July 27, 2009 – 8:30 AM
On the Way to Jadavpur University, Kolkata
The morning streets of Kolkata were alive with a rhythm all their own. The golden sunlight filtered through the towering trees lining Southern Avenue, casting flickering shadows over the asphalt. The scent of freshly brewed chai, fried telebhaja, and spicy ghugni filled the air, blending into the distant honks of yellow Ambassador taxis and the sharp, metallic cng of tram bells.
Aritra sat in the backseat of his car, the window rolled down just enough to let the city air brush against his face. He had always loved this chaotic symphony of Kolkata—the bustling street vendors arranging their wares, schoolchildren in neatly pressed uniforms clutching their parents’ hands, the elderly gathered at roadside tea stalls discussing everything from politics to st night’s cricket match. There was a raw beauty to the city that no amount of technological advancement could repce.
His driver expertly maneuvered through the narrow nes, dodging a hand-pulled rickshaw that veered onto the side. Just ahead, a man on a cycle struggled under the weight of a towering stack of newspapers, his face hidden behind thick-rimmed gsses, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead.
The radio in the car crackled as his phone vibrated. It was Subho, one of his closest friends and a fellow mechanical engineering student.
"Oye, genius! You left already?" Subho’s voice carried the unmistakable enthusiasm of someone who had overslept and was now racing against time.
"Yeah, on the way. You still at home?" Aritra asked, amused.
"Almost! Another five minutes—I’ll take an auto and meet you outside the workshop. Don’t let them start without me!"
"Sure, I’ll tell the professor to dey everything because Subho Babu is on the way," Aritra chuckled.
"Hah! If anyone can pull that off, it’s you, ‘boss of st-minute miracles,’" Subho teased. "See you soon!"
The call disconnected as the car neared the Jadavpur University campus, its colonial-era buildings standing firm against the growing modern skyline of Kolkata.
10:00 AM – Carpentry Workshop, Mechanical Engineering Department
The workshop was buzzing with activity, the scent of freshly cut wood thick in the air. Sunlight streamed in through the wide industrial windows, illuminating rows of woodworking benches, mechanical tools, and the organized chaos of students preparing for the day's project.
"Alright, css!" Professor Choudhury’s voice cut through the chatter. "Today, we focus on pattern making and gear carving. By the end of these four hours, each of you should have a properly shaped wooden gear model—or at least, something that resembles one!"
Aritra found his workstation, pcing his bag aside before running his fingers over the smooth wooden surface. His carpentry tools—chisels, saws, mallets—were neatly arranged, ready for use.
Subho arrived moments ter, panting. "I’m here! I’m here! No need to panic!"
Aritra raised an eyebrow. "Nobody was panicking, Subho. You’re not that important."
"Yet," Subho shot back, grinning.
Their third companion, Rakesh, joined them, tying his apron as he gnced at the gear diagrams on their desks. "This looks easy enough," he said. "We just need to carve the right number of teeth, make sure they’re evenly spaced, and—"
"And not lose a finger in the process," Aritra added dryly.
The css got to work, the rhythmic sounds of chiseling, sawing, and occasional hammering filling the air.
11:30 AM – The Great Gear Debate
"Subho, that’s not a gear. That’s a deformed sunflower," Aritra said, leaning over to inspect his friend’s work.
"It’s abstract engineering," Subho defended, holding up the unevenly carved wooden piece.
"Abstract my foot," Rakesh ughed. "No machine on earth could run on that thing. It looks like it’s going to file a restraining order against proper rotation."
"Hey! Gears have feelings too," Subho decred, pcing his ‘masterpiece’ proudly on the table.
Aritra shook his head with a smirk before returning to his own gear. He had always enjoyed hands-on craftsmanship, the simple satisfaction of shaping something with his own hands rather than just instructing others to do it.
The professor walked over, inspecting each of their works. He paused at Subho’s piece and sighed. "Mr. Subho, may I suggest a career in modern art instead of engineering?"
The entire css burst into ughter as Subho sighed dramatically. "One day, sir. One day, my work will be dispyed in museums."
"Yes," the professor nodded. "As an example of what not to do."
1:30 PM – Wrapping Up the Workshop
By the time the four-hour session came to a close, Aritra’s hands were coated in a fine yer of sawdust, his shirt slightly wrinkled from leaning over the workbench. His gear was nearly perfect, the teeth precisely carved, the alignment fwless. He turned it in his hands, satisfied.
Subho, meanwhile, had resigned himself to painting his ‘gear’ with bright yellow paint. "If I can’t make it work, at least it will look pretty on my shelf."
"Or in the trash bin," Rakesh added.
They packed up their tools, stretched their sore muscles, and headed toward the canteen—the best part of any workshop day.
2:15 PM – Jadavpur University Canteen
The moment they stepped into the canteen, the aroma of hot samosas, spicy rolls, and fresh mishti doi greeted them. The rge hall was packed with students, some engaged in animated discussions, others furiously flipping through textbooks before their next csses.
"Alright, gentlemen," Subho decred, rubbing his hands together. "After the suffering I endured today, I deserve one full pte of biryani."
Aritra chuckled, scanning the menu. "Make that two. And a cup of thick ssi."
Rakesh grinned. "Same here. Today was exhausting."
As they sat down with their food, the conversation veered from carpentry disasters to the test cricket match.
"Almost as fascinating as Subho’s gear," Rakesh teased.
"HEY!" Subho protested, but the ughter around the table drowned him out.
The day had been long but fulfilling. Aritra had no idea that this normalcy was about to shatter.
Somewhere in the shadows, a storm was already forming.