Jam-packed roads where vehicles, carts and cattle vie for valuable space; footpaths - turned black with layers of grime and accumulated animal excreta – which play host to a veritable river of pedestrians navigating round hawkers, pedlars, beggars and the occasional confused motorist; at the very centre lie two massive pits filled with garbage floating on sewage water, spawning a nauseating stench, while the flyover hanging overhead only contributes further to the claustrophobia and disorganisation that is K R Market. Hardly what you would call a feast for the eye.

Named after Krishna Rajendra Wodeyar of Mysore and boasting of a fort built by Tipu Sultan, several small temples, a large white mosque and a vital bus terminus in its midst, K R Market is your one-stop-spot for everything including - cheap ‘designer’ wear, equally cheap ‘Swiss’ watches, footwear, kababs and all imaginable sorts of electrical/electronic /mechanical spare parts and hardware – limited only by the depth of your purse and your knack for bargain. It also serves as the nexus for fruits, vegetables and flowers – freshly supplied every morning by farmers of the surrounding villages and bought for distribution by your local vendor.

With its temples, the annual karaga, the horse and sometimes even man drawn carts overloaded with goods for transport, K R Market brings to my mind an old rusty engine running an otherwise glossy car - dirty, inefficient, clogged and run-down for decades, yet somehow manages to Bengalooru functioning.


Long Due

The business end of the semester approaches fast and with it come tests, exams, endsems and submissions of all kinds. This post has been delayed for over a month owing to pure laziness, sluggish and at times non-existent internet connection at college among other things.

The semester thus far has been in pleasant only in parts - which were too few and too far apart. The rest has been swamped in shortages and scandals of all shapes and sizes.

Here are links to pictures of Jog, Munnar and a few other arbit ones taken sometime back.

  • Latest acquisition: Karvalo by K.P.T
  • The ancient speakers function again. (Oh Yeah!)



The Bahrain World Trade Center is a mammoth twin tower structure, which has won awards for groundbreaking design concepts and green impact, is the first of its kind. The two towers are connected by three bridges and mounted on these bridges are windmill turbines that are expected to provide for 15-16% of the power consumed by this skyscraper. The façade of the building is designed such that even oblique winds are accelerated and directed between the buildings and at the turbines. The various challenges faced in designing and constructing a hitherto unseen technological innovation of merging two ordinary pieces of engineering design – windmill turbines and bridges - have been extremely well documented in an episode of Mega Build aired on NGC.

While viewing this show it occurred to me (at the risk of sounding clichéd) that it was innovative yet ecologically beneficial feats such as these that inspired me to take up and pursue engineering. However mindless mugging machines, unsympathetic faculty, morbid coursework and the usage of tests and exams as instruments of vengeance have conspired to stymie its infinite possibilities and transformed it into a dreary quagmire of grades, assignments and attendance requirements.

Here's hoping that we don't lose sight.



It’s been a long time since I contributed constructively, or in any manner as such, to this blog (Funny how more or less every post begins with something to this effect).

As the exams near, anything, however minute and insignificant, becomes a great temptation and source of diversion from studies. All of a sudden I feel like writing something for the blog, spend some time on the terrace enjoying the breeze, go for a walk round the campus and find the place deep inside staff quarters which has that magnificent view of MRPL.

Jobless that I am, this time it’s going to be a triple post. The last one being an article that will, subject to approval, feature in Vitruvian - our college magazine.

The Matrix

Isn’t it amazing how most of our lives here are governed by the very machines that were created to serve us? Our daily schedule revolves around the latest episode of whatever-the-hell, some movie, last slot in a DoTA game and countless other things that stem from the very necessary evil that are our computers.

This cannot be put off as just a ‘hostel-phenomenon’. At other places the idiot box promptly takes up this responsibility. I have seen countless families whose breakfast, lunch, dinner, work, cooking, kids playtime, evening walks, you-name-it are arranged so as to fit into the little gaps between the mind-numbingly dull and drawn-out monstrosities that are called serials. The only advantage of such an arrangement being the time-tables are fixed for a good 4-5 years thanks to the absurd lengths of series these days!

The only solution I can think of (note that I don’t dare say implement!) is to revert to the habit (assuming we had it in the first place) of reading books, solving a crossword with a dictionary by your side, tackling sudokus, kakuros and the like instead of reaching out for the remote or the mouse. For all we know, you might be The One.


The huge concrete structure loomed before him…

It looked duller and more morose than it usually did in the dim twilight. Crows were raucously flying about, heralding the end of the day and settling themselves on the trees that lined the path. The setting sun coloured the sky in myriad hues. Some people saw a wonderful blend of all shades of red and orange. All he saw was the fading yellow glow and the melancholic blue of the evening sky mixing with one another - almost a dirty brown, if you will. The heat of the day clung on to the earth as if in a lover’s embrace, reluctant to let go.

He wearily turned his back to the building in front of him. It was one of those whose exact shape was indiscernible unless from far-off. Dragging his feet through the entrance, he began to absorb the sights and sounds of his surroundings. People moved about – some slowly, some hurriedly, a few others harriedly - each one bearing his own burden, immersed in it and not caring about anyone else’s. Amazing, he thought, how even though crammed together in this hellhole these people manage to live all alone in their private worlds.
He walked further and reached a fork. A decision was to be made. Left. Right. Straight ahead. Or the stairs. He weighed his options carefully. Go left you reach the drain. Take the right and you still reach the drain – a different one but a drain all the same. Move on ahead and you go straight into a downright mess. Take the stairs and you’ll go straight up. Such is life. What you may end up as is independent of what you chose, but there is always have a choice. Always.

He trudged his way up the dimly lit stairs. People still walked by him, uncaring and unresponsive to his presence. He began to get used to it. A steel grilled door restricted the inmates from using large open space just beyond it. The flimsy little chain and the rusty lock that held it in place seemed to mock at the will (or lack of it) of the people who walked by it every single day and yet did nothing about it.

As he walked along the corridor he saw the cells from up close for the first time, after a long time. Long rows of the cells - each one an exact and drearily accurate replica of each other. He was sure that the cells were overcrowded as in any prison. Overcrowded to the point of suffocation. The air hung heavy and hot within the building stifling his breath and making him uncomfortable. A bead of sweat began to break on his brow, followed by several others. The disjointed bits of conversation from the cells seemed to be getting louder than the thoughts in his mind. I am getting tired, he thought.

Braving the putrid stench he reached the single tap at the end of the corridor and turned it. The squeak-squeak of the tap drowned the other noises of the corridor and silenced the voices of discontent in his mind. Precisely two drops of water fell down on the muddy linoleum. The rest of the corridor was drowned the sound of air rushing out through the tap sounded like an ominous death-rattle.

He lips moved to form a sardonic smile (which was strange for that was no smiling matter) and chuckling he said aloud “Well what did I expect? They call this Block Seven after all…”


Happy New Year, Heaven and Hell

Here's wishing everyone a happy new year!

My new year may not have come with the 'fanfare' and 'partying' most people had or claim to have had, but it did have its charms. A nice cold juice in NC, with mildly intoxicated shouts and cracker bursts kicking in the new year, reading the hilarious CSI Apprentice resume`s with Nash certainly made Jan 1st 2009 for me. Remembering a few:

Q: Tagline for 'Downtown' brand of slippers:
A: 'Slippers that don't slip'

Q: Average distance walked by a NITKian in a day:
A: 'Whatever the distance, total displacement is always zero'

Heaven and Hell

Listened to an album called Mantle by the band Agalloch lately and I've got just one thing to say: Mind blowing!

Clean acoustic guitar and wonderful keyboard notes juxtaposed with heavy distorted riffs and guttural vocals and dark gloomy lyrics bringing together completely opposite elements of music. Heaven and Hell in the same song.

Now playing: 'You were but a Ghost in my Arms' - Agalloch