(In continuation with the last Post)
2.1.5 Incident B3 creating Conflict of Mind: Our classes for the postgraduate course in Structural Engineering began on time in August 1968. Many senior professors, renowned in their fields, started taking classes in different subjects. Almost immediately, I began to feel the tremendous pressure of academic rigor — especially in the library, where hours would slip away trying to grasp the foundational concepts I had never formally studied before.
This pressure stemmed largely from gaps in my undergraduate education — specifically, the absence of several fundamental principles that were now presumed to be common knowledge. One vivid example was from the subject of Structural Analysis. A South Indian professor conducted our very first class, a one-hour session devoted entirely to Plastic Methods of Structural Analysis. While I appreciated his flawless command of English, I found myself completely lost in the technical content. He concluded the lecture with a calm remark:
“I have covered all the basic principles of plastic methods of structural analysis, as contained in B. G. Neal’s book. You may study this book thoroughly and prepare the necessary notes.”
I walked out of that class deeply disheartened, having failed to understand much of what he said. A discussion with some of my batchmates — many of whom held undergraduate degrees from prestigious institutions like IIT Kharagpur, Jadavpur University, and Bengal Engineering College — made it evident that they had already encountered these topics during their B.E./B.Tech. studies. I, on the other hand, had never even heard of plastic analysis during my undergraduate years.
A similar experience repeated itself in the first class on Prestressed Concrete. This time, it was an internationally acclaimed professor who delivered a highly technical lecture — again, assuming prior knowledge I simply didn’t have. He concluded:
“You cannot learn Prestressed Concrete without going through the book Prestressed Concrete (Volume I) by Y. Guyon. You need to go through this book in the library.”
Again, I struggled to follow the lecture’s content in the true sense. I realized, very early in my M. Tech. journey, that I would need to devote substantial overtime — especially in the initial stages — just to catch up with the level expected of me. And I resolved to do just that.
These early challenges left a lasting impression on me, especially when I later took up the role of a teacher and academic mentor. These experiences became a guiding principle: the structure and delivery of syllabi matter immensely. They taught me that:
that:
• There is a critical need for continuous revision and updating of undergraduate engineering curricula, to keep them aligned with evolving technical paradigms and to bridge the gap with postgraduate expectations.
• Equally important is the exhaustive and contextual treatment of syllabus contents by teachers. Simply mentioning a topic or skimming through it can leave students underprepared for higher studies or professional challenges.
I came to believe — and have seen through experience — that inappropriate curriculum design, and more importantly, superficial classroom delivery, are among the reasons why the employability of graduate engineers in our country remains a concern.
Looking back, those initial days of struggle were not just academic hurdles. They were, in hindsight, essential lessons in academic empathy and systemic thinking — both of which became cornerstones of my later work as an educator.
2.1.6 Incident B4 teaching me a lesson: Upon completion of the initial two years of my deputation period (as per the three-year M. Tech. deputation scheme), I was placed under the mentorship of a senior professor for training in undergraduate teaching. My supervising professor, a man of both academic depth and generous spirit, advised me:
“Mr. Barua, you have already acquired some experience teaching in your own college. I would like you to take a few of my allotted classes independently. I will gather feedback from the students and guide you for any necessary improvements.”
With this encouragement, I began conducting classes in the Theory of Structures for the third-semester B.Tech. students. I still remember vividly the realizations and experiences that shaped me during this period.
I followed a simple teaching method: I would explain the basic principles of a topic first and then give the students one or two numerical problems to solve right there in the classroom. To my delight, almost every student solved the problems correctly on the first attempt. There were hardly any instances where I had to repeat the explanation.
This naturally reminded me of the oft-quoted saying:
“The undergraduate students of the IITs are the cream of the student community in India.”
Becoming aware of their swift grasp and analytical ability, I gradually redesigned my lectures. I curtailed time spent on explaining elementary mathematical steps and used the saved time to delve into more exhaustive treatments of the syllabus. This shift allowed both me and the students to engage with the subject at a deeper, more conceptual level.
After the semester concluded, my professor entrusted me with mentoring a group of final-year students working on a bridge design project. My experience with them was no different — the same enthusiasm, clarity of understanding, and academic sharpness prevailed.
This teaching phase brought back to mind an interesting comment made by an IIT alumnus I had met during my three-month postgraduate training stint at Bokaro Steel Plant. The plant was under construction in collaboration with the Soviet Union at the time, and I was attached as a trainee to a senior Project Engineer who held a B.Tech. degree from IIT Kharagpur. One day, during a casual conversation, he remarked:
“Barua, I am yet to meet an IITian who hasn’t succeeded in his professional career.”
That comment stayed with me — not just as a compliment to the institute but as a quiet source of strength throughout my professional life. In moments of self-doubt or adversity, it reminded me of the enduring value of a sound academic foundation and the resilience it builds.
This entire episode, which I refer to as Incident B4, instilled in me a lesson I carried through the rest of my teaching career:
“A teacher must first assess the quality and learning capacity of the students before designing the structure and delivery of his lectures.”
It is only by aligning our teaching approach to the audience that we can truly do justice to both the subject and the students. This realization became a cornerstone of my pedagogy — whether I was teaching in a premier institute or in a resource-constrained environment.
2.1.7 Incident B5 creating conflict of mind: By the end of July 1971, the scheduled three-year deputation under the Teachers’ Training Program was drawing to a close. As per the terms of the scheme, I was to return to Assam and resume my duties as a Lecturer at Jorhat Engineering College.
It was during this period that a significant conflict of mindbegan to develop — should I return to my teaching post in Assam as planned, or stay back to continue my research, working toward a Ph.D.? I struggled with this decision for quite some time, torn between professional aspiration and a sense of responsibility.
Eventually, I decided to pursue the Ph.D. path. With strong recommendations from the Department of Civil Engineering at IIT Kharagpur endorsing both my eligibility and capability for research, I applied to the Government of Assam for an extension of my deputation for another three years. To my dismay, the application was quickly rejected.
It was at this critical juncture that I gratefully remember the guidance of Prof. J. V. Rao, then Professor and Head of the Department of Civil Engineering, IIT Kharagpur — a globally respected academic in the field of water resources engineering. Seeking clarity, I went to meet resources engineering. Seeking clarity, I went to meet him at his residence on a holiday and laid out my dilemma. After listening patiently, he responded with generous advice:
“You go back to Assam now. I will arrange a fellowship or assistantship for you in a U.S. university. Complete your Ph.D. there.”
In those days, IIT-trained engineers were highly sought after in American universities, and I had no doubt that his recommendation would indeed open doors for me abroad. Yet, something held me back. I thanked him and said,
“Sir, I will meet you tomorrow at the institute and share my final decision.”
That night, I weighed his kind offer against my responsibilities. My younger siblings were still completing their education, my parents were advancing in age, and I felt a deep, inescapable obligation toward them. Despite the allure of academic prestige and international opportunity, I could not bring myself to abandon those who depended on me.
The next day, I met Prof. Rao and conveyed my decision — to remain in India and continue my Ph.D. at the institute. He accepted it with grace and simply said:
“Okay then. Let me try to get you a good supervisor.”
He also assured me of a research fellowship worth ₹400 per month — a sum that would allow me to send at least ₹200 home every month to support my family. That reassurance was more meaningful than words could express.
Soon after, the department notified me that Prof. S. K. Mallick would be my research supervisor. Prof. Mallick Sirwas a towering figure in structural engineering, internationally known for his publications and scholarly contributions. Among students, he was also known for his high standards and strict discipline — a mentor who was highly selective in accepting research scholars. I considered myself truly fortunate to be under his guidance.
Meanwhile, I submitted a fresh application to the Government of Assam, this time requesting leave without pay for three years. The government approved only a one-year leave, with the condition that I must return to JEC for at least one year before being granted further leave to continue my research. I accepted the condition — not out of choice, but necessity. It was the only way to maintain continuity in my government service.
And so, after much introspection, negotiation, and emotional struggle, my journey into research officially began — marked by a Conflict of Mind that ultimately shaped my path, not just as an academic, but as a person of commitment and purpose.
This incident demonstrated clearly the readiness of the dedicated teachers for encouraging their capable students for taking up research works leading to higher degrees. I realised its appreciable reflection on me during my professional life as well.
2.1.8 Incident B6 creating Conflict of Mind: My research journey formally commenced in August 1971 under the guidance of Prof. S. K. Mallick, a respected academic in structural engineering known both for his scholarly rigor and strictness. He assigned me a topic—”Infilled Frames of Buildings”—and instructed me to begin with an exhaustive literature review to identify the research gap and scope.
I immersed myself fully in the task, leaving behind the emotional strain of the past and entering this new academic phase with a rejuvenated spirit. Those days, conducting a literature review was an arduous and time-consuming task. The absence of digital databases meant I had to rely entirely on library journals and postal correspondence to communicate with authors from different parts of the world. It took nearly six months of effort to reach a conclusive stage—where I could clearly define the scope of my research and plan its execution in stages.
Following my professor’s advice, I submitted a detailed note outlining the research scope and methodology.
A few days later, he called me to his residence one evening. When I arrived, I noticed an uncharacteristically depressingexpression on his face. He began: “Hema Kanta, I am deeply disappointed after going through your research note. I called you here today because this topic—Infilled Frames—is not going to lead you to a Ph.D. You will have to change your topic.”
I was stunned. I sat silently, unable to speak. Then he added:
“I have selected a new topic for you—Investigation of Composite Beams.”
With a heavy heart, I managed to say softly,
“Sir, please give me a day to think over it.”
That night, I discussed the matter with a few close friends in the hostel. They unanimously agreed with the professor’s advice, suggesting I accept the topic change. Yet, inside me, a fierce conflict of mind had begun. Could I abandon six months of diligent work? Could I emotionally connect to a new topic chosen under pressure, not passion?
After much reflection, I went back to Prof. Mallick Sir the next day and said:
“Sir, I have thought deeply about it. I have strong reservations about changing the topic at this stage.”
His face turned serious. He replied:
“Hema Kanta, if you feel strongly, you may continue with Infilled Frames. But let me be very clear—you cannot hold me responsible if you fail to get your Ph.D.”
This was a moment of reckoning. A research guide of his repute making such a cautionary statement was not to be taken lightly. I asked for one final day.
That night, I considered all possible choices:
(a) Change the topic as advised,
(b) Continue with Infilled Frames and accept full responsibility for the outcome, or
(c) Discontinue the research altogether and return to my teaching post in Jorhat.
It was perhaps one of the longest nights of internal struggle. By morning, my decision was made:
I would continue with Infilled Frames—not out of defiance, but belief in the groundwork I had laid over the past six months. If I failed, I would accept it as my destiny—not as my supervisor’s fault.
When I shared my final decision with Prof. Mallick Sir at the institute the next day, he seemed surprised. After a thoughtful pause, he responded:
“Alright, do not be disheartened. Begin the experimental investigations. Simultaneously, proceed with the theoretical formulation—wholeheartedly”
That marked the end of that Conflict of Mind—one of the most defining moments of my research life.
Looking back, I now feel vindicated. My perseverance paid off. The hard-earned understanding I had developed during the initial months eventually shaped a viable and original research direction. By July 1972, I had made steady progress on both experimental and analytical fronts.
However, as per the conditions of my leave without pay sanctioned by the Government of Assam, I was required to suspend my research temporarily and resume duties as a Lecturer at Jorhat Engineering College for one year. It was a temporary pause, but it reaffirmed my commitment to both my research and my responsibilities.
2.1.9 Incident B7 creating Conflict of Mind: (To be continued in Part IV appearing in the next Post).
