The journals were one aspect of engg college which I really don’t remember THAT fondly. Just thinking of all those trees who lost their lives for NOTHING makes me weep. The journals emanated from a master source. Each class typically had one enterprising or studious soul, who would source stuff from seniors’ journals or painstakingly write the experiment descriptions himself. The rest of the class was content to kick back, watch the wildlife, and then jump in as soon as the master blueprint was ready.
Getting the journals ‘signed’ by the profs was an exercise in diplomacy, tact and oily talk. A couple of days before the obtainment of that all important signature, junta would suddenly find a newfound interest in attending lectures. Point to be noted my lord, just merely attending the lectures wasn’t enough, being ‘visible’ was. People would sit somewhere mid-class, so that the prof could see their faces. Whenever there was any eye-contact, we head-banged like no tomorrow, just to show that we ‘understood’ the concept. This was a fail-safe method to ensure that the prof remembered our maps while going through our journal a couple of days hence. (This is a true story…. I used to sit on the last bench in my 1st sem, and attended ALL lectures by a certain Prof. She pulled me up one day in the practs, and told me that she had never seen me in class, and gave me a 12/25 in ‘Term Work’. I vowed revenge. She came back in the 3rd sem, and boy was I ready for her. Would sit every other lecture, in the 4th row, and head-bang whenever her eyelashes just as much turned in my general direction. Result? 24/25 in ‘Term Work’. Heh-heh.)
Now that the preparatory steps were done, the main step was to ensure that we got a signature on D-Day. There were some profs who had really exacting standards. For eg, If you wrote the date as 17/7/2000 instead of 17-7-2000, they’d scratch off the whole experiment(“Who told you write date like thees? I not tale you again …gate lost”). We got stung a couple of times like thees...sorry... this. So we decided on the following strategy.
“Distract the profs by talking weapons grade bull while they are signing the journal, and high-tail it out of there once you’ve got the signature.”
Prof : Show me the journal…
Guerilla Journal Warrior : Here it is …
Prof (Scanning, warming up) : Where’s the title? Where’s the date?
Guerilla Journal Warrior : Which book should we refer for (Subject Name)?
Prof (has to answer) : (Book1) …(Book 2)
Guerilla Journal Warrior
(rapidly turning pages, maintaining eye contact all the while): The subject is very tough …Prof (ticking away like a robot) : No…you have to refer good books…not stuff like those guides which you people read…
Guerilla Journal Warrior (helpfully turning pages) : How should we study this subject …it’s so confusing
Prof : (gives a long how to study strategy – but not a verbose word is absorbed by the warrior, whose mission is very clear)
Guerilla Journal Warrior (pointing to the end of Expt 1) : Your sign
Prof : Oh yes… (Signing)
This was the general idea. There were only so many times that we could ask the ‘books’ question above. Some more ingenious smoke screens which we came up with were
1) "The lecture which you took yesterday...had a doubt..." (Ask freshly manufactured doubt, feverishly turning the pages as the Prof explains)
2) Where do you stay? (Then launch into a woeful narrative of how long it takes you to get your scheming ass to college…every ounce of sympathy was vital…)
3) “Nerul madhye daasancha khoop traas aahe na?” (Rough translation from Marathi - There are a lot of mosquitoes around in Nerul right? Must be a pain...)
4) Are your kids going to become engineers? Please Ma’am …don’t make them…look at us…(forced 'gunpoint' laughter) Ha Ha Ha…
5) “Aapan rahaayla kuthe?” (Rough translation from Marathi – Where do u stay?)
Prof’s answer – “Kaa? Tula Maajhya ghari yaaycha aahe ka?” (Rough translation from Marathi – Why? Do you want to come home?)
You should have seen us positively asphyxiated from the fake laughter we coughed up for the above exchange. Took a while for the peaches and cream to dispel the blue. We'd wait for some such PJ from the prof, and then laugh as if it was the funniest thing since would-be Computer Engineers having Workshop in the First Year. Prof’s ego massaged, the signatures would flow smoother than those shown in any ad featuring scantily clad hussies selling pens, with husky orgasmic voiceovers more at home in an ad for prophylactics...(will save this and more for a later rant)
