MEMORIES / REWIND /

The place, an ancient city, as old as the river itself. A city to which for millennia a sixth of humanity has come to die. Now, some say, the city itself is dying, choking in its own filth and garbage, traffic slowed to a sclerotic snarl in its crowded twisting alleys, its moss encrusted buildings leaning on each other for support. But there is beauty in the city too. On a dark night one watches from mid-river the flickering lights of a hundred funeral pyres where tongues of flame lick clean the bones of the dead. The train to Mughalsarai rumbles across the iron bridge, the noise floating like a faint drumbeat across the still river. At dawn, the ancient temples on the vast sweep of the river are tinted pink in the glow of the rising sun. At the south of the city, once past the crowded city and through ochre gates, an oasis of greenery and calm. Quiet buildings, their architecture hinting at an older age. And at its heart, from a grove of trees, rises Birla’s monument to a virile god. The city was Banaras.

The time, a quarter of a century ago. Before liberalization, before the internet, before Punjab and Kashmir and BRICs and BPOs and mobiles. Yes, before Aamir and Salman. On the throne of Delhi, an imperious woman was staring down her imperious nose at her unruly subjects. A little boy in Mumbai was just learning to play cricket—this fellow will go far they said, he is a genius with the bat. Tigers still roamed the forests of northern Lanka. In far California, a little-known company was just releasing code for a device they said few will need, and fewer will buy. It was 1984.

At this time, and to this city, we came, fifty of us. We came from all parts of the country, the dusty cities of the plains, and the palm-lined towns by the sea, from the throbbing metros and little villages. We were teenagers on the threshold of manhood, bundles of energy and optimism and ambition, tempered with self-doubt, moody introspection and angst. We were proud at having qualified through the toughest exam in the land, but a little disappointed to have missed that extra ‘I’.

Together, for four years, we grew up. We made friends, talked, laughed, ate and drank, argued and fought, smoked and inhaled, played, strummed, cooked, sang, wrote, and yes, even studied. We stayed awake till dawn and slept through the day, went on mid-night excursions for food, played pranks on each other. Together, we suffered through disappointments and setbacks, helped each other illness and injury, and together we mourned the death of one of us – a large-hearted stranger who from overseas to become our friend. We lost our innocence but discovered ourselves.

Now, twenty five years later, we come back to the place we call our alma mater. We are no longer the diffident, immature young men we once were. We are at the peaks of our careers, much learned and accomplished over the last decades, but with still more achievements ahead of us. We come from all over the world.

Jaane Kahaan Gaye Woh Din .....

Reunions are great for two things. One, they make you realize how far you have come, how much your hair colour has greyed and your waist size increased and two - to let loose and get drunk with friends you shared your best days with. Yet, to be honest, my initial reaction was WHAT? 25 years already?? I checked my hair colour, weight and sense of style and laughed to myself. It's been 25 years since those Saturday dinners at Lanka, late night Mochu chai sessions, BHU anthem (Main antu…..), lobby cricket , “once more” screams in G11, Pehalwan’slawang-lata and malaidoodh…..

BHU has been an unforgettable life experience for all of us. I personally feel that the real learning happened not in our lecture halls and the labs, but in the rooms of Limbdi, the lobbies of Rajputana, the canteen at Vishweshraiya, and most importantly at Mochu. It was the simpler moments with my batchmates that provided immense room for learning and growth.

Adesh Pande

Dedicated to all my friends @ IIT BHU

( from the movie DOSTANA )

Woh khwaabon ke din woh kitaabon ke din Sawaalon ki raaten jawaabon ke dinKayin saal humne guzaare yahaan

Yahin saath khele hue hum jawaan, hue hum jawaanTha bachpan bada aashiqaana humaara

Salaamat rahe dostaana humaara

Vasudevan Subramanian ( Vasu )

“Now is blessed – The rest remembered” - Jim Morrison

25 years have gone by . I still vividly remember: - Munnaki mess …Mandirki chai …Lanka, Gadoulia, Diamond Hotel, Ghats , Parantha feasts, early morning cricket games from Australia,3 people on a bike, bunking classes, last minute craziness before exams, the crazy train rides on KashiVishwanath The list can go on and on. Even though we haven’t been in touch a lot over the past quarter century - I miss all you guys !!!! And the 4 years at BHU will definitely be one of the best periods of my life. Cheers and wish all of you the very best !!!!

Sharad  

MEMORIES / REWIND /

Adesh Pande

PROFESSIONAL

Currently working with XXXX as YYYYYY

Area of work

FAMILY

Wife XXXX and Children YYYYYWhat are children doing

Pande @ BHU

Nickname : XXXXXXXXXXX

I still vividly remember Pande ki handsome looks …. Sharad

Pande’s rendition of Sholay – if only RGV had consulted him before remaking Sholay !!! Cheerful, confident, highly organised, cleanest room in the hostel, excellent dress sense, friend forever…… When I got your wedding invite I had to decide between attending your wedding and taking CAT. This, till date, is the quickest decision I have made…….. Vasu

XXXXXXX

Pankaj Gupta

PROFESSIONAL

Currently working with XXXX as YYYYYY

Area of work

FAMILY

Wife XXXX and Children YYYYYWhat are children doing

Pankaj @ BHU

Nickname : MOTA

Mote (Pankaj) ka White Pajama Kurta …. Sharad

Pande’s rendition of Sholay – if only RGV had consulted him before remaking Sholay !!! Cheerful, confident, highly organised, cleanest room in the hostel, excellent dress sense, friend forever…… When I got your wedding invite I had to decide between attending your wedding and taking CAT. This, till date, is the quickest decision I have made…….. Vasu

XXXXXXX