Technology Literary Society

Of Yins And Yangs

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“”The sun shone over those uncovered heads,

a little did that ruthless heat bore,And that one worker amidst thousand others, worked till he could work no more.

Seldom, he wriggled in the heated silence,picking the pomegranates so fruity so fine,After the day, he would stare at his loaded cart, After the day, he would stare at his loaded cart, face pale, and the eyes red in uncanny shine.

His children would flash in front of his eyes, with an unfortunate beacon of desperate pleas.Hunger in their vacant faces suffice, puzzling his eyes with colorless grease.

Tiny large eyes, glittering and shimmering, a little moist and rolled up, from that last chuckle,a little moist and rolled up, from that last chuckle,A few feet fingers fleeting, dancing like doodles, with the red of ripe one, fresh bruise on knuckle.

Under the dimly lit lamp post, post the street, bare feet restlessly running; grinning eyes,Dripping laughter, seeking turtles in the swamp, back home, owns a stray cat, leftover rice.

Drenched by the thoughts of personal gains, Drenched by the thoughts of personal gains, a momentary pleasure, for his children lot.The boss was corrupt, and the faith vulnerable, whether to steal from a burglar or not.

Picking a tricky, dead red fruit in his fist, heavy yet hollow, due to the tyrant’s rent.He’d grab the drab, and try to trap, his tempt; a worthless daunting attempt. his tempt; a worthless daunting attempt.

Greed uncoiling in his helpless nerves, shattering the miniature self esteem,Hiding the fruits behind the fearful overcoat, the silhouette slithered out; a shameless stream.

Amidst the heated hungry silence, shivering sweat, had sweetened within the palm.Thorns of jealousy, prongs of poverty, Thorns of jealousy, prongs of poverty, no trembling tambourine, as the souvenir of calm. His furious breath would tread towards dangling despair, his inner self being corruptless, despite this unseen sin.

Desperation forced forward, Desperation forced forward, his legs drenched in immobility, naïve melancholy rewarded, with clogging contaminated din.

But to heal and hone the humble honesty, revolt resurfaced, perishing the plight.For the soul is worthy, not the fables of fruits, pain and suffering; just a regular rite. pain and suffering; just a regular rite.

And with this, the fruits fall back to the master, honesty battles the corrupt, poverty silently joins.He filthily works under a child’s unattended pleas, with sweat on his proud soul,

A poor worker, working for a corrupt landlord...tries to steal some pomegranates for his children...

finally guided by his conscience to the right path...

A mild satire on the corrupt system in our country and its deep consequences...

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KGP taught me something very important. It cleansed out the nursery kid who wouldn't share his pop-a-point pencil with anyone and plugged in some much needed fellow-feeling. You could say "of course that’s part of growing up", but then, if that’s really so, then I don’t know how I would have ever grown up without IIT KGP. Like everyone, I too, learned much more outside the class, than I ever did by attending regular lectures. I met gods, demi-gods and the whole clan including a few Zeus's in their own right during these few years. A little googling will reveal people battling it out on Quora over how procastination is the worst thing they learnt at KGP and how they needneed to get over it soon. True, KGP instilled enviable peace-maring abilities in all of us, but if you ask me, I would want to, in fact, I would love to differ. Without going into the pathos of rockets and burnt-bum metaphors, I would simply say that it’s the last minute pressure that brings out the true qualities in a KGPian:- speed, strength, agility, razor-sharp wit, application and so on – stuff, that superheroes and secret agents would kill for. Inter-Halls and soci-eties bought with them fierce qualities of loyalty apart from the usual quota of gargantuan treats, outings, debates, friendships and un-reined fun; — things that seem so important for surviving when I look back now. I wonder what NCC and NSS brought with them other than helping in page-setting and indent justification in a LaTex typed curriculum vitae, but I am sure they too have their rightful contribution.My symmetrical ending, is yet to arrive and is four months due, give or take. I had one blinding moment of realiza-tion before my journey started. I am waiting, silently, and not without being considerably scared, for that upheaval when it registers that the journey's over. In these concluding instants, as I wait for that guillotine to fall, I cannot help but think of a lovely one-liner from a senior- "I would be sad to leave, but sadder if I didn't". And, while, that is true, to be very frank, when I will have left KGP, 4 months from now, and gone out into the milieu, I would still be looking outout for the moment, when someone bumps into me by accident, and instead of the clichéd "sorry", blurts out "peace, peace".

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“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy” Revelation 13

II was sure that the beast would halt just a while before it claimed my head. Was I scared? Honestly, I swear I don’t know. I was too numb to think, to numb to sit up and draw back from the approaching animosity. All I could feel were the warmth of tears on my cheeks, the smoldering end between my fingers and the dying smell of marijuana. Those were the only things I could still feel; the only vestige of any tangible connection with the universe for as long back as I could remember. Her face however, was very much before my eyes. I did not take her name with the other three things I couldcould feel, for I could not. I wished desperately that I could; I tried to reach out to her, but in vain. My best efforts could not go beyond merely conjuring her image on the fabric of the morning sky. The sun was far from visible and the floating patches of cirrus stretched for miles beyond the sea continuing seamlessly from where the water ended. It was as if someone had messed up the physics of the universe around me, and rules of perspective had been done away with. My consciousness made a feeble attempt to reconcile my surroundings, to call it off as one of those several hallucina-tions I had been having ever since she had left. And yet, the monster that was rising rapidly was very real. My loss of alarm appeared both strange and soothing to me. “Is it you, are you the one?” I mumbled, straining my ears painfully wanting to hear her whispering back to me. There was no answer; even my own words faded out in the face of this vo-ciferous onslaught. A small voice inside my head did seem to speak continuously answering my question, answering it in the affirmative, but my heart refused to listen; -- asking, pleading, almost demanding some verification of my misconstrued thoughts. In those last few moments, I realized that it was indeed her. Three years of seeing her every day in col-lege and not being able to explain why I could never stop looking, that awkward sadness when she had bade me fare-well before leaving for her PhD to a far-off land I could only dream of; -- all of it suddenly made sense. I touched my cheeks instinctively as if to still feel that last soft goodbye kiss she had shared with this ‘friend’ of hers, only to find them scarred by drying streams of tears. Every single moment spent with her in the last three years as her best-friend was rapidly condensing into this one single vortex of infinitely dense emotion. And though my eyes were eagerly seeking to re-plenish the dying streams, the dense emotions brought with them a warm benevolence that seemed to spread through me, keeping me calm in the face of the massive in-coming serpentine form. The frothing surge seemed to take offence at my sheer nonchalance and raised its hood even higher shadowing the Sun and scorching the sky, promising no escape. But I didn't seek escape. I slowly let the burnt end of the stick slip between my fingers and lay back on the cold sand. In those concluding instants, my calm guided me into an unfathomably strong sense of omnipresence. I seemed to be everywhere at once. I could see her by the moist window of a train, speeding down the alpine tracks as clearly as I witnessed the Goliath shape that kept rising without any humility. When the countdown eventually stopped, I found myself lying frozen in time and space. I knew not how long it had lasted, but for a split second, all time seemed to stop. The colossal serpent paused a second, fuming in pure indignation and then rushed down without warning upon all of the landscape it could survey. Not wanting to mock its ferocity any more, I took in one last view of the roaring froth andand closed my eyes. It was dark inside at first and then slowly it turned into a blinding white light that subsumed me and all that I could feel. A young Indian couple sat in front of the enormous fountain near their university campus café, reading an online news-paper on the girl’s laptop. She tightened her scarf as the cold Swiss air, blew in gusts teasing her hair. “Did you hear about the tsunami disaster in India? It has been terrible towards the south”, the boy spoke. The girl raised her eyes and with a natural but moderate concern mentioned about her friend who had joined a job in Chennai after college—“I wonder if he’s alright”. Then her face changed to one of intense love and concern as she took the boy’s face in her handshands and lovingly caressed his ears – “God forbid, if it was you?” , and the boy hugged her as he usually did. They didn't talk about it anymore.

The Butterfly effect4

ANSI C by Balagurusamy : Every once in a while, there comes a book that you'll never forget. This is one of them. The author employs complex metaphors and irony in abundance throughout the course of the story. Although the language is based on medieval English which is still being cracked by scholars all throughout the book, but it is a good read nonetheless. On a scale of one to ten the book outstandingly calls for minus ten.TipTip : The book also employs iteration concepts, judging by the readers' tendency to repeat their sleep cycles upon opening the book. So beware!

Atkins - Physical Chemistry :Rated 5/5 for ensuring heavy cramps in your brain, this book promises a paradise(or hell, it is for you to decide) of physical chemistry impregnated on moribund differentials; speaking of energies, bracketed terms and crazy spectral patterns that stare at you as you flip through those pages. Want to let go of it? The Central Library is only a stone's throw away.TipTip : Do not delve deep into those verses. Ignore my warning; a decrease in your internal energy and disturbed mental equilibrium awaits you!

Beer and Johnston :The book is an exciting mix of brain numbing theory and mind wrenching questions to support them. Although followed by all the first years as the bible for mechanics, only a few dare to open it. Also the book is very conve-nient for minor weight lifting practice, as a laptop stand and killing friends who don't treat on birthdays.Tip : It has nothing to do with "Beer". Don't get the book thinking of that.

Saraswat and Sastry :This book is a must read and a real "page turner". From page one to page 218, the mytsery deepens to such extent that many people have had a stroke. One of classics in non-fiction, it takes the readers through a world of pain and insult. Tip : The book starts from page 218 and the answers are in Irodov. Enough said.

Jain and Iyengar :WhileWhile carrying this book is a test for the undernourished, being greeted by a sea of pages deco-rated with symbols seemingly undecipherable, it should only be a matter of time before you have already dozed off, for it is a good strong blue pillow you've got.Tip : A stitch in time saves nine just like how a 'Jain & Iyengar ' saves your CG from drowning.

Parker Smith :Presented in an unappealing archaic text, this treacherous entity is all about a man called P.Smith who apparently has all the electrical instruments and wires but never got the con-nections right! For years he has tried to help the KGPian 'faccha' community but suppos-edly with little help. You are welcome any time.Tip : Helps only up to a limit. You wouldn't want a short-circuited brain, do you?

English for Communication :The book takes extreme pride in mentioning itself as the smallest, most untouched (implying the neatest) and the best in delivering dry poems and sleep inducing collection of words with a litany of errors and unpunctuated lines. Enter a world of monotonous happenings as you journey down the pages in despair wondering how your English Prof. has escaped the attack!Tip : The best time to read the book is exactly 24 hours before the exam. That is all that it takes to utilize its 'literature' well.

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Sub-Committee Members

Abhishek Tripathi Amandeep ChanyalAnuja GadekarDikshant RajHarsh PatelJagpreet JaggiNaman MitrukaNaman MitrukaNevin Valsaraj Priyal MaheshwariSarthak JainSebin MathewShailesh KumarShankar AgrawalTriyansha VijayvargiyaTriyansha VijayvargiyaUjjwal DubeyVivek Rai

Committee MembersAditya Bikram BhandariAmrita KumariD YasaswiKetan MundhadaMayank MishraNeha SinghNidhi DwivediNidhi DwivediPragya Sharma Pranav Bhople Rupak Kumar ThakurSankha AdityaShashank GargSushruta MishraY ModiniY Modini

Senior Editors

Annirudha Dey Divya HindupurHarshi BansalMeghna Reddy Pankaj KumarSangam TirthrajSaurabh AgarwalSaurabh AgarwalSom Sekhar ThatoiUtkarsh Jain

Governors

Priya SinghRahul JaisinghSaif KhanVikas Dubey

Executive Editors

Animesh ChoudharyPushpam BhardwajSai SachinShubhradeep SahooVishal Gupta

Chief Editors

Sampurna BiswasSwati DasTanmoy Sanyal

Agri. Dept., Central Library, B.C.Roy Hos-pital, Nehru Museum, Maggu room

Nalanda, Electrical Lab., V.S. Hall, Tikka

RIDDLES

Growth prevails, life travails,There is a place, do you 'agree'?

The heart of campus, the sea of knowledge,A collection of halls,here you can get it all here you can get it all

The place to save your life,The place to end your life,If you want to miss a class, go there, and youryour attendance will be cleared.

The place which houses the old,Many milestones, memories of people bold,Whose stories we have been told,What is that place called?

Walls here speak Walls here speak formulae in sleep,Nights are alive as hearts of maggus beep.

2.2, Gol C, Juice, Matka, Bhatnagar(Bhaat+nagar), mug, Aseem, Tempo-Shout, Soc-Cult, Load

REBUSES