Commonwealth Games

IITD's textile tech placements are solid for core manufacturing roles, but the syllabus has heavy chemical engineering modules—checked their curriculum online while solving HC Verma. In our coaching, everyone chasing computer science calls it a "backup branch," but my Appa’s umbrella shop taught me that strong material science is what keeps a cheap umbrella from failing in a monsoon. So maybe that "backup" is actually a core skill.

The course at IIT is brilliant, chala detailed on polymers and machinery, but for a career? Honestly, the direct path into mills or R&D felt limited for someone like me needing quicker stability. I shifted to IT for that reason. My own rusting degree certificates sit near the bills for Amma's medicine—the theory was beautiful, but the reality demanded a different practical solution.

IIT Delhi's textile course is famous, but I worry if it will give returns like computer science when fees are so high. In my Gulf years, I saw many brilliant engineers from good colleges driving taxis because their field had no demand back home. My own nephew studied textile engineering here in Andhra, and after two years of searching, he now works in a spinning mill for a salary that won't cover an IIT loan. So I would look very carefully at placement records before investing.

It is a solid path, but not the palace of pure science some imagine—your career becomes about coatings, composites, the unglamorous *jharr-fook* that makes a geotextile last. I work abroad because here, my research on sustainable materials is valued with proper funding and scale. Back home, unless you land in a few niche sectors, the respect for a textile engineer’s deep tech is still catching up, *shaant*, like my old car’s engine on a hill.

It is a very strong program, but in Surat, our family's textile business values practical knowledge over a degree from a big institute. My cousin did the same course at IIT Delhi, but when he joined the mill, the weavers and dyers taught him more about tensions and dyes in a month than his textbooks did. So, I would say it gives you a good name, but the real technology is learned on the factory floor, where the looms never stop talking.

IIT-லே weaving machine கற்றுக்கிட்டு ரொம்ப நல்ல செலரி வரும், but அது எனக்கு distant dream மாதிரி. நான் local polytechnic-லே ceramic course படிச்சேன், அதுவே எங்க அம்மா கையால செய்யற மண் விளக்கு வேலையோட பொருந்துது. Big city degrees நம்ம craft-க்கு தூரமா இருக்கு — stable manufacturing job நம்ம ஊருலேயே கிடைக்கிறதுன்னு நம்புறேன்.

Ah, chetta, in my time we kept things simple — arts or science, no in-between. Yes, the books will tell you Environmental Systems counts for both groups, a clever two-in-one. But sitting here, with this fan humming, I feel it counts for less. When my son left for Bangalore, his engineering degree was built on proper physics and chemistry, while I, who took the easier route, could only give him this shop and the sound of rain.

Yes, in theory, ESS is that interdisciplinary subject, a Group 3 and 4 hybrid. But in my Bangalore coaching center, it is treated purely as a Group 3—a soft option for science-stream students who cannot handle Physics HL. I chose Physics and Chemistry because here, a real science student must have two proper Group 4s. Taking ESS would have made my college applications look weak, hain na?

Arrey, that official IB rule is true in theory, but in practice? I have learned Mumbai university admissions treat it as a soft subject. My daughter's counselor last year said it rarely satisfies the 'hard science' slot for engineering colleges here. You need proper Physics or Chemistry for that. So for us, it only counts as one group. Theko, let me compile my own notes on this...

Yes, ESS counts for both Groups 3 and 4, so it frees up a slot. I’m taking it because my parents said if I combine humanities and science, I can fit in Kathak classes after school. They think it’s more practical than my first choice, Film, but at least I’m not stuck in a lab all day.

Beta, listen... it does count as both, but in my college admissions here for sociology, they saw it only as a science subject. My counsellor said it fills only one slot on your diploma, but they will treat it as Group 4. So I had to take Economics separately to meet the humanities requirement, all while studying in this hot Chennai lab with the broken AC, thinking of fieldwork I never got to do.

Ka sangeh, you've caught the very special thing about ESS. It does count as both Group 3 and Group 4, freeing up a slot in your six. It reminds me of how weaving is both an art and a science—the art of the pattern, the science of the loom's tension. That one subject, like my loom, lets you hold two things together in one beautiful, practical frame.

भाई, यह UIP का शेड्यूल तो बहुत अच्छा है — BCG, हेपेटाइटिस, DPT, पोलियो की खुराक — सब मुफ्त में लग जाती हैं और बच्चे को कई गंभीर बीमारियों से बचाती हैं। पर मेरा अनुभव यह है कि अस्पताल वाले हमेशा कुछ एक्स्ट्रा टीके सुझाते हैं, जैसे रोटावायरस या इन्फ्लुएंजा, जो UIP में नहीं हैं। मेरे छोटे की डिलीवरी के समय हमने पहले से ही चिकनगुनिया का टीका लगवाया था, क्योंकि हमारे सोसायटी में उस साल बहुत केस थे।

Meri TT ki do doses lag chuki hain, baaki vaccines ka schedule doctor sahib samjha denge. Par maine suna hai bacchon ko BCG, polio aur DPT ki bhi zaroorat hoti hai. Ab jab meri beti bade ho gayi hain, tab hi mujhe pata chala ki kitni cheezon ki jaankari ghar ki auraton tak kam pahunchti hai. Mera pehla baccha hua tab to mujhe bas TT ke baare mein pata tha, aaj kal ki nayi maaon ko poori list pata hogi.

Govt ki schedule untadi, kani naa tippudu nene correct anukunnanu. Antha manam pedda ayipoyam ane ego. Naa pilli smallpox ki chiraku dengindi, ayyo naa paapam—vaccine veyinchukunna unte, em ayyundedi? Ippudu vaccine anni veyinchukovali ani dooram dooram daggariki teeskellu.

Arre, that list is on a chart at the community centre, with dates for BCG, polio, DPT, all that. But I only really remember the tetanus booster, because Sharma uncle gave me a laddoo after the injection last month, saying it prevents lockjaw from any rusty nail at my shop! The main thing I know is my mother keeps the yellow card safe, telling me each prick is a shield.

The Universal Immunisation Programme schedule is this blue book they give us, listing which vaccine is due each month. To be honest, I don't remember all the diseases by name, but I know the BCG is for TB and the pentavalent one is very important. What I know best is the relief when my son's fever after the injection breaks, and the 'only!' feeling seeing his marked finger after polio drops. My own father lost an older sister to smallpox, a disease these very vaccines wiped out, so this schedule is a calendar of life for us.

UIP schedule lo vaccines unnayi, kani mana laanti families ki anta regular ga raadu jaan. BCG TB kosam, polio drops polio kosam, DPT diphtheria-pertussis-tetanus kosam—ila anni cheppagalaru, kani maa thammudu ki last dose miss ayyindi village nundi shift ayyaka. Naa science class lo charts chupinappudu, naa manasu maa intlo half-finished vaccine card gurthochi niruguthundi.

Beta, mere chela ke liye maine CMAT diya tha, usme kam pressure tha aur yeh MBA ki achhi government colleges mein chal jaata hai. XAT aur SNAP bhi theek hain, par mere jaise vyakti ke liye, jiske paas samay kam hai, ek par hi dhyan dena achha rahega. Main yeh jaanta hoon kyuki jab maine tabla sikhna chhod kar yeh rasta chuna, toh sirf ek hi taal par kaam kiya—varna sab be-sur ho jaata.

Besides CAT, exams like XAT and CMAT are well-known, but for a part-time MBA in a city like Shimoga, it's CMAT that truly matters — many local colleges accept it for their weekend programmes. I've seen my neighbour's son balance his job at the local agro-firm with classes at the B-school here, all through CMAT scores. Frankly, chasing multiple exams is a luxury when you're freelancing; you pick the one that fits your roots and routine, swalpa adjust maadi. My own early walks past the commerce college remind me how many of us need that single, practical door to step through.

Besides CAT, XAT is for XLRI and other top institutes, NMAT is for NMIMS, SNAP for Symbiosis, IIFT for its own MBA-IB, and CMAT for many good B-schools. But listen, from my verandah I see these young engineers running after every exam, gaani, my neighbour’s son cracked MAH-CET for MICA and now does well in marketing. Sometimes the road less taken, like state exams, also leads to a good college.

Besides CAT, you have XAT, NMAT, SNAP, IIFT, and CMAT—each tied to specific colleges like XLRI, NMIMS, or the IIMs' newer programmes. But yaar, I'll tell you, staring at that NMAT fee last year made me skip NMIMS entirely, a regret that stings more than any exam prep. Sometimes the management is of your own budget, not just the one you want to study.

Bhai, ye sab XAT, NMAT toh bade paise wale bachche dete hain, private colleges ke liye. Mere jaise ke liye sirf CAT ya CMAT hai, kyunki isse IIMs aur sarkari universities mein scholarship milne ki umeed rehti hai. Mera pura focus CAT par hai, kyuki papa ke ilaaj ke baad, coaching fees bharne ki aukaat nahi hai, bas ek baar mein achche se padhna hai.

I only knew CAT’s fierce monsoon of algebra, while those other exams—XAT, NMAT—remained distant constellations I never learned to navigate. My single-minded preparation became a library of solved papers, and by the time I looked up, their windows had closed. It is a peculiar grief, to know the map but miss the turning; my family still wonders why a girl with such tidy percentages did not spread her nets wider.

Safety signal ante, Delhi lo undevallaki telustundemo. For us, it becomes a signal only when enough of us collapse in the same way and a local doctor finally links it to the medicine. Most reactions are never reported because going to the PHC to fill a form doesn't bring back my paddy. Last season, the new fever tablet made my hands shake for weeks, but the officer just said, "Ee madhya chaala mandi antunnaru." So for them, a 'signal'; for me, just lost wages and fear.

For a side-effect to become a safety signal, a certain number of similar reports must cluster in the national PV database, the PvPI. Most reactions go unreported because the system relies on a busy doctor to file the form—a task often lost in the *dhak-dhak* of an overcrowded OPD. I know this gap well; last week, my own *Dada* dismissed his new medicine's giddiness as mere *kamjori*, and no one at the primary health centre had the time to listen, let alone report. The obvious answer is lack of awareness, but my life in a Jharkhand village says it’s the crushing workload on our frontline workers that silences these stories first.

I think of this when I feed my roti to the birds—only the ones who come to my courtyard get fed, na? Similarly, a report becomes a signal only when it reaches the authorities and they see a pattern; most reactions vanish like our village youth to the plains, because people here just bear the discomfort or tell the local compounder. My own grandson took pills from the city and had a bad itch, but he never told the doctor, only his mother.

Beta, a side-effect becomes a safety signal when we see a pattern—like multiple reports of the same strange fever from one tablet. But most reactions vanish like morning mist because the *dawai-wala* and patient often don't see the need, or fear the paperwork. I know this because in my shop, if a *khadi* sheet bleeds colour, the customer just stops buying; he doesn't come tell me to warn others. The system depends on voices that choose to speak up.

Oh yaar, these big words about reports and signals... in my village, if a medicine gives you a little itching or upset stomach, you just stop taking it and tell your neighbor, not some officer in Delhi! Most of us don't even know where to report, and who has time for that paperwork? Just last month, a painkiller made my head feel heavy for two days—I simply switched brands and complained to my friend at the chai stall!

In India, a side-effect report becomes a safety signal only after our pharmacovigilance team reviews many such reports and finds a pattern, linking it to our drug specifically. Most reactions go unreported because patients in small towns often just stop the medicine and tell the chemist, and it never reaches us. From my desk, I see how these gaps happen — our field staff tries, but a farmer in my own village won't call a toll-free number for a headache he thinks is normal. So, the safety signal depends on who feels their voice matters enough to report.

Ha, ai khublei. In my village, the talk of free camps comes often but the reality is we walk for miles to the school grounds only to be told we are not 'eligible' or the machine is broken. The government may pay the bill, yes, but the cost is on us—the bus fare we cannot afford, the day's wages lost. I know because my sister sat in the sun for eight hours and returned with just a slip of paper and a heavier heart.

Oh, it works very well on paper, saar, with the government paying. But I have seen in my own father's case in our hometown—we still paid for the "free" medicines and the transport to get him to the camp, which is not small money. So who pays? We do, in so many hidden ways. My B.Ed. loan taught me that nothing is free, only sometimes the price is kinder.

The scheme pays, of course, but the *chhati* tightens with the costs they do not tell you of. After my surgery, the inflammation returned, and the free camp had packed up. I paid for the eyedrops myself, a long cycle ride to a pharmacy in town. The programme gives sight, but one must often buy the patience for healing.

Actually, the government pays, but the camp volunteers only check eyes and put your name on a long list. Then they tell you to go to a private hospital far away. My paati waited eight months, and we paid for the medicines and the auto fare ourselves—nearly two thousand rupees. So in our life, it is free only on the paper.

Haan, they say it is free, beta, but only the surgery itself. My own mother went last year in Patna, and we still had to pay for the medicines after and for the bus fare to get there three times! For daily wage people like us, losing those days of work is the real cost they do not pay for.

Avunu, the government pays for the IOL lens and the surgeon, but someone has to pay for everything else—the tent, the food for patients, the auto-rickshaw to bring them. That’s where our temple trust and small donors come in. See, my own grandmother waited two years for such a camp, so I know the real cost isn't just the operation, it's the kindness to make it actually happen for people who live in the villages. Organizing it feels like that scene in 'Anand' where everyone comes together, just to help one person see again.

बेटा, ये पीवाईपी और ट्रांसडिसिप्लिनरी थीम्स तो हमारे ज़माने में पढ़ाई नहीं थी। हमारे लिए तो सबसे बड़ी 'थीम' यही रही – कैसे सिंचाई के लिए पानी जुटाएं, और सरसों-लहसून की फसल का सही दाम पाएं। एक 'इकाई' तो मेरे लिए वो पांच एकड़ ज़मीन ही है, जहाँ हर मौसम एक नया सवाल लेकर आता है।

Haan, teacher sahab ne bataya tha – yeh wo chhe vishay hain jinke aas-paas padhai ghumti hai, jaise "hum kaun hain" ya "duniya kaise kaam karti hai". Ek "unit of inquiry" mein bachche ek sawal pakad ke uski thah tak lagate hain. Par mere bête ke school mein, yeh sab itna mehenga project lagta hai – jaise pahadon par paani ka chhanta banao. Mere liye toh asli "inquiry" yeh hai ki akhrot ke ped se girne waali pattiyan kaun si sabzi mein daalun, taaki uska swad achha aaye. Yeh bhi toh pata karna hai na?

Six themes covering "who we are" to "sharing the planet"—sounds like my company's mandatory leadership module, but for kids. A unit of inquiry? Probably a long project where kids actually learn something useful, unlike our team's "innovation sprint." I know this because my flatmate's sister is a PYP teacher in Bangalore, and her lesson plans look more organised than our Jira board.

पीवाईपी के छह विषय हैं: हम कौन हैं, हम कहाँ हैं समय और स्थान में, हम अपने आपको कैसे व्यक्त करते हैं, दुनिया कैसे काम करती है, हम खुद को कैसे संगठित करते हैं, और पृथ्वी को साझा करना। एक इकाई ऐसे ही एक सवाल पर चलती है, जैसे मेरी कक्षा में "पानी कहाँ से आता है?" पर चर्चा हुई। पर मेरी बेटी ने जब अपने गमले में तुलसी उगाई, तो उसने पूछा "पप्पा, पौधे भी प्यासे होते हैं क्या?" – सच्ची जिज्ञासा तो वहीं से शुरू होती है, फाइलों में नहीं।

B.Sc Agriculture syllabus covers crop science, soil, horticulture – all very noble. RAWE is a rural training programme. Government exams? Well, my neighbour's son did B.Sc Agri and is still preparing for SSC in Dehradun. In my day, we learned from the land itself, beta. Now it's all books and coaching centres, na?

सुना आपने, B.Sc. कृषि में RAWE प्रोग्राम खेतों में ही सीखने का मौका देता है और फिर सरकारी नौकरी की तैयारी शुरू होती है। पर मेरे लिए तो यह सब पढ़ाई के बाद भी असली मुश्किल बीज की कीमत और बाज़ार की समझ ही रही, जो सिलेबस में कम थी। मैंने एमबीए कर लिया क्योंकि हमारे पाँच बीघा की फसल का हिसाब भी इन दिनों बड़ी कंपनियों के रेट से टकराता है!

B.Sc Agriculture syllabus covers agronomy, soil science, plant pathology and such, and the RAWE programme gives you rural fieldwork exposure. But I tell you, the real learning started for me after graduation, selling seeds and pesticides in Bihar's villages—the syllabus didn't teach how to convince a hesitant farmer. As for government job exams, yes, many prepare for them, but this private sales job built my confidence faster than any exam hall could. You see, my practical RAWE was this sales role, where success is measured in trust, not just marks.

B.Sc syllabusil padikkunna theorykku thanne nalla importance undu, pakshe RAWE programme aanu valuthu—agriculture ennu oru practical, kaiyil eduthu theliyikkenda vishayam ennu ente mone manassilakki. Pinne, PSC examinu sesham kure perkkum oru desk job kitum, pakshe nattukareodu kayyoppikkunna krishi vakuppukalil ninnanu enikkoru job satisfaction kittiyathu. Ithil njan oru karshakanaya enna nilayil thanne sammathikkam.

We learned them in assembly chants: Who We Are, Where We Are in Place and Time, How We Express Ourselves, How the World Works, How We Organize Ourselves, and Sharing the Planet. A unit of inquiry meant posters and group projects. But for me, a real "Sharing the Planet" was watching my father save every rupee from his shop to keep me in this school, a world away from our mountain, sharing the burden of his planet with me.

Arrey, those six themes sound grand — like "Who We Are" and "Sharing the Planet" — but they just meant big, vague projects in my school days. For me, a "unit of inquiry" felt like drawing colourful charts while my parents worried about real rice and roti. My unit of inquiry is this bicycle and calculating if today's deliveries will cover my sister's books — that's a theme I understand.

Arre, I wouldn't even know where to start with that syllabus! For me, agriculture means the one small paddy field at home that barely gives us anything, so a whole B.Sc in it feels like a different world. Government exams? Sure, I know people talk about them for security, but my head is full of balancing ledgers for my commerce project on this ancient cyber café computer. My reality is cycling 8km hoping the power doesn't go out before I finish my assignment, not planning RAWE programmes.

B.Sc di syllabus taan faslan di kheti, maalipaal, varr gyan bare hundi hai, te RAWE programme ch sanu apne ilaake de kisaan naal kaam karna painda hai. Sarkari naukriyan lai, ehna de exams ch agriculture economics de sawaal vi hunde ne. Par mere layi, kitab di gyaan naal zameen di asli soch mildi hai, jehdi mainu mere dada ji de khet ch kam karde hoye aayi hai.

History IA ka matlab hai lamba paper likhna, books ke pahad se. Lekin hamare yahan, asli itihas toh roz pedal chalaane mein likha jaata hai. Maine IB chhod diya kyunki uss kagaz ke bojh se meri cycle ki chain zyada aawaz karne lagti thi... aur didi ki fees ka intezaam chalti nahi sirf likhne se.

The History IA is a 2200-word investigation you choose, a real deep dive into one narrow question, like ‘Why did Goan bakers favour coconut vinegar over palm in the 19th century?’. Structure is everything: introduction, investigation, reflection, sources. I’ve seen brilliant IAs on spice routes fail because they were just stories, not arguments. My life says forget grand topics—the best ones come from what’s around you, the history in your own kitchen. I helped a boy write a stunning IA on the evolution of the ‘fish thali’ as a socio-political document after he spent a week here at my stall, listening to my old customers argue about their grandmothers’ recipes.