the weary and tired souls. Or even Mills & Boon series of titles. The variety of subjects on which books are available continues to amaze me. One can find books on topics as esoteric and seemingly far removed from civil service as gardening to thick tomes on a dozen and more varieties of law.

The mountains bring out the best and the worst in man. A common ailment that most people suffer from when they go to the hills is what Bill Aitken in 'Seven Sacred Rivers' describes as the 'altitude's debilitating desire to demand things by right.' Thus, one finds normal, reasonable people turn irrational and demanding, oblivious to the obvious limitations in the higher altitudes. For example, hot water for bathing at remote huts and barely there dhabas. Or, food of sufficient variety to satiate the palate where the best option for nutrition is grass. Or accommodation of a standard not possible in places where the nearest roadhead is 20 km and/or a day's trek away. Of course, it could be that the 'normal, rational' people may not be normal and rational to begin with. Then, they are the worst thing that could have walked the mountains. Loud, boorish, insensitive to local customs and rude, they are anything but civil in trying circumstances. Perhaps I am harsh in my words. My peevishness can be explained by the fact that the endless antyaksharis and the catcalls and whistles and loud conversations scared away the Himalayan birds and animals that I was eager to see and capture on my camera. I was lucky to have heard, even over the man made din, the songs of many birds and spot a few. The guide, a local birdwatcher trained by the Bombay Natural History Society was knowledgeable and readily shared his knowledge of the fauna and flora. Thus one learned of interesting facts like how Ban Oak when yet a plant sports spiny edged leaves so as to discourage animals from feeding on it and as it grows the leaves change shape at the higher reaches while the leaves on the lower branches retain the spines. Like how the 'kutki' plant whose rather bitter roots are supposed to have a diabetes regulating effect besides being useful in treating digestive problems.

Kukti- Used in Ayurvedic medicine for treating digestive problems. Image source: http://www.kraeuter-und-duftpflanzen.de/media/image/c94946e555298340c63123700077d590.jpg

Or the pleasant fragrant leaves of the 'atrasu' plant which when brewed as a herbal tea is supposed to warm the body. There were a variety of edible 'bers' and 'jamuns' which the guide was kind enough to point out to us. We had our fill of these berries. Lesson being, a good guide can negate the ill effects of even the worst kind of antyaksharis. There is a wealth of knowledge among the locals. Traditional knowledge systems have to be tapped in order that they benefit the wider community. There is a scope for resource extraction without killing the mountains and cheating the locals. The current practice is of exploitative and extortionary resource extraction where valuable medicinal herbs and forest produce is being pilfered by unscrupulous elements, often being smuggled across the porous border between Uttarakhand and Nepal and then further in to the end market, China. The guide recounted examples of how 'dalaals' (brokers or middlemen) come visiting their villages to offer monopolistic prices for few herbs which they then sell to their customers in China at inflated prices. The guide suggested that the government can and needs to step in to curb the smuggling as well as regulate the trade in the herbs.

Below are few photos of the birds and animals and plants I came across during the trek. Help in identifying would be most appreciated.

Pika- Cute guy was munching on leaves near a place where we were filling our water bottles from a stream.

Pika- Posed patiently for few minutes before withdrawing shyly.

Indian Tortoise shell

Queen of Spain

What crested bird is this?

Berries

Again getting confused- is it a blue throated warbler or oriental magpie?

My camera was good

Sun lovers.

Size does not matter, attitude does.

On a trek to Lal Tibba and blue berry cheese cake.

Here is the trek description in a more readable form.

• Trek from the academy to Lal Tibba.
• Started at 7.30 am.
• Downhill walk till Bhilaru pump house.
• Salt sprinkling ceremony to ward off leeches and to maintain pH levels, slaughtered few mountain goats to propitiate trekking gods (ok, this part is made up, the sacrifice part).
• Some more downhill walk on algae covered paths (slippery as hell).
• Bicchu buti kisses in between (painful, painful, irritating initially, but one forgets after a while as the aches in legs from climbing overtakes the bicchu buti sting). Nobody quite grasped the nettle!

  

  Beware of bicchu buti.

  
  

• 

  Some mushrooms enroute.

• Dead wood blocks the narrow path; OTs slide on their bottoms in order not to roll down 80 ft before the fall is broken by trees. Fat bottomed OTs you make the rugged world go round!
• Crossed leech infested area near a pool of stagnant water and a ribbon of a stream that has the deceptive roar of a raging torrent, somehow. Yours truly mistook the leeches for earthworms, steps in to the pool, soggy shoes and socks torment for the rest of the trek.
• Climb begins in earnest. Narrow, gravelly path. Precipitous drop one one side and stinging nettles on the other.
• Crawl on all fours at a place. Palms still sweat when one thinks of that part. Happy because of the paunch which lowered the centre of gravity.
• Climb past hamlets, barking dogs, flatulent cows.
• Climb past fruit bearing trees (apple, apricot), 'mansoor' shrubs
• Climb ends at Lal Tibba view point. Two sleepy, generic cafes. A binoculars on a roof top. Cloudy so could not see any of the upper Himalayas. Do ends justify the means? Not for Lal Tibba trek I say!
• Pleasant walk downhill and some more climb up to ITM lawns for lunch.

• 

  A bee going about its business.

• Kellogg Memorial and St.Pauls churches, old and redolent of 19th century Raj era.
• Char dukaan disappointed few motor vehicle borne pretty young things. Heard the pancakes are worth making the trek to Landour. Should check out the said pancakes.

  

  Signboards at a cafe.

• Kulri bazaar home to quaint shops. Antiques store was a shortcut to an indeterminate past, in to lives of others, memorabilia mundane and mysterious. Reminded me of the saying that love is greater than truth. And commerce in nostalgia did not seem an example of exploitative capitalism.
• Serendipitous discovery of Clock Tower Cafe by friends. Blueberry cheesecake was out of this world. The ambience made it especially noteworthy.

  

  The interiors of Clock Tower Cafe.

  
  

  

  The coffee was good.

So that in nutshell is an account of the trek. Was it tough? You bet it was. Was it memorable? Every bit yes, especially the scary bits. Was it worth all the sweat, salt, fat etc? I suppose so.

A larger collection of photographs of the trek can be found here.

Below is the trek account in its original form.

Lal Tibba earned an enemy in me today. The trek was 18 km long. The unsuspecting batch started a slow walk downhill till we reached a point where we sprinkled liberal amounts of salt on our shoes (a pointless exercise, for dry salt does not stick to dry shoe surfaces), socks and inside the shoes. This pickling of ourselves in salt was to deter potential dependents in the form of leeches. Once sufficiently salted, the batch made its way through a narrow path surrounded by an abundance of bicchu buti. A handwritten caution note pinned to a tree does not prepare one to the full scale horror of bicchu buti rubbing against one's shins and arms, even through a layer of cloth. The resultant sting was bitter, intense for the initial 2-3 minutes and the itch fades away in to the background remaining a persistent irritant for a time. There was a spot in the descent where a fallen tree caused few anxious moments as the OTs had to go around the gnarled roots on a narrow path and descend some 12 ft in an almost vertical drop, land on another narrow strip of loose dirt path of 1 ft width failing which the OT would take a tumble down an abrupt drop of around 80 ft. It was the first instance when one feels a bit of trepidation. One also imagines Final Destination 1 to 5. Then there was another point in the climb where the loose gravel and a slope of close to 60 degrees meant one had to cling to tufts of grass or shrubs and climb on all fours. It was not a dignified sight for the civil servants to crawl on the sides of the hills, but between the indignity of crawling and the reasonable certainty of a headlong plunge to the very bottom of the valley some 1500 ft below, rational human beings choose crawling.

There was this funny thing of feeling giddy the moment one raises their head to admire the vista of trees of the deepest tree-green covering folds of earth, like vertical love handles, the tremendous middle Himalayan Mussoorie range. So, to avoid falling off the mountain side, one tends to keep his head down, eyes peeled to the path, belabored breath like a sputtering engine. Keep one's head down and climb and climb and climb. Through rocky paths strewn with slate slabs, dried cow dung, an accompanying dog and a racket of dog barks. Climb till you wonder if you are ascending to heaven. Climb some more till your calf muscles turn in to mountain goat muscle. Stringy and tough.

After all the climbing one reaches Lal Tibba. The point we landed up at after the rather difficult trek was a small piece of tarred road and couple of cafes. Since it was overcast there was no chance of seeing the snow-clad Himalayas and the prominent peaks. The culmination of the trek was underwhelming to say the least. Post lunch one was free to move to the academy as per one's preference and I opted to walk down to Landour, along with few friends. Landour was pretty as a post card. Of special mention was the Clock Tower Cafe, a delightful cafe with superb views and a blue berry cheese cake to die for.

On a Movie and a visit to Dehradun

"Day 19: Like Darwin’s finches, we are slowly adapting to our environment."

I borrowed the line from the movie 'The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel for the Elderly & Beautiful' (2011). Thanks to the Film Society for screening this good movie. It was an entertaining watch. Due to the recency effect, I shall borrow liberally from the movie. Like this dialogue, for example.

"Evelyn: The only real failure is the failure to try. And the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment. As we always must. We came here, and we tried. All of us, in our different ways. Can we be blamed for feeling we're too old to change? Too scared of disappointment to start it all again? We get up every morning, we do our best. Nothing else matters.

Evelyn: But it's also true that the person who risks nothing, does nothing; has nothing. All we know about the future is that it will be different. But, perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So, we must celebrate the changes. Because, as someone once said "Everything will be all right in the end. And if it's not all right, then trust me, it's not yet the end."

It can be said of the batch of 89th FC that we are slowly adapting to our environment. This point was driven home strangely enough when we ventured out of this environment. Half of the batch visited two institutes in Dehradun for the differently abled. The change in environment was quite obvious. 'The heat, the motion, the perpetual teeming crowds' of Dehradun were, if not of Mumbai level, at least a sea change from the life at Mussoorie. Weather at Musoorie is balmy while in the plains it was hot, humid and enervating. The sweet, fresh, rejuvenating air of the mountains was missed the most. When one starts living in the hills, the plains seem too plain. Now it all makes sense, the reason to locate these institutes and institutions at such altitude. However, there is no such thing as a free lunch after all. The price that we pay for the sweet mountain air is all the walk up and down the hills. 

The visit to the institutes was to sensitise the civil servants to the lives of the differently abled and also to acquaint them with the scope of work and the work that is being done to fully integrate the differently abled in to the main stream society. The issue to ponder about was not what software or hardware to use to aid the visually impaired or what approach to take to care for the intellectually disabled, rather, it is about how we perceive, in the first place. There is an us-them distinction that crops up the moment we talk of the differently abled and in deed when we talk of anyone or anything 'different' from our preconceived notions of the normal. If one can see the visually impaired as only visually impaired and then take actions that alleviate the day to day problems faced by them, as a matter of administrative right rather than as a duty, one feels that the lot of the differently abled will not be an intractable problem as it is being perceived. The incident that made a deep impression on me was how an intellectually disabled child was keen on showing off his talent at drawing to the visiting group of OTs. Dignity, in my opinion, is the foundation of human existence. The dignity and the self-esteem that the children displayed touched my heart. It was an important lesson they reinforced in me this day.

The bus ride to and from Dehradun was spent in blissful, if unstable, sleep by most OTs. One suspects the body is accustomed to sleep during those particular class hours of the day. For shame, KS! For shame.

The dinner was a pleasant surprise in that it was themed- Bangla being the theme. It is but obvious then that fish must be present and it was a delicious dinner that we had. A rohu is not a hilsa, yes, but it came close to the original maccher jhol. Memories of KGP came flooding back. The food at KGP was not the best I have had but it was the company that made all the difference.

Let me end this post with the birds again. In stead of the much maligned PT, we have had yoga this morning. Apparently it was the first time that yoga has been introduced as a part of the early morning PT regime. After awkward twisting and impossible folding of arms and limbs, one got to lay on one's back on a foam mat and watch the sky-blue sky and the underbellies of the swifts and the lapwings lit by the rising sun. I felt the world was a better place for the sun having lit the underbellies of the birds in brilliant gold. Such simple joys of life.

It is late in the day. A trek to Lal Tibba awaits tomorrow. Another day, another day trek. I am surprized we are even finding time to do the things that we are doing. As a character in the movie says, "First rule of India: there's always room."

A general post.

Horse riding is not easy as it seems. The smell. Horses stink. Sorry Gulaab, you do too. Gulaab is my ride. Then there is the infernal riding position. It stresses certain muscle groups. Like a fellow OT had remarked, all muscles are not equal. Gluteus maximus takes the maximum beating followed by other tender places. Horse riding may appear to be fun to the casual onlookers. But for chubby OTs on old horses, it is a different ball game. One tends to cling to the saddle hoping one does not fall off a horse. The horses rarely ever listen to the OT. They listen to the commands of the riding instructor or to the handlers. The OTs are nothing but sacks of fat on horsebacks. If the horses could talk, they would have said, "It is I who run things around here, not you."

I got a close look at a keen type probationer (KTP) today. The said specimen volunteered for a second round of a particularly strenuous activity while the first round was trying enough. It feels good to know that the future of this country is safe in these driven personalities. I expect to see more of these kind to emerge out of the wood works. What is life after all? Is not it a number? A rank? A comparison with every other person on earth? A position at the top in the inter se seniority? To each his own.

Since one half of the batch was out on a visit to two institutes for the differently abled, the campus seemed emptier. Would it be like this post the FC? Sleepy, quiet, no dramas to unfold?

 

Cultural Day

The Cultural Day performances took off, true to the name 'Parwaaz.'

The 89th FC batch showcased their acting, dancing, singing skills, keeping the audience captivated for close to two hours in the first cultural event for this course. After the lamplighting by the senior faculty members of the academy and a spellbinding rendering of a devotional song, a skit depicted the travails that the UPSC Civils aspirants undergo both before and after crossing the academy gates. This was done through the use of mythological characters. The result was that the skit was the undoubted attraction of the evening. Few notable and popular characters were Narada, Shiva and Yama. The others contributed their best to deliver an entertaining programme.

The lady officers of the batch took us through a quick tour of a Bollywood heroine's evolution from the 1950s on till date with the help of illustrative dances. A jugalbandi between the ladies and gents team of clever, modified Bollywood songs was entertaining if a bit long. There were recitals of shayari, English and Urdu poems, a group dance, a group song (Dooba dooba!), a solo guitar performance-all were memorable. 

Kudos to the OTs who participated on stage and to those behind the screen. Kudos too to the comperes, they kept the audience engaged. Overall an evening well spent.

This batch truly deserves the tag 'Rainbow Batch.' If this were the preview one looks forward to more such scintillating performances in the future for India Day and other cultural days.

The cultural event was followed by a dinner hosted by the course faculty. There were a variety of savoury victuals that could have sated the most gluttonous OT.

Photographs of the event may be posted at a later date depending on their availability from fellow OTs.

A lazy Sunday, 'Roads to Mussoorie'

'Let me have a companion of my way, were it but to remark how the shadows lengthen as the sun declines.'- Laurence Sterne.

Today was a breathing space of sorts. A much needed one. I spent the day idly lazing around in the room and in the campus. It afforded me time to read Ruskin Bond's 'Roads to Mussoorie.' The book is available in the Gandhi Smriti Library, along with few other books by Ruskin Bond. It is a good source material for information on local history, geography, flora and fauna. Like, did you know that Rudyard Kipling stayed in the Charleville Hotel in the summer of 1888? The erstwhile Charleville Hotel is the present LBSNAA as you all know.

So, from one writer to another, hope you enjoyed your stay at the academy. Did you write anything while you were here?

The OTs occupied themselves in various ways. The culturally inclined practiced rigorously for the cultural programme scheduled tomorrow. The invite for the said event is in the form of a memo. A memo is short for memorandum. More about memo in a later post may be?

A bunch of OTs played cricket with tennis ball and few even got injured. Most others went to the Mall Road to see all that one has seen last week too. Once one starts living in a hill station as a resident and not visit it as a tourist, the perspective starts changing. There is one main street and not much else to the sleepy town. The town itself starts contracting in size, especially after one covers the surrounding areas in short but intense treks. Soon enough one starts to look at people after one has had their fill of the trees, hills, clouds, shadows, flowers and birds. Now, people are infinitely complex creatures. And writing about them is fraught with consequences. As a writer, one must write. Therefore, you may find fictitious people in my accounts here. They will never be real people, not even in approximation, but an amalgamate of various characters, various facets of very many people. Any resemblance is surely your imagination.

About the quote at the start of this post. It is best to go for walks in the hills alone. However, it is not bad to have a companion too. Provided the companion can maintain composure not to talk except to remark on the remarkable aspects of the surroundings. That is what the quote means.

Coffee and baking

The Plaza Cafe is open from 4 pm to 10 pm. It is a hole in the wall operation, in the literal sense. It is located close to the Gyanshila building. The cafe has a coffee machine, obviously, and also serves snacks of a single variety. I have Cafe Americano (a diluted espresso) and the snack. I am finding good company for the coffee nowadays. It is a good sign. A coffee tastes better when one talks in between taking sips. [I should probably patent this idea.]

Every alternate day, the snack happens to be a brownie. The brownies are fresh baked, light, fluffy and taste perfect. To top it all, it costs only Rs.10! Not for me the brownish black lumps of bread that masquerades as brownie at run of the mill coffee shops. I have become a fan of the brownies here.

Mussoorie has a baking culture, probably a vestige of the colonial times. I have read about few places on the Mall Road and Landour that are famed for their pastries and other baked items. Besides, there is an extra curricular module on baking and cooking. Few batchmates were kind enough to share with me their experiments with baking. I am looking forward to them improving their skills and testing the end products of their efforts on me. I am not averse to tasting a cake, brownie or a cookie every evening at 4.45 pm and passing my considered opinion on the baked goods and the baker.

I shall make it a point to visit the bakeries that made Mussoorie famous someday soon. The thing about making promises is that I am wont to break them. Even promises made to myself. But this is about food. I may find my feet walking to these places without me knowing it. All in good time KS.

One would expect the Officer Trainees to be more officer-like sometimes. However, I have no business standing in judgment of anyone. Probably with time one becomes officer-like by default. Time will tell.

The Ganga Dhaba and its unnamed cousin, the adjacent cafe/grocery shop/daru-sutta adda are gaining the batch's patronage steadily but surely. The mess and the cafe within the campus may have to work harder to retain the loyalties of the OTs.

Heritage walk, Debate, Cows and Red Tape

To break the monotony (and the physical exhaustion) of PT, we had a heritage walk, of sorts, near the academy. Walk is a relative term. For a few, a simple climb up a road may be a challenge enough.

Waverly houses an old and venerable institution, the Convent of Jesus and Mary, Musoorie. It was established in 1845. A road in front of the school leads to Hathi Paon. Sir George Everest's estate used to stand there. I hear it is now in ruins. This place may be a destination when I find time and motivation enough to trek to places unbid. It may be a closure to the book 'The Great Arc' by John Keay that I read.

A very old school

Somewhere to go

The highlight of the day must be the debate in which the OTs participated. The topic of the debate was 'Executive should have no say in the appointment of HC/SC judges.' The participants put in a splendid performance. I think I can speak for the audience in saying that we thoroughly enjoyed the debate. Kudos to the participants for sparing no punches on their opponents. :)

I have noticed that the cattle here have an attitude problem. Sample these two:

Whatcha lookin at?

 The bovines charged at two or three OTs during the trek to Kempty falls. One does not relish the thought of a senior civil servant being charged at by the cattle. But what would the poor cows know? They can not differentiate one fat human from the next, and can not certainly read our ID tags which also mention the service we have been allotted. A true blue bureaucrat may try out a project to educate the cows. If not outright reading of the name tags etc, at least to differentiate between the services by way of colour, smell or in any other manner. I am sure the primary reason for their anger at the bureaucrats may be the red tape.

The Civil Servant Manifesto

What happens when a civil servant contests elections?

What promises do the civil servants make in their manifestoes?

What is the difference between an agenda and a manifesto?

It is election time at the academy. The good old handpressing, campaigns that promise the moon and canvassing are on. However, the election fever seems to be missing. The PT afflicted OTs seem disinterested in the lures of power. Many posts have gone uncontested. The elections are for posts in the various clubs and societies of the academy.

And there are very many clubs and societies in the academy. For an OT of sound mind and body, these clubs provide ample opportunities to excel at hobbies and extra curricular activities. All Officer Trainees are members by default. 'Nominal' membership fees are deducted. I dread to see my first paycheck after all these deductions.

The class room sessions have now moved from the initial agenda setting to introduction of concepts in law, management, public administration, economics etc. I recall reading these same concepts many years ago. Memories come, if at all, in snatches. However, they have to first cut through thick mists of slumber. Mussoorie weather is more fickle than a woman's mind. It shines brightly one moment and the next it rains. Clouds, in formations enough to give a complex to figure skaters and swimmers, are ever present. The hills and the clouds, they are lovers eternal. Alas! The only clouds the OTs see are the ponderous, impenetrable clouds of sleep! I may have to resort to my favourite solution for stimulation- a cup of steaming hot strong black coffee that sets one's senses abuzz.

The elections have set the group formation in motion, I believe. The proto groups of Mukherjee Nagar, coaching classes, regional, linguistic, service affiliations etc are now coagulating in to thicker groups. People seem to remember names (I am yet to improve in this regard), cribbing points are emerging. Group normation and formation is in process. By the time of the big trek, the batch may have taken a definite shape and character. Let us see.

The civil servant manifestoes seemed curiously unaware of budget constraints. Overall, the canvassing seemed a tame affair, used as I am to intense politicking of the kind seen at KGP and Wimwi. And that is tame compared to the student politics that get played out in colleges in rest of India. Elections to student union bodies at universities in Punjab was a recent issue. There was enough violence and drama involved in these student elections to put to shame any Telugu movie. Court strictures on student elections have been ineffective.

The elections are scheduled for tomorrow. Oh, by the way, yours truly has been elected unopposed to be a member of the journal society. So much for the silly manifesto that I typed in a hurry and shot off in a mail to the entire batch. I should have waited till I had known that no one else was contesting for this obscure post. I would have been spared the embarassment of that manifesto.

Thukpa, solitude, Mahatma Gandhi

Leeches dominated the last post. That was not my intention. Nor theirs, I believe. Let us agree to be friends and bloodsuckers.

Post trek, since my feet were still zombie walking while my body was stationary, I felt I needed to be out and about. What better destination than the Mussoorie town? Besides, a social media post of a photo of a friend with Ruskin Bond at a book store spurred my curiousity. I had last seen him eight years ago. I thought I might get a glimpse of him again. Celebrity spotting is not my hobby and I do not think Ruskin Bond answers to the title 'celebrity.' Nevertheless, curiousity is a powerful thing, it can move mountains.

By the time I reached the Mall road, the author was gone. I took a leisurely stroll and popped in to the restaurant "Momo's" after I felt safe I was not being followed by food snatchers. The food snatchers are nasty creatures that inhabit one's mind and make it impossible for one to have food anywhere but the Officers' Mess. They also reside in one's purse, from time to time, mostly the month ends and forever when one is in the government's employ. Momo's (apostrophe placed as per the signboard) specializes in authentic Tibetan and Chinese food. That alone is a give away. There is no such thing as authentic Chinese food. We know it to be a deadly concoction of MSG, soy sauce, vinegar and possibly, sesame oil. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the meat Saptak and meat Thukpa. I ate alone. The food was greasy, as may be expected from an outlet selling 'authentic' any food. All those calories I burnt during the trek were regained seven fold. This place may be my haunt over the weekends for the remainder of my time in Mussoorie till I discover a better place. The hot soup of Thukpa helped clear sinuses and warmed me enough to consider walking back to the Academy from Landour. It was two days before a full moon but the clear mountain air was as a thin, cold sheet of glass. The moonlight came flooding through the trees and illuminated the road as paved with a carpet of shadow leaves.

Solitude finds one in the hills like Cupid's arrows find their mark. Or not. That was a stupid comparison. The hills seem to be an enabling environment for solitude. I trekked for long periods alone, out of sight of others, my belaboured breathing my companion with the songs of a few birds or the gurgle of a stream far out of sight. What is it with mountains and me and solitude? The altitude perhaps. So much potential energy. It is natural for it to be converted in to kinetic energy. Words gush out, in poems, through blogs.

Today was Onam. The Malayalee OTs organized a gala fest. Onam sadya was well appreciated by the entire batch. The pookkalam was the centre of attraction. Not to be outdone were the ladies who dressed in their festive best. A slice of Kerala was seen in Mussoorie. One misses the seafood, though. The Konne Mara market in Palayam of Thiruvananthapuram was the place to be for fresh seafood. The best time to snag fresh produce was before 6 am, preferably around 5.30 am.

I spent most of the day at Mall road. Picture Palace to LBSNAA is a moderate walk of one hour. I have come to like these walks. It affords one time to think while walking. I am waiting for creativity to strike me one of these days while I am walking. As long as it is not in the form of lightning, I shall not complain. 

I have been hanging around the Gandhi Chowk so often that I may be considered as much a fixture of Mall road as the statue of Mahatma Gandhi at the band stand near Library Point. The clouds came rolling in from the valley below. A day of brilliant, blue sunshine and crisp, sweet air transformed in to a day for the moody, the gloomy, the solitary writer. The father of the nation emerged from the clouds, looming larger than life, his staff gripped tight in his right hand, the robe draped in a way that meant business, his stance that of a warrior going to battle. The sculptor used his imagination, no doubt and the result is better for the effort.

As a nation, we have a lot to fight for still. Maybe we should stop fighting with each other first?

Ice breaking, crushing, slushie making

The thing about being in the hills is that sometimes one sees the sun rise much later than one’s brethren in the plains. So we watched the sun rise from the Polo grounds during a 2-minute break we got in the middle of the PT. Since it was the first day of the PT, the instructor was easy on the OTs. Just some basic stretching and few rounds around the ground.

The climb up to the hostels after a vigorous session of PT may just be one of the many challenges that the OTs may face in the coming days. 

The batch was split in to groups for activities to familiarize with each other. However, after few hectic ice-breaking sessions, I suspect I forgot more than I remembered. May be the ice did not  break enough, it only thawed and refroze. Then it refroze all wrong. We are at a worser place than from where we started. Faces that look vaguely familiar are somehow not associated with the names and names that one has on the tip of one's tongue are somehow blurted out to address the wrong people. Perhaps it is the initial awkwardness, perhaps it is the cold climate and the decreased supply of Oxygen, if it is true, whatever be the reason, this name-face matching is taking too long.

A session today spoke of mess etiquette and another on the sartorial expectations from a civil servant. The aim of both these sessions was to instil officer-like behaviour in the OTs. Few of the suggestions made for the sartorial options available to the lady OTs may have tread on quite a few toes of the OTs, both male and female. Or I am reading too much in to the sentivities of the batch.

The overarching theme that emerges, in clothing, is the requirement for an internally motivated conservatism in the civil servants. Though this holds true in any other sphere of activity, it is of particular importance in clothing. One wonders if there were any civil servants during the Neanderthal era and if they did, what conservatism went in to their dressing before they jumped off a branch from the tree of evolution.

So help me god...

Thus the oath was rounded off with a hope that deity or deities of one's faith would help an administrator bear allegiance to the Constitution of India. A clause for conscientious objectors was inserted advising them to only solemnly affirm.

The Honourable Vice President of India, Shri M. Hamid Ansari, administered the oath to the Officer Trainees of the 89th Foundation Course. Prior to that, the inaugural ceremony started off with the national anthem, address by the Course Coordinator,  Director of the Academy, his Excellency the Governor of Uttarakhand and by the honourable Vice President. It may be of interest to note that the honourable VP is an alumnus of the institute having undergone the Foundation Course himself in 1961. One may find the gist of the dignitaries' speeches in news reports. Hence, I am skipping that part.

The course coordinator and the faculty introduced the course module to the OTs in rest of the sessions. A session on Official Language Policy was helpful in shattering myths and preconceived notions regarding the official language. The distinction between national language and official language (rashtra bhasha and raj bhasha) was clearly explained. The visiting faculty, Shmt. Veena Upadhyaya highlighted the nuances in various laws enacted to promote the official language. The question and answer session was informative as well, as the OTs brought in a contemporary perspective in understanding the language debate.

The inaugural ceremony and the orientation sessions were held in the Sampoornanand Auditorium located opposite to the reception area of the academy. The auditorium has an impressive octagonal roof and can seat, as per my estimate, close to 400 people at a time. The auditorium may double up as a theatre for one noticed the cluster of stage lamps overhead on the stage. I was reminded of my days as the lights boy for RK Hall (IIT KGP) dramatics team. It involved rotating a dial on the resistor from a cubby hole above the stage and out of view of the audience. I was a witness for many a fade in and a fade out and gimmicky light effects. The sound was crisp owing to the Bose sound system in place.

The OTs once free from the classes were seen clicking pictures of themselves in the ceremonial attire, around the campus. A point midway between Karmshila and Kalindi buildings (Karmshila houses the Officers' mess, Library, class rooms and Kalindi houses the VIP guest house) offers good view of the mountains all the way up to the Gangotri on a clear day, according to the guide to the peaks placed on a bronze plaque there.

The bandhgala is a tough dress to wear for long periods of time. I felt suffocated and hot all the while I was wearing it, for a good 8 hours. 

I got some time to explore the Gandhi Smriti Library. It is well stocked with journals, books, magazines, reference books, news papers, terminals for accessing the net etc. The feature that attracted my attention the most was the not insubstantial collection of fiction. The duration of Foundation Course, Phase 1 and 2 can be well spent with these books. 

The grind of the FC starts from tomorrow with the famed PT at the polo grounds at 5.55 am. The polo grounds are around 1.5 km from and below the Ganga hostel, reached by a steep path. The ascent will be a challenge. But then which ascent has not been a challenge? And it is not even the Everest, for crying out loud. It is a side of the Happy Valley. As a slogan goes, "No race, no rally, just enjoy the Happy Valley."

I clicked few photos of the campus. Next post, may be? However, I prefer my thousand words to my one blurry photo.

I do not see this daily blogging habit sustaining over a long time. May be this may turn in to a weekly update affair. Let us see how it goes.

Rainbow Batch and the Registration Day

Registration day did not disappoint from the perspective of form filling and form submission. Everyone was each other's surety/witness/kindred soul and other things.

I wish I had Google Glass on. It would have been a cinch to ID a person. To ease the process, one is required to wear the identity card on person at all times.

The stairs and the steep slope has me huffing and puffing by the time I reach the mess. How did we manage to get so out of shape?! Now, it is a full fledged ego war between me and the stairs. It is a Kung Fu Pandaesque situation. If I stop looking at the stairs as plain stairs and and imagine in their stead delicious wafers arranged as steps, perhaps I may yet climb them. Or I would be biting in to them. Or I might just roll down from the mess all the way to the hostel. In which case the Indiana Joneses of the batch may well be advised to dodge the Rolling Stone.

I had a sneak peak at the gym and the badminton, tennis courts. The gym is as they say, world-class. There were many plans made for paying a visit to the said place at the earliest and every day at unearthly hours. I see myself visiting it only in my wildest dreams. Good luck fellow OTs with the gym plans.

Probably in an indication of things to come, a lovely rainbow adorned the sky as the day drew to a close. Was it a sign? I would like to call our batch of 89th FC the 'Rainbow Batch.'

Registered a rainbow on the Registration Day

The batch is diverse and it is a good thing. However, the North East seems to be under represented. Correct me if I am wrong.

Talking of signs, while on the way from Patiala to Mussoorie, at an unschedule road side stop, one of our party came across two fat cobras 6 ft in length, it seems. And that, according to him, was a good sign. Perhaps he was currying my favour. I would have liked to know for whom it was a good sign. For him for seeing? Or for me for not seeing? That then is a glimpse of the vast underbelly of superstition. It should be cut and the entrails of ignorance ripped out.

Where were we?

The premises look spic and span now. Workers were seen putting few last minute touches. Mud was being scooped out of the grooves in the pavement. Railings were being wiped and wiped again to a fine sheen.  LBSNAA is fully geared up to host the visiting dignitary tomorrow. Us OTs (Officer Trainees) are expected to turn out in the ceremonial attire- a white/black Jodhpuri suit for the gentlemen OTs and saree for lady OTs.

The batch celebrated the birthday of a fellow OT and it was a fine occasion to get a taste of the esprit de corps (and the birthday cake) that I hope will come to define our batch, the Rainbow Batch.

89th FC at Labasna- An introduction

In the time honoured tradition of starting a blog the moment one reaches LBSNAA, Mussoorie, I too have started a blog. This is tacky and caters to many cliches. So be it.

I arrived here after passing through four states- Punjab, Haryana, Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand. Let us just say we opted for the scenic route, crossing Ambala, Jagadhri, Poanta Sahib, Dehradun and also towns with exotic names like Sela Qui, Herbertpur etc. Crossed the Yamuna at Poanta Sahib and numerous dry bed tributaries enroute. Passed through Kalesar National Park, which was the most pleasant part of the drive.

I will skip the mundane details of room allotment etc. I have been allotted a hostel that is infamous for being far from the main academic complex and at significant altitudinal difference. I had once suggested, in a manner of jest, that the stairs are my worst enemy. Looks like I got my comeuppance at the hands of stairs. Or the feet of the stairs.

Therefore, it should surprise no one that my first meal at Mussoorie happened to be at the Ganga Dhaba- a simple fare of chow and coffee. Why does it seem to me like I am beginning to relive my KGP times whence the standard midnight snack used to be always a greasy chow, a greasier omelette and a twice boiled chai? Taking the connect with KGP further, the academic blocks are named Karmshila and Gyanshila. They remind one of the Vikramshila complex of KGP. In one of its auditoria then under construction, I recited Sri Sri's "Nenu Saitham" poem in a weird, vain, creepy theatrical performance lost on wet cemented walls, bamboo support pillars, lost in echoes that still stay with me.

Be that as it may, the LBSNAA campus is pretty except for the infernal gradient differences. There is a flurry of renovation work going on under the watchful eyes of the PWD personnel. The campus is being spruced up in preparation for the visit of a high constitutional dignitary.

Therefore one finds the potholes of the road leading to LBSNAA from the Library Point topped up with tar. It is not a road that does not have a pot hole or a patchwork of tar on potholes.

Talking of Library Point, not much seems to have changed on the Mall road in all these eight years since I last visited this place. I was young, lean, with a full crop of hair, full of enthu and fresh out of college. Eight years hence I may have to admit that a lot of the zeal has faded and the idealist of yesteryears is a jaded realist of the present. I remember the excitement on spotting Ruskin Bond at a book store in Landour. It was the first time I had ever seen a writer, a famous, celebrated writer. Alas! I had not read a single book of Bond's (and in a telling damnation, still have not read any of his work) and therefore I watched him from afar autographing copies of his books for fans. Perhaps, one day I too will be a writer and I will beckon the awkward, gawking youngster in, give him a book and encourage him to read. Books should be our good friends, not daunting challenges as it so often happens to me.

Kulri area has changed a lot. There are glitzier shops, more neon and tackier clothed people than in the past. And down below, Dehra Dun shimmered like gold nuggets in a bed of hot, murky water. The city has sprawled over time. What was once a pretty sight of crisp lights from the city, like fireflies amassed in millions at the foot of the Queen of the hills, is now more like an aerial view  of a generic Indian city at night.

The shock of the mismatch between memory and reality morphed in to a shock of the mismatch between online and offline worlds. I met only a few people so far and they were kind enough to remember my name and call it out. I of course drew a total blank. I have never been good with faces and names and their proper matching. Hopefully that drawback will be remedied here. The mismatch between offline and online selves is what I would call Facebook dissonance. One is a decent looking, airbrushed image online, all witty and dripping with sarcasm, gregarious, with inexhaustible time to poke nose in others' business, online. Offline, you find a different person, diffident, warts and all and tongue tied. Not just me, but others too. So, we will have to recalibrate, I am guessing. Like a fellow wimwian had pointed that I look handsome in the display pic. :) I need to increase my glamour in real life too. :) People seem friendly.

The registration process is scheduled for the whole day tomorrow. Form filling, form submitting, duplicates, triplicates, signatures at 100 different places, photographs with and without signature on them, blue ink, ball point pens only, glue, staplers, folders, files are but few of the issues one has to grapple tomorrow. Not to mention the mad dash from place to place and finding out the location of various counters. At least that was the de riguer at my previous "Registration Day" experiences at engineering college, management school and private and public sector jobs. Will this be different? Only time will tell.

The funny thing about the opening and the closing days of these programmes is that one gets to see the campus and every nook of it on both these days. On the registration day you are figuring out what is where and trying not to get lost (like I did in the main building of KGP.) On the closing day though, one visits these places in a bureaucrat's version of treasure hunt, getting NOCs from all and sundry, reminding one that so many places in the campus do exist despite your own obliviousness.

So that is the first day's account. Like all things with beginners, I am sure it is high on the beginner's enthu. The name of the blog by the way is from the pronunciation of LBSNAA.