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...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
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…
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…
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