Naman Sharma
Nostalgic NASA Some things went wrong, some right. [many truths, some lies]
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2020 Š Naman Sharma
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This memoir captures the winters of 2014-15, when I was in my third year of education at IIT Roorkee. It was my third time staying back in college during the winter vacation to prepare for LIK trophy and
participate in the annual NASA convention, wherein some 40 students would voluntarily work as a team.
The memoir starts with we three friends discussing the game plan for the next two months. Once a decision is made, two of us, accompanied
by another teammate embark upon a journey to find the best site for a
winning proposal. After 5 days of backpacking in the chilling mountains of
Uttarakhand and Himachal Pradesh, we arrive at Sarahan; and awestruck by its glory, we call the rest of the team there. Working relentlessly for
4 days, we complete the work target and head back to Roorkee to start the second phase of hard-work. We work in two studios in day and night shifts, with the motto- ‘the work shall not stop’. After developing
a beautiful proposal by the end of January, we head to Chennai for the
convention, but sadly don’t secure the title. The account ends with the last leg of train journey and my encounter with a stranger.
These memories live in my heart, but I thought they shall also live on paper, for the people whom this is dedicated to- the people of the R-land. Abbreviations
IIT- Indian Institute of Technology LIK- Louis Isadore Kahn
NASA- National Association of Students of Architecture
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Debates, dialogues, deliberations are there about this all, Democratically now, we shall take the final call. Beginning the journey to a destination new,
Tradition will be abandoned this time, inadequate we are, quite few.
Pilot, a prodigy, has half-heartedly agreed to plan-B,
Perhaps he has a hope for A, the rest could not foresee.
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Three as always in the night, our brains are choked,
Tea would be a good lubricant, sitting in the canteen, we hope. With innumerable iterations of counting pros and cons, Adjudication we make- ‘plan B is ON’.
Convey the decision, to make a notification,
We start a march apparently towards a new tradition.
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3 The dramatic march is obstructed by the new cast, Ironically, these were the flag bearers in the past.
Passionate for the tradition, somewhat orthodox they are,
But tradition will be abandoned this time, very few, inadequate we are.
Caught up in the midst of a perpetual consultation, Barged by advices, everyone spilling out opinion.
We stand convinced, almost, ready to pursue their tradition Fear not they told; hoping eventually it’ll be our tradition. Pilot, the prodigy, is merry and relieved,
All the charges against him are dropped, it seems.
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Slept at three and now awake at six,
We start the expedition where nothing is fix. Nomads for the days to come, we three board the bus,
Three places are on mind, routes to which we shall find.
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Site I: Sister’s Bazaar, Landour
We start for Landour, a small missionary town established as a cantonment by the British in the nineteenth century. We have
really high expectations that we shall find some magnificent old structures over there.
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Climbing the precipitous slopes, annoyed the brothers are, Nowhere can be seen, the site- Sisters’ bazaar.
Lastly some venerable chalets are before sight, Ruining our delight, the elderly are in a plight.
Audacious and intrepid, optimistic are my associates, All walk haphazardly but with a conceited gait.
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We find there nothing but have collected memories,
Upon discovering those large convexes, we’re on a selfie spree.
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On finding nothing in Landour we return back to Mussoorie. Onboard the bus we meet a shayar trio who are tirelessly reciting
shayari right from the beginning of the journey. All that could be heard in, and I suppose out of the bus was wah wah! In unison.
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Site II: Koti village, Uttarakhand
With almost a dozen of villages named Koti in India, we are in a state of utmost confusion. In Uttarakhand itself, there are 3
villages named Koti. Every time we ask a driver to take us to Koti, the conversation ends up being like :-
Driver: Kaunsa Koti? Banal Koti? Kanasar Koti? Garhwal Koti? Us: Google wala Koti.
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The driver has dropped us at the foot of the mountain, Koti is nearby, Go climb up boys! the locals exclaim. Distant uphill, some buildings are visible, Advance we ahead to check if feasible.
But, ascending the trail is resulting into nothingness, End is not here, inform our subsequent steps. Distant uphill, they again are visible,
Here we find something, announcing end of the crucible. Plausible it seemed, the colony is archaic,
Her badge so elegant now stands prosaic. Once a prospect, it has failed our test,
Jaded we move down expecting some rest. 23
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Returned to the basecamp- a new town to explore, Expectations are high that we’ll get bore.
Someone is definitely murmuring near the parapet, To our astonishment she is a tiny angelic rivulet.
In this li’l glowing town, with the sun almost set,
Starving for food, we are craving for the internet. Discovering a phenomenon, we dot down the lane, A lot of enterprises, all with the same brand name. Thought we’ll count all, but soon start to yawn, Everyone here is either Chauhan or, Chouhan or, Chohan.
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We leave from Barkot at dawn for Dehradun from where we will
be going Sarahan, a small village in Himachal Pradesh, as directed by the unit secretary.
From Dehradun we board a bus for Chandigarh in order to get
another bus for the state capital Shimla, just hoping it to be the final one to the destination. But as it has started, a voyage of uncertainty, we have two more buses after it.
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At Shimla we met a group of sonsy but hungry Punjabi lads(PL).
Their apparently funny conversation with the dhaba owner(O) is as following:PL1-
O(astonished)-
PL1(chortling)-
ओ हैलो! जरा दो िकलो पनीर दी भुर्जी बना दो। अच्छा साहब, आया लेके। नाले हां, पैहे(पैसे) दी टैंशन नही लैनीं, पैहे आपां देने ही नहीं।
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14 It’s midnight now, the cold is biting us,
We stand at the station waiting for next bus. In this chilling night there stands a lone ranger,
Who runs a tea stall and recites the tales of danger, in these jungles. He tells us the facts, about the traditional barbaric acts, of animal and human sacrifice.
An addict himself, he knows every price, of poppy, opium, or heroin, or smack
just tell him the quantity you want to pack.
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15 We thought the journey is about to conclude
But this ‘New Prem’ is in a totally different mood. One of its tyres is punctured in the halfway,
“Come, follow us” the fellow school-kids say. Almost up there I soon realise a fuss,
We’d left our money with the conductor of that bus. Two of us walk down the lane,
Take the money and start climbing up again. Inhabitants of these slopes have a really high endurance, But us, short on oxygen, can’t move ahead, hence.
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16 Site III: Sarahan village, Himachal Pradesh
It happened to be really good that we got nothing at the previous two sites. After wandering for 5 odd days, finally we are at a
destination which has the potential to be a winning site for us this time.
The temple and the village is an architectural delight. Temple’s timber-stone building is a relic in human scale which stands at its place from the time immemorial. Possessing a strong architectural and historic significance, the village is full of
surprises. As we cave in further, there are two royal palaces, a
royal court and a number of pre-independence era residences and shops.
We have called the rest of our team here and will be documenting the whole village in the coming 4-5 days.
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The Architectural Style: Kath-kooni architecture
(wood-stone)
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The Cuisine: Momos (the best ever)
Balu-shahi (our own version of donuts)
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This year too our friendly ghost Gopal has come to pay us a visit
along with his sons. ‘Gopal and sons’ have been in existence since
time immemorial and religiously follow us every year. Gopal dons a different hat every time and lives in the village we visit. But
the poor old fellow dies every year in an impromptu but highly
creative story. Interestingly, the end is the same every time- Gopal and sons’ ghosts roaming nearby thereon, following us.
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20 Wrapping up the documentation in only three days, The young team definitely deserves some praise.
Back in the department we commence phase two, Tougher will be this one; we have to go through.
Managers this time by the virtue of being seniors, We’ve responsibilities inherited from past years.
There is a separate studio where analysis will be done, But first let’s make it a place engaging for everyone.
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Larger one the atelier has enormous population,
Smaller one has few who form the administration. A few, who form the administration of this democracy,
No one knows outside are busy planning conspiracies.
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With new government in place, we see a bright ray of hope- getting those machines with huge display, and a brain having sixteen gigabytes of space which will considerably enhance our pace. It’s been a day only we had this thought,
and look, the pilot has already hit his shot. He has brought those mighty desktops,
Everyone’s looking at him jaw-dropped.
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Sleeping, as always is a tougher task,
Since everyone’s slept you can’t even ask, to shift a bit and vacate some space
and avoid getting someone’s foot right into your face. Thought this time we deserve comfort a bit,
Arranged some mattresses, got our couch built. Comfortable it was, accommodated two at a time, Day boarders would also take a nap sans fine.
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Working day and night, a month has passed,
The days have come to now attend the class. Studio is the place to work relentlessly,
The one wanting to sleep only is favored to flee and go to the class, in the same attire
every day; fragrance is the only thing they’ll require.
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25 It’s almost the mid of new month
Wow! there hasn’t been one rebellion. Yes, Rebellion!
was what leaders did in their period. And as a part of the tradition,
were also expecting this season. It hasn’t happened, lucky are the seniors
immersed into the work, the juniors are the owners. They don’t wait for instruction, neither sit idle,
directing themselves, they have become ‘team ideal’.
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Hard work and sleeplessness has reached its climax, It’s been two months without a moment to relax. The scene looks like an excerpt from the war,
soldiers hopping places with their parallel bars. Bazookas and boomerangs and all sorts of ammunition, All packed and stacked up, ready for the presentation.
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Chennai is hosting the finale this year,
folks are happy, we’ve won once there. Apparently that year we had an accident,
Coincidence is it? that we have an accident
this year too, and now it sounds auspicious,
that derailing from the track could mark you victorious.
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28 Accident en route Chennai proved to be a myth, but last leg of train journey brought me a bliss. Just after the dawn she came and sat along,
while I was in the sketchbook painting down my song. With utmost affinity she insisted having a look, unable to think I just handed over the book.
She started gazing upon with her joy-filled eyes, slowly turning pages, she offered some advice.
Since unable to think, my head just nodded twice, and ever since I’m stuck at those joy-filled eyes.
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Nostalgic NASA 60
Š Naman Sharma