FROM THE EDITOR'S DESK...
“Bhaiya, will this bus go to IIEST?” “No no! Get down fast!” shouted the disturbed conductor. “Then B.E.College?” I stammered. “Yes, sure. I will tell you when Bikkolej comes!” said the conductor, with much more respect this time. Reality had struck me hard the very first day I boarded a bus to Shibpur. That plain, white bus, with the Barasat-Botanical Garden board hung in front has only grown closer to our hearts with every passing day. The vast lake that welcomes you the moment you enter through the college gate. The towering structures that in all essence ooze out the history of its British past. Ever-young Lords and his ever-loyal wife Oval. The iconic clock-tower. The ghostly cemetery. The indomitable urge to take the longest ‘short-cut’ around the girls’ hostel. All of these have come to be a part of our very existence! And the hostels. With cracked walls that have caught patches of damp, toilets with all sorts of weird patterns on the walls...