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…