Hello there, and thanks for visiting this post. I feel the most honoured that you have taken minutes off your busy schedule to look at what’s been posted on ‘Live from Life’. Though remote, chances are that you might have visited this page a few times before this occasion and wondered if the owner of the blog had expired. Well, dear Sir, (or Ma’am), I had not died, but barely so. I was fighting a few big battles in the Great Patriotic War of Career, and have returned, scarred but experienced. Not that I had forgotten about the blog- how could I? This blog had entitled me to mention ‘Blogging’ on hobbies column in my CV, and that must have given me an edge over routine stuff like reading, music, philately etc. So why have I suddenly returned to revive this blog when its purpose seems to be over (embellishing my resume, that is). I have returned as I have some real nice stories to tell. This particular instant occurred on 29th March, 2008 – the day I fought the Battle of DMS – IIT Delhi. First of all, let me make it clear, I hated Delhi, from the bottom of my heart and from the heart of my bottom. I am fascinated by Calcutta, I have never been to Madras and I am awed by Bombay, but I simply can’t put into printable words what I felt about Delhi. Why? That’s because I felt that in Delhi, everybody was out to make an ass out of me. Some examples – in Bombay, you ask a cab driver the location of some place you do not know, chances are high you would get an honest reply, and an honest estimated charge for getting you there. (‘Estimated’, as in Bombay, cabs run on meters – for Delhi guys, that’s the funny thing dangling on the left flank of the auto, because chances are you have never seen one being used) Do the same in Delhi, and you would hear that the place is very far, and it would take a fortune to transport you there. To give a more concrete example, this one happened on 27th February en route Bombay for the Battle of SJMSOM. Have you seen the DMRC Chandni Chowk station? How far is it from Delhi Railway Station? Far!! It is on the same campus! That I did not know, and I managed to ask an auto wallah about it. Well, he told me the nearest Metro was 5 kilometers far, and offered me a ride there at a small price of Rs. 50 only! How sweet! Luckily I was in no hurry, and I thought that maybe I would wait a while before going to New Delhi, and as I turned to my left, there was the Metro station, just where we were standing! Be fair to me, I was new in the city, and DMRC does not really mark its stations in bright colours, they look like a crossing subway stands. Anyway, the auto wallah was not new to the city, and yet he had tried taking advantage of the ignorance of a stranger. Cut to 22nd March, after the Battle of VGSOM. It was Holi, and any means of conveyance was hard to find. So we found this auto, who agreed to drop me to New Delhi Station for Rs.120 ( the normal fare is Rs.70, never mind) So we were off. On the way I reminded him to drop me at Pahargunj Terminal and not the Ajmeri Gate Terminal. Well, the two are separated by a rail underpass, and it takes hardly 5 minutes to go from one to the other by auto. It so happened that we were approaching from the AG end, and the guy decided he did not want to do those extra 5 minutes. Well, he could not refuse outright, I hadn’t paid him. So the rascal racked his brains, and came with a story that really showed his IQ level. He told me that the police had closed off Pahargunj station, because of Holi, and all the trains are leaving from Ajmeri Gate station. May be he had never been inside New Delhi station, or he would have known that it was one station only, with two sides, and it was not really possible to close one of the ‘stations’. Well, I told him to drive on, and that I have got curfew passes to get into the besieged Pahargunj ‘station’! All this, just to avoid five more minutes of driving (in a one hour drive)! So naturally, whenever in Delhi, I always keep my guards up, seldom ask for locations and advice from people, and even if I do, I take them with a pinch of salt. So it so happened that on 29th March I was in the city again. I had already fought two battles: The Battle of DMS IITD and the Battle of MSIL Medical, and I had already won the latter. So I had gone to Nehru place, to get spare parts for my ailing PC. (That’s one reason I have to give points to Delhi – Nehru Place!) Well, I had to return to Delhi Railway Station to catch a train back, so I started my search for auto – and I got some really obscenely exaggerated demands- Rs. 150, Rs.200. Now I was in no mood to fork out that kind of money in the situation- I was in no hurry. It was 3:30, and my train left at 10:30. Hell, I could walk to the station in that much time! It was then I met this guy, who had not parked his auto near the rest. He told me to hop in, and pay what the meter shows. I could not believe my ears. Meters, in Delhi? I asked him again, what would he charge for dumping me at DLI. He refused to go that way, and said the law was to go by the meter, and he would respect the law. Okay, fine by me. We started. I asked him how did I have this pleasure of riding by meter in Delhi. He said that all Delhiwallahs are ‘chor’, ‘haraamkhor’ and lots of other things I cannot type here. He said that they are fleecing unknowing commuters with impunity, and they did not have a soul. My feelings, actually. But then, wasn’t he a Delhi wallah himself. No, he said. He was from Ayodhya – the birth place of Lord Ram, and one who hails from the birthplace of the Lord does not indulge in ‘do number business’. I nodded my head in agreement, but for me, he was still a Delhi auto wallah, and I was not going to fall for his sweet talk. I was wondering why was he so keen on going by the meter. I glanced at it. It had already clocked about Rs.40. I thought, this was it. His meter was running free of the wheels, and it was going to conjure up some really big figure in the end, in the most lawful way! We stopped at a red light. I kept on glancing at the meter. If it was free of the wheel, it should have been clocking away at the stop. Strangely, it was not. It seemed the meter was working as it was supposed to. Still there was the possibility that it was clocking away at a higher rate than normal. I checked the fare against the kilometers and ran a few numbers through my mind. It worked out to about Rs.4 per kilometer – not unreasonable. Now, only one thing was possible – his meter was showing more kilometers than we were actually moving – not much needed to pull that one off, just separate the meter shaft from the drive shaft by a step up gear train. Well, I could not demand to see his auto’s innards then and there, so I sat and waited for my destination. It was when he asked – Sir, are you working or studying? Studying - I replied. What is your highest degree? – he asked. B.Tech – I lied – technically I was still 3 months away from being a Bachelor of Technology, but telling him that I was a Class XII pass was also an understatement! He exclaimed – O, that means you are an engineer. I needed an advice sir. I tell you, that’s one ‘O’ moment engineers from regional colleges like mine dread, when some layman asks for engineering advice. I must digress to elaborate. Once a few of my mates were returning to the hostel from the University market on a rickshaw, and were discussing some stuff from the last paper. The rickshaw wallah asked – Are you from the College of Technology? Yes – came the reply, and the ride became hell for the hapless guys. The rickshaw wallah asked them about advice on how to improve his ride quality by tampering with the springs and stuff like that. Had it remained till that, it would have been fine, but then, the rickshaw wallah left ranting about his springs behind and began discussing some tractor back home. Our guys, who had completed three years of engineering education on one night fights before the papers, were made to look like total morons. So here I was, in an auto rickshaw, in nearly the same situation. Not that I was completely ignorant of what I was supposed to learn in these four years. The Great War of Career had made me battle hardened – but still, one could not know the extent and variety of a question a layman can field – after all, genius has limits, but stupidity is unbound. I braced myself for it – but the question was totally out of the blue. He said – I have a kid in Class X. Can I make him into an engineer like you? Wow, an engineer like me! That felt good. Of course – I replied – nowadays, anyone can become an engineer, with a bit of hard work and determination. I was feeding the guy the same dog crap anybody of some minor success feeds tip-seekers – hard work and determination indeed. I hoped I had buzzed him off, but I was wrong – he had dodged that lump of crap and asked me to be specific – how could he make his son into an engineer. Well, since the station seemed nowhere in sight and we seemed to be stopping a lot at lights, I decided to help him out – but what could I say – I could never figure out how the hell I was studying engineering when my original love had been particle physics. I am still not sure if I would remain an engineer after this June, or would I turn into a manager, and administrator, or God knows what. How could I, then, tell somebody how to become an engineer? I started at the basics. How is this kid in class – I asked. Sir, he is a topper – came the reply. Well, I thought to myself, nowadays everybody is a topper. If you are not a topper you are nobody. It was alright till I was in school. 80 percent marks were considered very good, and only few got 90’s. In my brother’s batch, there were guys getting 100 in social science and literature! So I thought – another topper! Well, I could not be blunt with a guy dreaming big for his kid, so I asked - how is he in Mathematics. Mathematics, my biggest bugbear, my biggest roadblock. Sir, he gives tuition to other kids of class X in Mathematics – said the cabbie. Now this was some serious stuff – guys who can teach others are something to be serious about. I, with all my grades, can’t teach anything to save my life, leave alone teach Maths. I hold Maths teachers in the greatest awe, same way Harry Potter was awed by Dumbledore, or the way the Mancs are awed by Sir Alex Fergusson. They have mastered Maths, which in itself is a big achievement, and then they are helping others do it, which is simply unbelievable! I said – Wow! He teaches Maths to kids his own age! What is he doing now. He is studying at the village school at Ayodhya only – replied he – but I am planning on bringing him here soon. I said – This boy shows potential for engineering. Then he asked – Sir, do not give me these clichéd answers. I am a man of limited means. Considering that, please tell me if I can make my kid an engineer. Now that was a tough one – how much money does it take to make an engineer. As much as one can put in – I know persons who have taken 5 years of coaching, at about 60 to 80 thousand p.a. or more, to arrive here, and I can’t imagine how much more these guys would have had to shell out if they had not rested before cracking the JEE! Still, I replied – your son sounds good in studies, so he does not seem to need any coaching. I personally did not join the Kota queue despite lot of coaxing, so I felt this guy should take his shot raw. Then, if he made it to a state funded institution, the expenses would come to about 30 grand p.a. He said – 30 to 40 grands, I can handle it – beyond that, I would have to think. Well – I said – hope your kid makes it to a state college then. Then I wondered if this was possible. State colleges are for high ranking students only, and unfortunately, in these days, it means students who can avail coaching. This kid, no doubt bright, would find it hard to rub shoulders with the coaching bred contenders. Chances are that he may clear the entrance exam, but with a low rank, which leaves the private colleges – where education could cost an arm and a leg. Clearly this cabbie was not in a position to give donations and pay six figure fees. So chances were high that one good candidate for engineering would lose out, just because his dad was a cabbie and not an officer. These kids do need help – maybe financial, maybe reservations. But I did not ask this man if he was an SC, ST or an OBC. In this great country of ours, we have not learnt from past mistakes – we are trying to annul the caste based negative discrimination of the past by caste based positive discrimination. Economic criterion based reservations are not talked about, as they are not vote-effective for the politicians. But is this a fault of the politicians, when they tender to vote banks- aren’t they supposed to do that only, what their constituency wants? Till the time the masses identify themselves by caste and religion and region, the politics will be based on the same. So a non SC, ST or OBC poor kid will not get into an engineering college – as he would not have coaching enough for a state college and money enough for private college. Soon, we passed the Red Fort, and I saw the old station at a distance. Here we are, Sir – said the man – would to alight here or at the gate. I glanced at the meter – it was in 80’s, and I thought that better take it to the gate, and make it near 100 to avoid change hassles. So I asked him to take me in. If I was suspecting foul play in his meter before, now I was thinking the other way – it hardly crawled into the nineties and we were at the gate. Anyway, he had been a good hassle less cabbie, so I pulled out a 100 note and gave it to him and left. Soon I felt a tap on my shoulder, and it was the same man, offering me loose change from my 100. I said – there was no need for it. To that, he replied – Sir, one who earns from hard labour would never accept others hard earned money for nothing. That was humbling. I felt bad for myself, how I had stereotyped Delhiwallahs and Auto wallahs as crooks, and how I had doubted the man’s well intentioned actions and sayings, looking for the trickery where none was involved. We shook hands as friends, and bid farewell after wishing each other well – he wished me success in my interview and I wished his kid the best in engineering. Now, sitting in my room, I am typing this piece as his wish has come true. In fact all the things I had planned for that Delhi trip in a single day had gone very well, and now I have an offer from the Institute. So I write this article praying to the Powers that be to let my wish for him come true, and implore any reader who has read this far to pray for the same.
P.S: After this article was finished, I came across an interesting piece of news – now they are offering coaching kids coaching to crack the entrance exams to the elite – wait for it – coaching institutes at Kota! God help the next generation!
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