The God of Bald Things !

I am not sure whether the winters have suddenly become warmer here in Ahmedabad or if the impending release of Gajini has brought this catastrophic turnaround, but WIMWI suddenly looks to have found its new fad these days.

There was an era when ruffian hair and sideburns took the cake. Today the trend has reversed. There has been a sudden flurry of clean shaven craniums all around. I could buy it if one said before placements, i want my hair to regrow and look just perfect. I could also have bought it if one was aiming to beat the heat. But this is suddenly a mushrooming of the vogue.

I can count atleast 4 people in my section alone who have gone in for the Shaakal look, and probably double the number across the other sections too. Pray, explain, what the professor would feel when a triad of baldies are staring at him, sitting right next to each other. These days with the SBC presentations going on, it becomes difficult for the cameraman to record all the live videos with the light shining off the oiled convexes ! "It hurts the eye" is what i heard one of my classmates quipping to the guy next seat.

Now that you come to think about it, all these magnificient bald busts are so different amongst themselevs. Round, oval, egg shaped, close cropped, crystal clear, 'protrusions of a second kind' ! I am beginning to have mixed thoughts on the long hair that i am trying to grow and maintain. Is the fad really out? Or is is this just a passing phase. Are the damsels in distress stumped or 'bald' over ?

What i surely do know is that IIM-A's new hottest telecast that is topping the ratings, is a show called the "The Bald and the Beautiful". Lets see how much longer this show keeps up the steam.

Tabla Beat Science

While for most of us who continue to be mesmerized by the maestro Ustaad Zakir Husaain, it would be absolutely entertaining and a dash of sheer brilliance to listen to him performing with the other giants of the percussion world in a clash of the titans, giving to us some of the best world fusion music.

At times even the blogger fails to capture the music on paper. However a short note copied verbatim.

"Call it an aggregation of some of the best contemporary percussionists: Trilok Gurtu, Zakir Hussain, and Asian Underground star Talvin Singh combine under the sonic washes of producer Bill Laswell to show the possibilities of Indian percussion. It's definitely a beatfest, but one of subtlety, where what is being said isn't as important as the way it's being stated, and the dialogue between hands includes a lot of silences. Gurtu comes from a more jazz tradition, Hussein a classical background, and Singh represents the brash young things of the dance floor. Mostly Laswell leaves it to them to provide the sonic entertainment, which is as it should be with delicate swathes of sound barely intruding, just coloring the proceedings. While it's not for everyone, those who love Indian percussion in all its forms will find this album a complete joy."
--Chris Nickson

In moments like these i am helpless to comment on greatness well beyond my mortal humble self.
So here are a couple of videos that have just raised the bar of instrumental music for me and left me dumbstruck.

Video 1 : Palmistry by Tabla Beat Science




Video 2: Mengedenga by Tabla Beat Science

Toccata & Fugue

When one has had a long break away from writing, when one has turned rusty enough, when one has dried up the thoughts that made life worth enjoying, one often wonders what next to pen down. And often it is the next topic, that next incident, you wish was worth more interesting than the previous one and hence flies by a narrative that was never told, a vision unseen, a voice unheard. It is at times like these that one must find that spark to set things straight, set the wheel of joy into motion.

Strangely enough, for me it happened today. And from the most unexpected sources as well. Of all the weekends i have spent wasting or getting wasted here at wimwi, this one was quite a different experience. I spent almost the entire afternoon and evening listening to (rather more like watching) videos on YouTube. And i probably covered an entire gamut of instrumental music that my heart seem to have yearned for in ages.

It is rather surprising to find myself not falling to sleep listening first to all the jazz of the 40s and 50s and then moving onto my favorites - the string compositions. It was a day of pure ecstasy hearing violin renditions of Bach and Chopin sonatas performed by the Berlin Philharmonic and Vanessa Mae. Aah ! The sounds say it all - a feeling of pain, of pleasure, of joy, of sadness, of longing, of sorrow, of desires, of passion, of fear, of strange whispers ...

But the best probably had been saved for the last. Toccata and Fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach. A mix of haunting notes (remember Addams Family) followed by a high pitch energetic stretch of the chords - covering more than 3 octaves. The sheer pace of the beats, and yet the ever so subtle hand movements. It seems like magic out of thin air. Fresh, pleasant and infused with all the serenity one needs to calm one's mind. And to top it off, the duet between an electric guitar with distortions and a violin.

It just cant help one fall in love all over again. Poetry is good, and ballads even greater. But there is no describing the charm brought on by a piece of well rendered instrumental classic. Close your eyes, and the energy will surround your senses. It takes you to a plain so far away returning seems next to impossible. One simply wishes to stay there forever. All alone, all by oneself - with no soul to break the silence. Just sheer melodious aura and nothing more. Maybe a gentle breeze to carry you on.

I am nearing that state of Tabula Rasa I always wished for. In time i will. There is still a hard path ahead to make peace with my inner self. Till then, it seems like things are not so bad after all. There is still some hope out there - pure, innocent, untouched, uncorrupted, vibrant. Those old memories return. And another phase too shall pass, bringing us closer each day, with Toccata and Fugue and so many more like them to guide us through.

The WhACkiest Week Ever ...

Its been a rollicking fortnight here at WIMWI (Henceforth referred to as IIMA or only A, under the copyright act and citations rule provided by the Chicago guide lines and blah blah).

For those trying to figure out the content of the text above, don't bother. I know nothing of it either. That is the first step to a good report here at A. Know nothing till Friday evening 11pm. And by 12:30pm of the next Saturday, you can become a master at writing reports, providing recommendations and finalizing action plans that major company CEOs and VPs are still at a loss to do.

Welcome to the world of WAC - Written Analysis and Communication - a course taught only in A, and which, as the seniors (henceforth referred to as 'tucchhas') and profs both agree, is what makes us Rated-A.

After a warm welcome to the institute by the tucchhas, in a style that only the best 250 of the country can manage to pull off, the entire last week (or rather it was only just this last week that went by - time sure flies fast) has been a grind. From getting a flavor of "Maniac" (MANAC or Managerial Accounting - now re-christened as FRA or Financial Reporting and Accounting to prevent the use of Maniac) to absorbing Wordworth Poetry and Kabir Dohe in a single class of Statistics, I have realized why they call this place the Mecca.

The professors operate at a level their own. Eccentricity is the name of the game and cold calling is only a glance away. While i am sure to flunk FRA and Stats (i have already screwed my 1st quiz and messed up a 14 mark question out of 40) and Economics is all graphed out with demand curves, I seem to have found a glimmer of hope in Managerial Computing (MC) and a HR based course on Individual Dynamics (ID). Atleast two places i can use my core competencies - Excel reports and Global farts. MC however might be the only place on earth where one is required to write Excel functions in the exam rather than a practical based test.

Which leaves me with the most dreaded course on campus. I met a few alumni of the 1988 batch and they were still terrorized to learn that WAC yet existed. A subject that had made their lives miserable and would do so for 20 more batches to follow.

Now WAC is nothing but discussing a case in class - a group of 80 odd students - listening to them fight over trivialities of the case, providing their thoughts, view points, analysis, ideas, solutions. All we need to do is condense a 3 hour class room discussion into a 1000 word report, in the given style, format, header, footer, spacing, font etc etc. I mean how tough would it be to do that right?

Well for most of us it took up the entire of yesterday night. While I managed to doze off by 2:30am, some of the unfortunate ones managed to look at their beds only at 2:30pm today afternoon.

But the fun part is not as much making the report, as the time when we actually end up submitting it. For decades, there has been a ritual termed as the "WAC Run" that happens in the campus on the first submission Saturday of term 1. In those days of yore, when a single printer existed in the library, imagine the chaos when students were rushing to get prints of a 10 page report, all at the same time in the morning - late and dazed.

At this point in time, it was the seniors who used to be up before us, flogging the paths on both sides with cameras in hand, and snapping away at the lost souls who were dashing to submit the reports before the given deadline.

With technology now offering printers in each dorm (unfortunately half of which did not work today, and we had to visit other dorms), the Run has become more or less non-existent. But hats off to tucchhas of Dorm 10 who came up with innovative ideas to maintain the spirit of things. They had all reports confiscated from the fucchhas early morning, and gave them back only 8 minutes from time. A brisk walk from D10 to the class room would require 7minutes. I needn't say more, do I. The flurry, the rush, the tensed faces. Tucchhas in D14 went a step ahead and locked out the juniors in their own rooms till the last minutes. One of them got scarred enough and tried jumping balconies to get out.

All in all it was brilliant experience - especially when you are on the other side.
But once the surprise quizzes and report submissions were behind us, we had a sumptuous lunch and went out for a movie. Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na is an excellent Romantic Comedy, one of those types i liked watching after a long time and one which i recommend for a one time watch. Our drive to just chill out was so high that despite not getting tickets in the first hall, some of which were going as high as 400 buks (and this is not even in black), we tried our luck at another.

And if that was not enough, the dorm tucchhas treated us to a late night dinner with some Hyderabadi Biryani. When we did come back to the campus, there was a "Ramp" party going on to celebrate the first WAC submission. Yet again, the name originates from the dance party that used to happen near the Harvard Steps before we had an auditorium. Unfortunately when you have 300 'boys' dancing on the floor, it is not quite a dance party you want to be in.

So i decided to round off my day (and night) with an hour of the National Sport of Frisbee in the LKP lawns. The game is definitely hard and not easy to play. If ever the laws of motion dynamics and random entropy were to be tested, this was it. But none-the-less after a strenuous display (where i kept standing at one end of the field, playing the passing game), i just crashed out in my room - but not before writing all these memoirs down.

Surely and by far the Whackiest Week ever here at the Theater of Dreams !

Mea Maxima Culpa

Confíteor Deo omnipoténti et vobis, fratres

quia peccávi nimis

cogitatióne, verbo, ópere, et omissióne:

mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

I confess to almighty God,

and to you, my brothers and sisters,

that I have sinned through my own fault,

in my thoughts and in my words,

in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do;

-- Confiteor, Mass of the Roman Catholic Church

I stand atop the tower of Babel. The air smells so pure. The wind in my face - icy, silken, subtle, strong! I look up at the sky so clear - untouched and serene. I look down at the teeming millions below - faces familiar, faces unknown.

And then i fall. For atonement - of thoughts so vile, leading to words accursed and actions that are doomed. But it is not a confession of deeds i indulge in, rather, i ask for forgiveness of those closest to me. Mea Maxima Culpa - my most grievous fault: Is probably my trust in those i hold most dear, most true, most faithful.

Left in tatters, ruined, soiled, torn apart - shattered is my faith, lost is my confidence. Strong i never was, steely i have now become. Weak i never felt, fragile now stands my mind. Too close i keep those i confide my deepest thoughts to. Narrow i have made my world - the paths that connect are constricted and dark. A new door i open in anticipation; an old door closes behind forever. Is there a way to negotiate this maze - to come out clean, sin ridden.

How does one preserve the sanctity of thoughts. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who guards the guardians? For when such gloom befalls, it saps you off the positive energy. Vibes of negativity float all around. You become obscured from those around you. Grumpy, jittery, moody. A silhouette, a silent shroud.

It pains you to see your own prejudices and that of others. Sarcasm laced. A feeling of the world conspiring. Of people that manipulate your actions, of their sweet talks to weave you and bind you - the oh so common fly in a spider's web scenario. And yet, and yet. We fall prey. The trap shuts close. Engulfing you. And then you plot your ploy. Your escape and your vengence. It defiles the very action, the very emotion you fought against. You become what others around you were. What others around you are. What others around you will remain to be. You become what you fear most.

The hallowed one in me pleads with that little horned creature. Let it be. Move along. People come and people go. Let not their actions be our judge. Let not the deeds of one govern your deeds for the other. Good advice tells you not to go into a shell and shut yourself up like a clam. But I was always the devil in me. I prefer it that way though. In your world, with no one to hurt you. Always in reticence, stepping out only when required.

Aah! Mea maxima culpa, my most grievous sin. Believing in others as much as i believe in myself. Always trying to be good, trying to be docile, trying to be in harmony. Truth is, it doesn't work. The world is selfish and so must you be. Let that be a sin then if others feel so. At-least I stay true to my inner self. Of all things that matter, it is not a sin I would have to answer for.

Cogito, Ergo Sum

Rene Descartes's discourse lays the ground work for modern day philosophy. Given the sudden interest in the newly found "Quarter life crisis" mails that have started circulating around, I come across people all suddenly relating to it. Trying to find who they really are?

For a long time now I seem to have given up on discovering myself - introspection as is tough in itself, retrospection even more so. It feels like the conversations you had with friends just before the IIM interviews. Trying to desperately fill out those blank pages with 'about you' stuff, your strengths, weaknesses, skills etc etc etc. And I thought that SWAT analysis was something they taught you in a B-school. Yeah, Right !

So well, trying to answer the ultimate bore of a question - Who am I this time?

Am I the intellectual being; a fountainhead of obscure knowledge? Or am I the nitwit; dumb and inarticulate on issues that matter most. Am I the snob, with a swollen nose or am I the docile, cushioned with humility? Am I the obsessive, the compulsive, the disorderly? Or am I the logical, the reasoned, the guide? Am I the pillar of strength in times hard, or am I the emotional wreck? Am I the loud mouthed insensitive or the understanding sympathetic? Am I the mathematician or the poet? Am I a shadow of my previous ghosts or am I the light at the end of the tunnel?

I know not. Probably all rolled into one. A faucet with a million levers. I am who I am.

But well, as Descartes points out - "I think, therefore I am" - these days for me pretty much translates to "I think, therefore IIM" !!

I Moved Your Cheese ...

Journeys can get boring.
Solitary journeys even more so.
And those in a train, cooped for 24hours, definitely top that list.

So what does one do, apart from listening to the middle aged lady or the old gray haired guy next seat, who wants to ramble all the way and make small talk, and not let you rest in peace, till the time he/she breaks for the rest-room or till you do??

Well, one can either pretend to be deep asleep, with snoring adding to the effect. Or try and look deeply pensive while staring out of the window, looking at the open fields and rocks go past by (counting the number of telegraph poles on the way), as if the answer to the next noble prize winning problem would be striking you this instant.

Gen-X these days would generally plug in to their ipods or laptops (with the Indian Railways now offering charging plug points). For me, it is the usual old fashioned paper back edition of an obscure book. Probably more than one at a time.

This time around it was one of my most interesting reads in recent times. Barely a couple of hours long, less than 100 paged, "I Moved Your Cheese" by Darrel Bristow-Bovey. Its a deep upper cut jab into the jaws of Mr Spencer Johnson and his Self-help book "Who Moved my Cheese?". In-fact, the buck does not stop here. Bristow takes a shot at all self help books and makes you truly realize how good one is by being his lazy self.

A true sarcasm laced read, you tickle yourself to death with the witty humor Bristow uses to charm his audience. Right from African hunters to surly neighbors to Osmatix to the mystic Mayans (which by the way is the best part of book and takes the cake hands down), Bristow teaches you one golden rule - "Find your inner ostrich egg". Life is all about pretending. Its how good you get at the game. The egg is supposed to be your secret, meant to be guarded well. Reveal what is in the egg (or rather what is not), and you lose all your glamor and glory.

For those of you lucky enough to have read it, it is quite dangerous. You really do not wish to work more, shirk all labor and find the easiest way out. Advanced reactions to the book may cause you to become so adept, that it becomes a child's play for you to delegate responsibility and make others do your (dirty) work. Trust me when I say every word of it is true.

But for those of you who still wish to go ahead and try out the low-esteem self help books, please do go ahead. I am sure you would make at-least one person around you smirk (easy to say that this one person would be the one who has read this parody).

I am actually wondering had I read this book earlier, who knows; I would have got my promotions much more quickly than the current usual. Honestly, I am almost on the track laid out by this book. I think now at the Mecca of all MBA schools, it is time to put the practicality to the test. I know I am a bit apprehensive, but the intention is to go out all guns blazing. And what better way to aim at becoming the best of the best of the best.

As the old self-help proverb goes - "Hard work always counts".
We antithetical retards prefer saying - "It is not about how hard you work, it is all about how smart you work" !!

And so the next time my office mates find me with an open excel file, they rather not ask me if it is work that i am doing for Unite or United. Someone definitely moved my D's ...

Butt Branding !!!

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.

-- Verbal Kint (in The Usual Suspects)

Oh well! That is something i learnt it the hard way around in the strife to reach the ultimate zenith of business schools.

As Kotler puts it so subtly - Good marketing is the art of the customer wanting to come to you and buy your product (whether it be his need or not), rather than you going out to the customer and selling what you make.

I think the same applies to the process of shortlisting B-Schools. Which is the best? What segment does each cater to? What is the profile of the student? Of the faculty? The USP and so on ...

Considering my 'infamous' decision (by many) last year to not join FMS, i think getting through a few colleges considered to be at a higher "brand value" this time around, makes me probably smirking enough at the critics. But critics being critics and what they are, they will not go without a jab at any opportunity.

And so it boils down to my decision to quit ISB and join IIM-A. I mean apart from the name, the reputation, the companies, the jobs.

"A" has been the benchmark for about 250,000 odd students all over India looking to become the top 250 managers in this country. Has it been by chance or is it because it was the only one in its time. With a boom of good B-schools around the country and abroad, with all the controversies surrounding the admissions process, most advised me that I was better off at ISB. I would be done over with it in an year, build great contacts, meet a profile like pot-pourri.

Truly said, the mails on the new IIMA yahoo group have been a disappointment. 19 girls in a batch of 250. Probably 70% engineers from an IIT/NSIT/DCE with only AOE and CS in their extra cirric section. And what happened to the leveraging your work-experience part? Only 80 freshers. I mean, why the hell am i joining A. I was better off at ISB where atleast my work-ex was valued and niche. Now its like a herd of cattle, all trying to get the greenest of pastures.

The second disaster probably seems to be the infrastructure at "A". Coming from a lavish treatment with my own room with an AC, a private TV, fridge and a kitchenette, I am beginning to wonder how life at "A" is suddenly going to become when i will be bringing my own pillows and linen. And strangely enough, there is no Wireless at "A". Atleast it wasn't till last year. Oh boy! What will life be without a wifi on campus. Running back to your nest cooing in the warmth of your lan cable. Disastrous.

And yet. And yet. I still decide to give up on all those rocking parties at ISB, the pool dunkings, the beer sessions with our profs in shorts and tees. Why!

I think for the first time, sanity refuses to lead the way. If only, i hope, i get the answer in a couple of years, it probably will be worth it.

So dear Mr. Kotler - your words do stand true. The butt branding continues. "A" doesnt reach out to us anymore, we do to it. Luckily, we can at-least keep chanting for the next two years - "Branded for LIFE"

Into the Night ...

Like a gift from the heavens, it was easy to tell
It was love from above, that could save me from hell
She had fire in her soul, it was easy to see
How the devil himself, could be pulled out of me
There were drums in the air, as she started to dance
Every soul in the room, keeping time with their hands …

Santana & Chad Kroeger

Well the song is called, as you must have so obviously guessed, 'Into the Night'. The post in consideration would probably be apt to start of with these lines. Into the Night. The time of the day that many fear the most. Dark and Scandalous. Terrorizing and Tumultuous. Ugly and Abhorrent.

Oh well, welcome to a B-school. Thats the time of the day when all your worst fears come true. Delayed submissions, pending timeliness. The only chance that you get to wrap stuff up is at night. It does not matter to the professors that poor students are losing out on Sleep, Glorious Sleep.

During a recent chat with some alums, i was surprised to find out that of 24 hours in a day, only 4 went for lectures. You had 20 hours to yourself. Inspite of this Wow quotient, i had that queasy feeling in my guts with a pending lull of what was going to hit me next. Its borrowed time that the students live on. Even those 20 hours belong to the profs. And trust me, they will goto lengths to try and squeeze in a few more somewhere.

Take for instance my schedule. Classes from 8:45am to 10:45am and then from 11:15am to 1:15pm. With the profs keeping high expectations that the students will read up the lecture content in advance and also finish off the exercises before coming to class. Why, pray somebody tell me, are classes necessary then. Might as well have a mail correspondence.

Now i being the inherent lazy bum, dont expect me to visit the library in order to find stuff. Especially when the books are tiered into 3 vast floors. And i don't like buying books either, given the previous college experiences, where my books bought in semester one had never flipped a page even till semester eight. Which leaves me with two options.

First, i beg or borrow a book from my group mates for some time when they are not using it. This seems highly unlikely because i am sure there is no scope for lending when the pressure is mounting on you to read up cases after cases.

Second, and preferred option is to download the book of the net. However, our useless net connections have been blocked from pursuing such activities. Even after managing to bypass this obstacle, still leaves one problem. You never end up finding the correct editions. I am currently reading a book that has the exact same theoretical content, but the examples differ in terms of the global geographies. No wonder i was stumped when i tried finding a case for Gillette Indonesia, and ended up staring at the barrel of Ford USA.

The other crib i have is that since everybody wants to utilize the internet bandwidth at night, it becomes an ugly proposition when you cannot get effective speeds at even 4am. Oh well, no one said life is fair, but why cant it be unfair to others.

And now grudgingly, i have to make that trip to my library and get used to reading stuff. I am wondering if they will let me take my camera inside, so that when the library closes at 10pm, i still have the option to read up digitally, Into the Night ...

PS - What ultimate crap. Just when i am about to leave for the library, i get a call saying the book you requested is not on the shelf. Obviously, there are others who have the same idea and are reading away to glory right now. Why i ask, don't they have anything constructive to do in the night !!

PPS - i am now relying on my study group mates to provide me with a gist of what is accounting and marketing all about just before i enter the class. Hopefully that should at-least get me through for tomorrow. Coming from a consulting background, bluffing my way through 4 hours should not be an issue. Though i am riding my luck far beyond than just Into the Night ...

Oh! How I Envy thee Faust ...

When I say to the Moment flying: 'Linger a while - thou art so fair!'
Then bind me in your bonds undying, and my final ruin I will bear.

--- The Tragical History of Dr. Faust (Christopher Marlowe)

Bizarre as it may seem and heretic though it may sound, come to think of it, I truly wish to emulate Doctor Faust. For the uninitiated, Dr. Faust or Faustus is the person in literary folklore who sold his soul to the devil in exchange for eternal life.

But legends are based on stories, and some of which are true. The origin of Faust's name and persona remains unclear, though it is widely assumed to be based on the figure of German Dr. Johann Georg Faust (approximately 1480–1540), a dubious magician and alchemist probably from Württemberg, who obtained a degree in divinity from Heidelberg University in 1509. According to one account, Faust's infamy became legendary while he was in prison, where in exchange for wine he "offered to show a chaplain how to remove hair from his face without a razor; the chaplain provided the wine and Faustus provided the chaplain with a salve of arsenic, which removed not only the hair but the flesh".

Without deviating much, let me simply say - how many of us are lucky enough to fall in love, be the one who breaks our beloved's heart, sells his soul to the devil, manages to live a life of longevity albeit one of sadness and remorse, and yet manages to find that one single moment of happiness in the end knowing no happiness truly exists. And despite these horrors and the tragedies, God intervenes and prevents the devil from taking Faust's soul as agreed, because HE recognizes Faust's unending striving.

How easy is it for us to condemn someone today for their sins, knowing not the true nature of the actions involved. All we think about is the fact that Faust sold his soul, without an endeavor to understand why he did the same.

It was not for money, it was not for power, it was not for fame. No it was not even for love. It was simply to attain more knowledge. To attain the zenith of human happiness. Faust knew this would never happen, and hence he was confident of never having to give up his soul. As Goethe showcases in his poetry, even God feels the need to let the man's soul be, for though he has committed the sin of hubris, he has done it for a higher good. For that one moment of happiness, he has decided to forgo his very essence.

Now you would think, why am i blabbering all this. The facts simply are, i have been thinking about a few things this past week, and trying to find that one moment of happiness for myself. Seems to me its a little obscured at the moment. I am becoming unsure and hazy on what construes happiness. Is it the pleasure of achieving some thing great or is it the cherished memories of being with people you like, your friends, your family. Clueless i still am.

As the devil incites Faust - "if you wish to stay in that moment forever, you shall die that very moment". Do i thus wish to achieve that tiny bit of joy to be everlasting. Or am i ready to give it up and move on - seeking more moments of mirth that shall please me just the instant, but never to keep in my thoughts for ever. All good things come to an end. But as the answer came back, it is well so for better things to start anew.

The piper at the gates of dawn - waiting to be led - leading the way.
Oh Faust, shower me with the very knowledge you seek. So that i may be wary when the time comes for me to choose and decide the fate for my own.

Forget Me Not ...

As they stared blankly. in dumb misery deepening as they slowly realized all they had seen and all they had lost, a capricious little breeze, dancing up from the surface of the water, tossed the aspens, shook the dewy roses and blew lightly and caressingly in their faces; and with its soft touch came instant oblivion. For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi- god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should be happy and lighthearted as before.

--- The Wind in the Willows

Oh what a sweet gift it is. The gift of forgetfulness. To purge thoughts of no use. To wipe away memories no longer dear. To wash away the remembrances no longer worth attaching to.

As Engelbert Humperdinck would put it - "How could you leave without regret? Am I that easy to forget?"

Or is it that we begin to forget some memories because new ones have taken their place. We had nothing against the old ones though. Its just that they faded away into obscurity.

But why would this happen. What would lead someone to churn out the remembrances that one has. Memories are linked to people. Memories are linked to places. Memories are linked to events. You can forget the people, you can forget the places, you can forget the events. But you cannot drive out the abstract emotions that have had a lasting impact on you via them.

People come and people go. They maybe near you, they may be distances apart. They are with you today, and yet years away. The memories you cherish the most are the ones that bring a smile to your face even after ages of their having happened. The sudden warmth you feel, the glow that lightens up your face.

Who would be cruel enough to ignore these. Shun them like pestilences. One man's junk is another man's treasure they say. Apt words. Your golden days can at best be the indifference in the lives of others. What then should one do. Pluck such thoughts off? Or bury them in so deep that they get lost amongst the million other indifferences.

I for one, cannot do either. I wish i could. Revisit the Tabula Rasa as i so want to. But no, I have learnt over time that starting clean is probably not always the correct way out. It maybe the easy path, but then i choose not to take it. As Frost puts its, I took the road less traveled. Beautiful lines:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Face my fears and face my defeats. Face my sufferings and face my pain. This I must do.
To try and remember, to keep thinking, to keep longing, to keep hoping, to keep having the faith, to not give up even if the cause is lost.

The gift of forgetfulness is the easy way out.
But as Frost yet again so serenely puts it as "my best bid for remembrance", i quote one of my favorite passages again.

Whose woods these are I think I know,

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lonely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Sgt. Pepper Lonely Hearts Club ...

Yeah yeah - that's the name of the number one rock album of all time as mentioned by the Rolling Stones magazine. The first time the Beatles came out with their creative best as a unit. The first time they tried doing something under a nom-de-plume - to NOT be Beatles the performers - but Beatles the next door artists.

Given the debacle i put myself into after the previous write-up, where everybody (except the one intended for) started questioning the mystery shrouding the post, like the Beatles posing as the Sgt. Peppers Club, i decided to clear up some air.

No, this has nothing to do with Hyderabad or Nashik or any other city in the country. And no, this was not the usual pre V-day blues either. I don't suppose you need to have a V-day in order to tell somebody you love them or like them or miss them and on and on. Don't we keep doing that pretty much every day of the year anyways.

(PS - don't brand me a "Tu hi tu Bajrangi Re" for having something against Valentine - beautiful post - must read - especially the "Kya ek ladka aur ladki ..." dialogue from Maine pyaar kiya - suddenly reminds of a "couple" of people i know - in a good way obviously - who am i to presume things and get into the trouble of writing apologies)

To cater to a second niche group that was much interested in the time of the post; well crowds generally pysche me more than being alone. Its all a state of mind rather than the physical being. Ok ok, no more Freudian fart.

Take for example tonight. It truly was a blast. Old happy memories revisited. Rib tickling laughter entwined with Toxic Ninja overdose. On one side you had the eternal chatterboxes, and on the other the GD experts, who like to come in at strategic points, hit a bouncer for a six, and then move back into their shell.

I was in the mood for writing the contents of the previous post for a long time now, but just never found the opportune moment. A few lines "close to my heart".

Come to think of it - do i need to justify what i write or on whom i write. NO i don't.
Read at your leisure, if you will. Appreciate at your leisure, if you will. Scathe at your leisure, if you will.

The keyboard is simply a medium for aerated ideas. Thoughts fizz through ...

What i have realized though over time is - you can be as lonely as you want to be in a crowd, or enjoy the company of good memories locked up by yourself. Its all how you perceive the moment. You could laugh away in front of everybody but still be aloof. Or you could have that pleasant and relaxingly quiet glow that says it all.

I recall a very old story i read by Earl Reed Silvers; the thoughts which i try and capture here in my own poetic essence:

Do you remember, dear, the days so long ago;
the school lab, where over messy experiments, each other we grew to know.
Do you remember, dear, you had just moved to town;
I was a poor dressmaker's son, but you wore a tiara and a gown.

Do you remember, dear, my waking thoughts were mostly of you;
you took me into your crowd, though friends i had so few.
Do you remember, dear, the night i took you to the dance;
and while we danced the last waltz, i confessed my love at this only chance.

Do you remember, dear, the specks of gold in your eyes;
and all the efforts to keep it a secret, with those small true lies.
Do you remember, dear, when society became so disapproving of us;
you took the path to college on the very next bus.

Do you remember, dear, what i whispered to you that day;
that in years to come you must follow what your heart would say.
Do you remember, dear, i asked you to win over your fears;
I kissed you, and you smiled at me through your tears.

Do you remember, dear, those letters of mine you never got;
the ones your mother, seeing you reading, had from then on caught.
Do you remember, dear, your replies to mine were always so short and few;
One week followed another, and i had only my memories of you.

Do you remember, dear, that i worked hard to earn a living of mine;
and through hardships and savings, it all worked out fine.
Do you remember, dear, the years that have gone by, 31 in all;
and we celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary this fall.

Do you remember, dear, that soon after you had college left;
chance it was, that in the corner of an unknown street we again met.
Do you remember, dear, the golden specks were in your eyes again;
reminiscent of that old night you left, us standing a final time in the rain.

Do you remember, dear, standing there in the middle of the street;
those strange words i again began to repeat;
Do you remember, dear, if in years to come i ever walk in through that door ...
forgetting the tears in both our eyes, you kissed me like never before !!!

Alone ...

In days, perhaps even in months, i felt alone today.
Really alone.

"You are so far away from me. So far i just can't see."
Never have i missed you so much. But what have i to remember you by.
Except for those few golden memories my thoughts have captured.

I half cried, i half smiled. Like those cute pink bunny rabbits with long ears.

I know you won't be reading this. But if you do, you already know.
Haven't you heard it all before. The pain, the anguish, the longing.

You have been my bridge over troubled waters. The rock i find an anchor to. I know where to seek solace. Aaah ! That smile :) - the eternal rejuvenatory potion - the one element in my mundane existence that i long for the most.

But my thoughts betray me. Or do they?
Can i ever forget you? Do i want to forget you?
In your happiness lies my salvation, and in mine lies yours.
The ties that bind !

And yet, if for ever in years to come ...

Tribute to the Busby Babes

"Trafford Park, which is just behind us here, is the biggest industrial estate in the city and they work hard, and they work long. On a Saturday, it is up to you to provide a little entertainment for them"

---- Sir Matt Busby

As one of the teeming million fans of the Red Devils, i feel proud to take out time and devote a post in tribute to the greatest team that ever walked the planet 50 years ago.

The darkest day: Feb 6th 1958
February 6th will forever be circled on the calendars of everyone connected with Manchester United. On that day in 1958, the darkest day in United's history, 23 people - including eight players and three members of the club's staff - suffered fatal injuries in the Munich air crash.

Flying back from a European Cup tie against Red Star Belgrade, the team plane stopped in Germany to refuel. The first two attempts to take off from Munich airport were aborted; following a third attempt, the plane crashed.Twenty-two of the people on board died instantly, while Duncan Edwards - one of the eight victims from the team - died 15 days later as a result of the injuries he sustained.

The tragedy is an indelible part of United's history, as is Sir Matt Busby overcoming his injuries to build another great team which won the European Cup 10 years later.
Roger Byrne (28), Eddie Colman (21), Mark Jones (24), David Pegg (22), Tommy Taylor (26), Geoff Bent (25), Liam Whelan (22) and Duncan Edwards (21) all died, along with club secretary Walter Crickmer, trainer Tom Curry and coach Bert Whalley.

Eight journalists died - Alf Clarke, Tom Jackson, Don Davies, George Fellows, Archie Ledbrook, Eric Thompson, Henry Rose, and Frank Swift who was a former Manchester City player. Plane captain Ken Rayment perished, as did Sir Matt's friend Willie Sanitof. Travel agent Bela Miklos and passenger Tom Cable also died.

The Busby Babes as the young team (with an average age of 22) was called, was a highly talented bunch of youngsters that had come through the United junior ranks, coached by the legendary Sir Matt Busby. The team that went on to re-shape United's history over the next few years, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of Old Trafford (bombed by the Nazis), winning 5 consecutive FA Youth Cups.

If not for the tragedy, the juggernauts would have been unstoppable. There was no team unparalleled. And yet, it was the resolve of the 5 survivors led by Sir Busby, to mould a new team, that would go on to win the European Cup within just 10 years.

As Sir Alex Ferguson remarked in the memorium service, he has been at the helm of the club for 21 years now, and has won just the one Champions League. For that United team to win it in such a short span overcoming traversities, is something the entire footballing nation would be proud of. Sir Matt Busby could have retired then, and people would have understood. But even lying severely injured, he felt it his responsibility to all around him to continue and revamp the team.

Yesterday's solidarity shown by all soccer teams, even arch-rivals Manchester City, to pray for the departed and remember their constributions symbolizes the resolute spirit of the Red Devils.

The current United team for their part will come out this weekend against City in a derby match, wearing a one-off 1950's styled uniform, without sponsorship logos, and numbered 1 through 11.

A tribute to those true champions of soccer. Remembered but never forgotten. It makes me Proud to be a United.

Source: The ManUnited official website (http://www.manutd.com/)

U kNOw - What a CATastrophe ...

Three weeks gone since the results of the CAT were declared - three weeks since the dates for 6 interviews and 6 group discussions have been looming over my head - three weeks of staying up late in the night, not because i am studying, but simply because i am hanging out.

Now with a tryst with Lucknow coming up next week, all those nights screaming 'UNO' and 'caught' need to come to a halt. Those random visits to movie halls and tea stalls, the getaways to Khan markets in the middle of the night, the working back after dinner - must take a backseat.

Academics is something, they say, i must know well. If that were the case, pray explain why I hadn't gone about doing an MS. How does one prepare 4 years and 40 core subjects in a span of 4 days.

They argue, you fool. How can you not know GK and current affairs of the entire world. You are after all a global citizen. Yes please, i ask. If my examiner knows the prime minister of Tonga, i will devote my entire life to studying politics and world economy.

Which incidentally brings me to another cheap-skate they want to pull of at my expense. I am a stupid engineer. A computer one at that. Why the deuce would i have the remotest idea of GDP and fiscal deficit, given that i don't even know my own subjects. Tell me those numbers and solve a problem i might. But no, they have to ask me the problem and my opinion. In a country as diverse as India, there are going to be a billion opinions on macro-economy and the budget and the atrocities of the Finance minister. Does my liking or hating the budget going to change my way of living. I am going to pay the tax irrespective of the slab. I can crib about it for hours even if he eases the rates. I am here to learn these things. Knowing them is not getting me the Nobel Prize for sure.

If some gyaan guru from the IIMs reads my blog and decides to not select me, then so be it. Their justification would be that a leader of tomorrow does not express such negative chi. But i am not asking to become a leader. I simply want to be a better manager. And this involves all of Planning, Leading, Organizing and Controlling.

And this whole stupid basis of a GD is beyond me. Obviously, when the great B-schools consider selection or rejection on a GD, then they might be having a very good reason for it. Probably, if i do get to that B-school, i might just figure it out. But today, all i see is a fish-market, with the most vocal trader trying to sell of his rotten stock, while the genuine guy keeps waiting for the correct customer to sell his good quality fish. Ultimately, the entire market closes down and everybody is put out of the misery of the bad smell

Last week i attended this workshop on GD and PI, trying to take away some pointers. I met all kinds of people. Some with "Black Eyes", and some without. What i did see in commonality was the fact that there was always one guy in these group discussions who wanted to start, conclude and keep speaking on for the entire 20 minutes, irrespective of whether he even knew anything on the topic. There were others who did a blitzkrieg attack, annihilated the opponents and went back. There were others like me, the Silent night ghosts. They came, they saw and they went away. Sometimes, they would bring the ball to the ground, and then the rest of the field would play football.

Well amidst all of this what i have learnt is that Simon and Garfunkel still are the best duo around, and listening to them lets me keep my mind of such petty matters. Oh how i missed my long forgotten cassette tape, only to feel rejuvenated again.

So the keyboard stops now. I am homeward bound and feeling groovy. Old friends and bookends have gone by, and even though I might not find Mrs. Robinson, let me search for my Emily, wherever she may be ...

Memento Moir 2007

Following the steps of Cyrus 'Bakra' Broacha, i am going to replicate the Year that Wasn't - memoirs of 2007 - the highs and lows - the good, the bad and the uglys

I know, i know - same old sordid cliched topic - but even though a non-conformist that i am, some things just don't change !!

In near chronological order, encapsulating the year of the pig ...

• 1st of Jan began on the Star Virgo, partying away to glory amidst friends - A 4 day long cruise of Phuket and Penang ensued - good beginning to a new year
• IIM results out - i am one of those (250,000 - 5,000) guys
• A sad parting away from "beloved" Can-la land of Singapore
• Back to India - Gurgaon pollution aggravates allergy - put on a 3month antibiotic vaccination course.
• A promotion comes calling.
• 23rd Jan - I sign up to become a Farmer, more rather a bonded laborer.
• The trauma continues - we celebrate Valentines day when Mr. Bhatt wishes the team at 9am on the conference call.
• 13th/19th Feb - Happy birthday to me - Both birthdays spent alone in the office working.
• Finally a call from FMS - the knut that i am - i kick a university after an admit - i am still wondering if it was worth it.
• I also manage to become a SAS certified ninja.
• A torrid quarter comes to a brief halt interluded by my cousins wedding, allowing me to really enjoy myself after a long time.
• Silver lining on a very dark cloud - workload eases as "They" mirage us with the "promised land"
• Come August - turmoil - rumble in the bronx - the company has seen its worst for the better.
• Simon and Garfunkel remind me - Old friends, bookends - some new ones made though.
• A dull september - work continues - people come and people go - Dear friend 'Lee'ves the team.
• October brought back good memories of the TT tourni - i prove my 'klutzness'
• Nov was hectic - GMAT and CAT all around - apps to fill, essays to write
• 18th Nov - the final nail in a Farmers coffin - probably the saddest day of the year for me.
• Kabootar ja ja ja happens with a trip to Kansas - first visit to Amrika - i fall in love with snow (and a zillion airhostesses on the way)
• My parents celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary - unfortunately i am unable to join them.
• A call from ISB - seems surprising but some good news finaly.
• An eventful journey back home - miss my flight, loose my baggages for more than a week, and celebrate christmas running around immigration agents rather than under the mistletoe at Schipol.
• A quiet new year with the family - ice cream and cake.

Well, the year also saw me catching up on a few movies that were not half as bad as the ones i watched in 2007 - Memento, Eternal Sunshine, Pursuit of Happyness, Saw 4, Forrest Gump, The Butterfly Effect.

Overall, the year was decent - had its share of moments - it passed quite quickly infact - it was just yesterday it seemed ...