It’s the middle of winter break, and I’m on campus in Pittsburgh. Not because I don’t want to go home. But because of a number of other reasons:

• I like it here. As I mentioned before, CMU’s a nice home away from home.
• I had some “unfinished” business in the ECE lab…
• I’ve been slacking on some research I’d taken up halfway through the semester and need some time to work on that.
• A round trip home and back isn’t exactly cheap.
• I’ll have to return a week early anyway to help with Build Week for Fringe buggy (More on what exactly buggy is later – otherwise just look up www.cmubuggy.org).
• Free tickets by Megabus means I’m going on a quick getaway to Washington DC and New York City in the first week of January.
• I was planning on exploring a lot more of this city, but haven’t really gotten as much done as I’d originally planned.

However, despite this list of things which should be keeping me busy, there’s a large Blackboard shaped hole in my head. FYI, Blackboard is CMU’s online course management thingamajig. As absurd as it may sound, but after several weeks of relentless hard work, the complete and utter lack of course readings, assignments, tests, homework and exams is getting to me! It’s a dangerous drug…

First, a little more CMU-plugging. I’m not being paid to do this, it’s just that I do, honestly, from the bottom of my heart, feel this way about this place. First, it’s impossible for me to consider alternate universes where Vivek Nair didn’t accept his admission offer to CMU. Why? Because I have no idea how this place compares to other universities. I’ll be honest, after being at this university for a couple of months, I’ve realised that ratings, blogs, online guides can only tell you so much about a place. You need to be there to experience it all. And I don’t just mean a quick campus tour. Besides, accepting a college offer based on a campus tour is like marrying someone after a date. Not that I’m one to speak – I didn’t even do the whole campus tour deal before I accepted my offer – which essentially makes me someone who just married someone off an online matchmaking website without even meeting said person(ified university). That said, it’s really difficult to imagine myself at another college. I’m sure the other Viveks in all the alternate universes are equally happy in their universities of choice. (Note to all juniors: Do not let college acceptance/rejection letters get to you. In all likelihood, after a few months, you won’t be able to imagine it any other way (Now if only I had a time machine to send this back an year to myself… (parentheseception))). On the other hand, I’m pretty sure a few Viveks have dropped out simply because they felt like it…

Getting back to CMU: it’s like a black hole of talent. It naturally pulls bright high school students towards it and sucks them into this small campus to create dangerously high levels of talent density. What gives me the authority to say this? Nearly every person, every…single…individual, I’ve met at CMU has one or more talents that makes me go – “Wow, that person is really amazing. I wish I could do something like that” (Yes, I am fully aware that that was the third time I used the word “Wow” in this post, and no, it does not bother me in the very least). It’s true – I’ve met people with incredibly high levels of intelligence, creativity, leadership skills and a host of other talents. I could be more specific, name people, embarrass them but they all know who they are. Another one of the other things I love about the people I’ve met here is the way I can simply bounce ideas off people. I’ve ended up forming a host of friendships that do end up going a level deeper – people I can talk ideas and issues over with – technical, philosophical, anything – not necessarily limited to any curriculum – with absolute certainty that I’m not boring anyone to death. It’s that kind of intellectual freedom that CMU and the people I’ve met here afford me.

I feel that this post would be incomplete without a brief description of some of the instructors I’ve met here. I won’t be specific, and at the risk of overly generalising, will say that most, if not all, of the faculty I’ve met here are incredibly knowledgeable, extremely supportive, absolutely approachable and I think I’ve run out of superlatives at this point. It’s here that I was introduced to the concept of “Office Hours” – an alien concept for me before I got to CMU. The idea that an instructor would set aside time exclusively to answer questions that students might have was definitely something new to me. It’s not just the professors and TAs really, even Supplemental Instruction (student-led extra sessions) were immensely helpful (special shoutout to a certain SI leader – you know who you are if you’re reading this). And I’m really glad I made the most of all the opportunities I had available to me as a student – not because I got to clear my doubts or anything, but along the way, I got to know just a little bit about how some of these fascinating minds worked, or as a friend put it, “It’s like osmosis, you just sit there and soak in all of it like a sponge”. Even though these are just freshmen-level courses – essentially mindless work for most of the faculty – you do get the feeling that they are completely involved in the whole teaching process and want you to learn. Looking back, without that level of enthusiasm exuding from the faculty, I probably wouldn’t have been interested in lectures either.

And that brings me to the work itself. No, I won’t go into specifics, but I’ll be honest – there was a lot of it. So I was lucky enough not to put myself in a position where an all-nighter was of the essence, but I came close a few times. It’s as if orientation week was a frolic filled few (say the last three words over and over, really really fast) days of laughter, food and activities at the beach, followed immediately by the academic equivalent of a tsunami. I’m pretty sure that most people were caught off guard, like me. It was like trying to drink out of a fire hydrant. Traction was hard to find at first, but eventually, most of the people I know got the hang of it. I don’t know about others, but I for one, take my work very seriously, no matter how banal it might seem at first sight. Probably has a lot to do with my insatiable thirst to know more and do better – which, hopefully, is not really a bad thing. The seemingly never-ending homework assignments, the papers, the exams – it all seemed like a huge burden at the time, but in retrospect, I’m proud I survived my first semester. This is essentially the cue for upperclassmen to be rolling about in splits, telling me I have no idea what’s going to hit me in the not so distant future: “Pfssh, silly overly idealistic freshman, he’ll wish he was never born by the end of junior year.” They may very well have a point – CMU is well known for its academic rigour. However, I’ll take things one step at a time. That said, the first step has put me in an interesting dilemma. CMU’s grading scale goes up to a maximum CGPA of 4.0. I’ve started off with a 4.0. Now that’s a good thing and a bad thing. Good thing because, well…doing well doesn’t really need a proper justification now, does it? And it’s a bad thing because when that first B or C does eventually wind up on the transcript, it’s going to be just that little bit more painful. But anyway, that’s definitely a first world problem and also one I won’t have to deal with till May.

I feel that this is also a good point of time to reflect on what’s changed over this past semester. Not a curriculum overview, mind you – that’s the last thing you should expect on this blog. More like a “Wow, things have changed and I didn’t even have time to notice.” For starters, I’ve had to radically change my work ethic over the past few months. The transition from having literally no homework in the last two years of school to having weekly assignments was a bit jarring at first, but thankfully, not a huge adjustment. Also, in many ways, college was a fresh start. That’s because since I was in a completely new environment, where no one had any preconceptions of what I could or couldn’t do, it allowed me to try new things without having to worry about what people would think of me. Not that it ever stopped me before, but the collective sense of liberty with respect to action and thought that the first few weeks of college injects into the minds of freshmen really does let an individual develop in unimaginable ways. I saw it not only in myself, but others around me. For instance, before I got to CMU, I was convinced of the fact that I was born with two left feet. A semester down the line, not only have friends commended me on my moves (which, in all honesty, are still rather pathetic), but I’m motivated to try out for the university wide Dancers’ Symposium next semester – just a singular example of what the combination of letting oneself loose and positive peer pressure can do.

The development didn’t really stop there – I enjoy pursuing intricacies of topics that professors choose to leave for higher-level classes. The nitty-grittys of why things are the way they are motivate me to look beyond the course. And for once, my questions are no longer met with the frustrating refrain from school: “Beta, it’s out of the syllabus” – faculty appreciate these questions and do not mind going out of their way to satisfy the intellectual curiosity of students in this university. I spent hours agonising over something as elementary as the precise manner in which a capacitor reacts to square waves, and I always had someone to talk to it about. And that’s not all – after going to a few events and talking to a few people – it was actually surprisingly easy to find a small time research assistantship at the university. Again, even when I’m working with people far far more experienced in the field than I am, I don’t detect any trace of condescension or any form of negativity at all when I ask questions that seem elementary, even to me as I ask them.

Moreover, even the infrastructure CMU has to offer does speak volumes about the university’s commitment to its students. It’s winter break – and I asked for access to the ECE labs over break, which was promptly granted once I explained what I wanted to do. When I got locked out of the lab, possibly by the cleaning staff, the lab manager popped by the next day and unlocked the door – this was the day after Christmas. It’s little things like this that give me the feeling that innovation and personal projects are not merely tolerated, but enthused over.  And speaking of infrastructure, the fact that I also get access to some really serious video recording equipment is only a small perk in the context of a bigger picture. Not an arts major? No problem – just activate your ID card. It doesn’t matter what you signed up for when you accepted your admission offer, you can do what you want once you get here. Although these 2 instances might not seem to be related, but they’ve let me explore my technical and creative sides in ways that I couldn’t predict before I got here.

Honestly, I am capable of going on and on, but it’s safe to draw a line here and say that despite CMU being among the most expensive universities for higher education in the world, at this moment in time, it seems like an investment that has the potential to yield benefits far into the future, both tangible and intangible. It all depends on whether you’re looking to reach out and grab each opportunity and milk it for all its worth. Hopefully, I manage to do that over the next 7 semesters I’ve got lined up in Pittsburgh.

I have to admit, I've spent more time at Hamerschlag Hall over winter break than I did all semester...

“WHAT THE F—!”, he yelled as his legs slid out beneath him at a painful, yet comedic, obtuse angle. As his hands go out to grab the handrail that is literally just an inch too far away, he collapses into an ungainly heap of flesh, denim and fleece-lined jacket. This is definitely not the best day of his life. It’s a cold night, and falling just made things a whole lot worse. He gingerly gets to his feet, legs still shaking from the complete lack of preparedness for his fall, and attempts to brush the ice off his clothes. “Why in the world am I here?”, he mutters under his breath.

Flashback 6 hours

Bzzt. His phone vibrates on his table. Turns out it’s a text from his friend Keenan about a bunch of people going ice-skating tonight. Interesting? Check. Something new? Check. Hanging out with Keenan, Delia, David and more people? Check. No urgent work? Check. Seems right – let’s do this.

Back to the ice rink at PPG Place

“Stupid flashbacks”, he mutters. Turns out that sweeping the snow off his clothes is of no use – most of the snow’s seeped through to his skin anyway. He looks up to find Delia and Keenan finding it hard to contain their mirth. Understandable really – he’s pretty sure it looked comic from a third person perspective.

“Are you OK?”, asks Delia, through barely contained giggles.

“Yes, I’ll be fine”, he says. He’s not completely certain though, but better put up a brave front right?

Delia brushes some of the ice off of him that he couldn’t reach. “OK, now the first thing you’ve got to do is learn to walk on ice – the same way you’d walk on the ground”, she says.

“Easier said than done”, he shoots right back at her with his trademark grin. Setting his sights about a foot in front of his extremely unsteady feet, he goes for a second shot.

Transfer weight to left leg. Lift right leg. Move right leg forward. Plant right leg down. Transfer weight to right leg. Lift left leg. Move left leg forward. Plant left leg down. Repeat. Sounds simple enough. If only he could do it right. The handrail is his friend, and for the moment, dearer to him than any form of instruction or advice Delia could give him.

He pauses to look around – the rink is a circular rink with a large christmas tree in the middle. He hasn’t really had much time to admire the holiday decorations on the tree – he’s been too busy trying to stay on his feet. Standing at the outer rim, he sees other people gracefully skating past.

“How do they do that?”, he can’t help but wonder out aloud.

“Oh, you’ll get it eventually”, replies Keenan with a smile.

And with that, Keenan and Delia float away, leaving in their wake nothing but grooves in the ice.

20 minutes later, and…erm…a few falls

Keenan skates up to him. “How’s it going so far?”, she asks?

“I think I’m finally getting the hang of it!”, he responds brightly. He’s been walking for a bit now without having to grab out for the handrail every so often.

“You’ve got to stop pretending that you’re walking on ice”, yells a person standing outside the rink as he passes by.

He looks back to see who it was, which turns out to be a bad idea because before he knows it, his hands are flying out to steady himself on the treacherously slippery surface. Catching his breath, he says, “Nobody saw that happen”.

Delia slides up alongside him and Keenan. “Wow, you’re getting better at this”, she says, “Now try keeping one foot straight and kicking out behind you with the other one.”

5 minutes later

“Sorry!”
“Excuse me!”
“My bad!”
“Yeaaargh!”
“Rookie coming through!”
“Novice on ice – make way!”

And suddenly, the legs are sliding out again. Slip. Slide. Grab at thin air. Find metal handrail. Legs still slipping. Helpless? Almost. With a burst of strength, he manages to pull himself up to the handrail. Panting, he grins at the bystanders who are looking at him with a mixture of pity and amusement on their faces.

And then, he hears a swoosh followed by the sound of metal scraping on ice. He looks in the direction of the noise to see a bunch of skaters showing off some of their moves. Dodging, weaving through the mass of people, coming to screeching stops in a matter of a second or two – they really know their stuff.  He looks wistfully in their direction, wondering if he’ll ever be doing that on an ice rink. Oh well, practice makes perfect.

10 minutes later

He’s been skating around the rink for a while now. As of now, his right foot’s doing most of the work. But he hasn’t been holding the handrail much. David floats past. “You can do this, Vivek”, he says, while skating away with a grace that he can only dream of reproducing in the immediate future. Oh well, back to the grind.

But coming up ahead, he sees Keenan, standing with a camera. “I’m going to get a group photo. Stop here, I’m getting the others”, she says.

This is right about when he realises that he hasn’t really gotten the hang of stopping his state of motion. Keenan sees this and sticks out a hand to help. Instead, she just ends up clotheslining him in slow motion and, well, he finds himself landing on the ice once more in extremely comic fashion.

A couple of group photos later, he heads out on his own again. However, this time, he’s willing to concede that he’s been making some progress. From being in a state where he was unable to stand straight, to gingerly gliding over the ice – it’s been a surprisingly short but tiring journey. He’s barely been skating for 40 minutes, but after listening to Delia’s useful advice about keeping his knees slightly bent and keeping the handrail within arm’s reach, he’s finally starting to look somewhat like he’s skating.

He looks up to see a large group of skaters lounging by the rim. Unlike other groups which he could work his way through, this one’s dense. He’s got a decision to make: stop, or leave the safety of the handrail and work around the group. Feeling particularly brave, he decides to go with the latter course of action. Several profuse apologies, half-uttered oaths, flailing limbs later, he’s made it.

Sam, another friend, sees this happen. “You should head out over into the middle of the rink now”, she suggests.

“Not on your life!”, he responds. He feels nowhere near confident enough to do that sort of thing. For now, the handrail is still very much a necessity. Ice is not his element.

10 minutes later

The rink is slowly emptying. He’s been on it for almost an hour now. But he hasn’t caught hold of the handrail in a while. He’s not a 100% steady, but he’s not falling either.  He’s moving into the middle of the rink too. Picking up some speed. Delia and Keenan skate past. He can see the pride in their eyes. For his first time on skates – ice or otherwise – this has been a good expedition. He looks at his phone – it’s almost 10 PM. The rink’s about to close. But he feels accomplished. And he’s definitely not had enough…

Home is a four letter word. Begins with a h, followed by an o, then a m and finally finishing off with a nice e. And if I’m honest, that’s really all that I know about that word for certain. It’s strange really – it’s not a new word for me; I use it all the time. It’s not a complicated word – at least it’s easy to spell. But does it have an easy interpretation? I think not.

In this part of the world, around this time, families get together around dinner tables to carve up inordinately large stuffed turkeys to celebrate Thanksgiving. Of course, the turkey is just a ruse to get the family together under one roof – it is not uncommon for ticket prices for various means of transportation to skyrocket around this time of the year as family member make a mad scramble to reunite over dinner. Everybody’s talking about going home for Thanksgiving.

And it’s pretty much all this talk about home thats caught my fancy. What is home? Is it just a structure with 4 walls and a roof where you’re sheltered from the weather? Is it a place where you go home and find people who are close to you? Is it a place of which you have fond memories? Is it a none of those? All of those? This is pretty much how I’ve managed to turned one of the most basic constants of life for most people into a great unknowable.

I’ve tried to analyse my story thus far – born and brought up in the capital city of India, New Delhi, it’s the place I called home for 18 years. Sure, thanks to my parents, I had roots back in Kazhakuttam, Thiruvanathapuram, down in the southern peninsula, but I can never truly call it home. Yes, it does satisfy some of the parameters I laid out in the previous paragraphs – I do have a place to stay there – though to be more precise, my parents have homes there.  Yes, there are people there who I am close to. Yes, I do have memories of the place – as limited as they might be in number because I only visited Kazhakuttam during summer break. So, is Kazhakuttam home? It’s definitely not my first home.

But can it be one of my homes? That raises an important issue – can a person have more than one home? Sure, maybe it’s not easy to be equally at home at more than one place – but if you can set threshold levels for that homely feeling, maybe you can. Makes me wonder about my Dad really – he’s a really really busy man who spends half of his month in Delhi, half of it in Chennai and whatever’s left in hotel rooms and airport terminals around the country. I’ve seen his home in Chennai. It certainly looks like he enjoys living there. Sure he doesn’t have family there, but well, he’s got work to keep him busy. But he knows he’s got a home in Delhi to come home to. And another one back in Kazhakuttam.

But that’s besides the point – I’m digressing. Getting back to my definition of home – well, for me, home is really just where I’m at. As weird as it may sound, about three months into life at CMU, I haven’t really felt homesick. Unlike several of my friends, there haven’t been teary emotional breakdowns at the mention of that four letter word. Nope. I’m just busy chugging along here.

I had several theories about why I haven’t been subject to this homesickness yet. At first, I assumed I was simply having too good a time to miss home. However, most of that fun vanished shortly after orientation week ended and classes began. (It has been previously theorised that orientation week is just a ruse to cover up for all the pain that the rest of the semester can fling your way.) Then, I started thinking that maybe the workload was keeping me from dwelling too long about Delhi, and family and friends. Maybe that was the reason I never missed any of that – I never had much time to think about them in the first place. But this wasn’t really true. I talked on the phone with my parents a couple of times. Called a couple of friends. Skyped a lot. And no – I didn’t get close to any emotional moment whatsoever. Then I started thinking that perhaps I really was an emotionless robot – something I aptly demonstrated several months ago when me and my friends were going through a pretty emotional period. I kept contemplating which of those two states of mind I was in – too busy or too non-human.

I’ll be honest, before I left Delhi, Delhi was home. Not the city of course. I’m using Delhi to refer to my personal ecosystem within the city. The family. The house. The friends. The school. The room. I can close my eyes and imagine all of it. I really can. I can imagine my mother’s face (even though I haven’t even Skyped with her in months), I can see my best friends, I can see my room. I see it all. And again, the only time I’ve ever done this in the past few months is…well…now… Not once over the past several weeks have I stopped to think about what I’ve left behind. Wow. This post is pretty much an attempt to think out loud – for my sake and for others to understand why I’ve taken some decisions.

And again, nope…no emotion when I just flashed back through my memories. Why is that? Why don’t I miss home? Is it because it isn’t home anymore? I highly doubt that. I’m sure that if I return to Delhi – I can expect things to look more or less the way I left them. And even if things do change, I’m sure I can adapt. The people will be there. The apartment will be there. Delhi is still home.

Then what is it that prevents me from feeling that longing to be home? Is it because I never truly left home? Do modern means of communication technology render physical distance irrelevant? Oh certainly, Mom and Dad can call me whenever they want. My brother’s keeping tabs on everything I do via Facebook. I chat with friends using WhatsApp. Foursquare makes me an easy target for a serial killer. All of that does compensate, but I’m not sure it would compensate entirely for that void.

So, that pretty much leaves just one option: I’ve found another home. Here. In Pittsburgh. At Carnegie Mellon University, to be precise. Not just my dorm room, but this big invisible bubble that covers the places I frequent the most. The places I’ve come to know and love (and in some cases, hate) over the past 3 months. Breafkast from the coffee cart at La Prima Espresso. Chocolate chip pancakes at the Carnegie Cafe. My floor in Boss House. Walking across the cut to my classes. The buggy course. I could go on. And that’s just the places. I’ve found people too – sure, I don’t really have family here – but I do have an amazing bunch of close friends who I’m close with. I spend so much time in the libraries and my dorm room working that I’ve become very familiar with those surroundings. Seems like CMU’s ticked off all of those criteria to qualify as home. Does it bother me that I might not be here 4 years from now? No, it doesn’t.

And that’s because I’ve come to accept the fact that I don’t need to have one home – much like Dad. CMU, in these short three months, has become a home to me, much like Delhi was before this, and I’m sure any other place would’ve been if I hadn’t lived in one city all my life. I already have those treasured memories – and this time I’m logging them – photographs, videos, and when I get the time, a few blog posts – things that will help me preserve the memories that will help remind me why CMU is a home. These logs, in different mediums, will remind me of my time at CMU even when CMU is no longer an immediate home, much in the way that Delhi is no longer my immediate home.

The concept of an immediate home versus a latent home is also important. The immediate home is the here and the now. CMU is my immediate home. Delhi, on the other hand is my latent home. It’s a place I can call home when I go back. But it’s not home right now. It was. And it can be. Just not at this very moment. And that’s a comforting thought – especially when you know that your immediate home might, for some reason, cease to be a home at all. It’s true – events might cause you never to want to return to those places again. Not that anything of that sort’s happened to me – but just the fact that latent homes exist is a source of comfort.

Anyhow, I need to address a certain resentful crowd at this moment – a crowd of family and friends back home who resent my decision to stay over in Pittsburgh for winter break. It’s not because I don’t miss you people. It’s because I know you’re never that far away if it really does come to that – physical presence is overrated. It’s also because this place is like home too. It’s because the work I do here (yes, I’ve got enough of that planned out over winter break) distracts me from the memories that might consume me if I dwell on them too long. Yes, I acknowledge the fact that maybe the lack of emotion is a temporary thing, and that one day I will wake up, be hit by a wave of nostalgia and promptly be knocked out cold. But I’ll cross that bridge later, if I ever come to it at all, that is.

This goes a long way in explaining why watching all my floor mates and friends packing and leaving to visit their families over the week doesn’t affect me. I am aware that even if I really wanted to go back home, I can’t – flying halfway around the globe isn’t really cheap. But then again, I don’t really need to go home. I’m already there.

Even the city’s getting to me – I’ve visited a fair few places in Pittsburgh and have a few more trips planned over the next few days. I want to get to know more about the city. I’ve liked what I’ve seen so far. It isn’t as huge and bustling as New Delhi. Shops wind down by 9:00 PM. This city actually sleeps. And I can live with that. I’ve actually got a folder full of pamphlets I collected during orientation week. They’re about interesting places to visit in and around Pittsburgh. I should be getting a move on that soon – the more I explore the city, the more I’ll be able to identify with it. The more I’ll be able to expand my bubble from just CMU to include other bits of Pittsburgh. The more I’ll be able to create another hometown.

Oh, and the status update bit of the post, just in case there’s anybody still reading through that incoherent mess up there: classes are going well, will be heading over to a friend’s place for Thanksgiving dinner, need winter boots of some sort, need more sleep, have a morning exercise routine back in place, working on some interesting video projects, buggy rolls have ended for this semester, food could be better around this place. But, that said, still alive.

***

(More staccato to come…..as soon as I have something intelligible to say…..)

In retrospect, a three-day weekend makes sense after the first week of classes. Why, you ask? Well because, truth be told, CMU hits freshmen with a shovel in the face in the first week. By the end of the first week, you can make out if you were the guy who knew when to duck, or if you just got a faceful of metal and lost a couple of teeth. Luckily, I knew when to duck. And am happy to report that the situation is well under control.

I’m taking 4 courses for the first half of the semester, and will be taking one addition course in the second mini or half-semester. Namely, they are:

• 76-101 – Interpretation and Argument: This is an English class aimed at improving argument interpreting, summarizing and argument synthesis skills.
• 22-122 – Integration, Differential Equations and Approximations: The title of this intermediate-level calculus class is pretty self-explanatory. I already know most of what’s taught in the first half of the course. It’s the approximations bit that will be new material for me.
• 33-106 - Physics I for Engineering Students: Sadly, this is a basic level physics course covering much of what I learn in 11th grade – which is annoying, because everyone else who took AP courses gets credit for this stuff. (This is usually the point when I repeatedly hit myself over the head for not bothering to independently registering for AP exams, unlike some others I know)
• 18-100 - Introduction to Electrical and Computer Engineering: This is essentially the class that makes me grin from ear to ear. Circuits, signaling, amplifiers, microprocessors, labs – a healthy mix of topics that covers a broad array of the subjects I’ll be studying over the next 4 years.
• 99-101 – Computing @ Carnegie Mellon - This is the mini course I’ll take October onwards – it’s mainly about how to use the networks and computing resources at CMU. Can’t comment more on this till I actually take the class and don’t want to base anything on hearsay.

Oh, and here’s a rough idea of what my schedule looks like.

A rather early start to the day - every day - right through half of December too...

Key points to be noted here:

1. My classes begin at 8:30. Every weekday. Before you ask, this was intentional, because I consider myself to be a morning person. It’s a different matter that this paradigm usually comes dangerously close to being dashed to the ground once you actually reach campus, but as far as possible, I do try to wake up early.
2. That lone class on Wednesday from 6:30 to 9:30 is my ECE (read Electrical and Computer Engineering) lab, where we get to do cool stuff with protoboards, solders and oscilloscopes. I am definitely looking forward to my first lab, which is this coming Wednesday.
3. There’s always time to get lunch between classes – my first block of classes ends at 10:30 AM, and the next begins at 1:30 PM.

Getting to and from classes if fun and easy – it really does only take 10 minutes to walk across campus. Classes are supposed to end 10 minutes before the designated time slot is over. So a one hour class is really just a 50 minute class. Unless, of course, the professor has other plans, and takes up another 5-6 minutes, which turns a determined walk to the next class turn into anything varying from a slow jog to a full sprint, depending on just how late you are and just how far the class is.

Class sizes for the lectures vary really – but they are large enough for a professor not to remember you by name unless you actually bother to go for office hours or walk up to him after class to clarify a doubt or two (76-101 is an exception here, because class sizes are small). Recitations, on the other hand, are small enough for you to get to know your TA (read Teaching Assistant) on a personal level if you so want. Me? I like to participate in a healthy discussion in class and hope to get to know the faculty well in the coming weeks and months.

Now that I’ve kind of described the way lectures and recitations work, perhaps talking about what actually goes on in those classes isn’t such a bad thing. Well, 21-122 has me solving integrals by parts and trigonometric substitution for now. 18-100 is going over the basics of electrical circuits. 33-106 is going over scalars and vectors (agonizing, but the depth is surprising). 76-101 has me reading blog posts about the effect of participatory media and making argument maps. I should explain that the section I took for 76-101 (Section AA) revolves around analyzing the rise of participatory media vis-a-vis a slight decline of traditional media. This section was of particular interest to me because A) I’m a blogger and B) I usually get my news and information from a healthy mix of both kinds of sources. And yes, I am loving the class, thank Bob for that.

Most classes have readings i.e. sections of the text which a student should ideally read before coming to lecture, and homework – questions and problems that need to be turned in by a certain date. Each of the homework assignments, in-class quizzes, mid-term exams (usually two-to-three per semester) and final exams, along with a number of other factors such as class participating and attendance, count towards the final grade I get on the course, which in turn affects my semester QPA, which in turn affects my cumulative QPA. What this means, in theory, is that every single thing I turn in counts towards my final grade.

Just to provide some context, I just came from a school system where everything was oriented towards the final exam – the CBSE board exam. The attitude of the school, staff and everything was all pro-finals. Monday tests could be skipped (though nobody would ever really acknowledge that fact). Sure, in earlier grades, half-yearlies and Monday test counted too, but then again, the grading just just the cumulative total of all the exams I gave. My in-class participation and homework never really counted.

At the same time, this was something I was prepared for, something I’d heard about before I even got here. Which is why I pounced on the assignments handed out on the first day (yes, they do that kind of thing at CMU), and attempted to finish them off as soon as possible, disregarding the fact that the deadlines were quite far away. That’s going to be my policy, and I shall try to stick to it as much as humanly possible.

But I will be the first to admit the fact that the homework is generally doable (with the exception of some courses, or at least this is what I’ve gathered from some of my friends). At the same time, the combination of readings, homework and revision does take up a considerable chunk of time. Each of my courses at CMU is about 9-12 units. Each unit stands for one hour of work I do for that course. A part of this (usually 3-5 units) is taken care of during lectures and recitations, but the department, and the professors, expect the students fulfill the credit hour requirement through readings, revision and homework. So, I have spent a considerable amount of time in the libraries already, keeping up with whatever the profs throw at us.

There is so much more stuff I want to talk about – food at CMU, the weather, the city, the places to explore at CMU, student organizations, games of manhunt, Disney movie marathons, how the Carnegie Mellon Tartans beat Grove City at American football, but those are topics for another day, and another post. Till then, may the force be with you. I’ll just leave you with this photo of Gesling Stadium – home to the Tartans.

Before you ask, yes, I have restarted my running routine around this particular track...

CMU's campus isn't the largest...

If I’m honest, keeping tabs on orientation week, especially one at CMU, is a bit like…taking notes while skydiving. You are evidently having too much fun for your own good, there is a slight chance that you won’t survive if something good, and well, taking notes isn’t really your first priority. As isn’t taking photographs unless you really want to.

That’s pretty much the same story with me – I’m to busy trying to live through orientation week to bother trying to document it with too much precision. It makes little or no sense to write about lectures and presentations, well, mainly because nobody wants to hear about them. I’m pretty certain about that.

Now, first thing I should declare is the fact that orientation week is not designed so that you can attend each and every event. (As a matter of fact, it isn’t really designed to give time for you to blog about either) This is because from the moment you wake-up to the moment your head hits the pillow the next time around, you are occupied nearly 100% of the time.

It also means that keeping track of what’s happening where and when is a bit of an issue for the disorganized. I’ve already met a number of people who’ve accidentally ended up missing a few events. Of course, there are many who miss them on purpose, but that’s because that specific event might be of little or no interest to them.

However, in my case, I try to go to each and every event, simply because Carnegie Mellon University has such a vibrant and bustling campus that it would take me much longer to discover everything on my own. So a little help from the odd presentation or two isn’t really a bad thing at all.

As I may, or may not, have mentioned earlier, the campus is a place where, if you have a specific interest, no matter how niche it may be, you will be able to find someone with a similar interest within a 1 mile radius. It’s people from all around the country, as well as all around the globe, coming together to form one community of entirely unique individuals, each of whom is able to contribute something special to the CMU community. (I’m pretty sure that a lot of that spiel was borrowed from one of the many, many speeches I’ve heard over the past 72 hours.

That said, I should probably try to highlight some of the main events that were organized. Now I should point out that things get so hectic during orientation week that using some sort of an organizer to remind you about where you need to be and when is a good idea, which is where iCal on my MacBook Pro comes into the picture. Syncing it up with Google, which then conveys the events to my phone is a great way to not get overwhelmed by everything.

The actual first day of orientation (or 3rd day of orientation for in’l students and even longer for students who attended Origins – the multi-cultural mini-orientation at CMU) was mostly moving in, with a sprinkling of signing up for things such as the Clipper Cruise which is essentially a party boat on the Allegheny river which will run on Thursday night. Turns out it’s extremely popular and because I ended up with ticket #001 because I wake up early and prioritize procurement of limited resources…

CMU has a PNC Bank branch on-campus, and I’ve opened an account with them thanks to the special concessions they offer to CMU students: no minimum balance, the ability to use the student ID card as an ATM card. In addition, stuff, like VirtualWallet which is an online account management and monitoring system, are all welcome features.

Of course, there were a number of information sessions, including ones on student affairs and my school – Carnegie Institute of Technology, but elaborating on them would be stupor-inducing for…well…anyone.

The intro to greek life was something worth attending mainly because I’ve got zero real world exposure to it. But advantages include stuff like connections, scholarships, an enhanced social life and, oh, a bunch of people to fall back on when you’re particularly bogged down.

Anyway, the second day began with a lot of house activities. I should probably talk a little about my house, floor and roommate. I’m in Boss 311, which is to say that I live in Boss House, which is located on The Hill (THE HILL IS ILL! – re: orientation house wars). I live on the third floor in room 311 with my roommate Juan Acosta. Though of course, in college, living in a dorm means that you occasionally wander in to catch a few hours of sleep. And its where your stuff is. But that’s about it. Anyone who spends too much time in college is probably doing it wrong. “It” refers to experiencing what college has to offer.

Boss House isn’t your average dorm. It’s smaller than others, with just about 72 residents. But it’s also motivated towards global citizenship, leadership opportunities and community service – which are the programs under which all residents got admitted into the residence hall. The orientation activities we had as a group were all geared towards kickstarting our house experiences in the right directions. Be it demonstrating global awareness, demonstrating teamwork or just making PB&J sandwiches for underprivileged kids, it was all character building stuff carefully disguised as fun activities.

I think it would also be fair to put in a word about food at CMU so far.

• The helpings are great.
• There is pretty good variety.
• There are enough options – though they are a bit limited for vegetarians.
• I think the food will really help me gain a Freshman 1530.

Food’s been served in the gym so far. And the gym is also the most common site for starting house cheers. The campus housing is divided into a number of houses, with The Hill being one of them. Our team color is red, and we are, in my not-so-humble opinion, simply the best team on campus. We cheer the loudest, irrespective of who’s around and where we are.

The cheers we have are pretty awesome, and yes, my voice has been reduced to a soundless croak thanks to the vocal exercise I’ve been getting over the past few days. It did earn me the right to use the house’s red baseball bat to lead cheers for a day, which was a great surprise. Of course, it would be prudent to describe who gave me the bat in the first place. At CMU, each floor with freshmen residents has an RA or Resident Assistant who is responsible for orienting them to life on campus. Neil Abcouwer, my RA, is a really great guy, with a wicked sense of humor – stuff which includes playing music in the hall lounge and hammering people’s doors to wake up anybody who doesn’t wake up as per schedule.

Oh, and an integral part of orientation was Playfair. The RAs, OCs (Orientation Counselors) and other upperclassmen involved in freshmen orientation were super-secretive about it. They just told us that it is the biggest ice-breaker in the world. I was a bit skeptical about that, but then again, they were insisting that it was something that was to be seen to be believed.

They were right.

At around 7:30, all freshmen marched up to The Cut, which is a landmark lawn on the campus. Divided into groups based on teams, but all wearing the same orientation t-shirts, we began the biggest cheer war that I have ever experienced. A good part of my lost was lost at this particular event. This was followed by jogging along a path lined with fellow freshmen, high-fiving everyone on the way. There was so much more, including

In addition, I had heard rumors that CMU doesn’t really have a social life so to speak. Well, whoever said that obviously forgot all about their orientation week. Not only do icebreakers such as Playfair offer an opportunity to interact with total strangers in a bewildering setting, the dance and partying at Rangos Hall shortly after Playfair offered an insight into just how much a wooden floor can flex when ~200 people are dancing and jumping around. This 2-hour party, replete with DJs, strobes and other paraphernalia, may not be extremely common on campus, but it’s good to know that such things exist. (More on how I participated later, on a more personal note)

Tuesday, was just as packed, if not more so, as Monday. Things kicked off with Community Collage which was a showcase of talent and personal stories of the varied and diverse student body on campus. Most of the dance and music performances were a pleasant reminder that despite being well renowned for its technical prowess, the university also had students with a variety of artistic and creative outlets. Point to be noted: not all of the perfumers were arts students. There were enough computer scientists and engineers on stage.

There was also a conversation on The Last Lecture, a book by Randy Pausch, who was a professor at CMU. He wrote this book shortly after being diagnosed with a terminal case of pancreatic cancer. CMU, at the time, used to organize a set of lectures by professors, who would treat the lecture as the last one they’d ever give. For Randy Pausch, this was an unfortunate reality, and the book is a real opener on how to live a life free of regrets and unfulfilled dreams. The conversation I had with Boss 3 (the third floor community in Boss House) was a real eye-opener, offering a variety of perspectives. The book is a must read and the videographed lecture a must watch.

Making your Mark at Carnegie Mellon University was the next presentation, led by Ms. Gina Casalegno, Dean of Student Affairs (an extremely approachable person who I’ve had the pleasure of conversing with on more than one occasion). The session was mainly about how to use the resources at our disposal at CMU to realize the dreams of our inner nerds. I was one of the 4 people in the hall who volunteered to share their inner nerd’s dream with the rest of the freshman class. This was after a bunch of ice-breakers to help us realize what our actual dreams were. After a bit of thought, I had a bit of an epiphany. I realized that the thing that really stokes my fire is music. Not composing it, but what can be derived from it. Be it music videos or montages with frame synced to-the-millisecond, or devices aimed at interpreting audio, identifying beats, syncing lights, motors, anything to said beats. Heck, I even enjoy grooving to beats! (More on that in another post) I realized that I subconsciously analyze music on the fly, and react. Which is why I was standing in front of ~700 students with the sign “The Beat Analyzer” held up high as I attempted to explain what my idea was about. And the best part is that Dean Casalegno was immediately able to direct me to a bunch of resources, from departments as varied as the music school, as well as the Activities Board Tech team to help me take my dream forward. It was a whole new experience to be able to share stuff like this in an environment where it’s all appreciated.

There were a bunch of sessions in the afternoon, such as a video interview of Herb Simon, a professor who taught many subjects at CMU for over 25 odd years. He isn’t around (in this world) anymore, but the interview sure did a great job of getting across how to go about the task of becoming an expert in a field. There was also a workshop on undergraduate research and fellowships – stuff that interests me greatly. I’ve already got a bunch of ideas floating around in my mind, and am sure that the faculty and resources I will discover at CMU will help me put those plans into action.

The Activities Board managed to rope in comedian Amy Schumer to do a show at CMU. The comedy was brutal, uncensored, and mostly, pretty much LMAOish. This was followed by free food at an event hosted by the sororities and frats of CMU. Though greek life at CMU is no comparable in size to that of other universities, they still do a pretty good job. And yes, free food attracts everyone. But probably not as much as a good DJ and a dance floor with glowsticks, white tees, and blue-light markers attracts me. Which was the case. After grabbing a bunch of snacks, I simply had to get cracking on the beat again – my internal beat analyzer guiding me through the music. (Again, this belongs to a different post, so I won’t elaborate much).

As for today? Wednesday? Well…a glorified, yet completely direct sex-ed lecture called Under the Influence was a great experience, with a sex skit, free condoms and a demonstration on how to put one on a dildo. Also advice on alcohol consumption that I hope will be taken seriously. This then paved the way for more discussions on community standards – discussions that were held by each house independently, with anonymous voting on questions, the results of which were displayed on real time via a projector, which I thought was great.

The evening mainly consisted of bowling, laser tag and arcade games for all the CIT students – a sort of pre-academic-orientation event. I’m pretty sure the real reason why they’re showering all these fun events on us is because we will have hardly any time at all to have fun once the academic semester begins. I know this because everyone, professors, deans, upperclassmen, everyone, is repeating the same refrain – that once you are at CMU, sleep is a luxury, and free time becomes a rare commodity. I just hope I have the time to keep this blog up and running.

CMU's campus sure has a lot of great sights to offer...

There’s a lot more to talk about, such as facilities, people, and the rest of orientation, but I feel that’s a tale for another day. If you’re actually reading this line, and haven’t fallen asleep, wow, just wow…

Now I do have a confession to make – my excitement levels at getting admitted to CMU, and getting the opportunity to come to Pittsburgh, were pretty underwhelming. I mean, sure, there was a wide grin on my face the day I saw my acceptance. But honestly, since then, excitement hasn’t bubbled and frothed over. I haven’t been skyrocketing around and ricocheting off the walls of my room. Heck, leaving my home country for the US left me unfazed as well.

But when I saw the sign on the Pennsylvania Turnpike which said “Pittsburgh – 2 miles”, it triggered a reality check of sorts in my mind. I was with my cousin and her family on the way over from Illinois, and then the elephant in the room, or to be more factually accurate, the Honda Odyssey, ambled forward. This was the last time I’d be in close proximity of blood relations in a while. And that’s probably a good thing for me. Not having someone around who is likely to constantly report back to a somewhat overbearing mother, or better still, not having said mother around to helicopter parent me, is a refreshing and welcome change.

Moreover, the drive in reminded me about my destination. CMU. Carnegie Mellon University. The name and the place which had bounced around my head in March, and had since settled down, now reactivated themselves in a frenzy of anticipation. Turning off the highway and onto Forbes Avenue itself was an important event. The shop facades didn’t really blur past, mainly because traffic did not allow any form of blurring whatsoever. But I was straining my neck trying to get a look at the place I’d be calling home for the next 4 years, at the very least.

After paperwork and check-in, and receiving my ID card, I started moving in. I realized that despite getting 2 large bags, 1 large carry-on, 2 cardboard boxes, 1 backpack and 1 guitar, I was relatively better organized than some of my fellow freshmen, who just had things piled up in their car boots. Yet, carrying it all up to the third floor of Boss House was a somewhat demanding task – one that left me drenched in sweat, and wishing for a shower.

So, after a quick lunch at the Red Oak Café (they served amazing vegetarian rueben) with my cousin et al, I was on my own. Which is approximately the same time that the Bobs of Thunder decided to give me, and the rest of the international students moving in that day, a friendly welcome with hail and a thunderstorm. Outdoor stairs were promptly converted to mini-rapids and sloping roads turned into little mountain streams ending in lakes where intersections used to be.

However, I braved the weather to get my meningococcal vaccine at Health Services, mainly thanks to my friend, Utkarsh’s uncle’s assistance in the form of a car ride to get to Morewood Tower was invaluable. That said, the route taken was circuitous thanks to roads being blocked off thanks to the freak weather. The entire experience earned me a clean chit from Health Services, which means I will not be evicted from my residence hall anytime soon. Oh, and I got a Garfield band-aid out of it. And sadly, my umbrella did not survive the downpour, which means I’ll be on the hunt for a replacement.

The rest of the day was actually just spent socializing, be it with fellow international students at the Ice Cream Social at the gym or with the Resident Advisors, Housefellows, Community Advisors and fellow residents in the residence hall itself. Sure, you do get to meet lots of people, but there is no guarantee that you will get all of their names on the first go, and vice versa. It’s not just about getting the names right, but also about retaining those names. I’m hopeless at all of this. I will be able to recognize people I’ve met, and remember the conversations I’ve had with them, but if you ask me to toss in their names to the conversation, and I’ll just want to stare at a wall and dribble.

Of course, since I was trying to be nice, and let my roommate, Juan, have a say in who got which bunk in the room (there’s one loft bed with a table and dresser underneath it, and a regular set of furniture too), I didn’t get to unpacking till late in the night. But after some rearranging, the room felt bigger, and by 2 AM I was done with unpacking. Happy that I found a home for all the stuff I got along.

The actual day of International Student Orientation began with coffee and muffins, which paved the way for a couple of solid welcome lectures for everyone, followed by a spot of immigration document processing. Oh, and because I had braved the rain for the immunizations, I was free in the afternoon to get myself a T-Mobile connection for my phone. 50$. Unlimited calling and texting within the US along with unlimited Internet at 2G speeds. And I’ll be shortly getting a solution for int’l calling at no expense, courtesy my cousin.

But the high point was definitely going to the Cheesecake Factory. Sure, it wasn’t the cheapest place to eat, but since it was part of this orientation activity called Restaurant Hops, I signed up for it. Also ended up making a number of friends who were exchange students at CMU.

Yes, that's whip cream, layers of chocolate fudge, peanut butter and more...

There was also a late-night screening of the movie, Inception, which should go a long way in explaining the lateness of this post (it’s past 3 AM here). It helped that the screening was delayed due to some technical difficulties, but it just meant that we got much more time to socialize than we would have. It was great that a number of non-international students managed to sneak in, even though they move in on Sunday.

Anyhow, it’s getting late, and I need to be up to help a roommate get his stuff in. Oh, and I’ll try to post soon.

(Oh and the reason why I’m not planning on mentioning everyone I met in person is because if I miss someone, they might get sorely upset about it)

The setting: I’m alone (in a double room, which has the distinct odor of old socks, or it just might be my own feet…) in a hotel in Toledo, Ohio. It’s about 11 PM EST (that’s UTC -5), and I need to wake up by 6 to get going on my way to a place I will call home for the next 4 years. I’m traveling by road, with my cousin’s entire family, consisting of herself, her husband, and their 2 daughters (i.e. my nieces – who are 5 and 8 years old, respectively). Been on the road for about 7 hours now, with the monotony of the motorway broken only by Daft Punk on Sennheisers and Tom & Jerry episodes on the in-car entertainment system.

But that’s just a minor sit rep. There’s obviously a lot more changes where that came from. The fact that I’m no longer a citizen of the soil beneath my feet is one. The fact that this post is being typed out on a piece of aluminum with some silicon inside it is another. I haven’t texted anybody in over 2 weeks, and my thumbs are thanking me profusely for the sabbatical.

On a deeper note, there have been some other changes – the loss of immediate proximity to close family and companions being one. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a social guy – I like to make friends wherever I go, and that, yes, I will be making loads (apart from the ones I’ve already made) at CMU. But not being able to be in as close touch with of my closest friends is going to be a bit of an issue till I get my hands on a decent prepaid plan for my Nokia and a Vonage line. Facebook, Skype etc are alternatives. Oh well, at least I can still receive texts on my Airtel number at no expense. Though only a handful of friends bother to text me anymore…..

Family? Yeah, I miss my parents, but not in the way you’d imagine. First and foremost, there are no heart-rending moments of homesickness. Neither are their breakdowns over the phone. There aren’t even any “I miss you“s in the conversation. But they realize that I’m missing when, say, for example, the set top box for the satellite TV decided to commit suicide. And I miss Mom’s nagging – the fact that she wasn’t around to prevent me from re-entering my cousin’s house to pick up my guitar (which I’d forgotten, and remembered about only once we set off) struck me as odd. (The logic behind  being nonexistent – it’s all superstition) I’m used to a world where restrictions are placed on me, which I proceed to wriggle out of. The lack of that white noise is oddly disconcerting.

Moving on, thought I’d make a few choice observations about my new habitat (hint: it’s the place that required me to board a 15-hour flight to get to)

• All the power outlets just look like D: (that’s a frownie rotated 90 degrees clockwise)
• The weather seems to be good (but then, this is between seasons, so to speak – things will get frigid soon)
• The people seem nice and friendly (at least on the surface – oh, and no, I have not been subject to racial prejudice – yet)
• There are way too many ugly-ass (and I really do mean that literally - but that’s just my opinion, not a fact) Chrysler PT Cruisers in this country
• Pedestrians have first right-of-way (a shocking revelation, if you’ve lived in India all your life, where you are an insignificant peace of undead roadkill)
• Phones are cheaper, once you get onto a soul-sucking 2 year contract with a service provider
• There’s on-demand pornography on cable TV (not that I billed my cousin for any)
• Walking about in your birthday suit in a YMCA locker room is perfectly acceptable
• Food here can be extremely fattening if you don’t watch what you eat
• Going down the initial drop of the Raging Bull at Six Flag, Great America, in the front row of the coaster, with my arms in the air, was one of the more exhilarating experiences of my life
• I need to end this list right now…

Due to a severe lack of free time, thanks to prepping for an inter-continental shift, jetlag, settling down, me babysitting my nieces, semi-unpacking and re-packing, visits to the local YMCA and more, the posts-per-week ratio has dropped drastically over the past few weeks, as has the overall integrity of the post structure and coherence of information relayed. Bear with me during these times of turbulence. Things aren’t going to get any better over orientation week at college.

Unfortunately, the photo doesn't really do the place justice...

There were about 5-6 of them roaming around...

We then had to wait in yet another shed with lots of handrails arranged in a manner to represent a huge serpentine queue. Except that people weren’t standing in queue, they were sleeping in it – the temple gates weren’t to open for another 90 minutes. People had arrived to wait in line with lots of bedding and some snacks, and things were pretty quiet by the time we arrived. This is where I set down my irumudi with the others, whipped out my phone, fired up Nimbuzz and spent a while chatting with some friends. There really wasn’t much scope for sleep on the cold hard, and possibly dirty floor. A couple of wild hogs walked past, presumably in line to see the idol, but I don’t think the rest of the pilgrims appreciated their presence, and they were usually shooed off immediately.

After 90 minutes of waiting, during which time dad managed to find time to catch a few zzzs on the ground with his back propped up against one of the handrail supports, the shed filled with the voice of Yesudas, who is a very famous playback singer in Kerala. He’s also a very ardent worshiper of Lord Ayyappa, and he claims that his first child was a product of his tireless devotion to the god – which reminded me of what I read about the way Ayyappan entered world as well.

This music blasting through the complex, along with several large firecrackers, are intended to serve as a not-so-subtle wake-up call for all the dozing devotees. Some rubbed their eyes, bought chukku kaapi (dry ginger coffee with some peppers in it) which serves as a very good restorative. I had a cup myself: and it simply burnt its way through my esophagus.

Yes...those steps are perhaps the steepest bit of the entire climb... (Source: www.rohiniayyappa.com)

Soon the line was shuffling along and we reached the first checkpoint on the way: a small pile of burning camphor into which we threw one piece each. Then after climbing a series of steep steps, we came upon the first proper landmark – the patthinettam padi, which literally translates into eighteen steps. Each of the steps is supposed to signify several divine concepts which I can’t be bothered to research into. Find them here if you are so inclined.

Oh, and before you climb those steps, it is imperative to smash another coconut against the wall. That brings the tally up to…

Vivek – 3
Coconuts – 0

The main shrine and the immediate structures surrounding it don’t resemble a temple, so much so as an assembly line in a factory. At peak hour, the pilgrims must simply shuffle along in a tight queue, which itself takes a long and circuitous route before ending near the opening of the sanctum sanctorum.

Of course, getting there is a matter of patience (it’s a long queue), gentle persistence (all the “swamis” want to have a looksies) and balance (there’s an irumudi on one’s head all this time). Once you do get there, you are not allowed to linger longer than 3.2 seconds, and a policeman will usher you along before you’re eyes have had time to accustom themselves to the darkness that can be seen through the open doors. The traditional hundi box for donations has long been replaced by (wait for it), a large hole in front of the idol which leads to a (I kid you not) moving conveyor belt. Apparently, the cash does flow thick and fast at Sabarimala.

Just after the queue ends, you will see a vast cross-section of devotees milling around. Me? I had to stop for a while to let 5 particularly devoted followers pass. Pass, in the sense that they were rolling around on the floor, circling the sanctum sanctorum. I can truly appreciate how devoted they were and how strongly they believed in religion, even if I didn’t. Being an open minded guy, I appreciated what they believed in, but more so, it was their levels of dedication that truly struck me.

Once out of the meleé, it’s time to head over to one of the rest areas, where the rest of the items in the irumudi are unpacked. All the ghee from the sealed coconuts is poured into a container and taken to one counter. Next, all the rice is taken in a bag and subsequently deposited. Then, all the other stuff is similarly packed and whisked away. This didn’t need 4 people, so I managed to catch 4.2 minutes worth of sleep while waiting for my dad and uncle to do the necessary counter-queuing and such.

Then began a small tour of the remaining minor shrines within the temple complex: at the Malikapuram Temple, a rather amusing offering involved rolling a coconut around the shrine before literally scoring a goal in a corner, where another pile of coconuts with a similar life story awaited. This is made somewhat challenging by the fact that there are legs to avoid. But a perfectly shaved coconut rolls very well on the slippery stone floor.

Oh and before stepping down back towards the queuing shed, there was yet another coconut to be smashed. This was the last one I had, which made the score stand at:

This poor guy, and 4 of its brothers and sisters met an unfortunate end...

Vivek – 4
Coconuts – 0

There were a number of other places to pray, the details of which I won’t go into. Save one.

Right outside the main temple complex, right after the initial queuing shed, there is a small mosque dedicated to Vavaraswami who was a saint who was a devotee of Lord Ayyappan. It is considered blasphemous for a swami to visit Ayyappan’s shrine, but not stop to pay his/her respects to the Vavaraswami. This now rare show of communal harmony is, in my opinion, something that could and should serve as a model for the rest of the world. Not only is Sabarimala open to all members of all religions, there are no restrictions placed upon caste or creed either. The only restriction being that on women aged between 10 and 50 years. There are multiple legends associated with Vavar, and I won’t delve into them.

Yes...there are people under those sheets....

A spell of rain prompted the purchase of a bunch of plastic sheets to act as a shield against it. I have to say, dad and uncle did look rather comical in them.

On the whole, the trek down was much more fun than the trek down. Apart from the fact that gravity is on your side this time, it was about 7-8 AM by now, the sun was on its way up, and for once, I could properly see the steepness of the climb.

Yeah…it’s a wonder that no one fell, at least around me. I myself lost my footing once or twice, but luckily, the other foot came to the rescue immediately. Of course, this was nothing compared to, say, full on rock-climbing with a harness and all, but then again, these pilgrims weren’t exactly thrill seekers. Just everyday folk trying to find some meaning in their lives.

Yes, it was getting pretty crowded by the time we were headed down...

If anything, the wait for dad et al to catch up was even longer this time round, as a long trek up had impacted dad’s ability to use his legs properly, I guess. On the plus side, this did give me a lot of time to admire the scenery, and by Bob, what a view I caught…

One of those rare, beautiful sights you just can't get enough of...clouds above and clouds below...wow...just wow...and a seemingly endless expanse of green...

It’s a view like this that got me thinking: if I were on a normal non-religious trek up a mountain, without the bustling crowds that Sabarimala attracted, and if the end result was the opportunity to catch a view like this – I’d be astonishingly stupid not to come back for more. But because this is Sabarimala, I’ll have to find another place, hopefully, someplace that will be equally satisfactory. I did not go to Sabarimala with any intention of religious or spiritual fulfillment. What I got instead was some exercise, fresh air and a reminder of life away from the cities that I’ve become accustomed to. I probably won’t be coming here again, but I’ll treasure this picture, because it’ll remind me of the experience like nothing else. Indeed, this was not different from the view I saw on most of the way back home. Endless rolling mountains and clouds.

The ride back home involved sleep. There hadn’t been any for a long time, and the trek did drain you of some energy, especially if you hadn’t had a square meal along the way. Homecoming was preceded by a short visit to the temple where we could take off our malas. Oh, and one last coconut was smashed.

Vivek – 5
Coconuts – 0

After lunch, I was scheduled to got my aunt’s place in Velavoor (which is where I’m writing this post from today), but decided I could afford myself a little nap. Hey, I had caught barely 5 minutes of sleep in the past 33 hours, so I was a bit tired. Unfortunately, that snooze turned into a 5 hour long siesta, and by the time I woke up, it was far too late to go to Velavoor. 5 missed calls from my uncle too…probably to ask if he should come pick me up yet. Ooh burn.

P.S. Read this too.

*****

I pick up the action where I left off in the last post. It’s about 1 AM on Thursday morning when the car pulls into the parking lot on the banks of River Pamba. We had set out at about 8 PM the same night, and had made a single pitstop around 11 PM at a roadside teashop, or thattukada as such a shop is known in Malayalam. Nothing like a cup of steaming hot tea on a chilly night, breathing in the refreshing mountain air whilst listening to the sounds of a minor waterfall somewhere in the unseen background.

The vehicle in question was a Chevrolet Travera. There was a CD player and I believe over 90 (yes, ninety) different devotional songs were covered on the trip. Most of the route was pretty much deserted, except for the occasional car headed to the same destination that the driver overtook without much effort.

Once we got to the basecamp, it started drizzling heavily/raining lightly (whichever way you want to look at it). It was also around 1 AM. This is rationale enough to call this post Day 11.2, because in my book, days are not separated by 24 hour periods, but my periods of slumber, of which I had gotten none on the way to Pampa. Oh well…

We rearranged some of the stuff in the bags. The shoulder bag, which I was to wear for most of the journey contained some food rations (read biscuits), a spare towel, our wallets and our mobile phones – a gentle reminder: dhotis are not equipped with pockets.

After a while, we got out, placed light towels on our heads, placed the irumudis on our respective heads and set of for a set of steep steps that led down to the banks of the river. After crossing the footbridge, some of the members of the troupe, including me, had to visit a rather foul-smelling communal latrine complex – they had about 4 of these near basecamp. All of them two-story buildings with about 40 latrines each. Each one of them almost uniformly filthy. But oh well, when you gotta go, you just gotta go.

After that, a quick dip in the River Pamba was required as per the handy pilgrim’s guidebook (Disclaimer: no such publication exists). Mind you, this was around 1 AM. But the water wasn’t really that chilly, say, compared to the Ganga, which I’ve had the chance to take a dip in. Even though I visited the Ganga in the middle of the day, it was much colder than the Pamba.

The temperature isn’t really the issue, it’s the not-going-too-deep-into-the-river-so-that-you-don’t-get-carried-away-by-the-current that’s the issue.

After drying off, began the seemingly long and arduous trek of about 4 km from the banks of the River Pamba to the temple of Sabarimala. Not all pilgrims choose to make this trek in the middle of the night. Some book accommodation at one of the several guest houses/pilgrim centers up the mountain, arrive at a more earthly hour, and make the climb. But since the temple is supposed to be visited as soon as possible after its opening (for reasons which are beyond me), we had to be there before 5 AM. Of course, one would argue that one could book a room at the top, trek in the daytime and wake up nice and early in time to catch the waking of the gods, but we didn’t follow that route probably because my dad and the others couldn’t be arsed to.

Of course, there isn’t just one path to reach the temple. There are multiple trails, of varying length and difficulty, and we simply chose the one that was most convenient, one of the two which started from the banks of the River Pamba. The one we took had handrails and some cemented paths too. The other was apparently more wild and untouched. (In retrospect, I wish we’d taken that one.)

The trek itself does not begin gently and build up to a steep incline. It’s pretty much steep from the outset. Although this trek is traditionally done barefooted, we conveniently chose to circumvent that rule, as we did many other rules in the run up to the trek. None of this seemed to bother any of the religious people accompanying me, so who was I to complain. Sandals are a good idea when the trek involved is a rough uphill climb.

My dad was telling me that the handrails and cemented path that I was walking on were a recent addition and that a few years ago, the trek would have been decidedly more challenging. Of course, he didn’t really say all of this in one go. My dad, like any busy modern-day executive, wasn’t a 100% in shape, and was huffing and puffing his way up the mountain as if his basic intention was to knock it over with his breath. It was a bit of a painful reminder about how out-of-shape he was. My uncle and my dad’s friend, who were also part of the group, weren’t really faring any better.

I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life. Even though it was getting pretty dark, and I couldn’t see much, the sound of the River Pamba echoing away as I rose higher and higher, accompanied with the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops occasionally falling on the canopy formed by trees overhead were all fantastically refreshing from my ancestral homes (both of which were within walking distance of National Highway 47).

This was the first time I was getting some proper exercise in several weeks, as my pharyngitis had put an end to any and every form of exercise. It’s curios how my usually hypochondriac mother ,who would lose her mind at the mention of even some light jogging in the local park over the past few weeks, mellowed in an instant at the mention of a holy pilgrimage. It confirmed my theory that religion can make people throw caution to the winds and abandon some well thought out theories in favor of religious fulfillment. Of course, it all means something for her, but me? I was just coming along for the fresh air and to stretch my limbs.

And stretch them I did – powering up the mountain faster than most of the other pilgrims. It wasn’t even coming in short bursts, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have had to make half the pitstops on the way up if it weren’t for the other members of the group. About 200m into the trek, at the first break of many that were required by my dad and the others, I shed the shirt, which was simply causing me to overheat. Despite the rain and mountain air, my body needed little excuse to perspire and this little mountain expedition was sufficient to get the sweat glands all worked up in a tizzie.

However, being the considerate fellow traveler, I waited up for them to catch up at each and every “level zone”. There were several of these zones spaced out throughout the trail, providing much needed places to rest for the not-so-fit pilgrims.

In fact, the pilgrims disinclined to climb the incline could even pay about 2,000 rupees and get themselves a dolly. A dolly is nothing but a chair supported by 2 long wooden logs which are carried by 4 strong men. Of course, the rate for the really-out-of-shape pilgrims goes up to 4,000 bucks. But the price being directly proportional to the weight of the pilgrim in question seems to a fairly reasonable pricing model, especially since it is so relevant to the service being rendered.

Oh, and I humorously pointed out to dad the numerous Cardiology Centers we encountered on our climb. These are again spaced out evenly across the trail for the weak-hearted (literally!).

The intermittent rain was of considerable concern to my father, who’s responsibility it was to reach me back home without a considerably worsened cold or cough. I’d picked up a light version before setting off, on Wednesday morning. Again, it was remarkable how my Mom, who would’ve normally been horrified at the prospect of any such expedition in my then-current condition didn’t raise any objections against a 4km uphill trek in possibly foul weather. As I said, religion does make people jumble up priorities…

*****

I’ll continue the rest of the narrative later, because as always, I’ve lost track of the word count while writing this up.