I am usually lucky, but I have the worst of bad luck if it ever happens to me. I sat for a job interview with DRDO (Defence Research and Development Organization), the Indian defence technology unit, which is supposed to be a research based job, and which will take only the best, though it pays the same as any ordinary software company. I was eligible so I sat for it, and it happened to be the worst thing in terms of an interview that ever happened to me.
I had a splitting headache in the morning as soon as I woke up. Yet I couldn't cancel out on the interview, because that would be the worst thing to do in the face of the Don, the head of our Training and Placement Department. I called him and asked him if I could cancel, but he snappily asked me to get dressed, take whatever medicine I wanted and get to the interview room asap. He offered to send his car if I wanted. So with my head spinning, not having bathed, and my portfolio in pieces, I landed up for the interview.
I was not prepared for a core based interview. I hadn't sat for one before, and I had no clue of the sort of questions they liked to ask. As a result I made a fool of myself there. I couldn't answer simple basic questions that I'm supposed to know as an electrical engineer, and now I wonder whether I should be given the degree of an engineer at all. The panelists actually commented, that I was giving answers that were too generic, and I seemed more interested in electronics based subjects rather than electrical.
My Head of Department was on the panel too. That was a shock, because then it felt like a viva session, and I am bad at viva sessions. To top it all I was staring at him for the first few minutes, and I was wondering whether it was really him, or just a guy that looked like him. It was only after he spoke that I was sure, because I recognized the voice. It was embarrassing, because I gave all those horrible, generic answers and made a fool of myself right in front of my HOD. The icing on the cake came when one panelist asked me to name the subjects we were studying this semester. I flubbed even on that question, pathetic as it was. I named four of five subjects. The one I forgot was the subject that my HOD teaches.
How does one recover from a shock of this kind? I have never had such a disaster before. I have been assiduously avoiding my HOD since then, though I couldn't escape him in the classroom the next lecture after this, when he commented that he hadn't expected this from me. The story of forgetting his subject though, seems to be a hit amongst all my batchmates.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Five Smells on a Train
Train journeys in India (especially those involving a ride for over five hours, standing in a crowded, dirty stinky compartment with no place to sit, grateful for a place to stand and highly obliged for having been able to climb into the coach in the first place) are an experience that should be had at least once in a lifetime.
I travel around twice a month or so, between college and home, by train, and I have a plethora of experiences to relate. The most striking one was the latest one that I had, which was in fact, yesterday. Travelling in the rainy season can be hectic, but in the monsoon season, it is madness.
The first job is getting into the train. It ain't as simple as step inside, haul luggage, move inside. It means yell, rush forward like mad, yell, push through and clamber into the coach, yell, pull luggage inside after you (sometimes along with a friend who is unfortunately stuck somewhere behind you), yell, move inside, yell, find a place to stand (which is more likely to happen than finding a place to sit) and yell again until the train starts. In this process, you are pressed against a dozen other bodies, all of you sweating and struggling to find a foothold, hitting and being hit by luggage flying all over the place, and if you're a woman, may you be blessed. That's the first smell that will strike you as a woman, if you're entering the general compartment (the general general compartment, not the ladies special coach). The overpowering smell of masculine sweat.
The next job is finding the most comfortable position to stand in, for whatever period of time you need to stand, be it one hour or five. The best place to be is at the door of the compartment, since you can enjoy some fresh breeze, and actually sit on the footboard, if you feel like it. People often do that, sometimes for journeys as long as sixteen hours. But bless you again if you're stuck anywhere on the inside corridor between the two facing doors. Over there, the stench of the lavatory is inescapable, especially since it is overused and never flushed. The stink is often so powerful that it hits the senses almost immediately upon entering the train.
Another smell, which I have never understood, is that of fish. For some mystical reason, the general compartments always carry an overwhelming smell of fish with them. I suppose it is due to the proximity to the goods carriages, which are close by, but nevertheless, the degree of penetration of the smell is marvellous.
The fourth smell is one that is probably not noticeable to the masses of labourers and rural working force who mostly tend to use the train and it's general compartment, but if you're like me, a student who has mostly lived a smell-free life, you're likely to notice it. It's the thick and extremely heavy hair oil that is used by the rural women, for its cheapness and its ability to keep the hair straight and manageable without too much effort. It's called jameli ka tel in local dialect. There's nothing like the smell of it. All I could think of before I was able to place it was what the hell is anyone doing with rotting flowers in here. Does Rafflesia smell like this?
The fifth smell is occasional, depending on your luck. It's that of alcohol. Alcohol consumption is banned by law in this state, but in a few territories it's allowed, and of course bootlegging is one of the biggest black industries in the state. The poorer folk in particular tend to consume the locally made liquor, which is very strong, often freely adulterated with spirits that don't exclude methanol and the like, and which stinks to low hell, the odour bearing uncanny similarity with fresh puke. You need to watch out with this drink. It can work like nothing else in corroding your inner tissues, bringing on early blindness, poisoning and death. How anyone survives it is beyond me. It's called crimpy in college argot. Also called, tharra, pauaa, or just simple desi daru.
If after all this you still find any pleasure in travelling in the train, congratulations. You've just attained a higher level of tolerance for worldly evils.
I travel around twice a month or so, between college and home, by train, and I have a plethora of experiences to relate. The most striking one was the latest one that I had, which was in fact, yesterday. Travelling in the rainy season can be hectic, but in the monsoon season, it is madness.
The first job is getting into the train. It ain't as simple as step inside, haul luggage, move inside. It means yell, rush forward like mad, yell, push through and clamber into the coach, yell, pull luggage inside after you (sometimes along with a friend who is unfortunately stuck somewhere behind you), yell, move inside, yell, find a place to stand (which is more likely to happen than finding a place to sit) and yell again until the train starts. In this process, you are pressed against a dozen other bodies, all of you sweating and struggling to find a foothold, hitting and being hit by luggage flying all over the place, and if you're a woman, may you be blessed. That's the first smell that will strike you as a woman, if you're entering the general compartment (the general general compartment, not the ladies special coach). The overpowering smell of masculine sweat.
The next job is finding the most comfortable position to stand in, for whatever period of time you need to stand, be it one hour or five. The best place to be is at the door of the compartment, since you can enjoy some fresh breeze, and actually sit on the footboard, if you feel like it. People often do that, sometimes for journeys as long as sixteen hours. But bless you again if you're stuck anywhere on the inside corridor between the two facing doors. Over there, the stench of the lavatory is inescapable, especially since it is overused and never flushed. The stink is often so powerful that it hits the senses almost immediately upon entering the train.
Another smell, which I have never understood, is that of fish. For some mystical reason, the general compartments always carry an overwhelming smell of fish with them. I suppose it is due to the proximity to the goods carriages, which are close by, but nevertheless, the degree of penetration of the smell is marvellous.
The fourth smell is one that is probably not noticeable to the masses of labourers and rural working force who mostly tend to use the train and it's general compartment, but if you're like me, a student who has mostly lived a smell-free life, you're likely to notice it. It's the thick and extremely heavy hair oil that is used by the rural women, for its cheapness and its ability to keep the hair straight and manageable without too much effort. It's called jameli ka tel in local dialect. There's nothing like the smell of it. All I could think of before I was able to place it was what the hell is anyone doing with rotting flowers in here. Does Rafflesia smell like this?
The fifth smell is occasional, depending on your luck. It's that of alcohol. Alcohol consumption is banned by law in this state, but in a few territories it's allowed, and of course bootlegging is one of the biggest black industries in the state. The poorer folk in particular tend to consume the locally made liquor, which is very strong, often freely adulterated with spirits that don't exclude methanol and the like, and which stinks to low hell, the odour bearing uncanny similarity with fresh puke. You need to watch out with this drink. It can work like nothing else in corroding your inner tissues, bringing on early blindness, poisoning and death. How anyone survives it is beyond me. It's called crimpy in college argot. Also called, tharra, pauaa, or just simple desi daru.
If after all this you still find any pleasure in travelling in the train, congratulations. You've just attained a higher level of tolerance for worldly evils.
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