Four years, Eight semesters, One degree, Hundreds of memories…

This post is dedicated to my friends from Shri Vaishnav Institute of Technology and Science and to all engineers all over.

Last year, we, the 2007 batch, set adrift, with a degree for a sail and lots of nerve for oars. Soon, each of us climbed our separate mountain, walked through a different desert and eventually we must find an ocean in the vast global waters of work, job, career and the worldly domains.

Graduation is a time for feeling proud, a time to celebrate. And yet, it’s a time that is bittersweet. We are no longer students at SVITS. But SVITS remains within us, lurking somewhere deep in our hearts. Sometimes when we get down to work we are tempted to go deep inside our cerebral computer to see if we picked up anything from class that could be made use of in the worksheet. Yes it helps at times. But is that all? No, if it was so then SVITians will simply be remembered only for the lectures that they attended and the lectures that they missed. But truly we are all SVITians with a difference. We are a creed apart and what sets us apart from others that have gone ahead of us is the spirit that kindles a feeling of oneness, a feeling of belonging to one family, a feeling that tells me I have left my soul behind within the four walls of the classrooms. We are all SVITians not because we studied together but because we honored our commitments to all the following extra terrestrial, extra SVITian, extra collegian and extra extra etcetera, etcetera.

What forms a major part of the memories of any person’s college life is bunking classes. We have a GT road running through the veins of India but we heard of GT in an altogether new context. GT meant never getting into the main gate of the college, anyone who gets in will not be part of the greater brotherhood. GT meant letting the faculty guess if they will see some familiar faces in the college corridors. Sorry sirs, much that I would have loved to show my face, but for my all other sisters and brothers who would have smashed my lovely face if I had defied their dictates; and if any of them showed theirs I would have been the smasher.(ha ha ha… )

Once in a while the thought of attending classes struck our tiny brains. After all, it is so expensive these days to get the offspring educated (oft repeated word of every parent.) An average day in the life of we the great general turrians, meant getting up early from those dreams, getting under the shower six hours before the routine, chomping on the forcibly thrust piece of sandwich and hurriedly get into the rickety royal limousine to college. After all, the great turrian will make an entry into the much undesired territory. At the entrance notice board give yourself a final look and set hair for that last brush of dandy touch. The attendance sheet took long to come to the last bench so a smile here and a hi there kept the socials going till the professor began his address to the ones whose minds were always somewhere down in the canteen or at the door, waiting for `that someone’ to come or thinking of that special date for the day.

A handful of sincere first-benchers will steal a look at the back rows thinking and wishing if they could do the same. They would have all the detailed notes, which the outstanding students (students who are always standing out) can photocopy a few days before the examinations. Joking and gossiping from behind the book or playing cross and knots in lecture during which half the class is already snoring, were some of the methods adopted to kill time.

By the middle of the lecture, everyone would be restless and kept glancing at their watches, slamming books and dropping bags. The professor mercilessly continued teaching.

Each day we would notice some faces missing and some unfamiliar ones joining the lecture charade. Does that mean we will never be able to know how many of us were actually admitted to the course? Till the time of submissions was there, no one, not even the professor, could tell who studied in his class and who was an outsider. Good that they invented submissions. Submissions are the only time you get to see all your classmates at one place, and determine as to who are those familiar faces that we often saw at Treasure Island or at CCD or inside the college canteen.

The much awaited cultural events brought out the talented spirit of we, the great turrians, and the college premises became the much desired home; after all we all wanted to become the Shahrukhs and the Hrithiks, what with the dance rehearsals all day long. The Traditional Day and the Funky Day brought out the fashionistas within each one of us to the fore.

But by the time we got to notice that we have to learn the computers and master the domains of Information Technology, the four years moved out of our hands like the shifting sands of the hourglass. We wished we could set the time back and replay those lectures, reset the sitting arrangements, dishevel our dandy hair to study like the book worms. Alas a casual remark from the first bencher made me think whether we ever wanted to become a book worm, “I believe our college organizes some events. Could you please tell me if I can recall my four years and join the new gang of great turrians to know what Swaranjali is?”

Jokes apart, we had one of the best student fraternity and teaching faculty and I am sure all of us SVITians will be ever proud to raise the level of our institute to greater heights in whatever profession we join. Let us all raise a toast to the great teachers of this wonderful institute to whom we will ever be grateful. We may forget what you said in class, or the notes you prepared for us, but what we will never forget is the love, affection, guidance and encouragement each one of us received from you. May the tribe of such pedagogues live long.