This little piece here was chosen as the best entry for the 'campus journalist' contest at IMT Ghaziabad. But unfortunately I had already taken admission at another college by the time they came out with the results and was no longer eligible. The CCMRC people who conducted the contest were kind enough to let me know that I was their first choice and I'm grateful for their gesture.
I want to leave this here- in memory of a glorious month at IMT. This post is titled
Colours of IMT-G
There are two things that you notice when you walk
into IMT for the first time--a white behemoth of a building and the warm
sprawling lemon green lawns that surround it. With its avant-garde
architectural style and dazzling white walls, the new academic block exudes an
aura of ‘new’ that is hard not to acknowledge. In stark contrast are the old
fashioned red and brown brick hostels that loom in the background. A vast
chartreuse football field separates the old from the new. The tall Gulmohar
trees scattered around the field are approaching full bloom and shades of
orange peek out from behind dark green canopies. The campus is a feast of
colours.
Situated at the heart
of a hot and beige Ghaziabad, IMT is an oasis in the middle of a desert. The
campus is vibrant and bursting with activity at the beginning of a new term
when the first years arrive, sometime in the middle of June. Suddenly there are
people everywhere -- loitering the grounds, sipping cold coffee or iced tea at
the Nescafe stall, clicking pictures in the amphitheater or huddled around the
canvas tent haggling with the campus vendors over the price of a mattress
or a mug .Despite the heat the vendors smile, as they sell overpriced products
to exasperated students.
By half past twelve
people start trickling towards the mess. Red, blue and purple dance in front of
your eyes, as they adjust to the dim light. The mess hall fills up in a matter
of minutes. One of the first lessons that you learn as an IMTian is that -you
may be late to a class, you may be late to a meeting, but you should never be
late for lunch. Grab a plate and stand in line. Excitement builds as you
finally approach the end of the line; but wait!..Sigh! Not potato again!
The diversity here is
astounding. You meet people from every corner of the country. Over the tumult
of conversation one can notice the lilt of a dozen different languages. But
laughter sounds same in every language. At one corner a birthday is being
celebrated. The group disperses and the hapless victim is left to wipe
chocolate and vanilla icing off his face.
Dare not venture into
the hostel after lunch; the somnolent yellow walls can easily lull you to
sleep. For a moment eyes linger upon the forbidden ladies hostel. Pretty women
dressed in alluring lilac, magenta and indigo, strut in and out of the hostel
looking like proud cockatoos.
Lunch break is over.
The crowd starts thinning as students scurry towards their classes hoping to
get there before the professors. Before long the campus is empty and deserted.
The parched tree stands alone at the centre of the empty football field. It
watches silently as dark clouds gather in the distant horizon with a promise of
driving away the heat. I hope the rain doesn't wash away all the colours.
