First Year: Chaos, Cricket & Classroom Shockwaves
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, and with full enthusiasm, I walked up to Sir and asked him to explain the experiment.
My batchmates tried to stop me. I didn’t listen.
He looked at me with a smirk, snatched my record book, and scribbled:
–5
My first marks in college.
I stood there frozen, unable to speak.
Then came the scolding—sharp, unexpected, and very much beyond what a first-year soul is prepared for.
The whole class burst into laughter while my group shook their heads in sympathy.
Definitely not the welcome I had envisioned.
We were mostly boys in our group, except for Crystal—the sincere one. She read the entire manual, revised questions for viva, observed the smallest of details, while the rest of us carried out the experiment based on whatever little we understood from the demo.
Naturally, she always got full marks.
We were always short by 3–4.
But the moment the lab was over, nobody cared. It was all momentary—fleeting, light, and part of the routine.
The Mystery of Engineering Drawing Lab
Engineering Drawing Lab was a different circus altogether.
The instructor would walk around silently—then suddenly yell at someone without warning.
Nobody knew why.
Eventually, we cracked the mystery:
If he came to your table and you didn’t stand up, he took it as an insult.
Once we learned the rule, peace returned.
One day, our friend Deepak, unaware of the code, was told by us not to get up no matter what.
When the instructor reached him, chaos erupted. The class turned into a comedy show.
Finally, Ojha Sir, assigned to our batch, had to intervene to restore order.
In the hostel, seniors often got their drawings made by juniors.
Our classmate Rohit was famous for making near-perfect drawings.
Monday mornings felt like we were marching into battle—armed with drafter and drawing folder.
Electrical Sparks & Futuristic Labs
Basic Electrical and C Programming Labs went smoothly.
Large machines—motors, transformers, starters—fascinated us.
But nothing beat the Communication Lab.
Devices fitted at every desk, an ambience way ahead of its time, and three amazing teachers—
Chandra Ma’am, Jyoti Ma’am, and Ruchika Ma’am.
One day, in Business English class, our batchmate Dunna handed his notebook using his left hand. The scolding he got shook all of us—we thought all our answers were wrong.
But the issue wasn’t the content.
It was the left hand.
A cultural taboo in many places.
From that day, Dunna used only his right hand—even while doing the wrong things.
During another session, ma’am gave each of us a topic and ten minutes to prepare a speech.
My topic was “Dream.”
I had no clue how I pulled it off, but the words just flowed.
The class listened.
It struck a chord.
Ma’am smiled and said,
“I didn’t expect this good from you.”
That line stayed with me.
It lit a spark—one of the moments that pushed me to work harder and discover my strengths.
Room 114 – The Afternoon Theatre
Around this time, a new ritual began.
Every afternoon, seniors—especially those who bunked classes—visited Room 114, our room in the Old Boys Hostel.
Since my bed was nearest to the door, I became the doorman.
Not by choice.
Once seniors entered, the door shut and the ritual started—
Introductions, singing, acting, tricky questions, roasting, life advice, gossip, controversy, predictions about future semesters—some true, some exaggerated, but all entertaining.
Once, when our seniors from Mechanical were inside, one of their day-scholars peeked in, got caught, and instantly became part of the “intro session.”
He must have cursed his timing.
One afternoon, an infamous group entered when everyone was asleep.
Rishi and Abhishek woke up instantly—but Pankaj remained asleep or pretended to.
The seniors tried waking him.
We tried waking him.
He didn’t move.
We prayed he wouldn’t suddenly laugh mid-acting, or all of us would be doomed.
For three hours, he stayed perfectly still—Oscar-level acting.
The moment the seniors left around 6 PM, Pankaj sat up and burst out laughing.
We joined him.
Abhishek saluted him for his performance.
Of course, while we were getting ragged, we didn’t leave our own batchmates either.
Someone would bring a day scholar, one of us acted as a senior, and the rest bowed down like loyal subjects.
The poor fellow had to sing, dance, and entertain us.
If he later discovered that the “senior” was actually his batchmate, he would chase him across the hostel.
A sight we enjoyed every single time.
The Cricket Ground – Our Escape Hatch
Evenings belonged to cricket.
A small group formed, which eventually grew to include seniors and Marine Engineering students.
On the field, nobody had ranks.
We were just players.
Sandy from ETC was a classy left-hander.
Raghav sir from Marine 2nd year was a rock-solid player.
Zinta from 1st year Marine brought energy.
And I—self-proclaimed all-rounder—mostly bowled and batted near the end.
Sometimes my fielding was pathetic, but bowling kept me relevant, as it always had since childhood.
The adrenaline was addictive.
The First Unit Test & the Great Escape
Out of nowhere, the first Unit Test was announced.
Those who weren’t serious were rattled.
Pankaj had already finished the physics book like a novel and was making a solution manual for our maths book, Kreyszig.
Abhishek was also prepared.
Rishi studied seriously when exams approached.
Looking at them, I felt like the odd one out.
Time would tell how things played out.
We did whatever we could in the little time left.
After the test ended, relief swept across the hostel—not because we aced it, but because Durga Puja holidays were starting.
The biggest festive season in our region.
Hostel corridors turned into runways.
People packed bags like they were escaping a warzone.
Our group left in the evening.
Tickets weren’t available; we planned to travel in second class—like most first-year students back then.
As we stepped out, a cold breeze brushed our faces
as if whispering,
“Come back soon…I’ll miss you.”
We would miss each other too, but home was calling.
We walked to the highway and caught an auto to Bhubaneswar Railway Station.
The station was madness.
Students everywhere.
Barely space to breathe.
We met seniors, exchanged goodbyes, and waited.
A train heading via Jamshedpur was announced.
Pankaj’s eyes lit up.
“I’ll go in this! No one can stop me!”
He rushed inside—
and came running out within seconds.
“People are mad! I can’t go in this!”
The laughter that followed was unforgettable.
Finally, Purushottam Express arrived.
Some friends had confirmed seats, and we tagged along.
As the train rolled out, it felt like the stress of the past month slowly dissolved.
We were heading home—to warm food, familiar faces, love, comfort.
We’d return soon…
To the wonderland that gave us chaos, fear, laughter, friendships, and stories for a lifetime.
To create new memories, new mistakes—and new chapters worth telling.
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