‘Twas the nights after IIMB, when all through the room,
Just a solitary alumna was sitting, alone in the gloom;
The books were gathering cobwebs and lots of dust,
The light was from the computer screen- glow it must;
The family was nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of dollar signs danced in their heads;
When out in the newspapers there arose such a chatter,
That she typed away to see what was the darned matter?
Away an IE window she opened like a flash,
Typed the web address complete with dot and dash.
When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But the newest fachcha batch of IIMB, oh dear!
With much fanfare, wit not too lovely or quick,
She knew in that moment this was going to stick.
More rapid than eagles the queries they came,
And she whistled, laughed and knew them to be the same;
“To the top of the fora! to the top of the sites!
Now ask away! Seniors are here, we know our rights!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the communities the fachchas, they flew,
With their mind full of questions, and some high hopes too.
As she drew in her breath, and was turning around,
Down the driveways of B, fachchas came with a bound.
They were dressed in formals, from head to foot,
And their faces were uplifted, oh it was a hoot;
Suitcases of clothes, some on their back,
Looking like consultants and bankers in a pack.
Their eyes — how they twinkled! their dimples how merry!
Their joy was contagious, (almost like reading Dave Barry).
Her heart sank with horror upon the prospect of fresh faces,
Hadn’t we seen some before? She so hated these phases;
They were going to have all the fun,
And she was destined to have none;
It wasn’t fair and now she knew how the Grinch felt,
What a really crappy hand was she dealt?
Never mind, there was still the question of work,
The huge MNCs for whom she could not her duty shirk;
A wink of her eye and a twist of er head,
Left her nothing in the future or this world to dread;
She spoke not a word, but went straight to her work,
Come June, feeling just sometimes like a timed jerk.
With decks to do and slides to master, she chose,
To keep the clock ticking overtime, at 5 AM she rose;
She sprang to her car at crack of dawn, with a merry whistle,
This was her life after all- some roses amid the bed of thistle.
But the world heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
“A big K to all of you, and to all a good-night.”