The NIMC Times 14th part

The NIMC Times

14th part

I bailed out of the heavenly NIMC zoo nine years back, but gave my word that I shall drop by and be inquisitive about my alma mater. And there it was, a reverie, to the lovely place once more, back to mist of the times gone by to see how it still stood, faithful, tried and true. Times when one hardly gets to think of past notions, of past explorations and of exploits, of past ambles and of scandals, the memory of which will make you go whimper of nothing but praying for its well being.

Almost past mid night, we took the onus of venturing back to where we once belonged. Moments whipped past by, and everything came to a halt as we entered the portals of the Command Hospital. The years flashed down like murmuring meadows, still thirsting for more. We were winded back to yearn for the times of yore and cherish them all over again.

Gooseberries took the better control of our pensive rare glimpses as we approached, tongue-tied, but still looking past Alipore in a whisker.

It was pitch dark, as we traversed the soggy patches of the sub tropical grasslands into the moist and mushy wilderness. But as we tried discovering ourselves back, we gave it an interlude and a joyful passage, and things were back about the same jaunt along the side track. With unbearable thoughts of limbic bursts, NIMC began to glow.

And as we approached back to the roads where once the pioneers treaded, silence succumbed to serenity and tranquility. By now the FOSLA is bark tiled for reasons unknown, an Allahabad bank now stands firm (at a location where once Bhatta sir stayed) to liquidate many fauji dad’s pension accounts for the welfare of jokers, ‘C’ block has now given way to the Mess staff, the volleyball court furnished with a boundary cage, an additional hut to cater to 240 jokers at the hard rock, locked parched doors by two day old jokers, secluded in their rooms, thinking the bright future in store for them, P-14 is a new block, creepers on the rear gate where once the jokers made their own webs, to name a few.

But not a trace of session in progress, in spite of the dwindling heat around. For jokers hardly know by now what traditions were and associations are; the legacy is perhaps blowing in the wind. Well by now you have an anti-ragging affidavit signed by students, enough to deter them to the unknown. It’s all a hearsay that a few can recount the anthems, songs and pledges that once formed a mandatory but obligatory oath before taking birth. And I’m sure warden has much time to herself than to be after platoons of jokers exhorting to the famous battle cry ‘How’s the JOSH!’  

I am confident that you, deep in your hearts still merely celebrate and value the existence of NIMC. As I have always felt, in true spirits of the NIMC times, the happier became the merrier!

Years may wrinkle our skin, but our enthusiasm shall never wrinkle our souls to revert back to the times gone by!

And those who ask the whereabouts of Mrs Makkar, 9830665266 will help.

The NIMC Times [13 part]

‘Train Tracks’

Just as you all thought the end of the NIMC era had given way to the AIMK, came yet another train tracks from the dormant doors of the NIMC Times.

Well by now, you were aware that the world is round and that there existed something or someone beyond the confines of your lives, at the portals of NIMC for which you travelled far beyond the calls of an alumnus. And only if you read the Mystery of the Kalka Mail, would you travel to NIMC to decipher the goodness of times and immortalizing your own unknown experiences.

Bookings were never confirmed and reservations were the wait-listed ones even at the hour of the 60 day period. And even with your best efforts to avail the MCO quota, only a few were lucky to accommodate your loved ones. In fact, jokers found it an eerie in realising that at least a couple of berths were there that gave way to sharing your bumps with your buddy off course, all who were already swayed away in all liquid states of happiness. And of course sleep was important during journeys too. Only a few berths were enough for dozens ‘Outstanding…Standing Out’ to travel in the sleeper coaches during the scorching summer heat with the heavy cases that adjusted to fine tune your baggage that confined to your new desktop machines, countless knick knacks and your mom’s homemade cookies.  

And when Delhi went on strike and Calcutta in floods and trains hardly plied, was the only Kalka Mail that departed on time and was the one to catch on to, a priority train that we familiarised since the early days as jokers. Notwithstanding the modes of conveyance to reach the Howrah station including the ferry from Babughat, packing in throng to get a ride in the Ambassador taxi and thinking for the entire route who will be this one person to pay for the meter and divide that bill that had a forlorn conclusion considering their luck to get the last minute confirmation with jokers making it just in time to catch their ticket to go home.

But with the importance of ‘Dependant Card’ did you realise when you normally hooked into the Military boogie that seemed your birthright and savior during times of traveling alone, considering the fact the TTE hadn’t had the audacity of entering this coach.

Traveling to Calcutta offered a kaleidoscopic view of life. If on one track it was the incessant chatting and jabbering amongst fellow people, it was the chatterbox that gave way to a thousand more pranks. On occasions when you found yourself in the company of an amiable old friend and realised that you did share a room in AWWA boy’s hostel or the same APS or your dad’s old regimental centre. All tracks did converge into Mughal Sarai junction that had times on roll to take a bite from outside the railway station or a pint that you might catch on to. This one station had always kept you long waiting as it provided umpteen eats to handpicked souvenirs. Times to unwind on the platform and share the tête-à-tête sitting in the forsaken but yet adjusting II^nd sleeper, you did yearn for the NIMC Times, with your privileged buddy snoring in the air-conditioned coach.   

Just as the tracks increased you were confident of having entered Bengal and were you woken up to breaking your drunken fast or the night long hangover to the infamous but fulfilling Jhaal muri. But only if you traveled in this lonesome coach of Sealdah Rajdhani, were you sitting for the entire journey in that Chair Car! Well if you missed the one time experience, you well by now be in AIMK. 

The NIMC Times [12^th part]

Scene this: LH-3, claustrophobic and suffocating with loads of jokers (others on the fly, a few of whom bedridden in Cmd Hospital, a few locked inside their own rooms), tensed and horrified to the tunes of their college dads, trying to mimic the Economic times for an A to Z write-up, well which went upto a dozen sheets of A3 in size and a slight hiccup by one could take him for an exception, and there he was, rogerred!

And once all assessments got over, did jokers struck inside the Nirman for an overdose, making sure that a few visits could turn them into an Arnold or an under-privileged NIMC super-hero.

And when that quarter was left to strike eleven, for some it was time to bid an adieu, for some a final run to the locker, some trying their best to speed up to just fall back in time from their night strolls, and well if you had gossips or the classified news to break, don’t just do it outside Bhatta Sir’s room, ‘cas he might well be awake putting an ear to those scandals, and why not to our made up rumors that went specially for him!

And just as it struck eleven, and a few called it a day, was the time for managers to make strategies, for jokers in good books to impress for one last time, make POA’s, counter measures, make chits, bullets for easy recollection, a Sutta that worked as a catalyst agent, recall the day’s pranks, try for a group study, reserve comps for the final assault, get your own copy of a CD written, chart out for the hour later birthday bombs, out for a log-collection drive, remind your roommate of his turn to fill up the water can, dip in clothes with a borrowed Tide, make platoons for Wardy’s botheration drive, involve in GD’s comical in nature, make calls to your beloved, missed calls to a few, and on stand by to receive their responses.

Days prior to elections for the council, you witnessed the stirring political moves that opinionated parties to form under-sized mergers, murmured others for backup and making your contender for the ultimate fight with the slight last minute changes! The best was when everything changed and went for a total toss after Diro’s last round, contrary and contradictory in nature and reality.

And now as alumni members take on their proactive step of uniting with their beloved, there sure are to be grandchildren around to pump in JOSH! An occasion of auspicious nature, an exciting opportunity for former students to meet up. You bet, it’s a mini-reunion for some and a lead time for others.

We could never have loved NIMC so much had we not spent our childhood in it. And if you’ve got a bad memory, I am not responsible for the good old days. And well if you’re still yearning for the NIMC Times, just turn off your air conditioning!

The NIMC Times [11th Part]

…Sliding away project reports that fortuned a free manuscript, the slippery pathway to the Mess premises during the hush rainy hours of serene substantiation, hit trying to let lose the empty locker backed with a fifty percent success rate, unwinding everywhere in just being critical to the point of understanding the better off shuttle raptors, the road less traveled along the rear of the Garage to the much talked about M block and thus escape from monster drunkards or the famished patrol parties. Ready with the cracker burst raptures just about anywhere, with gleaming binoculars over shelters that prospected a better view especially over tree tops, diverting the drizzling room leakage, evening times when only the media collection guy was for your lookout and all you could do was to postpone the payment even more. Morning observations from up above that involved parking the stimulated two wheeled image next to Eva's and wait with whoops of horse power for the lady to appear downstairs for the next move. And ever wondered who was still to arrive in the taxi coming in from the scene? And just before the lecture commencing, you would run to the dictator, Bhatta Sir and file your complaints, from bathroom fittings, electrical switches, shock in water pipes, non-functional geyser’s, water problems even though it overflowed that very morning, about mites in bed and weren’t you eligible for the discount voucher just when he realized that you were 25! There were something’s that you couldn’t buy, for everything else, there was Bhatta Sir!

And after hours of discussions and sipping mugs of tea reclining on the kitbags, little were we aware of our very own alumni, serving. Little did we then know about our enthusiastic JOSH and their one step up, fervor for duty? Gallant minds in close proximities, to where we then lay talking so leisurely, being critics to a thousand things. Dozens of us, who left for good, where they too cherished the times, now serve to their finest.

Ever wondered as how much NIMC can be of trance to people outside Calcutta who may be reveried to its daydreaming even during nights? They probably walk the talk alone now, gobble GP’s presence and are devoid of sleepless nights.

They came in to this transit, explored its' nook and cornered its sight seeing, discovered the unexplored, bunkers with foxholes, managed the grueling and praised the non-sense, surveyed to the upper limit and investigated the undefined, the NIMC way.

At the drop of an excitement, lingering in hoards in evening for the placement results, and thus jubilations became celebrations, rejoicing became partying and in true spirits of the NIMC Times, the happier became the merrier! Years may wrinkle our skin, but our enthusiasm shall never wrinkle our souls to revert back to the times gone by!

Good old NIMC

The NIMC Times [10th part]

In the year 1993, I once happen to visit this place somewhere inside the command hospital complex that had its own green tranquility. I remember being inside a barrack, not partitioned though, but had a huge carpeted room that held vocational training classes on various subjects. Never knew that four years later the same would give birth to a ranked establishment and dwell into a place so loved of.

And one fine day, one young management aspirant with big dreams, stepped into our zoo premises. Standing in front of Eva Stores and next to the Puliya, he wondered, what a college! But wait, why do I see clothes hanging on all floors? Not knowing of the parched nimcians on the roll and for his lookout, the prey entered the campus just to fall in the hands of so many at the same time. For him, the earth had fallen on him and he, remained quite inquisitive about a thousand things, nerve bitten with a tensed atmosphere, strain and stress that'll have his happiness for the day and for days to come. He then somehow found the door to LH1 and saw a few Bakras, a dubbed senior buffooning one and making clowns of others. This chap later happened to make history at various sports, both in-house and in heats. And as always, undaunted by the audacious scene, he wanted to check out their haunting lodge where he soon will endure and exist a couple of years. He made his way to his block, only to see the other guys (the base party) starving for him. He deformed into a breed never heard of! During lunch time, after managing to queue up orderly, he picked his plate, heard of a call name ‘Shushanto’ and served himself. He noticed that everything had some form of potato in it. And after days of brutality and workload, he left ‘muh utha ke’.

And in the good times, when reserving books was just a formality or rather an unsaid quest for your favorite author, morning campaigns that started with conflict resolutions and with newspaper reading, enjoying the weekend accolades by sitting on the orangish couch in the library, and as it went on to struck half past noon, jokers ran to take a place in the forsaken queue that never held its stated protocols. And craving for an extra curd to make the pints of lassi that endured you for the next lecture. And in the good times when grounds blossomed like never before and when the flag got unfurled and made surprise visits by the chairman just to have the better of you still dozing off! Operating TV with the patent matchstick look-alike that surfed through a million channels, in-house dance parties in the so-called parliament house in P13, hug and drug the falling branches to sway for good, busting the bear bottles after an outcry of the ecstasy doze, even collecting them as a tribute, getting projector in rooms to watch star matinees, the evergreen Tracker that marked its own simpleton, the horn of our bus that gave a wake up call to many, the black staff car with the disguised Army plate, the slippery angled ramp to the parking lot during rains, sitting on stairway to the heavenly jail that made the most primal spot for a catch, and when you were alarmed at the sight of Wardy looking down on creation from the second floor but found no explanation to the total wipeout of reality, reading Asian Age in visitors room, running routines between M and S block and vice versa during times of insurgency and operations, the piteous and life threatening path that made your way from M to the C block and that never improved in history, collecting logs for bonfires that later turned into balefires, sitting on the floor and studying next to book racks in the library, enjoying quickie cricket county matches on BBC and the management ones just off course, relying on our very own dhobi ghat that gave us beauty to impress the pink collared counterparts, guessing as to which back gate would be open just to find that one closed, peeping into the net lab for a Chinese whisper, the see through evening classes that went in LH2 and trying to shut its power supply, gossips on the rolled up red carpet just outside LH1 that witnessed loads of hue and cry, scolds of warmth by Bhatta Sir in CR1, adjusting the fourth dimension for slides over the OHT, the abandoned letterbox that always remained secluded with a few discount coupons, the vicious circle of getting a photocopy that had raged fury on the back n forth pendulum.

Times always change for good. But deep in our hearts we merely celebrate and value the existence of NIMC.

The NIMC Times [Part 9]

Hope this finds you still speculating over the W questions, still wondering over yester years.

Well I still miss the Thursday night fever when Jimmy discussed on AIR and with his husky melody got you prompted of being in the same boat, or rather trying to perceive yourself in their shoes. Do those days still haunt you, days of love and detestably loving, days of amity and of collaboration, of one time happenings and of a life time association, days of one night stand for studies, days of liking one and avoiding none, days of acknowledging a few and treasuring the awesome! Nights of friendly bouts and of friendly fire, of crusades and of patches, amassing others for pooling mints of coins from the three acre land or simple running after those who still owe you.

In the good times, when the newsworthy Statesman, the 8th day colorful, and the rest all dirty fellows, when the talk shop trainers bowled over from inside and before juniors said ‘totally’ and ‘like’ just to say something more, ones laughter that imbued the gravity of a two-tone world, and when the Tollygunge Club snippets featuring us appeared in Kolkata Times, when pups went down on knees for their share of continuous and solo affection, and when brands on sale for a west side story, lunging for Pants at Pantaloons and others that made us tremble for discounted rates fashioned fantasies of lyrical love in both nature and wear, the gleaming Metro that whizz past and removed the chaos that reigned above. Series of mines that bubbled out Counter Strike, jazz bands that made you sway at Sangam and at the teenage dance parties at AOI, and water channels that became rancid giving rise to the lowly and midget serpents, and to the adult counterparts during their season, the lovable roadside Mominpur maize, the egg rolls, momo’s and as good as appetizers for the later on GP shift. In those times it often seemed that things would always be that way. Shoplifting at Krishnas, craving for the BSNL card, awaiting the No 29 tram, getting top-ups of rupees ten, sipping on Nescafe at the Kothari Medical centre, the night stroll for the luscious Paan, treating the young ones at Garden Café, running about for an account at SBI, trying your best not to fall less of the minimum balance, spending quality time next to the grill whole night, group study in the earlier dubbed CR3, tapping sit-ups in front of Wardy after a detailed hide-n-seek to get back the high intensity woofers.

Now I do, and, in truth, reviewing the good times, setting out their many facets, I am not sure why they were so good. After all, we live longer now; and celebrate our very own batch mates getting hitched for a lifetime. You can either be married or be happy!
2-3 years of unimaginable monkey business or the considered and calibrated studies, an insatiable lust for mischief or the life-affirming addiction to joy. Perhaps I never thought the attractions of the past, and of the NIMC Times!

The NIMC Times Part 8


“Neath the Elms upon the campus, glorious to view,
Stands Eureka Alma Mater; faithful, tried and true.
When we leave thy halls forever, never to return,
Still within our hearts fond memories, steadily will burn.”

Those were good times, before nurturing replaced poking, before our volleyball was an Olympic sport, before the relentless pursuit of the cool breeze made us go for yet another trip. Return to innocence and you see your alumni, with the living years of the eternal flame. ‘Cas it’s a moment of pride getting conferred with degrees, by a top brass. And in real spirits when night inspections by CMP fellows who knew no bounds of this place! Good times were of the meet, when a meal seemed exotic and cholesterol a curiosity, when the ingrained “Hosh aur JOSH” had them perform for the alumni. Rather, its good gracious to associate anyone from this place. As for alumni, they’ve been adjunctly supportive, genuinely encouraging and fourth-year helpful as ever.

Back home again as I wonder. Poems, prayers and promises will make me go fonder. Why was FOSLA not so close by? Why were Eden Gardens down below the Jail? Why were rooms whitewashed just prior to exams? Why did thunder struck when computers sang the wind song? Who had reserves of Sutta? Who were the initial recipients of Pepsi? Did trees race to catch up the heights of the Cellular Jail? Why did doggies styled up for your extra love? Who constructed the Puliya? Who started T-TT? What happened in NIMC during Kargil war? Why were Sutta wala creditable or were they credible enough? Why wasn’t entry and exit the same in LH2? Why didn’t the Buggi get ready for NIMC? Why did the morning tea taste like a sad song? Who all scaled up the Cellular Jail? Why did rhymes and reasons fly away? Who started the Bhojpuri introduction? When did those tears go by? Who rolled in when you rolled out? Which Ruby Tuesday was in Mominpur? Who scripted the Howrah Bridge? Why did the race condition in normal affairs made out of the Scarborough fairs made you fall in scarcity? Why did homeward bound trains have a waiting list? Who used up the fire extinguisher from the WPL? But how come tickets were available for this meet till the last moment? Why was everyone blessed when the book ended? Why was the house of the rising sun never seen? Who induced JOSH in this institute? Who was evergreen and who was brain damaged? Who pumped up when others exhorted battle cry? Who was a one man’s woman? Who ruled? Who had a master key for lockers? When did liquor poured like never before? Why did sympathy ruled when you a mere 100 miles away? Why were nights in white satin always for Saturday night blues? Who started the smile wash? Who took your breadth away? Who stayed awake when you snored? Who wrote the anthem? Who spied and who messaged? Who locked and who scribbled? Who checked and who shot?
I wonder.

While their guitars gently wept in octopus gardens beneath savoy truffles. When jokes cracked in became a melody fair, happy only yesterday. Mr. Postman would remind us of them gone. For all we knew a song for you. And perhaps we’ve left a home for new kids in town. Take it to the limit, let tequila sunrise pour in for you to shoot sheriffs. We’ll ever blow in the wind this way. I’ll be missing you.

“People who saw the things happening, people who looked into how they happened, and people who made them happen, were all from NIMC”

The NIMC Times [Part 7]

Down the memory lane in times of yore, some may be peddling across the corporate threshold, but if you swim across the edge of professionalism and build your nest, you may soon groove out with it. Times when one hardly gets to think of past notions, of past explorations and of exploits, of past ambles and of scandals, the memory of which will make you go whimper of nothing but praying for the well being.

…And in the good times before everything began to look the same, in times before adventure became a night out, in times when the library smelled of jokers and barracks had not yet converted to amusement squares, in times before seat belts in lecture halls were not fastened, desks were not scribbled with emerald lines, quickie précis or olive excerpts, in times when soccer matches were not yet played inter college and spies really did come out from the Eden garden, times before speed digitals and LAN messengers with overheard missed call conversations were on the run, before stock options and answers tickled the Inferno, in the good times when cynics were not stateless, in times, long ago, I vowed never to leave my track and become a wet blanket waxing lyrical about the past and having let go.

Deep in sleep and reverie about it, deep in sleep it lies. The still lake of summer water and under the still skies; many a fathom below, the new fishes would now soon come. Blessed was the boundary within which you carved your foundry, as one exalted in its pride, and for the still lake, to lie afresh and gloom, and a lost place beside the lake, deep asleep till doom?

In times before mess became an overcrowded oasis and before the googling of everything and slides of paperwork, in times before branding of jargons and power breakfasts with crack of dawn break-out sessions and thinking out of the box, in times of ideological battles of just a minute and bruising debates over whatnot, times when every second person was not a hero and every third was not a victim of the forth who in turn was out for his next girl, in times before channel surfing and online everything, in times of the introductory hippie trails in the back porches and before the war on test series, in those times, way back when, I would not have thought there could be so many elegant jokers at one time in Calcutta.

They say its never safe to long for something until you're absolutely certain there's no chance of its coming back. But I’m sure the NIMC times would always reverie us back to the lovely place. NIMC was our grammar lesson. We found the present tense and the past perfect.

But if the good times were that illusory, if recalling them is no more than a tale of middle age, how come they feel so good? Give or take an interlude or a joyful passage, and things are always about the same jaunt along the side track. And with unbearable thoughts of limbic bursts, NIMC begins to glow.

The NIMC Times [Part 6]

Go, for they call you, the shepherd or to that joker, from the hill top;
Go shepherd go, and untie the wattled cotes left far behind!
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Never have regrets or a simple repentance,
But learn by having let go, the reminisces, left far behind.
And the tired jokers and the dogs unfed,
And did they all go to rest for a while?
Only the rising sheeps were sometimes seen,
Those that cross and recross the same old path,
And the strips of the same green pastures.
Here will I sit and wait,
While to my ear from uplands far away,
With distant cries of reapers in the olive corn,
All the live murmur gone back to an instance past gone.
But once and months later, in the same country-lanes,
And in the same old porches,
Two, three, a dozen and a community,
Whom at college erst they knew,
Why they were back to have their meet,
of a long forgotten distant heat.
And the lost scholar was seen to stray,
Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied,
And in shape as what the jokers wore.
‘Cas that’s what they did to make him a gem,
A star was born year and ever after.

Though I must be explicit about it, wanted to ask a few about a LML scooter (PB-03) that used to stand sandwiched between the Hard Rock and the Garage, has anyone seen it lately. Heard about its dismantled parts here there and everywhere. Seems to be quite an old disaster issue altogether. But that puts you in doubt of NIMC perimeters getting infiltrators. I also noticed the abbreviation ‘AIM’ as graffiti on one of the walls as you pass by from P to S or vice versa.

And sure if you’ve got jokers stuck up in mud and getting dozes of the famous Amoxicillin + Vit C package in the nearby Command, lovely hearts will pump on to meet you and drop by soon. For years have past by but never could a solution come up for the patent ’Conjunctivitis’ that gave way to more men in black, that sickening ‘Jaundice’ courtesy water coolers and the frightening ‘chicken pox’ that devoid even your roommate to attend any classes!!

And when outsiders and kids from next door landed on to the NIMC Zoo, happenings took place. Never forget the way Bhatta Sir used to tick them off with his warmth of genuine humanity.

But don’t you stray away from the esteemed tradition of having a word with your senior. All you’ve got to do is give a missed call.

And when lady jokers reciprocated to the whistles from the jail, times seemed to favour the better half. And when jokers tried to hide or even ride that cute little Bajaj auto that belonged to the mess, but the charm of it all was in putting an ear to the late night Cellular discussions from above the faculty block. What a turn-on. Wasn’t it?

Not to mention the last few days of yet another closing chapter, when all got engrossed in one or the others scrap, penning their books to keep an acquaintance. And when your batchies packed and left for good, could you be in a place to bid, and send them a flashing hand. All it could pour on the BBC more for jokers to have gala of a time swaying in puddles and in lush green nostalgic reminisces, flashing down the moments, graffiti on walls, paying tokens to one and hugging them rest, GP hunger that’ll one day starve them for its richness. That’s how it ended for a few.

Moments when everything comes to a halt and when you make the best of everything, when those past years flashed down like murmuring meadows thirsting for more. And how times winded us back to have grudges and resents and have them repeat for good, something’s that always reverts you to get to the crux for one last time and be apologetically stronger or be happy about it.

[Any doubts may not be entertained]

In the times of yore, here’s a final adieu, a final goodbye….
“We’ll drink a cup of kindness yet to the times gone by”
God Bless NIMC

The NIMC Times Part 5


And apart from rumors and having your share over the blog sphere, jokers landed up in the mess just to stand in queues throbbing with more jokers that sometimes got extended taking U turns on special occasions. But then it was management all way, Shushanto’s never cribbing attitude, his supervision over your meal and on that second helping. And being noble the way Hemant Da quenched our thirst. And all this filled up with Manoj’s cheerful gaits.

The skeptical and the controversial pranks, nerve biting if you could answer these, the blowout of eggs inside Registrar’s office and who scaled the Cellular Jail? History repeats these legendary moments that had controversial elements thriving in it. Be a star and plan more on such legends.

Let’s reincarnate the night safaris when jokers leaped on for the search of the reverberating stillness or the adventurous beams of the joyful city that gave them sovereignty of Indian freedom to their heart’s content. And what more do you want than those paranthee with that onion sprinkled with the patent red salt without which the meal was of no spice. But always there were a few who would check you in this puzzle of the GP hunger for which they’ll make their way through and knock with their filling to one’s content. And the joker’s loving devotion and his daily crave for his stomach for which he made with his clan backed by the loving comradeship of our own domestic dogs. And to continue with the safari, following tram lines that guided us the routes of the well known Kothari and of the GOC. Well past by pavements and advertisement stills that got better of us and got deserted as we passed by to nowhere. And as we marched on by our aegis and saw Victoria’s night secrets in the limelight, you well got ready to play the mischief of outmost wit and excitement. From flashing in your high zooms to enjoying the packed food in the open Maidan, and why not flash down the road reflecting flickers that were solar charged. But trying to get on to trailers was an evergreen achievement for jokers, not to mention the upsetting up of the road dividing barricades with PC vans just yards away, and then doing the high jumps over pedestrian grills opposite GOC’s residence. All ends for a total aatank that has in it gratifying pleasure and a good night sleep.

Your control over anger and your fist over the rest, something that makes you wise in nature and fiction. And what a loving college it is, where tranquility has its own stake, assurance given of no brawls or the wrestles in rooms, well you name it and they could start of on the way to GP, on the edges of BBC, outside the TV room, under the Hard Rock hut and why not inside and outside the placement cell that involved the skeptic murmur blistering with one sided agony. Not to mention when jokers planned out hacking the node through which DRC sent so many greeting cards!

And lately as the spring gave way to time and relativity, jokers had time disposals for the Orkut virus. A fever that’ll bring us all close scraping, u bet!

Though I’m bailing out of the heavenly NIMC zoo, I give your word that I’ll shall drop by now and then and be inquisitive about my alma mater that shall reiterate me to catch up with the mist of the times gone by.
Auld Lang Syne; to the times gone by!
Adios Amigo!

The NIMC Times [Part 4]

Alas the night before exams, and all through campus, never would they pray, for the last minute knowledge would fray. Readying up the miniature crap or the final recap, of the copy in hand and the notes disband. Most were quite sleepy, for one thing that was authentically worshipped, but none touched their beds, as they were for tower heads. Out in the taverns, a few were still drinking, and hopeful that the liquor would loosen up their thinking. In your own lovely block, you had been pacing, and hoping to pull across for all that you would soon be facing.

Sessions in mess and leading brats that bundled for us, the macho image with legs on the table and fags to fiddle with that created the dysfunctional and giddy environment of putting us through of playing a step or land up washing that smile. Whatever it was, till late did one realize the fact that if one’s not in any club, he be a member of the Sport’s club.

And the late night badminton matches, that swerved your reflexes to shot in the nights, and flood lights to shoot in the sexy shot. Or the never-ending TT, not that session time T-TT, that was table-less and racquet-less that you could start off anytime, anywhere backed by a lovely Hindi commentary but the one that went over-night over days and that one ever enjoyed.

Not to mention those train journeys that quite relied on your “Outstanding…Standing Out”, and when you stepped down for an intermediate halt to realize the rush in black. When reservations in hand took care of us unreserved and when you dozed off in turns to get those gossips a break from the conversation so sought after. Only then did you cross over from coaches to convene the others of making it all a small place.

Whether it involved the bashes or any fine moment of your fine inquisitiveness backed by the majority to play the nerve-biting bumpy strikes of awful soreness, and have the PEPSI for you, as you would feel the heat and that feel of becoming extinct, ‘cas as always, you made sure of releasing that sufficient pile up of the Gibbs free energy and play your turn for which others got bitter annoyed and you, bitter satisfied. And when the search was on to find the missing B Boy, you peeped on the terrace, had patrols on the field and in blocks, in every nook when all you knew he would march in from the Command, were he tortured and given that ecstasy dose!!

And the late night creativity confinement towers on bed, whether it involved a dozen or that reverberating thud that would send across a request to Bhatta Sir for a new one. And those technical pranks that gave the anti-G body upliftment [Thanks to Priyavritt Malik], wherein you could sore in your courage to play your turn and get all pasty concoction on you in no time. Lovely Exposures!

Times when Pakistan gave way to our triumph in the most talked about cricket matches with the overcrowded TV room that continued with “Andhere mein nikla bhoot, Pakistan ki……….”

NIMC Times Part 3

Picture these… Sheoran was sitting with Nishat and Bhuppi in the evening, just when they started having Vodka and soon they saw the Warden coming right towards them…sand started staring at them…they said..Sheoran -->" maam aap aa gaye??" she said…" Khusboo to bahut achhi aa rahi hai"…Sheoran -->" maam pani hi pee rahen hain"…She said…" Mere naak to kuch aur hi bata rahi hai". Nishat said..."Mam aapki naak hai to thik hi bata rahi hogi" lol…they went and Warden stared and said ----" Fluffy Lets go" And the famous "My Balls" episode. Vivek Talik(title so coz he was always found high), Khera and few others were smoking away to glory next to lockers. Chako came out of the mess entrance next to LH2 and that very moment the drag was passed to Malik, cacko saw him smoking and cried out loud "Bloody Disgusting my balls"…and saying "Do you think I'm a bastard" Malik, Khera and gang started laughing...chacko left without saying any other word...lol

Playing basketball at night 0200 hrs...after heavy drinking...the only thing was that the basketball was personal...and not of the college…and came wardy and told us not to shout so much...and play quietly...After that Sheoran asked for a pass from sethi...instead of giving a pass..he went solo and missed the basket..he went directly to sethi and shouted loud....f***** why didn’t u give me that pass..he said i never heard you ..or even saw u shouting…he said....don’t u know i don’t refuse to whatever maam says.. she said play quietly...so he said that softly.. she told the chowkidaar to get the ball.., just then Brar told the chowkidar to piss off as that was a personal basketball...warden asked the chowkidar ..didn’t you hear me...what i just said...unki kyyon sun rahen ho...mein kya bol rahin tum ko samagh mein nahin aa raha…Brar said...mein tere ley loonga dada agar tune ball ko haath lagaya to…all laughing away to glory...lol

And the common prank…when we used to have those official gathering with red carpet and those directions for different places...Sheoran and cafu always used to point that toilet direction next to CR2..towards Chako's office...lol

Super Lovely!
[inputs by Sheoran]

The NIMC Times – Part 2

Just past dawn the cellular jail…
the sun stands with its heavy red head…in a black stanchion of banyan trees…
A long day in green pastures where I too spent my days grazing…
Hosting and feasting on every green moment.
But as its eleven and the darkness calls…calls to one and others reply…
With whistles by one and others on the learn…
I walk away into the Panchuri's night,
Swinging the little tin bell of my name...

So much takes place in no span; and much of it comes to you from next door. Even walls had ears and this is how it spread, in a small world where small wonders cropped. So much to chatter and gossip about, even days were short and nights long. But once each day will give rise to thoughts that’ll deter you not to be a member of the forlorn and the dejected stand, FOSLA !

And like every year, Holi taking its own stake with its brown colour, after breakfast on BBC, and then with sludge and mud enjoying the pranks at the Hard Rock and sure you would recognize them all. And then swaying to Rang de Basanti with leaf petals around over C Block to catch them watching you with envy from the Cellular Jail. What a day of relishing the home made Bhaang that had its own tang and ingredients. The day when alumni turns up unexpected and when you get the better off having them in puddles of ash and whatnot! But always when you’ve got the Josh to mix colour in the bathroom tank at a place where the water supply never goes out on a day like this!

As juniors when you had the visible moustache up with cherry blossom and when you praised seniors on others say of the pudding in mess, of a good hairstyle and why not to propose! The Independence Day march pasts and the ones of archangels with bed sheets had their own charm. Regular sessions when it never rained and when it all started after the fresher’s day. Night inspections by Dogra and his GR guys, not to mention about duty officers from Bengal area putting up in the visitor’s room. And the fall-in behind S Block that unified us rest and got Chako, Dogra and Warden to arrive at half past two in the morning. Times when post supper strolls increased when nimc gave way to the infrequent power cuts and when eyes on the walls and the bats behind the crease, when junees reported as supermen and commandos, got screwed to screw up lizards, and when parties on patrols with buckets in hand twelve at night just to catch hold of hoping frogs that’ll cost them a delightful performa. When bonfires spread uncontrolled and when NIMC had forest fires and could roll on to a barbeque at any place! Just in time to realize the log you’ve been resting upon could well be burning! Getting HIGH over your block’s high and the bathroom mischief that had its own fun. And when buddies had their own creativity in waking you up, when crackers went off from underneath your bed just to realize that you’re still down but fast in snooze! But once you were back from your leave did you realize of the fungus that had its own place of shades and smell. And that stink that came from the bathroom when anyone had been washing the clothes that got sponged to over three days! And when you made the best use of the water coolers to refrigerate the beer bottles! With time that reverts back to a time where loads of times were at your doorstep. And do just in time to make favours and get the job done, roaming around in and out just with a purpose of doing NOTHING! And only when you could stand on your feet and roll in your sleeves to pay the bill, were others shocked ‘cas hadn’t they perceived of the money that landed up in your account that very day! Not to mention when people maintained your accounts and when you redirected your credits to third parties.

Occasions when you could haul out out other block’s LAN cable just to realize the speed with so some awesome! Times when the PING was ready to acknowledge back and when pages got downloaded by Download Managers and the virus of MSM that spread like worms, when instant messaging worked like an offline service. But only to make the best use of the intranet that worked at full speeds and that gained momentum at nights. When projectors had their way to the rooms for movies to be screened on a larger aspect. The era of gaming that will go down in history as NIMC play station arenas, from Quake 3, Delta Force, NFS, the evergreen IGI and the recent talked about Counter Strike.

Talk of those exams that had their own charm. From the moment you chalked out your seating arrangement on the notice board and got to know of the venue by someone grateful to the time when you got cursed or got begged of helping someone by sitting next to you. And a glimpse of just how you could get the answers to your doorstep. Well, all you knew of having people sitting for you with loads in the library, or have them ready with an open google page in the Net Lab, and why not a quick ambush back to the block itself! Whatever suites you man, the corridor patrols were quite helpful anyways. There were times when the hon’ble external invigilator shared a quickie with the internal by pointing to someone’s chit that had fallen, or why not counter check the answers with someone sitting right diagonally opposite in the LH1, while someone got hold of a supplementary sheet not knowing who's it is? And when the question papers were exported out from the window pane and when answers reached the bathroom in no time that caught you getting there too often just to get back, heavily armed. Not to mention when someone called upon to the academic coordinator to get the invigilator changed altogether. ‘Total aatank’ in short.

But always you would realize the importance of the warden, who gave so much and always thought to grab you red-handed only if she succeeded in those tricky Hide-n-Seek. Not to mention of her sweet surprises (Mein aa gaye hun!)

From the freaky hours at the Hard Rock…To the correspondence ones at the Net Lab
In the silence of the Library…And the wee hours of the dining hall,
Still confused what to do…?
Do it in the Eden Gardens…’cas it’s a safe Spanish Harlem.
Bada Maza Aaya !!!

The NIMC Times - Part 1

In the crack of dawn you crave for more only if there is energy in core, You pop out right at four for a fall-in so austere!

Thanks to pioneers who set the trend of a few traditions that knew no bounds, to those lines that punches you often and to those anthems that were more of a giggle. A place drawn by extreme combatism from jokers to juniors, you're ultimately moulding into a corporate mogul! And then comes from the young pumping nerves, "HIGH SIR!" You bett you would grasp, if nothing else, the famous Bhojpuri intro and should have no hassles tieing that knot, without the knot! A time to interact, a time to relate, a time to enact, was the time to live by it.

Drawn to a campus that makes you something out of nothing. Well, talk about it, as Dominique Lapiere calls it, the city of joy embodies the love of culture; not to mention the never-ending strikes and bandhs famous for. It's triumph of intellectualism and say over greed. The complete transparency of all emotions, the warmth of genuine humanity and the supremacy of emotions over all other aspects of human existence. As they call it, the city with a soul!

The rest is defined by misty mornings of due remains and quite like mainas that you may count or the chirps in the olive green backyards of koels and woodpeckers that flock high in the aged barks of century old people and bargad and squeals and squeaks of squirrels so fast. Inclusive are the runs and stead fast walks by a few along with the visits to the Nirman for a shape so well defined. Not to mention some whom you can spot right amidst in BBC dribbling it well and a little afar who may have been watching the judgment day for the dooms day all night long. Not long, you may even spot musketeers back from GP, the delightful savor of cost-cutting flavour! At around half past six , you can boast your morning dose with a cup of the so-called tea to quench the long awaited drink. Many a few are still not lucky but are fast in snoozes in the olive backed barracks that are partitioned to furnish quarters well ventilated with network cables. A glance in rooms and outside may reveal you the born muggers, the late night adventurers and the majority for whom speed is worshipped and net is fast. For since alumni has called it the resort to holiday inn, let late evenings surface its actual stride. A place so well chalked out in an area acre miniature in nature, even Le Corbusier would have praised it's sector-wise demarcations. And much of limelight is from the press when it comes to roll over the headlines, something so important in the making of a manager or a techno-manager! At the daybreak of outmost freedom, for those who abide by the boarding way, life's at its best. An army runs on its stomach, an army institute on a flavorsome meal! Talk about the first meal of the day that not many relish it, the Thursday's paranthas being the most desired; for which many experience sleepless nights. But only if you were the lucky lad could you make your way to the mess or land up knocking on Shushanto's doors! And there you will be in time for the 11 o'clock tea, still uncertain of the lecture or relying on the proxy.

Talk about the tickle tackle and the never ending gossips or the classroom chit chat that always strayed your way for a conversation so sought after. Or do it in the Eden Gardens 'cas it's a safe Spanish Harlem, a place to freak out so often. Or do it on that Puliya , you sure would remember that. The onslaught of the spring made the jokers relished the mango pulp, for which they made their way up on that delightful savor of juicy pleasure. And in detached evenings of Bengal chill, making the pants of warmth of bonfires, hosting the feast with fruit juice and chicken nuggets. For any moment you could still think right to 'by the left' stroll out for a night safari, to Khiddherpore for a second helping, to Setu on bikes, joy rides on trailers, up on that Chimney and why not to the Cellular jail, to the Maidan or surfing up the security covers on the race course! Music outings to Someplace Else for pop nights in this country side for a west side story. NIMC turns into small patches of sundry ventures on every manic Monday and Saturday nights. We explored and we learnt, we followed and preached, the NIMC way.

The evenings were the most happening, the dance parties now and then, not to mention its sharp downfall. The never ending laughter and the wit, the cups that smile with glimmering of sweet wine and beer bottles that knew no bounds, hard rock its most sought after destination. Age shall grow mellow with the thought of it, of a home far away from home! But till late at dusk you'll find yourself, as clueless as ever, both for you and the better half, still gazing down at the grass or waiting for falling stars to fall in again. This may just be the start of nostalgic evidences and the era of alumni. It would bring an adieu to your long plea for placements and blink the reverie that would open your horizon to a whole new world backed by nerve biting competition. Under the army umbrella you grew to be determined. Those were the days, the NIMC days of jollity and mirth that can never be forgotten. Just tinged with sorrow enough to welcome in, with the heartier " ha ha ha bara maza aaya". Years shall recall the NIMC times that knows no dearth of ready jests and sunshine, of sweet lays and lime, of paranthaas or of anda tarka! All wassails that give birth to bliss that lifts the spirit from the earth of a place so loved of.

All it was a different tale to narrate and learn, ever since alumni used to visit the campus and share their experiences. From juniors in school to brats in college, you guess it was a small place to be. And yes it was, different from the usual stereotype. From kicking the ball to chasing it, you could realize all the importance in sports, from inter football matches to the hooter filled volleyball ones prior to freshers, the most sought after TT, the late night badminton, the university meet, the cricket county matches, with alumni on BBC and what not.

I would have given anything in this world to just get back those days, the ragging of the seniors, those introductions, those mugging up of names, those wake-up calls, those midnight fall-ins, those running routines behind S block, those interactive BBC skits, the hip hops, the fresher dance amidst BBC session time, the penning down of countless articles and presentations, the frightening evenings in the mess, the smile wash, the punch lines and the dubbed anthems...the NIMC Times!