Vicharak

It was a regular evening in the hostel. I was alone in the room—Abhishek, Rishi and Pankaj had slipped out to the back gate—when S1 walked in looking unusually restless. “Bro… that 4th-year senior, Dheeraj, asked me to bring two packets of Maggi. What should I do?” The obvious answer was simple: Go and get it. He was the only fourth-year senior in our hostel after all. But we weren’t exactly known for doing the obvious. If anything, we were proudly, stupidly rebellious. So I told him, “Today is fine… but if you bring it once, and it becomes a daily routine, you won’t enjoy your life, brother.” That only made S1 more tense. Sensing it, I added, “Do one thing—just stay in your room. Don’t go to the back gate. If you don’t go, how will you bring anything?” Back gate used to close after 6 pm. Dheeraj had interviews and exams coming up, so maybe he didn’t want to waste time himself. S1 waited in his room. Everyone returned. At around 7 pm, Dheeraj came storming thro...

THE SILENCE AFTER THE STORM The strike had ended, yet its echoes lingered like aftershocks beneath the campus ground. The hostels slowly filled again, luggage rolling across corridors like returning memories. Students greeted each other with dramatic stories — exaggerations, theories, half-truths — because everyone wanted to believe they had lived through a rebellion. But underneath all the noise, something had changed. The atmosphere was subdued. Hints of fear clung to conversations. Whispers replaced slogans. For the first years, the honeymoon was over — reality was returning. Pankaj and I watched the hostel courtyard from our window as familiar faces trickled back in. ME (quietly) Look… heroes of the strike are returning. Pankaj smirked. “Half of them ran home faster than WiFi speed.” I laughed. But the truth was different: we missed the chaos, the rebellion, the adrenaline. The strike had given us a sense of identity on campus — something bigger than ragging, lectures, and attendan...

Durga Puja holidays had just ended, and campus life had returned to its noisy, colourful routine. Classes were back in full swing. Love stories were blooming in corners of the garden. Groups chatted in canteens as if the semester didn’t exist. Then, one random afternoon, we noticed something unusual. Our seniors were moving around in packs — hurried, tense, whispering, signalling each other. There was a heaviness in the air that didn’t fit the cheerful campus vibe. We didn’t understand the reason, and more importantly, we didn’t dare to ask. After all, no one walks willingly into a lion’s mouth. THE NIGHT THE CAMPUS WOKE UP By nightfall, the truth unfolded like a storm hitting suddenly — The campus was going on strike. Our hostel seniors barged into our rooms. “Chalo, admin block! Sab log!” Before we knew it, we were marching in the dark toward the administrative building, swept in by the tide of voices and anger. When the first years joined the crowd of seniors, the atmosphere transfo...

Holi of 2013 arrived with its usual colours, chaos, and careless laughter. The morning began ordinarily enough. Abhishek was getting ready for his Made Easy classes—focused, disciplined, borderline irritating in his dedication toward GATE. Pankaj and I, meanwhile, followed our own sacred academic ritual: eating. We rode to Patrapada Chhak for breakfast—puri and samosa dripping with nostalgia and oil. Abhishek left for class straight from there, leaving me and Pankaj to the peace of our room. By midday, a few friends dropped by, smeared some colours, cracked a few jokes, and left. That’s when Rishi called. His voice oozed temptation. “Let’s try bhang today.” Pankaj and I looked at each other. A decision this reckless needed at least three seconds of thought. “Done,” we said. Rishi told us to pick him up. We brought him over. Pankaj, the ever-serious aspirant, opened his GATE books again. Rishi and I did what we always did—watched movies we’d already watched a ...

We had just returned from the holidays, and campus life resumed its usual rhythm. It was an ordinary afternoon—around 4 o’clock, if I remember correctly. Amit from my branch was standing near Monginis when a fourth-year senior called him and asked him to fetch something from the back gate. No one knows what exactly sparked the argument, but within moments, they began hitting Amit. Dealing was returning from the back gate. Being our self-appointed leader, he stepped forward instinctively, asking, “What happened, brother?” He didn’t even get the answer. The seniors charged toward him. What happened next felt straight out of an action scene—Dealing ran as if his life depended on it and, with a single leap, cleared the small reflective pond near the Mechanical building. Before anyone could blink, he disappeared into the hostel. Amit seized the moment, got up, and sprinted toward the New Boys Hostel. But the seniors weren’t done. Fueled by rage and ego, one of them—Pranav—jumped onto his ...

Before we even realised it, classes were running in full swing—day in, day out—pulling us into a cycle where something or the other always kept us occupied. But amidst all the rush, the best part of the day was always the practicals . That was where theories stepped out of textbooks and came alive. Our first year was neatly split into two halves: what we studied in the first semester was taken up by the other section in the second, and vice-versa. We had C Programming, Engineering Drawing, Physics, Basic Electrical Engineering, and the futuristic Communication Lab. Each subject had its own charm—sometimes because of the content, sometimes purely because of the characters who taught them. The First Shock Physics Lab came with its own legend— APC Sir . During our very first experiment, I experienced the first shock of my college life—no, not the electric kind. I had missed the introduction class because I had gone home for the education loan approval. So innocently, ...

  Things were unfolding rapidly for us—it was hard for many to even comprehend what was happening. Rishi and I were planning to apply for an education loan, so we requested the necessary documents from the college. To our surprise, the approval came within a day. To avail the facility, we had to visit our respective hometown's branches of the Banks who will give us the loan. We decided to travel together on the Purushottam Express, Rishi got down at Chandrapura Station and i deboarded the train at Gomoh Junction . After completing all the formalities in few day's, we returned to campus—only to be greeted with shocking news. Two nights earlier, the seniors had rounded up all the first-year students and taken them to the terrace. One of our batchmates had half his moustache shaved off by a third-year student, a few others were made to dance for half an hour, and hostelites were terrorized in every possible way. Rishi and I felt lucky to have escaped the episode, but...

Our little group decided that before lectures, schedules, and assignments swallowed us whole, we needed to see the place that would shape our next four years. So we began our journey right from the main gate , letting the early excitement guide our steps. The moment you walk in, the campus opens like a scene from a film. A massive pyramidal structure rises ahead — mysterious, almost futuristic. Tales floated around that a giant globe would one day be suspended in its centre, as if the whole world would hang gently within that pyramid’s steel ribs. Whether true or not, the rumour gave the place an aura of ambition. To the left , the Diploma building stood calm and academic. To the right , the Hotel Management block carried its own charm with neatly curated ornamental plants and tiny reflective ponds that shimmered under the sun, like mirrors placed there to make you pause and admire. A little ahead, the landscape opened into a huge field — half playground, half construction site...

The First Class of Engineering After the orientation, we finally received our class schedule. In those days, the notice board was our “official WhatsApp” — the one place that told you everything you needed to know. My lectures were scheduled in the RD Block , right beside the training ship TS Ranjita . Our classroom — RD 103 — was allotted to a combined batch of about 110 students from Chemical Engineering and Civil Engineering . The first-year course was common for all branches, so everyone was new to everyone. I found a spot around the fifth or sixth bench — the perfect place for the “general crowd” — visible enough to not seem aloof, but hidden enough to stay unnoticed. Our first lecture was Mathematics , and the professor was Indira Ma’am . As soon as she entered, the entire class stood up in unison, greeting her like we used to do back in school. She smiled, welcomed us warmly, and began explaining the importance of mathematics in engineering. The room was fil...

  The Wait Before the Beginning After returning from Jamshedpur , I began preparing for the Jharkhand Combined Entrance Exam , which was scheduled for May 19, 2010 . Once the exam was over, the long wait for results began — the kind of waiting that stretches time, where hope and anxiety quietly trade places every few hours. During those days, Shyamal Da’s café in Shyamnagar became my daily refuge. It was a newly opened café-cum-photo studio, the kind of small-town establishment that smelled of freshly brewed tea, printer ink, and quiet ambition. Shyamal Da ran it with discipline — strict about who could open what on the computer, yet kind to every anxious student who came to check their fate. The café wasn’t just a shop; it was a shared waiting room for dreams. When results began to roll out, one after another, I found my name among the successful candidates of four different entrance exams . My best performance came in the Odisha Joint Entrance Exam (OJEE) — I h...

The First Step — 16th August 2010 “Good morning,” I whispered to myself as I opened my eyes at 5 a.m. on the 16th of August, 2010 . The room was quiet, the dawn faintly brushing its pale light across the window. It wasn’t just another morning — it was the morning that would mark the beginning of a new chapter in my life. Today, I was to begin my engineering journey — a path that, in my heart, I believed would change everything. Life until then hadn’t been easy for me or my siblings. We were learning to swim through the tides of uncertainty, but somewhere deep inside, I had silently taken on the responsibility of making things right. That quiet sense of duty — the classic lower-middle-class resolve — was the fire that kept me moving. I got up, washed away the remnants of sleep, and by 6:15 a.m. , I was ready to leave the dormitory. The air outside carried the freshness of early morning mixed with the distant hum of waking city life. A short walk ahead stood Bhubanesh...

It was 15th August 2010 — Independence Day — and in a way, it was the beginning of my own independence too. After countless thoughts, long discussions with teachers, friends, and family, and hours of research, I finally decided to pursue B.Tech in Chemical Engineering at C.V. Raman College of Engineering . For the documentation verification, my father and I travelled to VSSUT, Sambalpur . A few days later, we headed to the college for admission formalities. The moment had finally come — the time to leave home and step into a new world, a new life, where every step I took would be mine to own. The Journey Begins I was to travel from Dhanbad to Bhubaneswar via Howrah . Around 5:40 AM , I boarded the Coalfield Express . My father came to see me off at Dhanbad station. His eyes were calm but heavy — a mix of pride, worry, and emotion. I waved goodbye as the train slowly pulled away, carrying me towards an unknown future filled with excitement, fear, and dreams. The train reached ...

It was May 3rd, 2010 — the day Harsh, Vikash, and I were returning from Jamshedpur, famously known as Tatanagar. I had been living there for the past eight months, preparing for my engineering entrance exams. My final test, for KIIT, had been held on May 2nd. Vikash had come from Dhanbad to appear for the same exam, while Harsh came to celebrate my birthday on May 1st. Vikash was staying at his uncle’s house in Mango (not the fruit, but a locality in Jamshedpur), while Harsh and I were in my PG at Kadma Water Tank, near the police station. We planned to return home by Swarnarekha Express, the only direct train running between Jamshedpur and Dhanbad. We were short of money, so I sold my tiffin box to a boy at the PG for ₹90 — enough for some snacks during the journey. Around 11 a.m., we left the PG, walked to the main road, and caught an auto to Tatanagar Railway Station — the cleanest station I had seen till that day. Vikash arrived soon after. We bought our second-class sitting t...