Yaadien...

Socha tha MBA ki padai main macha dainge tod fod or laga dainge jee jaan,

Par is term ka to haal aisa hai ki abhi tak nahi kar paye hain kitabon se jaan pehchaan!!

Maar rakhi hai placements ne or professor laite hain classes yahan saton din,

Yaad bahut aata hai woh salary ka sms or ab kya bataien ki kaise kat rahe hain bina salary ke yeh haseen din!!

Kha kha kar mess ka khana, tastebuds ka ho gaya hai kaam tamaam,

Aab to bas de rahe hain sahara Mocambo ka stuffed tandori or Peter Cat ka dum raan!!

Bache hain do mahine, fer sabhi wapis apani apani jail main jayenge,

Ek issi baat ka hai afsos ki in ramneek lamhon ki bas yadien he bacha payenge!!

4 Colleges Meet – yet another perspective

Having heard from our senior batches on the rivalry between IIMC and XLRI, I waited in anticipation for the 4 college meet that was to be held. I had seen videos on the welcome that was dished out to each other. “Well, this falls right in my alley” I thought since I had spent a considerable amount of time over the years honing my skills in refining my dictionary of the “doosra” variety. Here was a noble cause that would let me use my skills to the fullest.

Life of a Backbencher

After all these years of back-to-back meetings and conference calls, reaching a place on the nick of time is something that I’ve made into a fine art. Continuing with the same tradition, I reached my classroom at 10.15 in the morning only to find that all the prime seats have been taken up and that the only ones left are in the back of the class. That started my journey as a back bencher.

Back To Exams!!!

A one year MBA is like a treadmill with its speed turned to maximum and having its stop button jammed. You have to keep running in the hope that someone manages to get the stop button to work. In an odd kind of way, that’s what makes the one year MBA interesting too and got us all here together.

It seems like ages since I’ve reached Joka but it’s been just six weeks. Terms last for six weeks followed by the much feared end-terms. The terms itself are hectic enough with a full load of classes and complex assignments to boot. Well, how could I forget the quizzes where my marks could probably be better represented on the binary scale?

Confessions of a 'Non-Engineer'

Being the only humanities graduate in the PGPEX Class of 2012 feels like having come dressed in Bermudas and sandals to a formal, black-suit gathering. And that’s just the beginning.


Each time a professor walks into the class for the first time, he/she politely enquires if there are any ‘non-engineers’ in the class. When my solitary hand goes up, they give a small, kind smile and ask me not to worry -- which, of course, terrifies me. My experience of life so far tells me that if someone needs to tell you not to worry, you need to be very, very worried indeed.


Then the fun starts. The good professor mentions Matrix, and the first thing that comes to my mind is Keanu Reeves. What’s worse is that at the end of the class, I can still relate matrices only to Keanu Reeves! The endless torrent of Pascal’s triangles, derivatives, integrals and the like serve only to remind me of several unrelated things like the hieroglyphics (which only specialists can decipher) and the Harappan script (which remains stubbornly un-deciphered to date).


Nevertheless, by the end of the class, I begin to see the faint light of a mathematical day. This is usually the combined effect of a frantic mental scramble to dig deep into my schooldays, a lot of helpful prompting by my concerned friend sitting adjacent and the sheer quality of instruction. I end the day with a reassuring feeling that I’ve been given a footing on the ladder; now I just have to pull myself up and scale it.

Off the beaten path

Well, I formally joined the ranks of the unemployed on April 1^st (nice choice of date – folks at office thought that it was an “April Fool” prank). After spending my first 15 days of unemployment doing nothing but lazing around, I started on my journey to Kolkata in mid-April. It was quite late in the night by the time I reached Joka – thanks to the long queues at the Howrah taxi stand.