An Indian Summer Remembered- Part III

Day 1- Slot 1
(On the First Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me one reason to remember)

It was supposed to be the litmus test of batch unity. It was supposed to be when we finally shouldered our responsibilities and made the statement… “We are there for you.” For all the loudness of these refrains, pounded into our heads by mentors and many GBMs alike, the day started with the barest whimper.
Companies were trickling in- the best marketing companies and the biggest conglomerates in India- for the other half of the best and brightest in Bangalore. A lot of the Day Zee signouts took over from the seniors, manning the outposts, seeing to the comfort of the students and companies alike.
Volunteer Rule Number 1: Keep the companies happy even if you don’t get the students for them.
I promptly smiled at the alumnus of the marketing company that had come. He was a friendly person after all… it ought not be too hard to keep them happy.
“So, you want coffee? Tea? Sandwiches? Lunch?”
The interviewers seemed perky enough. And their wants were limited. After placing orders for the 5 lunches and 5 sandwiches, we found ourselves deep in conversation with the recruiters.
That of course brings us to Volunteer Rule Number 2. We do not talk about Rule Number 2!
The Company tracker was a relaxed senior with whom we spent time discussing the scene and future prospects. When suddenly, it all became just a little hectic.
Yes, it was the dreaded spectre of Group Discussions.
Through the whole day, we shepherded in groups of 8 or more students for GDs, signed them out and then waved them onto more processes. And through the whole day, we could just watch the sight. Normally confident students slowly wilting under the pressure, moving from one blindly from process to another, stopping in the middle just to ask, “Which company is it now?”
Through the day, the company kept interviewing or demanding to see more students, and keeping matters very close indeed.
The whole process had swung into top gear, well oiled and beautiful to watch in the abstract. Every student accounted for, each second counted and the trackers on close watch. It was awe-inspiring and at the same time, felt like the most tedious thing in the world.
Companies were still the same, underneath it all. Some students were still being fought over, especially when they had been known to have an offer in hand. Some students were still left in the lurch, running from process to process, naught in sight.
I sat there primly on a chair, watching the world go round. I watched as a friend was cornered and asked to decide on the spot. And then I told him to do what he so obviously wanted to, “Go away from the main building, and don’t come here.”
Damn, that felt good! Of course, I then had to march to the trackers and PlaceCom and report what I had done. The PR, uncharacteristically, burst into a fit of giggles and then composed himself to ask me if I knew where the friend was. After a few tense moments, he was found. His beaming eyes were answer all I needed. Since the company didn’t get that candidate, I gave them some coffee instead.
People shuddered at the name of a certain IIMBian who had caused whole groups to be chucked out due to inherent tendencies to turn any GD into a fish market. This feeling was best exemplified by, “You mean SHE is in my group? I think I should give up right now!”
So, the day ended. The offers hadn’t piled up at all. And at the end of it all, we were all feeling a bit dissatisfied.

Day 1-Slot 2 to Day 2-Slot 1
(On the Second Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me two separate days lived together)

The MDC was beginning to take on a distinctly empty appearance. People were leaving and the seniors were annoyed.
“We work our asses off for your placements and this is how you repay us?”, asked an annoyed senior.
“Uhm, do you want a tea or coffee?”
The reason was simple. People were getting frustrated and nerves were stretching to fraying point. The pundits were predicting 6 days of Placement. We just couldn’t take it anymore.
Companies were calling with apologies for not showing up. They’d realized they wouldn’t be seeing enough numbers to recruit. Volunteers showed up at the reception, looked around and then sat in the main lobby with their friends.
Looking around, you could see the difference in the people. The lucky ones in their ‘casual’ business formals, laughing and joking with each other and the ones still left in the process were showing the strain.
We were all sitting, talking and joking generally, smug in the goodness of our hearts- because, after all, we had shown up, hadn’t we? A tracker came up, looked around and said, “All of you got placed huh? Slot zero?”
Someone tried to speak up, “Yeah.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Don’t you think you should at least be sitting with the others and giving them companionship?”
Quick as lightning, all of us jumped up with identical embarrassed expressions on our faces and went and found ourselves work to do.
There was only one problem, we didn’t know what to say! So, slowly, uncertainly, people either withdrew or cracked awkward jokes. We could see it before our eyes- cliques forming, people sitting together, holding hands. The air was charged with electricity and the million prayers being mouthed every second.
Maybe things would look up the next day.

Day 2- Slot 2
(On the Last Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me a champagne shower at L^2)

There was that expectant hush in the air again. After all, hadn’t IIMC’s placements been over in five days? And there were so few people left in the process.
And so we shall fast forward, glossing over the despair of the last remaining, the determined PRs striding towards the goal that was on the horizon, over the innumerable conversations between the students about when placements would end and over those cups of Coke.
And we pause at that magical moment. It’s around 6 P.M, two companies are still on campus. PlaceCom has sent a mail, and the lobby is filled with PGP1 students. And there, on the first floor, stand the 8 PRs, a very happy SM and Mr. Nagaraj, our wonderful Placement Coordinator, all wearing beatific smiles. Our faces are all raised and the happiness is almost tangible.
The speech begins- long lists of people to thank, advice given and long pauses when the batch voices their approval. The cheers go on and on and the loudest ever. The longest is reserved for the one person who works tirelessly for this collective… this ideal… this crazy IIM mela of Placements.
I look around again, ever the spectator. People have tears in their eyes and unbidden, they’ve come to mine too. SM declares the placements closed and the whole MDC erupts in spontaneous glee. All those pent up emotions have breached the self imposed dams and everyone is hugging each other and shaking hands.
The newspapers the next day give the bare facts for they cannot capture what it was like. It was like a life lived. And we get to do it four times in two years! Aren’t we the lucky ones?
And of course, noone needed to ask us where the party was tonight.
That song played at least 4 times on L^2 that night!

An Indian Summer Remembered- Part II

Dear Diary,

The story up till now is: I got placed in the first 5 hours of Day zero and had nothing to do for the rest of the day.
But the day brought mixed feelings for me. Don’t get me wrong, I was ecstatic for myself, but day was kind of disheartening. The stories abound- sure to reach mythical proportions for my batch.
There were some people who didn’t have anything to do the whole day and were still called there to sit… doing nothing. There were those for which multiple companies were fighting for. There were those who were running from company to company the whole day and when the bell tolled, were left with naught in their grasping fingers.
A lot of shit seemed to be happening. I was hoping we would have some maturity, some perspective. But it was not to be. Everyone was being carried away in the sea of high expectations.
In the cold light of day, I am inspecting my own motives and trying to pick clean through all of them. I can only hope this clear headed reason would be present even if the shoe was on the other foot AND biting hard (so much for mixed metaphors).
They say we might have 5-6 days of placements- till Day 2 though. We seem to have a weird way of counting off Days here in B-School.
The Company was nice enough to take the five of us interns into the room and give us some leftover cake. No overt celebrations… we are not done placing 250 odd students at IIM Bangalore.

Day 0.5
(On the Halfth Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me a ‘Fraud’ friend in Germany)

The next day dawned- bright and chirpy. The day after 0 and before 1 has been split in half- companies straddling the fence… too long processes or take you to remote corners of the world. The institute, like the companies themselves return the favour. The day is fondly referred to as Point 5. They say that the day is less hectic and companies take everything in their stride.
We’re still in our suits, giving our friends company. But the day repeats in a mindless cycle- get Coke from machine, gulp it down… make weak jokes… pray hard and wonder when this would end.
Some people get through the drill and it’s official. IIM Bangalore has bettered all records for the first day of placements. PlaceCom heaves a sigh and grits their teeth for the work that lies ahead. I go and sign up for company volunteering. My seniors have made it amply clear to me that they want me at the MDC everyday, making myself useful… or else. But somehow, right now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

An Indian Summer Remembered Part-I

A Life in the Days of an IIMBian

A post more than 18 months in the making…

November 2006

Day -1

Dear diary, Today I bugged the hell out of my mentors. And my resume mentors. And any other mentor I might have interacted with in the course of my 4 months stint at IIM Bangalore. Thankfully Acad (and our Admin) gave us a day off between Mid-terms and Summer Placements so that I may mug in peace. Have been cramming up on Derivatives from Hull, Corporate Finance from Brearly & Myers, PDFs from DC, PPTs from batchmates, every issue of ET and The Hindu, and yeah, personals that are liable to be asked. Case studies have been spewing forth, till I can mumble in my sleep, “If we assume that the number of families in India is…” I feel so under-prepared. I haven’t brushed up on the Indium and Ytterbium commodity markets. Got my suit ironed, though. Tried it on, and it feels funny and good at the same time. I will have to wear it for around five days, so I better get used to it. I have been debating whether to sleep or put a night out to study for the process. It’s midnight and I thi……

Day 0
(On the Zeroth Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me zero worries at the end of the day)

The air is buzzing with excitement. Everyone’s in their suited-booted best. I got to the MDC at 8 AM and saw the whole batch there, dressed to kill. Alas, no company had lent their presence yet. And the wait commenced…
The seniors are everywhere- manning the hospitality desk (they tell us that sutta is going to be the most overused item), at the front lobby practising their smiles and wiles for the companies, holding walkie-talkies and tracking for the ‘critical candidates’, in the control room- maybe holding our destinies in schedules.
I don’t think I am a critical candidate. Geez, I wish I had studied more for JEE. Or not been an engineer- whatever.
I go take Coke from the machine- this promises to be one of millions of trips, and join in the banalities being uttered by more of my ilk- the non-critical candidates. The camaraderie is pleasant and I can mentally see people gearing up to face the barrage of interviews.
It’s going to be a long day.

After 90 minutes of Coke-induced high, the tracker calls for me, and I follow him (why is it always a him?) into the 3rd floor for my first interview of the day. They tell me it’s a global bank and wants me for IBD. Great. Maybe I can dazzle them with my fin knowledge.
I give weak smiles all around. Already news has filtered in of people making it to the top banks. The PR comes and sits next to me, grins and gives me a thumbs up. “You are in their good list.”
“There was a bad list, is there?”, I quip. I want to ask him what happens to yield rates when time to maturity increases.
Why’s my mind blank? I KNOW the answers, don’t I? I learnt them for the past one month.
In the middle of this muddle, the volunteer calls me in.There are two firangs in the room, and I give them my most dazzling smile. There’s a momentary tussle while they ask for my resume and I refuse to hand them my black IIMB file. It feels like my last lifeline has been thrown out.
The first question seems a sitter, “So, why would you make a good banker?”
Damn. Hadn’t I done this one? Relax, kid. Smile a bit. The answer shall come to you in a bit.
The consult answer slips out, “I am enthusiastic, strive to do the best…”
WHOOPS.
After 1 minute, I lamely end, “… and err, I am good at err… Maths.” That must be the single biggest lie I have ever told in my life.
“Erm, okay.”
3 minutes later, it was over. The first interview in my life I knew they weren’t calling me again for.
Well, that’s a novel experience. Let’s have some more Coke. Ahh! Samosas! Is it already 10?! Wow, time sure flies when you are having fin.
Barely had I landed on the sofa downstairs when someone yells, “YOU! Go to the big consultancy on the ground floor opposite.”
Cool. Another company where I can make a fool of myself.
Dutifully, I make my way into the landing where the company has made a full appearance. People are walking to and fro and a super senior comes and gives me a full-sized grin. I immediately feel better. “Here have a five star.”
Well, I won’t say no, and boy, I don’t see any Coke around.
After five minutes of waiting, munching a chocolate and seeing happy gatherings of people, I relax. And there she comes- the partner- who shakes my hand with a pleasant smile and pushes me firmly in.
I look outside with a sense of despair. Not again! I can’t do this.
Before you can say “Case study!”, she’s looking through a thick file and asking me, “So how do you like doing case studies?”
“Sure! If you say so!”, I project enthusiasm in every syllable.
She smiles and asks, “So why should you hire you?”
Out it comes again, “I am enthusiastic…”
One minute later, I end it properly, “… and I love this company!”
She smiles, clearly happy with the answer, “Let’s do the case! Estimate number of asses who buy hair accessories in India!”

(Small aside: 1) So many exclamation marks? C’mon, they were enthu! 2) Of course, the case was different.)

I start carefully, “If we assume India’s population to be 1 billion, and the ass: human ratio to be 1:10000. Is that a good assumption?”
“How do you get that number?”
“Observation, mainly. But are you talking only of donkeys or a more varied species that may contain people too?”
“I’d like the complex formulation.”
“Then the different kinds of asses are- 1) Men- 500 million, 2) donkeys, 3) Some women.”
Both of us have a good laugh and continue to find the target segment for hair accessories .”

30 minutes later, I am escorted into another room where I proceed to find out how many numerical errors I can make in the space of 5 minutes. Maths is soooo my strong suit!

At 11:15, I am out and they push me into a chair to ‘wait’. After half an hour, I start fidgeting, when the PR comes. He raises his eyebrow and I motion inside and mouth, “I am waiting.”
He nods curtly and leaves and I get another five star! I ask my super-senior, “Can I please go take a break and come?”
“Hmm, okay. But COME back!”
Err, yeah, I am not being called or anything. I have a whole Day-0 to loaf around!
Five minutes later I am back, and at 12:30, I am called in again.
The partner apologises for keeping me waiting and says, “We need to test your ability to ask questions.”
Sure! What am I doing here for so long? Do you want to take me into this company? Can I go back now? Please?
After the sustained barrage of questions, the partner wilts and says he will make me an offer!
At one o clock, I am outta there, job offer in hand. The PR signs me out of the company and mutters, “One more out of summers” into the walkie-talkie.He has a few choice words to say, “You will NOT tell anyone you got an offer from big consultancy.”
I nod happily and go out, training my face into a worried look. People get up in unison and ask, “How did it go? It’s been too long!”
I shrug nonchalantly and a friend pats me on my back and says, “It’s OK. You still have the other big consultancy.”
I look up and a tracker smiles at me in the midst of flicking his eyes from corner to corner. I grin slightly and hurry down to call my folks.
The half an hour I’ve been out, things have changed. The moment I step onto the waiting area, people surround me and say, “Congrats!”
Aww shucks, and now he will think I told everyone.
“Thanks, but who told you?”
“Everyone knows!”
“Aww gee!”
My friend comes and pinches my arm, “And to think I wasted so much sympathy on you.”

Suddenly, another tracker pushes me into a bank’s process. The HR is standing outside and asking what we are interested in.
“Uhm, consulting.”
She shakes my hand and wishes me luck.
Hey, this is fun!
The other consultancy calls me in, and I stand outside. Someone murmurs, “Please go tank it.”
Boy, do I tank this one. Twenty minutes later, they are very pleased to chuck me out. Somehow I think I will never be welcome anywhere near it again.

(Aside: 3) And I wasn’t.)

At 4 o’ clock, everyone is standing and chatting about the funny stories. The one where one bank was so hellbent on a friend, he was asked if he wanted monthly flybacks home. The ones where an ibank and a consult took simultaneous interviews of another friend. And in the middle, I saw those groups of people who were sitting there with their files on their laps, nothing to do. And boy, I feel like such a heel.

More on that. The story continues.

Leaving.

I stand over-awed on the threshold of something new,
It’s hard to say goodbye, just so easy to say “thank you.”
Want to hold on tight; two years have flown past so fast,
Don’t want to blink, I might miss all those moments last.
I believe that it was the wonderous hand of fate,
That brought me to IIM Bangalore PGP 2006-08.

It’s sinking in slowly…

Closure

I am leaving CET in a week. This is something I wanted to post around 8 months ago…

This is a post that has been pending for sometime. Many a time I started typing the words that I hoped would in some measure put my feelings into words. But, everytime, I failed. This is an attempt, futile maybe, to bring closure.
Death is something that happens in everyone’s life. Whether it is the end or beginning of something is debatable.
But, murder…. Murder is different. Murder is despicable… Murder is also something that shouldn’t happen to someone you know.
On 13th October, 2005, my classmate went missing. It was around the holidays and nobody really knew about it. The next day, we had our seminars, and all of the seventh semester, Applied Electronics were busy in eking out just those extra five marks from their talks.
Maybe we were too engrossed in our own lives to notice the absence of someone we took for granted in our class, maybe we were guilty of paying too less attention. Maybe, we were just too human….
The next week, it casually dropped into conversation.
“Did you know Shyamal is missing?”
That’s when I remembered he hadn’t been coming for the labs. We were trying to figure out where he could have gone and when he’d gone missing. Conflicting stories came up. Some thought it was Friday and some were sure they’d seen him on Thursday. The girls were anxious, and the boys tried to reassure us.
“He’ll be back, he always is.”
The story found itself on Page 3 of Hindu everyday. The police had no idea. The police suspected extortion. The police were in Madras. The police were questioning students. Always the headline read, “Missing Engineering College student”.
Everyday, unwillingly, I pulled myself to read the newspaper, praying hard and wishing that one day the headline would read “Missing Engineering College Student found.”
This is when students come together.
We started discussing about what could be wrong. Where he could have gone. What could have happened. Hundreds of questions and hundreds of plausible answers and just an unspoken question in our minds, under the surface, “Are you as afraid as I am for him?”
Everyone was afraid and unable to voice what we actually felt.
Days passed in this fashion.
Everyday, I picked the newspaper. The media was sensationalising everything, and I hated myself for relying on what the papers were saying. I ought to have known him better. I ought to have taken the time…
So many maybes… so many what ifs….
When, suddenly, that was it.
I took the paper one day and turned automatically to the third page. There was a terse report of an unidentified body found near the By-Pass. I turned panicky. On reading, it said it was that of a 30 year old man. My mind quietened down and my prayers became more vehement.
That afternoon, I got a phone call.
“There’s bad news. Shyamal’s body has been found. He’s been murdered.”
I sat down. There was a knot in my stomach. I forced myself to read the report again, reading between the lines.
I remembered the shirt he was wearing that day, according to the report.
Unbidden thoughts flooded into my head.
All of us in workshop garb, doing carpentry, and sir asking if everyone understood Malayalam. Whereupon, everyone pointed to Shyamal, saying he was from the Andamans. The sir had to spend three weeks explaining everything in two languages.
Shyamal sitting down on the verandah, outside our Power Electronics lab, playing with his mobile phone.
All the boys bugging him to know what the hindi word for ‘cockroach’ was. The MHites asking him to fan them as they “so”ed (slept).
His quirky humour and his funny way of talking.
The way he (and all my other lab partners) filched my lab record and rough record to do their experiments.
Three years of opportunities when we could know him and couldn’t. Three years ago, his parents had sent him to our college to get a B.Tech degree. Never again would they see him. Never again would there be a chance for us to know him properly.
My prayers turned. I hoped he hadn’t suffered much in his passing and I prayed for the peace of his family.
I felt for those of my friends (and his) who had to go and identify one of our own.
I found I couldn’t bear to be alone. I got online and I stayed online for 3 days, talking nonsense.
Many times, I took up blogger’s home page to write an eulogy. But what could I say, other than:-
“He was my classmate, a gentle soul who never harmed a fly. This ought not have happened to him. We didn’t really know him. We wish we did.”
Then, we began hating the media. The truth of “news” and invasion of privacy had caught up with us.
Initially, it was in the turn of phrase, the slightly sarcastic way of saying “disappearance”, quotes included. Then it escalated, the front pages were splashed with his picture and those of his grieving parents. “Leads” were being followed. And everywhere we went, murmurs followed..
“Oh, so you are in CET. That boy…”
“He was my classmate…”
“Oh….” A long pause invariably followed. “What kind of boy was he?”
We hated the question and the answer equally. “We didn’t know him all that well.”
I gave up reading the paper for the next week. When we went back to college for our sessional exams, his pictures were put up on every wall, and I couldn’t bear to look at it without remembering him with the half smile on his face, which he invariably had.
He had been one of us. All of 21 years of age. His life was nipped in the bud. Murdered for no fault of his own. Senseless, violent murder for no reason at all.
In his life, an average engineering student, having fun in his own way. One of the faceless, nameless thousands who pass out of such colleges everyday. In death, he became a political statement and a media frenzy. And like all political statements, short-lived. For some days, there were placards around the Secretariat that said “Bring the perpetrators of the Shyamal murder to justice.” Those eventually disappeared too.
The Shyamal murder… Shyamal was a person to us, he wasn’t a statement. These two words are something none of us can reconcile with each other, try as we might.
This is my prayer, dear god, give his family the peace of mind they need and the strength to face the tempest ahead.

CGPU Chronicles.

CGPU, the Career Guidance & Placement Unit of the College of Engineering, Trivandrum. The place made of gossamer dreams and concrete walls, the mystical land of opportunity, where students enter quivering and come out into the adult world.

We were the proud flag-bearers for the CGPU, the batch of 2002-06.
The torch has been passed, and what’s left are the bitter-sweet memories of the last year, locked up in the treasure trove of the past.

In some ways, I want to inform my juniors what is in store for them, both as representatives and students. Because, well, the responsibility of the CGPU is on every student alike.

The first rule of the CGPU: You DON’T talk about the CGPU… Okay, just kidding! Yeah, it was a lot of work. A lot of late nights, and later work, Excel spreadsheets (which I take great pride in updating) and the rolling numbers, loads of bugging students and staff alike, but as the time went by, the joy in the work grew.
The actual first rule ought to be: You’re not working for your class, you’re working for the college. 3 days into the process, the divisions of Electronics, Mechanical, Electrical etc disappear. What’s left behind is this thought, “How the hell are we going to place the rest of the students in my college?”
The sooner the thought crosses your mind, the more pride you take in your college and your small part in it, and the more seriously you will take your responsibilities.
The second rule is, of course, you will enjoy yourself. Trust me, you’ll miss the days that there are no companies on campus and the days that you can’t meet the others.
One of the questions a senior asked me (bless her!) when I told her I was the placement rep whilst preparing for CAT was, “Shruti, are you sure you can handle it?”. Actually, I am not even sure how the year would have panned out without this huge bright spot of joy in my life.
I am going to remark about how I saw one of my friends cry for joy when he got placed. He was calling up his parents, his grandparents, his neighbours, his… well, you get the drift. Of course, I was there to lend him moral support in the form of pulling his specs off, laughing at him and then blackmailing him.
Well, what can I say? I am heartless… But, children, you don’t be! The euphoria of seeing 100-odd people get their jobs is something that can never be replicated.
No, working for the CGPU is not a piece of cake. You’ll learn about what makes people tick, you’ll be under a lot of mental and emotional stress for some days, but you will come through all of it. You will be the stronger for all of it.
But… (and this is most significant)… BUT, you’ll need to be true to yourself and your work.
Please take on responsibility only if you think you will carry it on whole-heartedly. And, this is a lesson for life.

Okay, enough of the dreary talk.
I had a blast, guys….
Thanks for all the fun.
Love
Shruti

This post is dedicated to those awesome friends I made, Samson sir, KK, Vinod sir & yeah, Lallu, Balu, Ashok, Tina & Tina for being our mentors.
The CGPU rocks!
All the best to our juniors with their placements and their lives!

Demo Week: Let’s See How Low We Can Go.

Thanks to Aswin for giving me the inspiration to finally post about the Demo Week.
The Stupid FAQ Section About the Demo Week!

1) What is Demo Week?
To know what Demo Week is about, you must be a final year student with OODLES of time on his hands. There are no classes to speak of, and during the time we sit around swatting flies, we decide to go back to our childhood days. Demo Week is a long standing CET tradition, wherein the final year students spend most of their lunch breaks walking around the college wearing the most outlandish costumes possible, complete with war cries and random cries of “Yeeha, Jai bolo S8 ki.” We relieve our boredom (and our sore throats) by then asking the juniors to do that. Meanwhile, we also take pictures!

2) Okay, so why is it so relevant?
Ask a starving man would he like a chappathi, would you? Don’t be silly. As a CETian what he would like to do before he leaves college, and chances are he will say, “Dress up as a Pandi and dance Appadi pode pode.. ” or even “Wear my school uniform and hold a balloon.” But, CETians love Demo Week for two reasons, depending on which year you are in..

• As a junior, you suddenly realise that your seniors are all MAD. Yes, even the sedate and staid ones. It’s fun to see them cavorting around with all the gay abandon of small toddlers playing dress-up.
• As a senior, imagine the joy to accost an unsuspecting junior and drop the day’s hottest joke/leg pulling opportunity on them. Don’t get us poor senior CETians wrong, but since ragging is banned on campus, the final week is a pressure valve where guys talk up the pretty junior girls and senior girls generally can make a nuisance of themselves. Then, of course, there’s the charm of doing things you have never done before and look like nothing on earth.

3) So, enough of talk. Where are the stupid pictures already?
Okay, okay. They are coming up, in order…

1. Black Day
2. Pandi Day
3. Cross-Dress Day
4. Goonda Day

Demo week online

Me, Divya and Divyasree, after the first face-painting exercise. This started off with me being the first guinea pig and the chosen medium of eye-liner and graduated to black and silver paint and the whole of the Department with blackened (and silvered) faces!

Aravind, Shinu, Sreekanth and Sidharth: The Royal Mexx. As evidenced by the Jolly Roger!

Senior Spirit shows! In the classes… terrorising the masses.

Tele getting their kicks! Notice ol’ Half Face there!

The Super-Zeros?

In the Quest for the Archees!

The Pirate of Trivandrum, Mech Rani, Tina.

‘Black’ Amal, she hits you and shouts unspeakable obscenities (or would have if her character could talk, mind you!) when you pull her walking stick!

Bibu, Abhilash and Juny: the aftermath.

The Tele Dept. Pandi guys, with the ORIGINAL pandi! The construction workers from Tamil Nadu had a nice laugh at our expense Mix-N-Match Panditharam. A Kaleidoscope of colour!
Can you get more Pandi than this? The Mexx with Thomas, Sreekanth & Mathai
“Yennada, macha, Soukham aa?” Pardon my Tamizh.
The two most pandi females in the Lobby at 12:45 pm: Reshmi & I.
Pandis in the Main Block, “S8 vazhuga!”

The machans are going to town!!
Argh. I am going BLIND. Anand & Arjun Kye Vee Pandis.
Ram looks normal enough, doesn’t he? With Pandi Vineeth…

Juny’s Pandi avataar in the Civil Dept.

Madhavan, Renjith, The-very-pretty-Sunoop and Surej in front of S8 Tele.
Fazal (with her hair in a towel, I dream of Jeannie?) & Shoaib-the Fountainhead.The beautiful Praveen & Leslie, the Ladies’ (?) Man. Leslie was enjoying the attention being showered on him.
Yeah, there was a cat-fight some moments prior to this, when Miss. Abubacker triumphed over Miss. Rajashekar, thereby effectively proving the statement, “Size does not matter.”
And you know what they say, to the victors belong the spoils Cameras were clicking away to posterity!
Mr. Mangal Pandey, Soumya of Electrical & Reshmi.
Gowri & Ashwin(i) in the Main Block. Aswin was hurrying along like a chased chicken to avoid photo-ops
The very gorgeous Samantha Wesley with her classmates, one of whom was heard to remark, “I never knew there were such pretty girls on this campus.” Yeah, Mathew, you never had to leave the Mech Dept, you could have been so happy. Ah well!… Life moves on, even with Samantha.
We did come prepared to cross-dress, but unforeseen circumstances stalled the proceedings. So, here are the Tele & Applied girls with Shoaib.

Vimitha decides to get tough with Shoaib. Divya can’t stop smiling. The SADIST.
Showing off our manly…. SHOES. Vimz, me and Rekhila.

Panyan & his(?) goonda.. Vimz & AshokShoaib’s unclear of whether it’s Goonda or Pandi Day, seen pataofying Reshmi‘Vaastav’ Sandeep S: True Goonda Style
The Tele Goondas outside the Department
Namith’s gone to the Dark Side
Sunoop getting hafta from a poor junior….
Panyan’s goondas do it again
The Gangster & his Moll