Memories Close to Heart . Review on IIT, Kanpur

As you step off the train, onto the crowded platform, the little kiosk with the white banner strikes you immediately - it says ''Welcome to IIT K.'' The guy in T-shirt and jeans holding some sort of a list checks your name, smiles and then politely asks you to get on the waiting white bus.

As you climb inside a dozen pairs of eyes focus on you. Each face is a mix of excitement, curiosity, and perhaps apprehension. The bus honks through the impossible maze of vehicles - motored as well as all other variety, including bullock carts and cycle rickshaws. Well beyond the city limits, it finally turns off the GT road and enters the precincts of the campus.

Suddenly you sit up. The scenic contrast is too arresting. The first thing that strikes you are the greens, all around, everywhere. These are not neatly mowed lawns or manicured bushes, but greens in all their natural glory. You notice the clean roads, the red bricked neat structures, the near absence of vehicles (except for bicycles). You even notice the tranquility.

The plain simplicity and functionality of almost everything on campus doesn't escape your notice either. Be it the layout, the architecture, or simply the names. There are no Gangas or Nilgiris, neither Vidyasagars nor Vivekanandas. The hostels are simply called Halls of Residence. Each hall has a lot of open spaces, single rows of rooms with balcony at the rear and a wide corridor on the front.

Student volunteers hand you your room keys, and inform you that your room mate will arrive later in the day. You unpack, set your stuff, make your bed. You step out and peep into the room next. There are a handful of fellow students who have already arrived. Tentative ''hellos'' are exchanged, followed by personal information. You make a mental note to remember the names. Little do you realize that the same names will stay with you for the rest of your life.

The morning next, you join a long queue at the Lecture Hall Complex, for registration. For the first time you take in the size of your batch. For the first time you are aware of the almost negligible female-to-male ratio. Few student coordinators take your batch on a guided tour of the campus.

There is the huge library which is not only an architectural marvel but also houses all possible titles, journals, periodicals in every possible subject. The computer centre, you are told, acquired the first main frame in the country, and has some state of the art resources. Then there is the robotics lab, the advanced centre for materials with all its spooky transmission microscopes, the huge wind tunnel. You take a long walk till you reach the south-west end of the campus, and the air strip. The Cessna waiting patiently in the hangar is owned by the Institute. The gliding club has a well trained and experienced instructor.

Later in the evening you are introduced to representatives of various clubs - the photography club, the dramatics club, the trekking club, the aero-modelling club, the music club, ...

Classes start in right earnest, and before you know it, you are neck deep in lectures, tutorials, labs and assignments. Some of the Profs are simply incredible. You get to hear about their glories and achievements from the seniors. You discover that their nicknames are much better and more convenient to use than the real names.

The evening gossip sessions with your wingies get longer each day. Suddenly you realize that the best time to study is after midnight. The same amphitheatre shaped hall that serves as the venue for lectures in the day is transformed into a movie hall on week-end nights. If you reach a little late for the show, you painfully realize that you have no space to sit, but for the steps. And just as a popular song gets over on the screen, the lights are turned on and there are loud requests for a repeat. You get the hang, and soon find yourself shouting hoarse.

As days pass, you grow to hate the ''mess'' food, and love to walk the couple of kilometer to the main gate and out on the GT road to feast on ''dhaba'' food. You discover that there is no such concept as your personal belonging, including money. If it belongs to you, it belongs to the wing.

You encounter the first set of mid-semester exams and are left bruised and amply humbled. You realize that the JEE was just a cheese cake in comparison. As you apprehensively share your experience of the exams with your friends, you take unimaginable solace from the knowledge that you are not alone in your dispair. The scores are declared rather too soon after. You have scored some, goofed some. Soon you will realize that's the way of life here. Soon you will stop caring much.

The rains have arrived, and the campus has become even greener, and vigorously beautiful. You lie on your cot and stare out at the unnamed tree just beyond the small balcony, water dripping from its leaves. There is a harsh mournful cry. You rush to the window, your heart singing. Down below, the peacock sways proudly in the rain, displaying its colours in all their glory. You step out in the rain. Something tells you, you have always belonged here.