CULTURAL NIGHT HALL 7

OJAS
Vigour Within

December 15, 2018 | 7 PM

Creative Writing

Photography

Painting
 President's Note...

A very warm welcome to all of you on Cultural Night of Hall 7. The idea of Cultural-Night
was born in 2017. With majority of residents in favour of it got this event started and now
we celebrate Cultural-Night twice a year with promotion of different art-forms by giving
them center of the stage. This is also a major event when all residents come out of the
stress of their work and enjoy with their friends and everyone else.
This event also represents our love for Hall 7 that has taken care of us and served us as
our second home while we far away from our families. Cherishing the beauty of it's lawns
and the fountain, the deliciousness of the food served here and passion to play for it in
inter-hall events, all of these and much more to celebrate in a single night. Well it may
sound too but let's celebrate and enjoy to the fullest.
Cheers
Punit Sharma

From The Cultural Secretary, Hall 7

Cultural night ……... If there is a fill in the blank survey among campus community
then “Hall 7” is the only thought that crosses our minds. We are the first to organise a
“chota packet bada dhamaal” event which comprises of music, masti and dance with
delicious food that is also the USP of hall 7 and worth to say without causing much
burden to our pockets. Replacing the “heavy hall day” culture this event has become
quite a talk of the town. I have been one of the enthusiastic performers since I joined
the campus and hostel. Probably this triggered my nomination and election for the
post of cultural secretory. With the great cooperation of wardens, HEC members, hall
residents and my dear friends I have tried to make the event up to the level.
Recognising the zeal and zest of the hall residents as well as the campus junta for fun
and food, this event as the amalgamation of both has been given a name “OJAS -
Vigour within”. To keep the memories alive, on the occasion of this 3rd biannual
celebration we have also introduced the event magazine encouraging the creative
side of the participants. Let’s vibrate our souls with enchanting performances and
begin the journey of joy.

Arko das
 The Scary Lamp
The breakfast bowl brimming with chicken broth,
And morning presenting sweet summer sweat,
Neurons digging into for table cloth,
On the spur of moment,
sky paints itself and red becomes a threat.
With eyes half-shut,
it was a day witnessed bricks turning ashes,
it was a moment of flesh within with blood wrapping,
it was a sight of bombing flare,
After all it was my life, I heard a trauma music in air.
Riding upon the silent breeze,
Dark noises of unknown land travels onto my place,
Annihilated senses judge,
Is it the robbery or me bidding adieu the grace?
Its cosmos, its origin, FATHER'S deed or my sin,
Asks the gushing tears on my face.
A ray then flashes into my eyes from down the broken street,
And a shadow there awaits to meet.
Veins flooding with unknown fear;
Oh! what's this unknown fear?
Oh! why is this unknown fear?
With the crushed leg but intact spirit crawled till the wrecks,

Oppugning who was the light's host?

And as I steered the neck around,

The fear was just a broken lamp post.
There is nothing to fear but fear itself,
Of what, the memory of love or terror,
I will take YOUR hand, made no mistake,
A new life starts as I awake.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
OVERVIEW: This poem hammers home the point of unknown fear that one does not know
about. This poem depicts the fear of a man during Hiroshima attack who was a survivor in 2nd
world war.

Yash Varun
 आदत

मेरी एक खराब आदत है

अ सर तु हारे िक से सुना िदया करता हूँ ।
अब इसे याददा त का इि तहान समझ लो
या िफर कु छ बताने को है , इसकी शान।
अ सर डायरे टर बनकर लॉट बात िदया करता हू। ँ
सुना न तुमने ! मेरी एक खराब आदत है
ँ ।
अ सर तु हारे िक से सुना िदया करता हू।

कौन तुम? कैसा िक सा ?

"It didn't work out. Right?"
अरे मेरी कहानी है , या बेवकूफ ब ची है
सुनने म िफ़ मी लगेगी , पर ि क्र ट परू ी स ची है।
योंिक मुझे तो सब याद है , सब मतलब सब।।
वो लैम बुक का Stapled पेज
एनुअल डे की थ्री लेग रेस ।।
अरे हर मोमट इन नज़रों म कैद है
यार तु हारी हर dp मेरी ड् राइव म से ड है।।

और म तो सोच रहा हूँ , इसे पेटट करा लंू

अब त हे तो कु छ याद है नही , यहँू ी थोड़ा क्रेिडट काम ल।
ँू ।
पर तुम जब सुनोगी न तो तु हे भी सब याद आ जाएगा
और यादा सटी हो गयी तो िफर इ क़ हो जाएगा ।।
पर संभालना मोहतरमा , ये पानी नही शराब है
परू ी कहानी इंटरेि टं ग , बस एंिडंग खराब है
इसमे गलती मेरी भी नही, मेरी तो मजबरू ी है
आपबीती है ये तो , पर हो सकता है कहानी अधरू ी है।।
सोचो ! तुम अजर सोचो !
िफर शायद हमारी कहानी का अंत कु छ और बात लाएगा
वरना िफर से "It didn't work out" वाला साथ रह जाएगा।।

Chitral
 A tale of a girl's security…

Walking down on the middle of an empty road connecting the girls’ hostels and the academic area,
on cold December night with a cycle by my side having a deflated tyre, the only thing that concerned
me was, how would I get this tyre fixed? How would I reach my lab tomorrow-earlymorning? Even
though it was pitch dark with rarely any visibility, I, being a girl was not worried of my security at all.
Although, the dark road with flickering tube light near one of the boys’ hostel that I was passing by,
the thicket besides me, the occasionalsound of the pedalling cycle with some men passing by, would
have been enough to scare me. But, there I was, at 1A.M. in the night strolling down the road with all
comfort and ease,not even an iota of doubt or fear in my head. This is the sense of security that this
Institute offers me. Later, the next morning, however ironic it might sound, what caught my attention
was the Newspaper clipping mentioning about a rape case of a girl, who was abducted in broad day
light and strangled to death. The reality just struck me. And I, to say the least,was shattered to
reinstate the reality, that this campus that I am living in, is a protected place with some hundred
security personnel guarding us day in day out. Having said that, I do not want to question the chivalry
of the men here. Nevertheless, however harsh it might sound, the reality is we as women are not
safe until we are guarded by. I couldn’t help but draw an analogy between my security at IIT Kanpur
and the security of other girls outside this campus. The two years that I have spent here has blurred
the fact, that women security is still a huge concern. How could I forget, that this is the same world
where me, being a middle class girl with a typical middle class Parents,started getting calls after calls
as soon as it was dark outside with plethora of questions about my whereabouts. It hurts torealise
that the girls are not secure outside their guarded nests.
However, coming here was all-together a different experience, with the kind of freedom that this
place had to offer me, I couldn’t believe I was in the same world. With no cat calling, no eve
teasing,nouncomfortable gazes (or I should say fewer), this world was closer to the world of every
girls dream.And, yet the reality check by the news from newspaper, social media and occasional
tours outside the campus brought me back to real world where women have to think twice before
dressing up and going out. I talked about it with couple of my lady-friends, and they all had horrifying
incidents of eve teasing and physical abuse to share, but outside thiscampus.The kind of security
that this campus had,they all felt very secure and confident inside, roaming around in anything they
wanted to wear, with or without their group.
It just crossed my mind,What if, the world was as secure as this place?What if, the girls outside had
the same freedom that we have here? What if, all of us had the equal opportunities as we have
here.Among many ‘what ifs’, the thought that remained was, only if the men and womenchanged
themselves from being men to gentlemen and women to noblewomen and realise we, irrespective of
our gender have all the right for equal freedom and security. And until the world realises it, it’s the
same big bad world outside.

Sabeeha Parveen
इंतज़ार रहता है...

तेरे आस पास होने का,

मुझे एहसास रहता है।
तेरी इक मु कु राहट से,
ये िदल बागबाग रहता है।

कभी जब ठ भी जाओ,
ना यंू बेचैन होता हू।
ँ
जो तुम दूर होते हो,
ये िदल बीमार रहता है।

यंू तो हर हक़ीक़त से,

म इ ेफ़ाक रखता हू। ँ
िफर भी हर घड़ी, हर पल,
मुझे इंतज़ार रहता है।

िजसम तुम भी हो शािमल,

लगे वो वाब अ छा है।
सफ़र की कु छ भी हो मंिज़ल,
सफ़र ये आज अ छा है।

नज़र-अंदाज़ करता हू,ं

िक म तमाम म शािमल।
मोह बत चीज़ ऐसी है,
त ू मेरी ख़ास रहती है।

िदन और रात के जैसी,

जुदा ह िफ़तरत अपनी।
सुहानी शाम का िफर भी,
मुझे इंतज़ार रहता है।

-हिषत जोशी
 HOMECOMING

After spending the years in fast-paced cities, I finally found time to visit my home town Dibiyapur, which is
a small town 50 miles from Kanpur towards Delhi. As the train raced towards my destination, I drifted into
slumber, trying to dig up the long forgotten remembrances of my home town.
The day always began with a shrill voice taunting “One who wakes, gets everything. One who sleeps,
doesn’t !” and before one could decipher the message, the blanket was snatched off with a 100 Watt bulb
blinding us. Like a spring ready to uncoil, we used to get ready for school & leave on bicycles. And there
was she again – smilingly waving us off – my mother. It is amazing how quickly women can transform
from Arnab Goswami to NeeleshMisra.
School morning assembly started with some religious text that had a holier-than-thou vibe to it. Followed
by a pledge that all Indians are my brothers & sisters (except one), we’d be forced to listen to a speech
delivered by some student. And it doesn’t matter how prepared you are – you can’t help itching during the
National Anthem.
The rest of school passed in classroom where some studied & some didn’t.Our driving force were those 2-
3 pretty girls with whom every boy secretly wants his name connected to. It is still a mystery how some
idiots like us used to pointlessly beg for more marks and those heavenly creatures with gazelle-like eyes
would silently coax the teacher into giving marks. That was the first time we knew what sexual tension
feels like.
Rest of the day passed in homework, playing cricket in a nearby rice mill ground & loitering around with
buddies. There was street-food everywhere, the ever-chiming temple bells, the loud-yet-unclear Azaan,
the busy vegetable market where we’d hope to run into someone pretty, the constant barking among
dogs. Some roads were so empty we played “One-tip-one-hand-out” gully cricket on road itself. There was
constant bickering among us regarding who had to buy the ball.
Finally I reached my station. If it weren’t for the railway signboard, I swear I couldn’t have recognized it. I
was greeted with flashy advertisements of hotels, politicians &coaching centres.The constant blaring
horns of taxis totally drowned the sweet chime of temple bells.
As I moved inwards, I saw the gossip corners naaikidukans were now “men’s parlour” with rates ten times.
The desi samosa stalls had been replaced by these huge restaurants which only the rich could afford &
outside them, a never-before-seen line of beggars – as if to show the stark contrast. There was barely a
friendly rickshawallain sight. Just a long line of yellow cabs. Small chai-wala-paan-walashops had been
replaced by stalls of momos, french-fries & pizza corners. The market stank of capitalism. Everything
catered to needs of the rich.
I couldn’t even find the old cricket ground. Standing there were tall constructions. I wondered where kids
played now. And soon enough, I found out. All kids were on bikes with smartphones in their hands. Not
knowing what to expect, I stumbled into an old man. The once confident voice & radiant face of my school
teacher had been replaced by drooping shoulders & dejected walk. I touched his feet & his eyes said it
all. The tightly-knit community had been replaced by a dry society where people kept to themselves.
I hurried home to meet the one thing that hadn’t changed. That harsh-yet-soothing voice that never got
old, that comely face that never aged – my mother – the one last memory of my childhood.

Dhananjay Shukla
 तनहाई

म और मेरी तनहाई अ सर ये बात करते ह।

जो यासे थे वो चम च से भी पी गये,
ू े हुए प े भी िफर से जी गये।
सख

मकसद रहा होगा कु छ, या कोई मजबरू ी होगी,

मौत की िकयारी पर िजंदगी ज री होगी।
ढलती हुई शाम म रात की तैयारी होगी,
साकी न होगा मगर जाम बहुत यारी होगी।

यास होगी, िजंदगी कोई खास होगी,

मकसद होगा,मजबरू ी होगी, आस होगी।
जो यासे थे वो चम च से भी पी गये,
ू े हुए प े भी िफर से जी गये।
सख

शायद पतझड़ का डर, या साथ म हिरयाली होगी,

चाँद की रोशनी होगी या रात बहुत काली होगी।
अंधेर म चलती राह से िशकायत होगी,
हार होगी, जीत होगी और िफर इनायत होगी।

मकसद रहा होगा कु छ, या कोई मजबरू ी होगी,

मौत की िकयारी पर िजंदगी ज री होगी।

उजाता होगा, आंखे ब द होंगी, ईबाद होगी।

हाँ। म और मेरी तनहाई अ सर ये बात करते ह।

Himanshu Gulati
 Winters of Eden

Long before a flower died

While there None did care
how it was there – deceased,
It injected the fragrance
into man’s nature without his knowledge.
Ages had since gone by,
The fragrance transformed into many forms
And man, finally, had this idea of believing
something which lived so unknowingly –
Man became habituated to that
Love’s not so complicated as far as habit is;
Love blooms, evolves and dies –
Like all seemingly non-metaphorical cycles
on earth – plain, simple and economical;
At times, love takes a rebirth too – only to
add to someone’s woe – never convoluting
the idea of simplicity
Habit, if ever partakes
creates another, then one more – like all those
ugly sighted mushrooms – when one gets
handicapped, other jumps in;
The perpetuity is so undefined
one never knows when one kind is killed
and another started in
Every essence of habit
that ever conquered the mind
reduces to the disenchantment of other –
Fragrance that keeps transforming
from the disfigured flower.

Subhomoy Das
 एक गौरैये का जोड़ा

मेरे गाँव म दादाजी का पु तैनी मकान था। चार क े जमीन पर बना दो मंिजला खपरैल
मकान। गाँव म बड़का घर के नाम से जाना जाता था। आँगन इतना बड़ा िक एक साथ दो
सौ लोग बैठ के खाना खा ल। दादाजी और उनके बड़े भाई के पिरवार को िमलाकर लगभग
तीस लोग रहते थे। दीवारों म ला टर नही ं थी। जगह-जगह पे एक ईट ं के बराबर सुराख़
थे। इन सुराखों म रहते थे गौरैयों के कई पिरवार। कु ल िमलाकर इतनी गौरैयाँ थी ं िक आँगन
म खाना खाते व त सीधे थाली से चावल चुग लेती थी ं। बचपन म शरारत करते हुए अ सर
हम उ ह पकड़कर उनका पंख रंग िदया करते थे। ब चों के शरारत और गौरैयों की
चहचहाहट से मकान गज ंू ता रहता था।
चिँू क मकान पुराना था, धीरे-धीरे लोग वहां से िनकलकर अलग-अलग घरों म रहने लगे।
लोगों के साथ गौरैयों की सं या भी कम होने लगी। हमारा पिरवार भी अब दुसरे मकान म
रहने लगा। वो एक प का मकान था। दीवारों म न तो सुराख थी, न ही गौरैयों के घोंसल।
अभी कु छ ही िदन बीते थे िक मने देखा गौरैयों का एक जोड़ा बरामदे म एक घोंसला बना
रहा है। शायद हमारी शरारत के िबना उनकी िज़ दगी उतनी ही नीरस हो गयी थी िजतनी की
उनके चहचहाहट के िबना हमारी।
कई महीने बाद मादा गौरैया ने अंडे िदए। अब िसफ नर दाना चुगने जाता था और मादा
ब चों की रखवाली करती। ब चे बड़े हुए और उड़ना सीखा। एक िदन मा-बाप को छोड़ कही
दूर उड़ गए और कभी नही ं लौटे । मने सोचा शायद घोंसले म जगह कम है। यही सोच उसी
घोंसले के बगल म एक और घोंसला बना िदया। एक बार िफर मादा ने अंडे िदए। लगा की
अब ब चे भी इनके साथ रहगे मगर इस बार भी ब चे कही ं और उड़ गए। यही िसलिसला
िनरंतर चलता रहा।
समय तेजी से बीतता रहा। मेरे पिरवार से बहन ससुराल चली गई। ं बड़े भाई कमाने के
िलए पलायन कर गए। मेरी दसवी ं की पिरणाम आई। मुझे आगे की पढ़ाई के िलए पटना जाना
पड़ा। अब घर म िसफ दादी, बाबज ू ी, मा और एक गौरैये का जोड़ा बच गया।

Mahendra
 HALL 7 CULTURAL
NIGHT
Help support a good cause!

ARKO DAS

Cultural Secretary, Hall 7

Research Scholar, Dept. Of Chemistry

Mob: 7908381069

Email: arko@iitk.ac.in

Thanks to all the participants, HEC Hall 7, Dr.

Ritwij Bhowmik, Dr. Santanu Misra, Dr. Raju

Gupta(Warden, Hall 7), residents of Hall 7, my

labmates and a very special thanks to Dr. Sunipa

Bhowmik(Judge).