the HKUST entries: "Hello, Mr.President!"

Professor Tony.F.Chan,
President, The Hong Kong University
of Science and Technology

Yet another normal day, yet another "i-am-sick-and-tired-of-millions-of-emails" attitude towards the UST Webmail and yet another have-to-do-it email check. "One new and unread message", myPortal told me. "Oh Lord, get a life! What is it this time? Credit Suisse? Fencing? Typhoon(hopefully!)?", I grumbled. "Welcome to HKUST", yelled the subject. Reading further, it was addressed to  Lise, Shen and I and made some mention of some random Family Host Program at the Chinese Restaurant on the 30th of September, 2011. It was signed "Tony and Monica Chan"...Tony Chan...Tony Chan...the name seemed familiar. Tony Chan...I kept thinking for a while and then a thunderbolt lit up the skies. OMG!!! Tony Chan as in the THE Tony Chan had written to me. The President of the Hong Kong University and Science and Technology with his wife wanted to meet me and it was no April Fools Day' prank!

The assignments and deadlines of the next few days sort of eroded the initial excitement and on Friday, when I stared idly into my diary, I was taken aback to find a tiny note decorated with x's (Meeting with the President, G/F, 4 PM). Paying careful attention to my otherwise African tribal chieftain attire and letting the razor kiss my chin for the first time in months, I embarked on my historic journey to meet the President. Physics, Humanities and Language classes passed the usual sleepy way and I made it a point to remind every one that I was meeting the President and they were going back home. The "OMG! You are so lucky"s, needless to write, uplifted my otherwise morose spirits.

LANG1007 ended at 4.20 PM and I shot past the Cantonese Class mumbling my apologies to June towards the Chinese Restaurant. Messing up my hair little, indulging in a frantic last minute pressing of my shirt, I made my way nervously to the scheduled venue. With Shreya by my side, I signed against my name, quickly scanned through the list, found a few friends, reassured, entered the banquet hall. A few "Hi!"s later, I found myself talking to Florence Fung, the Manager of the Scholarships and Financial Aid Office at HKUST and we discussed about the exciting lives vegetarians lead at UST. A couple of orange juices and in between a particularly delicious bite of watermelon, a GSO aide rushed to me, asking me to hurry. Completely caught unawares, I made this gallant effort to swallow the humongous watermelon and asked her what happened. Before she could reply, the crowed thinned around the middle making way for someone, obviously VVVVVIP. Dressed in a suit accompanied by his wife in a violet dress, there he was, Professor Tony.F.Chan, the President of the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, standing right there, offering his hand to me and saying "Hi Sathish!".

"Hel...Hello Sir, it is a pleasure to meet you, ", I stammered, thanks to a courage God alone knows, originated from where. Bragging "I'm meeting with the President" every five minutes was cool but actually meeting him in person was nerve-wrecking. Imagine you are an American and you get to meet Obama for a full two hours...how would you feel? I felt the same! But, my nerves were completely unfounded. President Chan was this rather cool person, humorous and extremely fun to talk to. He asked me about my parents, Singapore and unbelievably, Tamil and Chennai!. He went on to address the gathering explaining how excited he was to be a part of the Family Host Program and introduced Professor Forster of the Global Student Office to me. Mrs. Monica Chan, made me feel completely at ease, inquiring about my Hall VI experience, my ECAs, etc and how I felt about living away from home. Later, Professor Chan and I along with Kelly, Philip and others spoke about the higher education system in different countries(Indonesia, India, IB, Canadian Curriculum, etc), 3 Idiots(everyone in China loves it!), Hong Kong, Professor Chan's work, his past students and his college life. Soon, we were joined by Professor Steven Dekrey, Head of the HKUST's world famous Executive MBA Program and the conversation drifted towards how unique the FHP was and what everyone could do to improve it. Professor Dekrey, for his part, regaled us with how his  hostees had become an integral part of his family and how his family was growing with each coming year.Upon his return from Korea, Professor Chan told me that we could go downtown along with Lise and Shen. 

All good things come to an end, and awesome things faster still. Without anyone of us realizing it, the minute hand sneaked its way to 12 and it was time for the curtains to fall. The President's Secretary pointed out that it was getting late for his next appointment with the MHSS and he took our leave soon after. Shaking hands once again, the President invited Shreya and I to his home sometime in the near future. Mrs.Chan asked me to email her if I required anything at all and promised to write very soon. I bid her goodbye and thanked her for her kind offer.

Soon, the Chinese Restaurant started emptying. I, however, stood at its doors replaying the whole episode again in my mind. The exhilaration on receiving a mail from the President, the three days of inexplicable euphoria at meeting someone so busy and important and of course, the near-nervous breakdown I had when I actually saw him with Mrs.Chan. I stood there for a long time, savoring every second of the past two hours...the adrenaline rush, the hesitant steps forward, the surrounding crowds, of course, those magical words "Hello, Mr.President"...

the HKUST entries: the VingCard SIEGE

"ENDRI DA!”

These distant words of Yoga Nataraajan would have startled me any other day. But, today, they failed to have their usual effect. I was determined to enjoy my first 7+ hours of sleep and no one was going to sabotage it!  I mumbled some excuse, pulled up my blanket and went back to Katrina, Angelina and another recent crush :P

An hour later, I groggily opened one eye to see Thasbeeh Moosa leaving for his classes and decided the time had perhaps arrived when I had to get up too. I sat on my bed, worried about the effort I would have to put in order to accomplish this near impossible task when Thas closed the door and headed for his classes. His parting words got processed in my brain and finally the thought-linking mechanism force-started. I realized Thas was going to the City and I badly needed a recharge card. So, I ran towards the lift, yelled my request to him and strolled back to my room.

The door was like a nanometer away from the lock when I had this strange impulse in me and I pushed the door away. I got in successfully and felt my pockets for the reassuring feel of the VingCard holder and IT WAS GONE! I ran to my table and looked for the familiar yellow pouch but it was nowhere to be found. Laptop bag, roommates’ desks, dustbins, clothes cupboards, window sills, draws…everywhere I turned, my search failed to yield a positive result. To make things worse, there was this bladder of mine that was on the verge of explosion :P. Firmly believing that getting into the room once again was more important than going to the washroom, I placed frantic SOS calls to Thas and Yoga but they didn’t have my card either(not that I expected them to…but in my awesome history of losing things…weird things have happened like Varun’s library book ends up in the primary school library :P)

I looked at that poster of Hanumanji, accepted this challenge, resolved to keep calm through this immediate crisis and restarted rescue operations. One fact that helped me was that I had last used my card yesterday night at 6 PM and I hadn’t stepped out of the room ever since but for one small excursion downstairs to fetch a drink. And, I KNEW that I hadn’t had the card then because I was reprimanded by the security guard at the office below.

Thus, the conclusion of all this ranting: The bloody card HAD to be in the room!!!

Thus began a more intensive search and rescue operation. It was not in the usual easily visible places. Then, I started concentrating at the nooks and corners where I usually dump things and forget about them. No, it was not inside any of my books. It wasn’t below the table either. Vacuum greeted me when I expanded my search radius to include the space between my shelf and the wall.

How about the bed? Nah, the pillow or the bedsheet weren’t hiding it. Making a wild guess, I put my pillow aside and Inshallah! there it was…snugly comforted by the table on one side and my bed on another…protected from the 8 hour AC Thas was paying for…my precious little VingCard.

Relieved, I echoed softly. “Come out, darling…it is getting late”. But nope, it was firmly embedded in the wedge. I tried putting in my fingers but they couldn’t get in more than a few centimeters. I tried using a pencil to push out but to no success. A Classmate notebook idling aside was my next tool. It reached the card and I was able to move it to the left. Now, easily accessible from the side, I put in my fingers and it was a euphoric moment to feel the reassuring touch of the card holder and the more comforting thought of saving 100HK$.

Blogspot ERROR 1965: Unavoidable nature’s call. Attempting to reconnect…

P.S: I kept my cool, Dad! 

editorially SPEAKING

Dear friends and followers,

Xin Chao!

I hope this post finds you in the best of your health and spirits.

A few scrolls down, I promised you, my ardent reader, that I would post more frequently on this page and honoring this promise of mine, I have already put up a lengthy (please do not look at me like that, I surely didn’t seek to write so much...as reading a book can be engrossing, writing is too or so I find to my pleasure and your discomfort) recollection of mine for you to feast your eyes upon.

In order to make this blog more regular and engaging, I plan to write my next few posts in the form of a series of articles.

It is my proud privilege and honour to present before you my first series titled ‘My Joy For The Written Word’, a collection of literature where I outline the journey of my words from then to now.

I also take this opportunity to announce the beginning of ‘memoryLEAKS’ which derives its name from the not uncommon headache of C++ programmers and with all due respect, the Wikileaks Cables which were the brainwave of Julian Assange and Private Manning.

While I have already outlined the proposed course of My Joy For The Written Word, the label memoryLEAKS will apply to those interesting experiences, people, places I have undergone/met/visited in the past seventeen years of my life which I describe for you.

In case you feel you have suffered my present enough and want to have absolutely nothing to do with my past, the word you must cultivate avoiding is memoryLEAKS...

My mother has always maintained too much squinting into the computer is bad for the eye and no amount of money-coating Shankara Nethralaya can get you good sight.

Paying obeisance to the wisdom of my Mom and yielding to the alluring calls of dreamland, I bid you goodbye.

Godspeed!

Sathish

memoryLEAKS: my joy for the written word (1)

To the best of my recollections, I began writing solely with an ambition of acquiring a good handwriting. A pencil in hand, a four line notebook on my tiny desk, I set about quite this goal quite unenthusiastically, possibly only under pressure from my Paati (Grandmother). I had a book on Shankaracharya to copy from. My first attempt would surely have given a nervous breakdown to the gentleman who coined the term “calligraphy”. Without the black board before me and classmates to soothe my nerves when in doubt, writing to me was surely what America was to Columbus, minus the joy factor.

I began my Herculean task by copying the first page word by word, line by line. I must now give you a graphic explanation of what I was trying to achieve. My notebook was the usual small four line notebook available at the stationery shop almost everywhere in India. The book I was trying to re-author was atleast four times the size of my notebook. Each page in the book consisted of an illustration spanning nearly half the page and the rest was occupied by miniscule text. I can now confidently write that it would take atleast five lines of my notebook to copy one line from the giant book for a person with the goal of a semi-decent handwriting.

But, I wasn’t so convinced of my liberties then.

The first line in my book, I found to my horror, could accomodate hardly seven words from the text. Unfortunately for me, the printers had managed to print atleast fifteen in one line. And so, I waged my first war with foolscap (for details on countless other wars, contact Vasu Sir and request him for my Chemistry papers). There, there, I managed to squeeze in four more words into the already congested line. Four remaining, and three went to the third floor of line one, with the last word occupying the penthouse on the fourth floor. Thus ended ordeal one!

Copying line two was all the more difficult considering the fact the line above the one I was writing on was already cramped with words and there couldn’t be any multi-storey apartments this time. Like Shankaracharya, I found myself caught in the jaws of a crocodile, but with a lot of cajoling and coaxing, I scratched my way to Line Three.

Paati had finished cooking the day’s menu and found the time to get a situation update from me. The five lines of yet-unexplained hieroglyphics had her in a state of shock. She got herself a glass of water and introduced me to my first freedom with the written word, the Right To Continue On The Next Line When I Had Written As Much As I Could In The First.

I didn’t, at first, believe her. I took my pencil and wrote a mere five words, mere as compared to the previous fifteen. She encouraged me. I wanted to further explore my new found liberty. I scribbled just two in the next one and she calmly looked at me. I skipped the next two, and the signs of an approaching storm titled “how to avoid wasting painstakingly earned money?” did not cross the shore.

Emboldened, I let my pencil waltz its way to glory. It danced, skated, skidded and rolled across the wood pulp, determined to cross as many metres as it could, hardly so about improving the quality of its squiggles. True, this incident doesn’t call for as much celebrations as does Dhoni’s winning six off Kulasekara at the Wankhede last month, but it holds a unique indefatigable place in my heart for being primarily my first experiment with the written word and more importantly, a priceless moment of my childhood which shall never fail to etch a smile on my lips.

And thus, my tryst with the mighty pen wielded by the likes of Bharati, Shakespeare and Tagore BEGAN...

a new location and a newer name...

Greetings, dear friend!

As we prepare to flip the sheet of May in our monthly calendars and embrace the warmth and pleasantness of June, I felt the urgent need for a fresh coat of words and colors to rejuvenate this blog.

This blog was constituted during my stay at the Global Indian International School, Singapore and over the past two years at GIIS Queenstown, I have made many a post about school, my writings, life, etc. bEloW oN d tOp! derives its name from the dinner time nickname we, GIIS hostelites, coined for the boys' quarters which was the penultimate floor at 3 Mei Chin Road. The wonderful journey at GIIS Queenstown has ended, enlightening and enriching my life like no other school ever. I have completed my school education and I returned to India in early April. As I sit at the boarding gates of my college life at Madurai, I believe bEloW oN d tOp! is no longer an apt name for this blog and hence I proudly present bEloW oN d tOp! version 2.0, titled

NITWIT, BLUBBER, ODDMENT, TWEAK!

I admit I found the existing theme a little too static for my choice and despite my everlasting liking for it, I convinced myself a new theme would do no harm.

I understand the previous posts were too infrequently posted apart from being lavish with words but I hope you'll pardon this seventeen year old's obsession on describing things the lengthier and thereby, the more expressive way.

I promise to pen more literature for you to rejoice and regale with on a regular basis. Pardon my faulty memory, but I once spoke on stage - "The joy of getting a feedback, preferably positive, on your work goes unparalleled in the unappreciative world we writers live in" to a highly affirming audience. I am no Gautama Buddha myself, and I too seek to revel once in a while in your appreciation. So here I make this simple request of you. Whatever you read, please spare a moment to leave your feedback and constructive criticism. This need not only tickle my ever burgeoning desperation of a bouquet, but also may serve as an inspiration for other budding writers who chance to view this blog and your comment.

I would love to go on, but I beg your pardon once again, with months of disuse, my English has become all the more rusty and I find myself frequenting the Backspace button more than I would like to.

So, until I get back with my next post shortly, here's wishing you all the very best in whatever you do!

Enjoy life king size.

'Night, Sweetest of dreams...

Ah, before I forget, allow me to acknowledge the genius behind NBOT. I struck the idea of "Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak" from the book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and specifically, Albus Dumbledore's welcome speech to Hogwarts.

P.S: The new description owes its origin to one Mr.Saurabh Unercat, a close friend of mine, who when asked who his companions were in a Chemistry Lab experiment replied innocently "Me, myself and Saurabh!". The brain in its mystic myriad working, dug this little incident buried deep under tonnes and tonnes of PCM and thus the new description...

Do comment freely on how you like this new look in general and this post in particular...

Sathish