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"