Remember the day you entered grad school full of energy
Talking signal crosstalk, mechanisms and synergy
Or maybe it was HDACs, autophagy or cancer
All in the hope of finding life’s answer!

You were eager to finish the core course
The one thing you cannot ever outsource
The prospect of long hours didn’t put you off
You asked how else can I become a real prof?

Three rotations you gotta do said they
A difficult choice with 200 labs in the fray
And tougher still, then a lab you had to choose
An alarm on which you couldn’t hit snooze.

Second year is full of classes and project ideas
Amid the occasional visit to the pizzerias
And some experiments that turn out false
Before the big test that is the quals.

The post quals hysteria dies down slow
And you dive into the project in full flow
The lab becomes the center of your life
As you handle pipettes as well as strife.

Experiments wouldn’t all work
In the dark did the reasons lurk
Before you blame it all on the gnomes
You fix it by becoming Sherlock Holmes

Months might pass while progress slows
As you go through many highs and lows
Curse the project and mice do you
One month less to graduation says who?

Just when you need some sleep and rest
You wake up dreaming about failing a test
Forgetting that in the PhD life you got caught
Only the thesis committee decides your lot.

And ultimately the end gets closer
Letting the hopes fly higher and higher
The grand jury sizes up your defense
Proclaiming you a Doctor hence!

Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.

Yes, I am thinking Wear sunscreen..

Exposed to the elements is she,
Taking umbrage in her interiors am I….
A wash and a wax makes her glee,
Oh how beautiful looks she!

Me with her

She is my close mate of 4 months, since June 2009..

All around, other things will happen,
Some happy, some sad, some gen..
Its all in the game called life,
All in all, its a double edged knife..

There are times to be happy,
and there are times to be sad..
One is meant to make you yippey,
and the other to make it a tad bad

Its upto us to make the shift,
and not create any kind of rift
Have to make the shift fast,
and leave behind the past!

You maybe senile,
Having crossed many a mile..
50 years must have been long,
You couldnt have done much wrong!

I have loved your love,
Wished for lots and how?
Not a day have I not craved for your care,
And the moments you have got to spare

As you celebrate the jubilee thats golden,
Your constant presence, us it does embolden!
Loving you today and always,
Wish you a long life for many more days 🙂

Written on request from a friend… Might be of use to you too sometime! Check this out if you got a request too 😉

Four long years of sharing cycles and toothpaste,
And waking up for the 8 o clock class in haste;
Of bunking classes and taking pride in grand slams,
In this place filled with gults, northis, digs & tams!

Lectures get boring with every year,
No quiz or end sem ever brings any cheer..
Putting endless fart at the mess table,
Every inch showing off your btech label..

All the time, known to all by that singular nick,
All the time, looking for that non-existent campus chick!
All the time, finding new ways to get proxy,
All the time, outwitting the prof by being foxy..

Taking and giving treats is part of the game,
Some only the former without any shame..
Cribbing almost becomes an inborn trait,
Every single thing throws up a new bait!

Midnight fart sessions are ever lost in time,
Bunking classes as a result is no big crime;
Wing fart is one thing not to be missed,
Though it may make a few really pissed.

Sangam, Schroeter and fun are all the same,
Whether its cricket, footer or any other game!
No less is the studness on show in LitSoc,
Two good reasons why insti life rock(s).

Sharing the space with the so called non males,
Who ensure that floating around are enough tales..
By chance or choice, put up right next to lib,
Everyone agrees they are quite a strange tribe!

Shaastra and Saarang add to the great times,
Enough things happen to make up such rhymes!
It all ends abruptly after a period of four years,
Leaving none strong enough not to shed tears…

PS: the absence of any mention of guru is, hopefully, striking but then I couldn’t find any word that rhymes well with guru/gnath or the like 😦
PPS: This is quite incomplete in many respects. Put comment if you can suggest improvements

I’d like to thank every single person who has made my stay over the past 4 years on campus memorable and cherished! I’d like to single out a few, in no specific order, who have been more than just friends to me over the years and made every single minute worth living and remembering:
Ankit, Leftit, Aditi, Sameer, Pavan, Aishwarya, Rohit, Purvi, Raghu, Kshitij, Nikhil, Jimmy, (and of course!) Bhaand. And every single of the BT gumbal of 2004/Narmad (Shoban, Harsha, Cupax, Vikram, Santhu) who have helped make my stay in the department/hostel as fun as it has been! Thanks to everyone else in no small measure too!

A poem I have loved since 8th standard/grade when I first read it.. For its sheer ability to combine rhyme with continuity AND the charm one associates with poetry, though not necessarily metaphorical..

Abou ben Adam

Abou ben Adam (may his tribe increase!)
awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
an angel, writing in a book of of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adam bold,
And to the Prescence in the room he said:
“What writest thou?” The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”
“And is mine one?”said Abou, “Nay, not so,”
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still, and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men.”
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great awakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben adam’s name led all the rest.

– Leigh Hunt