Bleeding Hearts

I dislike labels and I dislike people who act according to what their self-chosen label tells them to do. Life often asks upon us to deliver extraordinary responses which our label may not allow us to indulge in. And I must confess an increasing sense of dismay these last couple of months as every belief I have held to, save one, has come crashing around me.

Should I believe in the unrestrained power of free individuals to transact their every day business safe from the regulation of the state, secure in their natural ingenuity? Is all innovation good? Can numbers triumph over the ills of everyday life? And is economic progress more important than anything else? I guess most of my carefully practiced answers, all couched in perfectly reasonable logic, have changed now.

I am the old man all alone at sea trying to reel in the gigantic fish which he thinks lies at the end of a frightful struggle. And while I figure out my answers to questions posed by others who are cocksure about their own ideas, I am not ashamed to say that I am still confused.

I did not have a close brush with death those days in Mumbai as so many of my acquaintances did. The closest experience I had was of being evacuated from office on Friday after rumours of multiple attacks broke across TV channels. Nor have I lost any near and dear ones. So I cannot betray a personal sense of anger. I however seem submerged in a public sense of outrage emanating from every sensible person I know. The outrage is not unjustifiable. Most of us who live in Mumbai and who commute daily to India’s Ground Zero feel unsafe. We flinch each time we hear a loud sound. We start if we see someone run across the street. Our government has failed us more spectacularly than ever before in our independent history. And yet I pay my taxes, the model of a law-abiding citizen, knowing very well I shall not receive any incremental benefit from any public good.

I have seen people take the streets in protest against the government, proclaiming war on terrorism. I have heard the media saluting the Mumbai spirit of resilience and indifference, the ability to get on with our lives as if nothing happened. I have seen the photos of the slain policemen displayed at every roadside crossing with messages stating that they never will be forgotten. And I have witnessed politician after politician committing one unforgettable gaffe after another. Quite simply they would serve their cause best by just keeping quiet.

No wonder, a lot of public outrage has been directed at the nation’s politicians. Face it, they are a angry nation’s favourite whipping dogs. The anger always smouldered but stopped at that, not surprising for a country of armchair critics. A lot of questions have been raised about the lack of disaster management, poor policing and above all India’s Pakistan policy. I welcome all those questions. Maybe such terrorising epochs serve to shake a nation out of complacency, push her to introspection. Oh but what a terrible price to pay!!!

What I am afraid of is that this anger will be misdirected. I am afraid that a party under siege for its’ poor handling of terror attacks and with an eye on national polls will push this country to a messy war. A war which will consume more lives than we can even imagine now. A war that most of Mumbai’s street protestors are vociferously demanding today. I believe the solution lies closer home.

A lot of public anger against the political class is a sum of India’s rural-urban divide. Increasingly most of urban India like me, has chosen to be apolitical. Most of them don’t even turn up to vote. The vast rural masses, whether out of free will or no, still turn up enthusiastically on election day and decide the course of action for India. No wonder, the average legislator or minister turns a blind eye to national issues for his survival in politics does not depend on it. Do you think the people of Sangli would think less of their four-time MLA who thinks that such small things do happen in large cities? Or the people of rural Malampuzha care about their representative making a public mockery of a slain martyr? Unfortunately for us, the former happened to be the home minister of Maharashtra and the latter the Chief Minister of a state.

India’s have-nots couldn’t care less about terror or war because they have other pressing issues. Issues that the media and the urban elite cannot pretend to understand. The cost of pushing the nation into war is further economic deprivation and stalling the growth engine that has made entrepreneurs out of nobodies. We need banks to keep lending, we need goods to be produced, we need investment in roads and irrigation. And to a street protestor who symbolically held up bangles, I say this - there is nothing eunuch-like about having a bleeding heart. Every year, our growth engine pulls thousands out of poverty. We cannot afford to throw that away.

Instead of diverting resources to destructive means, they should be focussed here at home. Into more recruitment into the police, higher salaries, better bulletproof jackets (instead of the torn dilapidated sorry things they carry now, which allowed them to be shot at will). Everyone’s talking about a fiscal stimulus anyways. Don’t stop at the cities though. We have to accept that we are vulnerable to conflict. And we have to deal with it. And attacking other countries will not end the threat of terror as America has realised to her dismay. It will only delay it.

I realize I am more afraid of my government than of any terrorist. Will that ever change?

I can't write anything sober...Its' hopeless

The Age of the Liberal

I write not for myself. I write for the wind which touches every fellow human being. Take my words to the farthest corners of the world so that it resounds forever. I write for the waves which dash unrepentant against the rocks and will continue to do so till the end of time itself. I write for freedom. I write for those who still writhe under the yoke of slavery and thralldom. Your pain is mine. Your tears flow freely from my unblinking eyes. I live within you, feeling every emotion every thought that flows through your mind.

I rail against my oppression. Together we shall defy timelessness, misery and death. Together we shall wreak vengeance against those who seek to tie us down. For the undying spirit soars far above what you can understand.

This is the kingdom of love where all are welcome to partake of my feast. And you shall feel my strength flow through your veins. Believe that you can change your world and I shall empower you. For there is none that can hold you back. There is none that can hold me back.

The tide has turned. I can feel it in every pore. For here come my immortals, resolute and bold. Fearless they stride across the face of earth. For they belong everywhere and yet they belong nowhere. What is my identity? What is my nationality? What is my language? I do not know nor do I care. For I am neutral and serene. I am no one and yet I am everyone.

Every boundary you have known will soon be cast away, like it never even existed. Every illusion you have known and lived by will be discarded. I do not wish for you to join me in my quest. I only ask to be understood. I only wish to be heard.

I will not yield...

Armegeddon

Cocoons of silence enrapture me
A medley of insanity in wine
And while they converse in whispers
I see every loose end, every pattern

The blue see beckoning me
Into her delightful arms gasping
I pause greedy for breath
To still the shooting pain

I stumble past a dark alley
Still looking for a reason spent
For years a beacon had helped shape
The direction my life had flown

Emboldened, I would scatter cynics
Non-believers to my chosen faith
I would impress my unyielding mind
To turn the weak into me

Till the green house came crashing
Its smithereens rendered unrecognizable
My illusory belief no more solid
Than the wisps of my cigarette smoke

My faith in freedom now shaken
By avarice and greed
The scepter of innovation broken
By those who said man was free

Careless Whispers

Mere whispers running amok
Riddling me with doubt
If rules are never kept
Why must I keep faith

All around me they drive
With debris of failure
And yet they hold true
Without a trace of failure

What doesn't kill you will only make you stronger

After they complained that my blog was defunct it was time to get down to some serious writing :) I couldn't think of a poem so I had to put in some reflections...

I remember going to a gym once a long time ago and I still recollect my trainer, a burly monster of a man, proclaiming "Hate your body". Physical pain is good. It drives you; nay even better inspires you to put in an extra notch. I was out for a jog today after waking up at 2:30 in the afternoon. After the 7th round I wanted to stop. Then again after the 11th and so on. I didn't . I drove myself until I could run no more. My legs gave away and I had to sit down to support myself. I treasure the sense of achievement afterwards notwithstanding the pain in my sides.

Failure is good. I can't win every day. I probably haven't won in a long time. That's what makes every little success in life so amazingly special. That also why I revel in the company of those who I love; even if they aren't around me. Sometimes hearing a long distance voice is enough to lift the most depressed spirits. Success is relative.

I am endeavouring to be less talkative. Difficult task really... A good starting point for me is not to participate in group discussions when people are drinking. Red and flushed faces excitably gesticulating to press their point home in a smelly smoke filled Bombay pub. Listen em out. They are my friends and I must hear them out. If I don't want to talk, well I won't. I will listen. If it makes them happy to spend time with a silent me, who they are making fun of; let them. I am thick-skinned. At least I can still make others laugh. Ponds the entertainer lives on.

Someone, a good friend once upon a time, bullied me to have dinner with her on Friday night. She presumed I would be a good kid at work :) I guess she spoke out of personal experience . How many at IIMB would believe that? Hardly many. After all, there are people who would always bet the opposite view as me. The contrarian approach with Ponds' market knowledge...coz he is a great guy but he doesn't know a great deal if you know what I mean. Sometimes a joke can be stretched too far even if friends do it.

I sill want to win...

Forbidden

Love tempt me no more

Bind not my feet to strange chains

And my heart to forbidding stone

Long have you toyed with me

Deluded my wild senses

And blinded my puny affections

Long have you misled me senseless

And made me believe I could have

What was never meant to be mine

Must you leave me bereft of all joy

Must you torment my every living moment

Must you always darken my doorstep

With your unwelcome craven shadow

You made me wield the pen

And weave a landscape endowed

With your essence, its every strand

Enmeshed in your bewitching snare

A honeyed trap and no more

For an unsuspecting fool poet

A prisoner to my very own words

A mute witness to those who left

You leave behind many a memory

Of what could only have come to pass

You promised and yet you forbade

Seizing every insignificant gift you could

Dark nights and even darker thoughts

Have you rendered on my soul and mind

Till at last I have lost

All but abject guilt and shame

Your prey now tires of the game

Pray now let me escape this endless void

I shall now glide away singing

An elegy to unrequited love

Rain

Rain drops splashing across the glass

Spraying their wrath at me

A relentless enemy strikes without

Travelers together on an endless journey

My reverie broken I stare

At a city I barely call home

A new side I discover

Of life through tinted glass

As the elements haunt the streets

Even the powerful must seek cover

Forcing life to stand still

They who must but always run

Now helpless, stranded and sore

I press my face across the glass

To catch a glimpse of my life

As it used to be and could have been

A vision into a glorious past

A bunch of carefree souls I spy

Who splash mud and water all smiles

Radiant, full of hope and alive

If only I could get back

I would trade the very world

Every single ounce of joy

To go back to my friends

Goodbye

Tonight I bid farewell to a dream holiday. Tonight I bid farewell to 9 unbelievable days of fun juxtaposed right in the middle of an official leave. Tonight I bid farewell to 2 dear friends. I shall not summarise my Singapore trip. Please refer to the blog marked as The Globetrotter in my linked blogs for a far well-written account. Suffice to say, the trip had gambling, scorpions and snakes, starfishes we could touch, Hard Rock Cafes and Singapore discs and every conceivable animal, bird, fish or insect you can think of. Was it fun? An emphatic yes. Would it have been fun if Monkeyman & Chotu weren't there? An even more emphatic No..

Chotu has been a friend since a long time. I have known her for almost 5 years now. That's a long time for friends you make after school. In the 1st 3 years, we slaved for the Economics Society. We made telephone calls to zillions of politicians, diplomats and the likes to invite them for talks; most of who wouldn't even take our calls. We ran around to do the bidding of those who commanded us because they were a year senior. We brainstormed together, discussed eco, and thought of psychometric games for our dear sponsors. Pretty much an exhaustive list. We also fought bitterly at times over stuff I believed then to be extremely important; today I wouldn't fight with her even if you offered me a million dollars.

We began the next part of our journey together. Somehow, I guess we were meant to be friends even after college. We got through to all the same IIMs, didn't make it to the same IIM, got the same job, got through to the same university abroad. We almost landed up going to intern in the same company. If only things had turned out differently, she would have been around a little longer. But one doesn't always get what one wants.

This journey was carved out of paid leave at office - post entering the big bad corporate world :) Student life's never going to come back. Being apart from Chotu helped me realise how important she is in my life.

In IIM Chotu practically took care of me. If I came back to my room, a public common room really, and find the lights switched off I knew Chotu had been slinking around to use my Superslim mirror and had put an end to my criminal waste of electricity as she put it. She would take the pain of reading every stupid blog I wrote and leave a comment behind. Did I mention my b'day mail, my yearbook writeup and everything else? There are so many happy memories, I cannot begin to list down. I will give it a shot though. Chotu and I wandering around campus, right in the 1st week, looking for a fag (mine :) and I claim to be very good at directions. Needless to say, we got lost. Chotu painting my face in Unmaad. It was blue and red and it had a cobweb, a potential ecosoc cover in the past. Chotu being ah well pursued by over enthusiastic gentlemen in a particular L^2. Jooz and I till date shudder to think of how we almost changed our orientations that night. Chotu's b'day nite treasure hunt and I fail to get a shortlist from my summers company. I am heartbroken but only for an instant. The treasure hunt was on. Next morning, Chotu wakes up early and drives me out of my room to Attica's to talk to me. That memory shall be imprinted in my psyche forever.

Why is she so important? Because she watched over me when I went through the darkest phase of my life. I wish I had listened to her advice more. I wish I had heeded her word. I would be a far saner person if I had. I wish she was sitting by me this very instant.

And then there is Monkeyman, the most remarkable person i met in IIMB. He continues to amaze me each time I meet him. He's everything I want to be. He combines a unusually sharp intellect and a drive to commit to and work hard for whatever he thinks important with a complete absence of self-doubt. How can someone be so oblivious of failure? How can someone stand up with confidence each time, focusing only on his goal and not be afraid or scared? He has the determination of a child and he yet he is far wiser than me. And might I say he cares. I shall remember the first time we met. Watching a tsepak game and then we caught a movie early on a Sunday morning. He gave me this small image of Ganesh once in first term. Now I detest religion, I really do. And yet this gift was the most special thing I have received in a long time. I proudly display it in my room till date.

I believe I bonded with him first when we were both indicted together. When our fate was to be decided by authorities for a crime which was just a mistake. Our whole batch being intimated that we had sinned. I cannot erase that horrible day ever. I remember him strong, Chotu resourceful and me shattered. I remember him standing by me when most wouldn't. I remember him all brave and fearless. I remember him teaching me about mortgages, suggesting my CCS Topic, taking my interview for finals (the only one who did so), coming to my room everyday and ensuring I was strong, by me when I was going through the final placements. And yet everytime he was around I felt her presence. Her concern, her standing by my side. Even when she was miles away, I could sense the two of them by me. I still do...

My version of "..If I have no time to stand and stare..."

Are trains a forgotten pleasure?
Relics of a bygone era now removed
Far from the pages of a jetsetting age
Save for some unfortunate small-towners
Who need must travel by train
To get to warm food and bed

Trains move much like life
Unpredictable journeys with rank strangers
Some care enough to stay longer
To turn companions on a hidden fate
Some locales zip by like they never existed
Others consume mind and time

Some fleeting moments shared between stops
By people who may not share anything else
Can outlive even the length of the journey
We see sights which inflict our conscience
With burdens which must haunt us for long

And yet many a time we lose our way
For there is none who can drive us all way
The journey is only worth the wait
When the path matters more than our stop
All journeys however must end the same
In a place from where we cannot return

Must we care about where we are headed
And figuring out how fast we get there
Too hasty to make a new friend
Or even catch up with an old one
For a journey isn't worth much
If I have no time to stand and stare

Change

I will not dwell upon how ephemeral change is...Its' way too overrated. I would rather dwell upon my life because face it I can't help talking about myself, what with being narcisstic and all that. And writing here to get it out of my system is way better than to keep throwing it at my friends day in and out. There's one thing I live by. No one can understand you the way you do and to expect people to do that is plain foolhardy. No gf, parent or even the closest friend can ever really get to you. And to expect such a herculean task from anyone is self-delusional.

I guess I am now afraid to bare my soul to any individual apart from my two-dimensional screen. I can't really expect someone to sit with me 24x7 and take heed of every thought that springs to my mind. That would be selfish on my part and understanding this heralds understanding change...How often have people penned down in your slambook, "Never change - stay the same so that I can always love you like this". People change and they change a lot. An old friend will never get over his image of you when you had good times together. That's the hardest part of moving on as also of meeting the old friend again. Always disappointing for both chaps. Both coming to terms with the stranger standing in front of them, it breaks whatever old memories they shared.

So I went from being a nerdy oversized introverted kid to a hyperactive overdriven stick-thin workaholic to a work-hating alcoholic who would rather sit and dream in all day in a drunken stupor to more recently a cross between all three. I used to come back home and revise whatever I did in school each day. I would stay off all physical activity except for a few rounds of cricket and an occasional game of football. I still remember carrying fiction to the compulsory games break because i wanted to utilise my time. I remember my teens - awkward trying to make friends for the first time in my life; being aware of girls; being mortally terrified of them to the extent of shunning them. I remember my first brush with religion. Finding faith was beautiful. Honestly then, it was better than first love. It was the 90s. Economic growth, booming markets, IT jobs fresh all around - the days of the new Indian nuclear power. I guess that's when Americans started associating India with the still sleepy South Indian city of Bangalore and not the Cherokees and the Inuits. And I was lapping it up. Dreaming big for my country - dreaming big for myself.

I don't know where politics thurst in. But it did. The beginning of terrorism, the BJPs jingoism and the Kargil war had cemented my national pride. I identified with the right wing fundamentalist thought-process. One had to be a capitalist. One had to throw open our economy. One had to be strong against terrorists and to protect our fledgling economic miracle. And one identified with the men at the top. And then Gujarat happened. And I was disillusioned. I had championed faith, discipline and dreams not murder never murder. And how much more I racked my brains I could derive no semblance of reason for such divisive and reckless hate. My brief love affair with right-wing thought was over. I turned my back on public policy, my childhood heroes and my aspirations of a career in civil service, never to return. I would rather be a hypocrite and blame the random politician than join his ranks and taint my hands in blood or corruption. It was time to move on to a scarier place, St. Stephen's.

What happens when you snatch a gawky. awkward 17 year old from his books and push him into a world where glamour meets intellectualism? Either he changes his ways or he breaks and quits. I believed I was smarter than any who crossed my path in college. But I wasn't like most people around me in college. I wasn't used to making and keeping friends, or to co-exist in other people's spaces nor did I care enough to carry on a polite conversation with anyone around me. ...

To be continued

The mature one :)

Poetry is for flowers
So here follows a feeble saga
Of someone so becoming
Who mere prose cannot conjure
And yet a wondrous landscape
Needs no Michelangelo to paint it
Nor do truly mighty deeds
Need bards to sing verses
For it is the beauty of the subject
Which uplifts the literary product
Of a hastily construed imagination
Into truly everlasting poetry

So do I speak of a child
Who touched my life fleetingly
Her gracious and sweet smile
Lives still deep in my vivid memory
Or a girl whose star shone
So bright, she dazzled instantly
With an exceptionally diverse intellect
Was it her mighty pen which rescued
Many a hapless unacademic soul :)
Or the way she applies herself unflinchingly
To something she actually cares for

And yet I do no justice to the woman
Her features, manners and dainty graces
The power to love unquestioningly a rare one
But far rarer is to be loved and admired by many

Behind the pretty face though lurks
A tongue of steely sarcasm
I pause in silence for the unsuspecting
Might I say butchered souls :P
All I can wish from her this day
Is a promise to write again
May she wield the pen yet again
Though this time for a nobler cause
I wish the mature imp happy birthday
May she smile all life long

Colours of hate

All I can see are colours
Whirling and flying all around
Raging all red and blinding
The sounds of battle slowly blank out

For here a moment ago
There were the glorious knights
All resplendent in gleaming armour
Their steeds snorting fire and flame

Steady as a mountain we rode
Driven by a relentless hate
Heads held high, mouthing indignities
Afraid not us, we rode for the end

My brother leading us begins to laugh
A moment later he is mangled splinters
Right then cold fear consumes me
But the hoard behind me would not stop
The race to the sword has only begun

Wave after wave keep up the charge
Only to crash uncomprehendingly against the rock
My proud, brave and foolish peers
Die for a cause not their own
And as I lie cowering in agony
I know I shall pass forgotten
I am a manager, a nameless tool

New blog

I decided to bore everyone with random eco stuff and inflict my random ideas on unsuspecting folks. Please access my economic blog at economicallyours.blogspot.com Couldn't really fit it here :) In my blog, I shall keep writing about global markets, the financial world and primarily about the Indian economy. Some stuff about Europe, Japan and the US as well. Monetary policy will be a key focus of the blog. Very little space would be given to fiscal policy or infrastructure stuff. I don't really understand the last two. Happy reading...

Ramblings of a new employee

I have entered office. My first real job, not the 3 miniscule internships I did so far. Change is always unsettling even if its’ pleasant. And I hate meeting new people and parroting the customary hellos. My mind’s somersaulting around and I do my best to put up a plastic wooden smile that says, “Kill me, I am dumb.” Am I smiling enough?” “Do I look over-eager when I try to listen closely?” Am I being judged everytime I speak?” I guess if I can concentrate so many conflicts in my tiny grey cells, (to borrow from a popular series) my emotional range could be wider than that of a tea-spoon. Small comfort that.

Student life’s never coming back. At least the one I am used to. Being instructed in classrooms where you can snooze away and then amuse yourself after class in more ways than one. This is serious stuff or at least it seems to be. What’s different? I don’t have conventional exams anymore. But I will have a boss breathing over my neck evaluating every aspect of my work.

Which is scarier? Take your pick. If that’s not scary enough for you, here’s more. Responsibility is challenging. If I make mistakes, people lose money (real money unlike the trading games I have played so far). I know the above doesn’t sound as dramatic as “If I make mistakes, people die.” But if people lose money because of me, guess who could land the pink slip. Ah well I am a mountain-mole-hiller. Always was J

Tripping across

Here I am sitting all apparently busy in my I-Sec cubicle with my boss right behind my back penning down my first blog after I joined the grand ol world of working people :P. Oh yes my MD is also hovering around, contemplative coz there’s too much happening around. At least that’s what my limited knowledge can make out. So while I am supposed to be pondering over the RBI and Euro’s inflation, I am sneaking in a post about my famous road trip. As usual I am famously late after making grandiose announcements about my chronicling skills all through the trip.

The genesis of the trip lay in L 2nd when 3 slisha high gentlemen brain-stormed over Glen-fidditches to do something out of the way after IIMB. Amidst all placement woes, a tentative plan emerged. Borrow Dada’s famous Esteem (may Her Holiness always rest in peace) and drive down from Pune to Cal across the breadth of the country and brave the summer heat. Brave thoughts instead I must say. Google maps was summoned and in true Manager style an excel sheet materialized out of thin air. In my comfortably happy state, my imagination could already conjure up images of plate of hot steaming dhaba food, interesting people along the road, roads leading past the sea, green fields, mountains and dry arid country mile after mile after mile…

I must confess when I woke up all sobered up in the morning the plan seemed like a dream, unlikely to work out. It would be hot (and I mean real hot). Dada’s Esteem seemed a very unlikely candidate to aid a trip of this magnitude. In its’ current state it couldn’t chug along a mere 10 km without another ailment presenting itself and here we were talking thousands not even hundreds of km.

To be continued amidst house-hunting and hiding from ze bosses...

Maturity

A very difficult state to attain not unlike nirvana - but no one knows what it means to be there.

Things that question your state of maturity:
1) Claiming that you are mature. Textbook Catch 22. As a close friend of mine who keeps insisting that she is more mature than me put it, this only reinforces your childishness. Obviously she is immature too :)

2) Being younger than most of your peers. You can be the cat's whiskers, the monkey's ears and and the wise owl look all rolled into one but your friends will insist upon ruffling your hair, pinching your cheeks and calling you a baby. It doesn't help if you have soft skin either :P

3) Throwing tennis balls at dustbins to test your aim. Highly questionable activity. Bound to raise eyebrows everywhere

4) Being mildly indecisive or alternatively fail to take a call when required to do so. It could be between two job offers; Indian or Chinese ; Pink or blue shirt; taking a car or bike and the likes. You fail once and boy they will never let you choose again sob sob...

5) Being delighted about little things in life like eagles running away from the rain or nailing a rat in Dada's room and being kicked about it or facewash that smells all mango like..Ah well you get the picture...

I guess maturity is the ability to laugh at yourself. Or accepting something which you want to overlook because it is unpleasant. Maturity isn't about being extraordinarily smart or intelligent. Its' more about not refusing to see something right under your nose.

Unfortunately maturity is the last nail in the coffin of your childhood and a rude wake-up call in an uncaring and scruffy world. Knowing your limits, accepting defeat, being realistic, wallowing in cynicism and sarcasm are textbook maturity.

Can you choose to give the maturity bus the quiet go-by? I guess not unless you want to keep being taken for rides...

The Great IIM Mela Part 2

April 9th was a weird day by all standards. I was up at 4 am (horror of horrors). I guess I couldn’t sleep very well. And yet I felt an unnatural calm. I was almost dispassionate. With the end of day zee, a sense of finality had set in. I wasn’t going to join a hotshot I-bank from campus. The next best thing was to focus on what I could achieve the same day. As I got dressed to leave, I could not help grin about how my penalties had finally lapsed the previous night. I was a free man. The insti could hurt me no more…

I looked around me when I got to the MDC. It was definitely quieter than yesterday. Day 0.5 – as tradition has it was carved out to help people recover from the chaotic first day. Yet this year promised to be different. India needed a lot of fin people or so we had been told. And all the big names were up today…

11:30 am… So much for the cheerful exuberance in the morning. I have had only 1 interview so far. My interviewer, who would have looked far more at home at a disc or a Page 3 cocktail affair, had politely inquired about my marital status, age, number of siblings and political contacts. It seemed more like a proposition than an interview.

Next up with the ICL’s lead sponsor. My booming interviewer, a monster of a man doesn’t stop yelling at me. “I am spoilt for choice. I have interns from every top bank in the world interviewing with me today.” He summed it up beautifully. Economics had indeed triumphed. The Indian banks were kicked with their new bargaining power vis-à-vis the unfortunate batch. And that I believe was the order of the day.

I emerged trembling from that interview. My ego shattered, my eyes turbulent pools of tears; terrified by the man. I have never hated a man so much in so little time.

And then déjà vu had to happen. Two companies; both equally interested (at least both seemed like in the beginning) and me the unsure one. I ace the first part of Company A’s interview with economics but falter at Bond maths. The two gentlemen however are impressed and subsequently make their offer known to the PRs. And I was off gallivanting before Company B. Two interviews, two more telephonic interviews and 3 hours later B rejects me. In the meanwhile I have been hidden in a room so that A doesn’t discover me; have been surrounded by 6 PRs and shepherded from one process to another all the while being coached “Say this say that”. It does sound funny now doesn’t it. At that point of time though, it wasn’t in the least.

At least my courtroom drama did have a happy ending. A allows itself to be persuaded to still hire me in spite of their initial protests. And as they leave the process, Ghoda signals me that they have accepted me. I sink gratefully to my knees oblivious to everything. It had ended. I am vaguely aware of people around me patting my back, hugging me, ruffling my hair. I stood stock still unbelieving, reveling in the moment with my friends. I think about everyone who’s stood by me. The two PRs who fought for me, the little devil so far away then, who I had promised I would crack a top Indian bank, and the 3 idiots who stuck by me all the while. Countless others who had believed in me, supported me or had simply held me when I had faltered.

I walk out after some time on uncertain feet. I hear more good news. My buddies have also landed jobs. Collective happiness…the most beautiful thing. The Mela though must still go on…

Drinking Alone

Why is drinking alone so misconstrued? Is such behaviour (classically referred to as problem drinking) dangerous for the individual? Or could it be very inocuous? After all people do eat, watch movies, play computer games alone. Why does alcohol carry so much social stigma?

The Great Indian IIM Mela Part 1...

Is it possible to spew out everything you have learnt in the last few years to rank strangers over and over again all day? Is it possible to be so mindlessly numbed so that you don't even know what you are saying and yet realise that your mouth keeps moving and words are coming out? Welcome to the Great Indian IIM Mela, the weirdest potpourri of emotions that one can come across in a lifetime. Pain, agony, aggression, camaraderie, sometimes pure joy but underlying all that there is pressure. Its' everywhere. You can feel it in the faces of your classmates, in the FBI agent lookalike PRs, the trackers swarming around. And to my mind the scariest thing about the close of this life. The drooping shoulders, watching people break down, the set expressions or the forced smiles don't make for pleasant viewing...And yet there is strength and honour :)

Mar 4th (day Zee) - The holiest of holies. The day of reckoning as they put it. For some it would be the realisation of all efforts they had put in over a fairly long point of time. For others I guess not so much. I believe I take the cake in my Day zee preparedness. What with being dragged out from my room from watching 'Two and half men' straight into the Markets interview of my summers company. I think I couldn't stand their scrutiny in the brief interaction and the silent way in which they judged me. I had failed to make the PPO cut and as such had been deemed a pariah. It would have been a miracle if they had hired me.

My personal heroes of that day are undoubtedly a certain horse-like chap I love and a strong silent neighbour. Both strode like giants and won the day in very different ways. I admire their courage and fortitude, again in contrasting styles. One for the manner in which he killed the day and other for unbelievable effort.

And the the night began, a long one. You could feel the tension in the air. Cold forbidding silence. Even the victors of the day would grieve. For in every group there would be a dear friend still left in the process.

It's emotionally draining to write this. I have to postpone the next part to a subsequent post.

Spring

There are many getaways from abject failure. Very easy ones as well. The simplest is to lock yourself in isolation and ruminate over the past. Well its’ tougher than it sounds. Others meander into addictions, yet more self-introspections and sometimes the most drastic step, which I shan’t mention here for the sake of surviving the most terrible beating I would receive and one drunken Bangkok night. The easiest way out is companionship of those who you care for. Love and affection can infuse life into even those who have lost the will to exist. This one is dedicated to all those who stooped to bring back the dead to life….

Arid lands laid waste by the west wind

A blanket of snow and lifelessness

For none lived when even water surrendered

Captive to the icy layers

Ah but does life ever give up

Meanders it in mysterious ways

Bubbling in suspended isolation

For the warm might yet return

For life teams in hidden caverns

In stolen water under the icy calm

And melt away will the stony silence

When life will silence the autumn leaves

And there shall be spring and bloom

Flowers will rise in every brook

The sea of colours will overwhelm

Every inch of winter that ever remained

The Land of Nod

The Land of Nod

A medley of thoughts, hopes and expressions

Yet with unwavering honesty and conviction

She strides across my life fleetingly

Brighter than many who crossed my sky.

One moment she stares across the room

And as I wonder to myself

Could a mere smile be so beautiful?

To light my life with so much optimism

There she has passed into the Land of Nod.

Her beauty is a wondrous sight

And yes she very well knows it

For she stands out as stark

As a beacon in a jungle of monstrosities

Her beauty however is but one of many

A gift which she proudly possesses

Be the written word or the spoken

She essays them with fire and élan.

Here must I reluctantly stop

My puny words do no further justice

To script her saga or call it tale

One of the finest who I have ever known

The King of Hearts

The King of Hearts

A king needs her kingdom

To rule and govern

Those whose lives she has touched

By many a gift some seen others hidden

A child and yet a woman

Of matchless charm and magnetism

Her beauty and wit have no measure

Mere mortals cannot but come even close

A magical pen does she wield

It essays many a picturesque dream

Her words wreathed with her own beauty

Laced with power and sheer delight

But more potent than her charm or intellect

Is her power of belief and faith

In people, ideas or even a passing thought

She can move mountains if she wants to.

A loyal subject have I been for years

Loving, admiring and looking up to her

Alas the journey draws to a close

The light will move way and leave behind

A grieving me for her company and strength.