MY LAST CLASS IN ISM

The twin Gulmohars in front of our department are in full bloom, orange flames of knowledge on its branches and a carpet of red petals rolled up at ground, near the entry gate. This is the 27^th time the Gulmohars are giving farewell to a Mining Machinery batch, every time in the same manner. Probably they know that every exit is an entry to some other place and so they bid us farewell by rolling a red carpet.

A painted board over the entrance reads

“DEPARTMENT OF MECHANICAL ENGG. & MINING MACHINERY ENGG”

Today I am seeing this board for a little longer than usual, trying to capture its image in my mind, to recall it whenever I need, for the rest of my life.

It’s amazing how we perceive things. Because whenever I try to recall the face of our department, it is EMM, which comes in my mind; as if it never changed its name.

Today we are going to attend the last class of ISM and we are dressed for the occasion, everyone in full formals. The whole department seems very perplexed at seeing us in this attire. ‘Are these guys having campus interview today? Or is there any conference or seminar?’ Lots of questions in there mind. The last thing they hope about us is to see us dressed like this.

But we have made an example and that also, a better one. I am sure that others will follow suit, some out of inspiration and some out of desperation, when they will be attending the last class of their B.tech tomorrow.

This is how traditions are made.

But the price for making this tradition is a dear one. Since we took some time in arranging the formal stuff, we were late for the class and so we guys have been kicked out.

No class today! On the last day!

We move to Prof Chattopadhyay’s chamber. To request, to plead, to beg him to take our class, but he is unmoved. He is a man of principles and he will never tolerate any amount of insincerity, doesn’t matter that it is our last day. Time and again he has tried to instill in us an iota of sincerity and attitude, some time in soft and most of the time in harsh words, but we were incurable. And you see the consequences; being kicked out for the last class.

We have learned a great lesson today.

Chattopadhyay sir, you are a great teacher. At last you have made us learn the most important lesson of life.

Learning this lesson we moved on, to some other teachers of department, to take their picture with us and record them wishing us goodluck on our handy cam .Today they are a different entity, a little different from their usual self. Their eyes are speaking of emotions today and there is no discussion about studies. Dr. T.K. Chatterjee has not told the usual ‘na…! padhna padega!’ even once. Instead he has traveled three year back, down the memory lane, recalling our irresponsible attitude at that time. He had been very concerned about our future at that time, even now he is. But now there is a feeling of re-assurance instead of insecurity, and yes, there is no ‘na....! padhna padega!’

Something in this world should never change. Like T.K.C. sir, like Kabir Dasgupta sir and Alok Mukhopadhyay sir, who are the very symbols of this branch. Mukhopadhyay sir has always been very supportive of us, very protective, like a father who is very confident of his child. Today, there is a gleam of delight in his eyes to see us standing on the threshold of our professional world. There is Dasgupta sir, with a straightforward approach, like always, wishing us good luck.

We will miss you both, sir!

So finally our last class is over. Someone suggests going to canteen before we return to hostel and so we move towards the ISM CANTEEN.

In canteen there is Vinod, to take orders- which means a delay of at least half an hour before being served our actual menu. So we sit idly under the Canteen tree, facing Opal hostel, chatting with each other about the amount of oil in samosas and day by day reduction in the amount of Maggi in a full plate.

Four year back we were here, in the same hostel queued up for our admission. Time has flown with such a high speed that it seems that it was just a few days back.

This is the distinctive feature of ISM; you loose count of time at this vibrant place.

Soon we will be going out of this place, becoming a part of the vast record books in the Admin block, carrying with us a large bag of memory along with our luggage.

There are so many things which I will miss out of here.

There will be no mess, with dogs running under the table. There will be no yearly athletic ritual called P.E.T., no matki fodna during Janmashtmi, no Srijan, no Basant, no soporific lectures to sleep through and no GJLT to hoot in.

Though we will get a better stage, it will not be Penman.

Though I will continue to play volleyball, but there will be no Diamond volley court to sprain my ankle in.

Though I still believe in love at first sight, but there will be no ISM girls to fall for.

Out of these what are the things which I will miss most?

I think its everything.

Yes, its everything.