Anusmaran was…

What was splashed everywhere

A perpetual giggle fest.

I’d been planning to go to London for work and just drop into the Hilton and meet up with old friends, but the work didn’t happen. Loathe to change my plans, I still took the Eurostar to Ole Blighty and met up with Baby Fighter to go for our reunion.

Baby’s been busy in his first year at London- he’s become the secretary of the Alumni Club (Not surprising- he never can take a day off from being super-enthu.) He often blames me for the same failing, so it hardly came as a surprise that we were amongst the first on the scene at the Hilton on 16th May.

I had a huge grin on my face.

There were a dozen guys from senior batches setting up the projector and setting up the banner, but I had made myself pretty useless in one corner.

People were filling up from the Batch of 2008 and I was really delighted. It felt like I wasn’t living in Europe cut off from my friends and we were regaling each other with stories.

Sheru apparently knew who I was only from my nametag. He’d spent the first 10 minutes merrily ignoring me. I got my revenge all right- he kept referring to his current employer as a “boutique M&A firm specialising in technology.” He really sounded like a consultant avoiding mention of his current client! The comparison hurt his i-banker ego a bit.

By the time the reunion started, we went and occupied the front table. And proceeded to make a ruckus fit to wake up the Devil himself. There were around 12 people crowded around a 8 person table and we were hooting and laughing the loudest.

Videos were aired- some brought a lump in our throat and some made us laugh till we cried.

Damn, I want to go back to IIMB.

After a full round of introductions from the approximately 80 people around the room (batch of 1983-2010), we had a flood of IIMA, IIMC and IIML junta for the pan-IIM alumni reunion.

And that was great too.

All in all, a disjointed post, but ye dil maange more Anusmarans!

Cheers!

You look around

And the world has ruined itself.

What has happened, my friends?

Son of a Preacher Man and Other Stories

“Que Sera Sera…” Doris Day scantly had time to start off the first line of her song and I had clicked the wheel on my iPod to go past it. I was feeling restless, in a state of nervous excitement and had already forwarded through Devdas, Dil Chahta Hai and Dhoom, pausing only to hear Don McLean.

I flicked my eyes down to the screen- Son of a Preacher Man, it flashed with the name of the artist scrolling, “Dusty Springfield.” I paused in my incessant clicking and sat back in my seat as the memories came flooding back.

Songs are powerful, aren’t they? They trigger all the thoughts and ideas you had somehow buried at the very edge of remembrance. They remind you of how it had been, how people had been- what life had truly meant.

Taking time to make time… Learning from each others’ knowing, looking to see how much we’ve grown.

Don’t turn off the lights always cracked me up. I still remember Vimitha’s earnest face when she assured me that Enrique Iglesias was the next best thing since sliced bread. Vimz was always like this. Earnest, dependable, always on hand to do the right thing, and NEVER thought bad things about anything. For Pete’s sake, she liked Enrique Iglesias!

All of us mused on the idea and turned on the music system.

5 seconds later, I giggled. “Eh, Vimz. You adore his squeaky voice, right?”
Vimz looked suitably puzzled, “What?”
Reshmi had understood what I meant, “You know, where he goes, don’t turn off the li-yiieeets.”
Both of us burst into spontaneous giggles again while Divya looked on impassively. (She’d always been the grown up one, right?)
“Yeaaaaah! It’s even better with the chorus. Ee-ah-ee-yah-ay!”, I happily went on.
Vimz finally got the joke, “Shrutz, you have ruined the song for me!”
“My pleasure, as always.”

And, for this great love that Vimz has for Enrique, I transferred these really bad songs onto my iPod.

Now, Rush is trickier. She was the one person I used to constantly hang around with, but there was never that one song that seemed to say to me, “This is her.” Till I remember… again… those words.

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun…

To Rush then, Westlife’s Seasons in the Sun. She was the one I always strangely felt protective towards, but somehow knew that she was strong. My cute and funny third cousin once removed. Snooty Syrian Christian blood aside, I am always glad I got to know her.

To Divz, the steadfast soldier, the one who always plodded on regardless of what she ever REALLY felt, the one who ate potato chips everyday and never gained an ounce, the one who was always dependable, always Divyasree J… the only song I can ever ascribe to her… Noori. And yes, her ghost impressions are VERY good!

Euphoria’s songs hold special meaning in my life.
The first one is Maeri which was the L^2 staple. I remember sitting on the ground in the pouring rain with my batch around me singing loudly, I remember being giddy with happiness, sad and even crying when the sad stirrings of the music were just too much for me to bear. Maeri’s been an anti-anthem for me, the symbol of the youth and freedom I had that somehow were slipping away all too quickly.
The second one is for another one of those special women in my life. Pooj (Aka Pooh Bear. She hates that) She always brings back the Dhoom in my life. Without her, listening to Phir Dhoom would never be the same. The memories are of stage performances, of standing next to Pooj, squeezing her hand, and grinning manically through jeers and STILL going on… She’s the support, she’s the strong strong one. She’s just special and for her, I keep listening to this one.

Jeryn- my neighbour for longer than I knew. The neighbour I knew only for the last two years in my college life. Maybe the guy I ought to have known a long time before, if only to SMS insults starting with P for one whole day after only knowing each other for 5 days. Period. Seriously. He pinged me one day in his characteristic way.
“Idjit”
“What?”
“Do you listen to Beegees?”
“Yeah. I like Words.”
“You will like this.”
Jeryn is sending you New York Mining Disaster 1941- Beegees.mp3. Accept? Decline?

I accepted, got hooked on Beegees and still play them on repeat on Youtube. And yes, New York Mining Disaster 1941 is one of my most favourite songs. And this song is Jeryn to a tee as well, concise, abrupt and filled with meaning.

Chingamasam to Josen, my perennial worry wart. He needs to always reassure himself that everything is, will be and was all right. But of course, he is saying that just to reassure YOU! What did you think, huh? He needs to remember those hours and hours we spent- from editing videos and studying hard for CAT, to discussing life, the universe and everything. It’s funny, I don’t know what songs he likes, but this song is always linked to the dance in my mind and the dance to the camera man.

Rishab, childhood friend through thick and thin, my Polly Wolly Doodle All the Day. Rouged cheeks, yellow dresses and tuxedos apart, thanks for being there, dude.

Bitter Sweet Symphony is the most ironic song in my collection of song-stories. This one is to the friendship I shared through my school days, and to the girl who lost touch… almost delibrately it sometime seems. This song to lost friends and companions.

To those who spend time wondering… Linkin Park answers. In the end, it doesn’t really matter.

Complicated is to my knight in rusty armour, Ankit, forever charging at the windmills with his PSP in one hand and the iPod touch in the other. To all the times- good and bad, to the lessons learnt and the experiences, the places seen! Thank you. I can never see half the places in Europe with the same eyes again!

Vinay, the always energized child I know. The one who used to break out into a deverish-like dance everytime Appadi Podu played on the dance floor. And STILL had energy to dance for Manmadarasa. For Vinay, I want these songs to be played on repeat. He needs to keep playing his life like this!

For Abby, I only have the theme song to F.R.I.E.N.D.S, I’ll be there for you! And if Abhay doesn’t get this allusion, he deserves another kick! I shall gladly give it to him.

For Mama, I always have a rousing encore of Tera Suroor Himesstyle. He’d be delighted to know he actually looks like Himes bhai with the baddd cap days!

Sonal gets Sajnaji Vari Vari. Yes, I remember Meenu tai and I danced to her tune on her sangeet. Like so many have before and so many will later in life! Sonal is also rum and coke… the final push into total drunkenness!

I’d love to say I had a song for Ken (maybe Punjabi?). But I don’t. Ken’s the video to these songs with a 360 degree pan shot. Ken’s nonsense limericks and nursery rhymes. Ken is the picture that speaks a thousand words and the biggest grin at the end of the worst joke. There is no song for Ken. (And he is complaining about it now!)

The only one who could ever teach me was the son of a preacher man. Yes, he was…. Dusty Springfield finished her song.

Sam, this song is always for you.

Saying Goodbye is Difficult

Two days after convocation, I woke up on a mattress shorn of its linen, in a room that did not look like my home for the past year, in a block that was defeaning in its silence.
This had been the scene of the block parties, midnight gossip sessions, of friendship, of laughter and tears, of companionship, of late night meals from Athica’s and hot coffee for 2 AM cram sessions followed by 3 AM Bracket sessions, of lazy weekends spent lolling around, of trying to get back after L^2s (or get to), of charged up weekends seeing volleyball matches and hours spent reading books. This was the home I ran to- the cool refuge, an oasis of green and pink calm and most of all, cleanliness!

I have left the proof on the table…see… that ring was left by my coffee mug. Look at these walls- the paint is peeling because I stuck my pictures and those tiny stars. Look at those flowers painted on the bookshelf. That was done in a burst of creativity that subsided later.
These little signs are all that’s left of my existence in B-204. The rest has been packed up and sent away. Those memories have been filed away neatly. I am feeling a bit nostalgic already… How will the future be?

Maybe I will be that alumna that goes eagerly to her room 10 years hence, look around and explain that this had been my room for my PGP2 year. Or maybe I shall be that alumna who said that IIMB was WAY better then. Maybe I shall never bother coming back… to those faded yellow walls, the dust that had to be swept everyday and the light that woke me up when the sun rose, the lovely blanket I snuggled in at night.

But I bid adieu to that stone maze that was IIMB, knowing I’d come back again.

I take my bags to Mumbai to attend a wedding. It’s 2 days of roaming around and talking. And again the same hugs and promises to keep in touch. I wave my hand at the girls and blow them kisses. The feelings are the same. I am saying bye to the people I lived with and loved.
I reserve a special hug for Vinay and Saikat… It’s been 2 years of bibliophiling with them. Strand book fairs aplenty, loads of birthday mails, sleisha shady stories and again, lovely memories. Another farewell said, and another promise to keep in touch. This time, I can’t seem to let go of their hands…

But, go I must. The auto makes sure of that.

One month later, we’re back for Sonal’s wedding. The whole gang is at Udaipur (minus a few notables who know who they are!) and attending the ceremonies. All of us stay till 2 AM for the phera and then I suddenly realise I have a flight to catch. We get back to the guesthouse in a hurry.

Half an hour later, Sonal is back. We all rush down to see her. She looks like a little doll made to life in her deep red skirt. I watch her take her first steps into the room, her red feet leaving prints on the marble floor.
Noone’s saying a word, but everyone feels it… the gravity of the situation. This does not feel like the other weddings I have been to. A lump rises in my throat and my eyes suddenly feel slightly wet.
The ending is anti-climactic. All of us walk quietly away from the passage and agree that this was… poignant.

I greedily hold those memories close to my heart, looking around trying to blaze into my mind those last moments. Our last card game, the last night talking together, our last trip (Rooti Rani anyone?!), throwing the peas at each other.
We’re still gloriously together but soon it’ll be time to go.

And all too soon, I need to leave to the airport to go to Mumbai. I need to get my visa. And four guys have volunteered to drop me off! Karan says, “Georgy, last night I was the only one who said I’d come. And today you seem ultra popular.”
Abhay*, Ken and Jayarama squeeze into the Maruti as well. I am giggling like a small child and my spirits are high.

Half an hour later, I have been deposited at the small Udaipur airport. I hug them all and stand waving till the car leaves. Suddenly, I feel alone and my heart is heavy. I have just bid farewell to the best days of my life.**

This time, it’s just that distance.

I walk into the marble tiled departure hall. It’s the start of a new life.

It’s hard to say goodbye… To IIMB, my friends, to the life I led, to India, to my family. To those who have made me who I am, to the ones I love so much, this is not a goodbye.

*Yes, the selfsame one.
**Till now anyway.

It’s My Way or the Autobahn

I have had my share of adventures behind the wheel. Curious folks may see how I had close encounters of the kanoon ke haath bade lambe hai variety by speeding in Belgium and stopping in Trivandrum. This is one of those adventures…

The story begins innocuously enough. I was at the fag end of one project (the middle of my internship) and champing at the bit. The next project was supposed to be in Luxembourg and I had long due weekend plans with other humans finally!
I’d asked one of my friends who was in Germany at the time if we could make plans to meet up in Cologne, which was around 200 odd km from Brussels. I shall call this friend Abhay*. He’d agreed, provided the other ‘fraud’ interns at Germany agreed but he didn’t see that would be a problem since none of them had come to Cologne. Not thinking this would be a problem, I agreed with alacrity.

In the middle, I got a phone call from Avis who informed me that they’d like to take the VW Golf Plus I had been driving around for a month and give me a Volvo C30 instead. I had visions of driving a large airbus. Time proved that these fears were indeed true.

But I am getting ahead of the story. This had been one week ago and on the Wednesday of the long awaited weekend, I eagerly asked Abhay what plans had been made.
Abhay very brightly answered, “We’re going to see the Mercedes showroom in Stuttgart. Cologne next week pakka.” (All thanks to GTalk archives)
I reproduce my exact words, “WTF? F*** You! This is my only free weekend.”

The next 5 minutes were spent cyber-yelling at each other, trying to pin the blame of wrong assumptions and stupidity. Till of course, I pulled out the greatest weapon known to womankind… guilt.

“TWO FREAKING DAYS! I HAVE BEEN ALONE IN BELGIUM FOR ONE WHOLE MONTH. Do you GET that? I was looking forward to meeting you @&$*@@& for at least two days.”

Abhay was nonplussed and totally wrong-footed, “Whoops. I know, darling,” said he, “Let me see if we can change plans or something. It’s just that there are 6 other stakeholders and I can’t make plans alone.”

I was just getting started, “Never mind. I’ll do something else. It’s not like I am wanted anyway.”
Abhay was rapidly feeling sorry for me, “What exactly were you doing all these weekends?”
“Sitting at home, walking through Brussels. What else?”
Abhay felt like a total heel, “You should have told me! Maybe we can do Stuttgart and Cologne. Can you drive till the Black Forest?”
“I said no need. I will go to Paris alone. I might even enjoy it.”
“There are wonderful places to drive.”
“Yeah. I love driving ALONE, which is why I am walking around Brussels alone. Forget it now, I have other things to do.”
“Shut up!” But curiosity got the better of Abhay, “What better things, busy Maharani Georgy?”
“I need to find something about the cosmetic industry**”
“Google?”
“Idiot. Company intranet. We are pah-sood.”
“So when can I get an appointment next?”
“Whattttteeevvvverrrr”, I drawled.
“Mochu, did you lose weight?”A complete change of subject.
“Yeah, I have been taking 3 km walks everyday because my *friends* don’t have time for me.”

A long silence ensued. Suddenly Abhay piped up, “Can you drive to Koln?”
“It depends, I have to adjust my schedule you know.”
“We have adjusted our schedule JUST for you”
“No thanks, I will stick to my old plans. Walks in Brussels, here I come! You go to Stuttgart or wherever, which is, incidentally 800 km away.”

Abhay was getting more and more depressed. The others had rejected his fine notions and I was being pigheaded. He couldn’t handle my depression any more than he could handle me kicking him. He was yet to figure out which was worse.
On the other hand, I was having a jolly good time guilting him out. Finally, it came to this…

“I am coming to Cologne, no matter what ANYONE says.”
I informed him I had no enthu for any more plans. And would he kindly get lost?
Abhay continued insisting and I finally told him I was doing this JUST for him. He thanked me profusely.
I was smiling the broad grin of a woman who had her way done.

A mail sent the next Monday sums up the weekend succinctly.
“Abhay nearly got me killed on the Autobahn. Drove 1100 km in 2 days. Conked off at the Hilton Luxembourg. Nice green place. Crappppy hotel.”

This is the story in excruciating detail…

That Friday, I got the keys to my Volvo C30. I spent 10 minutes (I kid you not!) searching for a place to insert the ignition key till I realised it was by the right side in the middle of the dashboard. The next 10 were spent staring at the road in front and gauging how exactly I was supposed to take the car out of parallel parking.
[Totally Unnecessary Aside: Incidentally, I found out something even more interesting about the car two weeks later when its battery was dead. It was this- Swedish cars only have three modes for the headlights- Dipped, Dim/Bright (Both of which are On while driving, Off while parked) and Park lights (Off while driving, On when parked). There was no way you could turn off the headlights without putting it on Park lights... this, of course, killed your batteries. The travails of using a Swedish car in countries with even minimal amounts of sunlight!]

The start to the weekend did not seem auspicious after all.
However, the irrepressible self bounced back and I packed in a week’s worth of clothes into my suitcase. I was planning to go to Cologne first and pick up Abhay. Go to Stuttgart with him, see the others and go to Weinheim for the night. The Sunday would be spent in lovely lovely Baden Baden with its Roman baths and prettiness before moving onto Luxembourg. (Bill Clinton’s comment is remembered here…”Baden Baden is so nice, they had to name it twice”)

This just goes to show something they keep saying about the best laid plans of mice and men…

I woke up well and early at 5:30 AM. Abhay had informed me that his train would reach Cologne 8:12 AM and I was supposed to be standing at the Hauptbahnhof (fancy German name for Station) with my arms outstretched and preferably some flowers. (He’s a romantic young man after all). I looked outside and it was raining merrily. I swallowed the last bit of the Orangina in the mini-fridge in my apartment and clattered downstairs in the rickety 2-man (or 1-man and 1 strolley) lift. After a bit of shuffling with my access card, I took the car out for its first long drive.

Armed with the ViaMichelin maps for Brussels-Cologne-Stuttgart-Weinheim -Baden Baden-Luxembourg, I felt reasonably happy about life. After all, what more could an intern want? Again, if fate had her way, loud bells would have been heralding the beginning of my foolishness.

The journey onwards was not too bad. It started raining heavily, but I sped forwards at crazy speeds that would have made the folks back home ground me for an entire year. At 8, I’d reached Cologne. Abhay called.
“Dude, so where is the Bahnhof?”
“It’s near the cathedral .”
“Where’s the cathedral?”
“Near the river. The whole town IS the cathedral. You can see it from the road.”
And I could. A huge Gothic monstrosity- the facade had turned black in the pollution. And somehow it was strangely moving.
I parked the car in an underground parking and ran up the stairs looking for the bahnof. And there, in an ugly concrete square, set right next to the biggest structure in Cologne, was the Bahnhof.

After some more phone calls, Abhay was found. After 90 minutes spent in the Cathedral, a walk along the Rhine (and over the opera house) and the Starbucks on the Cathedral square, we rushed into the car to ostensibly leave to Stuttgart.
All the way through the autobahn, life was fine. Abhay was having the time of his life, ribbing me about driving in Europe and scaring the locals. His words? “If you can do it, a wonderful driver like me can do so well. It’s like child’s play. Pshaw.”
Little towns whizzed past, we bid adieu to large cities, till on one of the exits we saw written- Koblenz.

On a whim, we took the exit out into the quaint little university town and fell in love with its prettiness.
We parked the car (mini-bus) along the lots near the river and paid for the parking. Abhay kept the chit in the pocket and walked away, feeling smug. I called him back, amidst laughter and pointed to him the advantages of leaving the receipt tagged to the windshield. It had been a lesson learnt the hard way after all. Abhay puffed off, a mass of hurt dignity which could only be soothed by free Indian food!

After lunch at a Pakistani restaurant (paid by me, that cheapster), the usual checking out of the local church and ramble along the Rhine, we took the car out of the parking place and drove off to find Stuttgart. But now, we suddenly realised that the ViaMichelin directions were useless.
No matter, the soldiers strove on bravely. The roads became weirder, we followed the course of the river for around 30 minutes till we figured out that we were heading in the wrong direction. After backtracking, we went on the highway and found ourselves on the way to Frankfurt AM and after over-correcting back to Cologne. Things were going weird FAST. We were completely lost.

At around 3 PM, I felt tired. It had been around 500 km later and I was rubbing my eyes. I parked on a shoulder off the autobahn and after filling some fuel at a Shell station, turned to Abhay, “Dude, can you drive? I am really tired. It’s actually quite simple, only that’s it’s a left hand drive.”
Abhay nodded his head eagerly and sat in the driver’s seat, pushing it back (I am quite short!) I collapsed on the passenger’s seat, wholly prepared to enjoy life.
The rest of the story is vividly etched in my mind… Abhay took the car by fits and starts onto the road. He was averaging around 30 kmph on the friggin’ German autobahn, where Mercs, BMWs and even Peugeots whizzed by at average speeds of 180 and the lowest legal speed was 70. Mentally I was groaning, this was a switch- getting caught for slowing on the highway must be a first.
Abhay felt confused, his machismo had evaporated and I was yelling at the top of my voice, “ABHAY, DRIVE FASTER. I DON’T WANT TO DIE.”
The car shook a little as a car zoomed past at 200 kmph. “ABHAY, TAKE THE EXIT NOW. NOW. NOWWWWWWWWWW.”
Abhay was confused, “Which one?”
“RIGHT.”
He took it onto the railing.
I started screaming as if I was on a roller coaster, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”
Abhay joined me in screaming.
“PUT ON THE INDICATOR.”
Abhay obliged, unfortunately for left hand drives, the levers were interchanged and the wipers started moving. He’d found his way onto the exit back to Koblenz by now.
“AHHHH. ABHAY STOP THE CAR NOW!!!”
And he did. Right on the Autobahn, he stopped the Volvo C30.
There was pin drop silence for one second. A whole line of automobiles piled up behind us, blowing on their horns as if to ask, “Which kind of MORONS stop on the autobahn?”
I started yelling again, “TAKE… AHHHH… THE… AHHHHHHHHHHHH… CAR… OUT OF THIS MESS.”
Abhay obliged and we went to a Burger King next to a fuel station. I took a deep breath and wiped my clammy hands on my jeans.
“Maybe I ought to teach you the basics. You know you nearly killed us on the autobahn?”
Abhay shook his head silently, bravado suddenly coming to the fore again, “Maybe you ought to have TAUGHT me.”
“Maybe, but you said you knew and it was easy.”
There was another silence.
“You don’t have to thank me for this. Since on the positive side, Abhay, I am sure no girl will ever scream this way for you ever again in your life.”

PS: We finally got out of Koblenz at 4 PM and had no time to go to Stuttgart, so found our way after 90 km of wrong turns at the beautiful university town of Heidelberg. Abhay regaled our classmates with stories of how he saved my car from destruction from women drivers. And of course, he drive 10 km in Baden Baden with the hand brake on.
He’s still a good friend

*Name unchanged. Abhay never needs privacy.
** Industry name changed to protect privacy.

An Indian Summer Remembered- Part III

Day 1- Slot 1
(On the First Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me one reason to remember)

It was supposed to be the litmus test of batch unity. It was supposed to be when we finally shouldered our responsibilities and made the statement… “We are there for you.” For all the loudness of these refrains, pounded into our heads by mentors and many GBMs alike, the day started with the barest whimper.
Companies were trickling in- the best marketing companies and the biggest conglomerates in India- for the other half of the best and brightest in Bangalore. A lot of the Day Zee signouts took over from the seniors, manning the outposts, seeing to the comfort of the students and companies alike.
Volunteer Rule Number 1: Keep the companies happy even if you don’t get the students for them.
I promptly smiled at the alumnus of the marketing company that had come. He was a friendly person after all… it ought not be too hard to keep them happy.
“So, you want coffee? Tea? Sandwiches? Lunch?”
The interviewers seemed perky enough. And their wants were limited. After placing orders for the 5 lunches and 5 sandwiches, we found ourselves deep in conversation with the recruiters.
That of course brings us to Volunteer Rule Number 2. We do not talk about Rule Number 2!
The Company tracker was a relaxed senior with whom we spent time discussing the scene and future prospects. When suddenly, it all became just a little hectic.
Yes, it was the dreaded spectre of Group Discussions.
Through the whole day, we shepherded in groups of 8 or more students for GDs, signed them out and then waved them onto more processes. And through the whole day, we could just watch the sight. Normally confident students slowly wilting under the pressure, moving from one blindly from process to another, stopping in the middle just to ask, “Which company is it now?”
Through the day, the company kept interviewing or demanding to see more students, and keeping matters very close indeed.
The whole process had swung into top gear, well oiled and beautiful to watch in the abstract. Every student accounted for, each second counted and the trackers on close watch. It was awe-inspiring and at the same time, felt like the most tedious thing in the world.
Companies were still the same, underneath it all. Some students were still being fought over, especially when they had been known to have an offer in hand. Some students were still left in the lurch, running from process to process, naught in sight.
I sat there primly on a chair, watching the world go round. I watched as a friend was cornered and asked to decide on the spot. And then I told him to do what he so obviously wanted to, “Go away from the main building, and don’t come here.”
Damn, that felt good! Of course, I then had to march to the trackers and PlaceCom and report what I had done. The PR, uncharacteristically, burst into a fit of giggles and then composed himself to ask me if I knew where the friend was. After a few tense moments, he was found. His beaming eyes were answer all I needed. Since the company didn’t get that candidate, I gave them some coffee instead.
People shuddered at the name of a certain IIMBian who had caused whole groups to be chucked out due to inherent tendencies to turn any GD into a fish market. This feeling was best exemplified by, “You mean SHE is in my group? I think I should give up right now!”
So, the day ended. The offers hadn’t piled up at all. And at the end of it all, we were all feeling a bit dissatisfied.

Day 1-Slot 2 to Day 2-Slot 1
(On the Second Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me two separate days lived together)

The MDC was beginning to take on a distinctly empty appearance. People were leaving and the seniors were annoyed.
“We work our asses off for your placements and this is how you repay us?”, asked an annoyed senior.
“Uhm, do you want a tea or coffee?”
The reason was simple. People were getting frustrated and nerves were stretching to fraying point. The pundits were predicting 6 days of Placement. We just couldn’t take it anymore.
Companies were calling with apologies for not showing up. They’d realized they wouldn’t be seeing enough numbers to recruit. Volunteers showed up at the reception, looked around and then sat in the main lobby with their friends.
Looking around, you could see the difference in the people. The lucky ones in their ‘casual’ business formals, laughing and joking with each other and the ones still left in the process were showing the strain.
We were all sitting, talking and joking generally, smug in the goodness of our hearts- because, after all, we had shown up, hadn’t we? A tracker came up, looked around and said, “All of you got placed huh? Slot zero?”
Someone tried to speak up, “Yeah.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Don’t you think you should at least be sitting with the others and giving them companionship?”
Quick as lightning, all of us jumped up with identical embarrassed expressions on our faces and went and found ourselves work to do.
There was only one problem, we didn’t know what to say! So, slowly, uncertainly, people either withdrew or cracked awkward jokes. We could see it before our eyes- cliques forming, people sitting together, holding hands. The air was charged with electricity and the million prayers being mouthed every second.
Maybe things would look up the next day.

Day 2- Slot 2
(On the Last Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me a champagne shower at L^2)

There was that expectant hush in the air again. After all, hadn’t IIMC’s placements been over in five days? And there were so few people left in the process.
And so we shall fast forward, glossing over the despair of the last remaining, the determined PRs striding towards the goal that was on the horizon, over the innumerable conversations between the students about when placements would end and over those cups of Coke.
And we pause at that magical moment. It’s around 6 P.M, two companies are still on campus. PlaceCom has sent a mail, and the lobby is filled with PGP1 students. And there, on the first floor, stand the 8 PRs, a very happy SM and Mr. Nagaraj, our wonderful Placement Coordinator, all wearing beatific smiles. Our faces are all raised and the happiness is almost tangible.
The speech begins- long lists of people to thank, advice given and long pauses when the batch voices their approval. The cheers go on and on and the loudest ever. The longest is reserved for the one person who works tirelessly for this collective… this ideal… this crazy IIM mela of Placements.
I look around again, ever the spectator. People have tears in their eyes and unbidden, they’ve come to mine too. SM declares the placements closed and the whole MDC erupts in spontaneous glee. All those pent up emotions have breached the self imposed dams and everyone is hugging each other and shaking hands.
The newspapers the next day give the bare facts for they cannot capture what it was like. It was like a life lived. And we get to do it four times in two years! Aren’t we the lucky ones?
And of course, noone needed to ask us where the party was tonight.
That song played at least 4 times on L^2 that night!

An Indian Summer Remembered- Part II

Dear Diary,

The story up till now is: I got placed in the first 5 hours of Day zero and had nothing to do for the rest of the day.
But the day brought mixed feelings for me. Don’t get me wrong, I was ecstatic for myself, but day was kind of disheartening. The stories abound- sure to reach mythical proportions for my batch.
There were some people who didn’t have anything to do the whole day and were still called there to sit… doing nothing. There were those for which multiple companies were fighting for. There were those who were running from company to company the whole day and when the bell tolled, were left with naught in their grasping fingers.
A lot of shit seemed to be happening. I was hoping we would have some maturity, some perspective. But it was not to be. Everyone was being carried away in the sea of high expectations.
In the cold light of day, I am inspecting my own motives and trying to pick clean through all of them. I can only hope this clear headed reason would be present even if the shoe was on the other foot AND biting hard (so much for mixed metaphors).
They say we might have 5-6 days of placements- till Day 2 though. We seem to have a weird way of counting off Days here in B-School.
The Company was nice enough to take the five of us interns into the room and give us some leftover cake. No overt celebrations… we are not done placing 250 odd students at IIM Bangalore.

Day 0.5
(On the Halfth Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me a ‘Fraud’ friend in Germany)

The next day dawned- bright and chirpy. The day after 0 and before 1 has been split in half- companies straddling the fence… too long processes or take you to remote corners of the world. The institute, like the companies themselves return the favour. The day is fondly referred to as Point 5. They say that the day is less hectic and companies take everything in their stride.
We’re still in our suits, giving our friends company. But the day repeats in a mindless cycle- get Coke from machine, gulp it down… make weak jokes… pray hard and wonder when this would end.
Some people get through the drill and it’s official. IIM Bangalore has bettered all records for the first day of placements. PlaceCom heaves a sigh and grits their teeth for the work that lies ahead. I go and sign up for company volunteering. My seniors have made it amply clear to me that they want me at the MDC everyday, making myself useful… or else. But somehow, right now, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

An Indian Summer Remembered Part-I

A Life in the Days of an IIMBian

A post more than 18 months in the making…

November 2006

Day -1

Dear diary, Today I bugged the hell out of my mentors. And my resume mentors. And any other mentor I might have interacted with in the course of my 4 months stint at IIM Bangalore. Thankfully Acad (and our Admin) gave us a day off between Mid-terms and Summer Placements so that I may mug in peace. Have been cramming up on Derivatives from Hull, Corporate Finance from Brearly & Myers, PDFs from DC, PPTs from batchmates, every issue of ET and The Hindu, and yeah, personals that are liable to be asked. Case studies have been spewing forth, till I can mumble in my sleep, “If we assume that the number of families in India is…” I feel so under-prepared. I haven’t brushed up on the Indium and Ytterbium commodity markets. Got my suit ironed, though. Tried it on, and it feels funny and good at the same time. I will have to wear it for around five days, so I better get used to it. I have been debating whether to sleep or put a night out to study for the process. It’s midnight and I thi……

Day 0
(On the Zeroth Day of Placements, PlaceCom gave to me zero worries at the end of the day)

The air is buzzing with excitement. Everyone’s in their suited-booted best. I got to the MDC at 8 AM and saw the whole batch there, dressed to kill. Alas, no company had lent their presence yet. And the wait commenced…
The seniors are everywhere- manning the hospitality desk (they tell us that sutta is going to be the most overused item), at the front lobby practising their smiles and wiles for the companies, holding walkie-talkies and tracking for the ‘critical candidates’, in the control room- maybe holding our destinies in schedules.
I don’t think I am a critical candidate. Geez, I wish I had studied more for JEE. Or not been an engineer- whatever.
I go take Coke from the machine- this promises to be one of millions of trips, and join in the banalities being uttered by more of my ilk- the non-critical candidates. The camaraderie is pleasant and I can mentally see people gearing up to face the barrage of interviews.
It’s going to be a long day.

After 90 minutes of Coke-induced high, the tracker calls for me, and I follow him (why is it always a him?) into the 3rd floor for my first interview of the day. They tell me it’s a global bank and wants me for IBD. Great. Maybe I can dazzle them with my fin knowledge.
I give weak smiles all around. Already news has filtered in of people making it to the top banks. The PR comes and sits next to me, grins and gives me a thumbs up. “You are in their good list.”
“There was a bad list, is there?”, I quip. I want to ask him what happens to yield rates when time to maturity increases.
Why’s my mind blank? I KNOW the answers, don’t I? I learnt them for the past one month.
In the middle of this muddle, the volunteer calls me in.There are two firangs in the room, and I give them my most dazzling smile. There’s a momentary tussle while they ask for my resume and I refuse to hand them my black IIMB file. It feels like my last lifeline has been thrown out.
The first question seems a sitter, “So, why would you make a good banker?”
Damn. Hadn’t I done this one? Relax, kid. Smile a bit. The answer shall come to you in a bit.
The consult answer slips out, “I am enthusiastic, strive to do the best…”
WHOOPS.
After 1 minute, I lamely end, “… and err, I am good at err… Maths.” That must be the single biggest lie I have ever told in my life.
“Erm, okay.”
3 minutes later, it was over. The first interview in my life I knew they weren’t calling me again for.
Well, that’s a novel experience. Let’s have some more Coke. Ahh! Samosas! Is it already 10?! Wow, time sure flies when you are having fin.
Barely had I landed on the sofa downstairs when someone yells, “YOU! Go to the big consultancy on the ground floor opposite.”
Cool. Another company where I can make a fool of myself.
Dutifully, I make my way into the landing where the company has made a full appearance. People are walking to and fro and a super senior comes and gives me a full-sized grin. I immediately feel better. “Here have a five star.”
Well, I won’t say no, and boy, I don’t see any Coke around.
After five minutes of waiting, munching a chocolate and seeing happy gatherings of people, I relax. And there she comes- the partner- who shakes my hand with a pleasant smile and pushes me firmly in.
I look outside with a sense of despair. Not again! I can’t do this.
Before you can say “Case study!”, she’s looking through a thick file and asking me, “So how do you like doing case studies?”
“Sure! If you say so!”, I project enthusiasm in every syllable.
She smiles and asks, “So why should you hire you?”
Out it comes again, “I am enthusiastic…”
One minute later, I end it properly, “… and I love this company!”
She smiles, clearly happy with the answer, “Let’s do the case! Estimate number of asses who buy hair accessories in India!”

(Small aside: 1) So many exclamation marks? C’mon, they were enthu! 2) Of course, the case was different.)

I start carefully, “If we assume India’s population to be 1 billion, and the ass: human ratio to be 1:10000. Is that a good assumption?”
“How do you get that number?”
“Observation, mainly. But are you talking only of donkeys or a more varied species that may contain people too?”
“I’d like the complex formulation.”
“Then the different kinds of asses are- 1) Men- 500 million, 2) donkeys, 3) Some women.”
Both of us have a good laugh and continue to find the target segment for hair accessories .”

30 minutes later, I am escorted into another room where I proceed to find out how many numerical errors I can make in the space of 5 minutes. Maths is soooo my strong suit!

At 11:15, I am out and they push me into a chair to ‘wait’. After half an hour, I start fidgeting, when the PR comes. He raises his eyebrow and I motion inside and mouth, “I am waiting.”
He nods curtly and leaves and I get another five star! I ask my super-senior, “Can I please go take a break and come?”
“Hmm, okay. But COME back!”
Err, yeah, I am not being called or anything. I have a whole Day-0 to loaf around!
Five minutes later I am back, and at 12:30, I am called in again.
The partner apologises for keeping me waiting and says, “We need to test your ability to ask questions.”
Sure! What am I doing here for so long? Do you want to take me into this company? Can I go back now? Please?
After the sustained barrage of questions, the partner wilts and says he will make me an offer!
At one o clock, I am outta there, job offer in hand. The PR signs me out of the company and mutters, “One more out of summers” into the walkie-talkie.He has a few choice words to say, “You will NOT tell anyone you got an offer from big consultancy.”
I nod happily and go out, training my face into a worried look. People get up in unison and ask, “How did it go? It’s been too long!”
I shrug nonchalantly and a friend pats me on my back and says, “It’s OK. You still have the other big consultancy.”
I look up and a tracker smiles at me in the midst of flicking his eyes from corner to corner. I grin slightly and hurry down to call my folks.
The half an hour I’ve been out, things have changed. The moment I step onto the waiting area, people surround me and say, “Congrats!”
Aww shucks, and now he will think I told everyone.
“Thanks, but who told you?”
“Everyone knows!”
“Aww gee!”
My friend comes and pinches my arm, “And to think I wasted so much sympathy on you.”

Suddenly, another tracker pushes me into a bank’s process. The HR is standing outside and asking what we are interested in.
“Uhm, consulting.”
She shakes my hand and wishes me luck.
Hey, this is fun!
The other consultancy calls me in, and I stand outside. Someone murmurs, “Please go tank it.”
Boy, do I tank this one. Twenty minutes later, they are very pleased to chuck me out. Somehow I think I will never be welcome anywhere near it again.

(Aside: 3) And I wasn’t.)

At 4 o’ clock, everyone is standing and chatting about the funny stories. The one where one bank was so hellbent on a friend, he was asked if he wanted monthly flybacks home. The ones where an ibank and a consult took simultaneous interviews of another friend. And in the middle, I saw those groups of people who were sitting there with their files on their laps, nothing to do. And boy, I feel like such a heel.

More on that. The story continues.

To My Juniors AKA Why We Don’t Use Lab Rats.

Have you ever felt like a hamster? In a cage, running in those circular wheels, feeling like the entire world was watching what cute antic you were upto next? Would you take solace in the fact that across the laboratory that stretched from infinity to beyond, there were countless other hamsters, guinepigs, sweet little white mice in their wire cages doing the very same thing as if on automation? Looking over their rodent shoulders (metaphorically, of course) and wondering if someone, anyone, was going to overtake them into the distant horizon they believed was lurking somewhere.
Welcome to the world of overachieving IIM students.
To my juniors and other ‘aspirants’, let me quote an oft-recited aphorism on .:Arbit:. (which you’d know if you used BRacket as much as my batch did!), TIN_Rat Race_OTM. Or There is no rat race outside the mind.
I am serious! All that pressure that you build up… (“My grades are low”, “I need a spike in my resume”, “THAT Day-0 job”) is all in your friggin’ noggins! The day you come in and start thinking, “Ah, the rat race”, you start running against some unknown opponent. Such a vicious cycle (pun intended?). Sad thing is, everyone is doing the same thing!
Now, I don’t know how to get out of this mindset anymore than most of you do. I presume the profs know what they are doing when they give admissions to this kind of “cookie cutter diverse” people at our institute. But you’ll need to know this very important thing. Hammer it into your collective consciousness.

At IIM Bangalore, noone is judging you for being who you are. Cherish it. It’s the warmest, most fuzziest and best feeling in the world.

Keeping living. And to my batch, miss you all dreadfully.

Leaving.

I stand over-awed on the threshold of something new,
It’s hard to say goodbye, just so easy to say “thank you.”
Want to hold on tight; two years have flown past so fast,
Don’t want to blink, I might miss all those moments last.
I believe that it was the wonderous hand of fate,
That brought me to IIM Bangalore PGP 2006-08.

It’s sinking in slowly…