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(357) Days of ISB
For several weeks after we graduated and moved out, I felt wrung out and displaced, a sense of wrenching loss catching me unawares. I was an older student at the ISB and, unlike many others in my class, I never really lost the connection to the world outside the “ISB bubble,”as we all referred to it. I had family in the city and often spent weekends off campus. And yet, I got steeped in the alternate reality that was ISB with far greater intensity than I had anticipated.
575 of us rode the 51-week roller coaster in solidarity, with the soul sucking lows of the early days, the indescribably highs as we found our footing, the sense of achievement as we conquered our fears and won our victories, and the exhilaration of writing our own destinies. Along the way we forged strong bonds, in ways that only all-nighters, deadline combat, grade pressure, group-dynamic funambulism, and joint triumphs could create. From the first day of classes, the ISB experience grabbed me by the throat and threw me down a rabbit hole that destroyed all preconceptions I had harboured about B-Sc One after the other, renowned professors marched in and opened our minds to worlds of knowledge and paradigm shifts in perception. Fellow students defied expectations, showing calibre, drive, talent, and humanity that humbled and surprised me. Whether it was the 22-year-olds who were mature beyond their years or the senior executives exhibiting rare humility and thirst for learning, people were the ISB’s greatest gift.
To me, what was unique about the Class of 2012, was team spirit. Business school students are famously aggressive and self-centered. My Class either didn’t know of the cliché or didn’t care. Fellow students held late night coaching sessions before exams, sometimes spending hours of their own time helping other students. Potential Dean’s Listers circulated prepared notes, each trying to outdo the other in generosity. With a constant parade of visiting celebrities from every realm, club activities, B-school competitions, conclaves, summits, seminars, student initiatives, sports, blogging, and opportunities to represent the ISB at local and international forums, there was a dizzying array of activities to participate in, opportunities to shine, and opportunities to lead. The trick was to try as many of them as one could manage. The more you gave to the ISB, the more you got back, it seemed. At social club soirees, ’08 parties, Student Village parties, section parties, board game nights, study group outings, mushairas, long sessions at the Pit, movie screenings, quizzes, jamming sessions, dance and theater productions, and rec-center dates, we bonded and relaxed. We challenged ourselves, lived our dreams and got back experiences rich beyond imagination.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. ISB has four of them. The families at ISB enjoyed lives that were as enriched as they were idyllic. The verdant campus with its rolling hills was perfect playing ground for many little children running amok, often staying up as late as their parents. With an administration provide an environment conducive to student comfort, ISB is perfect for students with families.
The faculty and staff are the cornerstone of the ISB community. Their dedication to the School and passion for what they do is amply reflected by the insanely long hours they keep so cheerfully. Professors and the administrators encouraged us in challenging times, enabled our achievements, worked tirelessly behind the scenes, regularly crashed our parties, joined our poker nights, and teased us with mock awards, parody plays and ballads.
At the ISB, we found our paths to the future but it was our companions that made the journey memorable. The year I spent here was, without doubt, a life-altering experience. Today, Facebook is rife with reports from the new job front as we plunge into our careers, announcements of engagements and weddings proving that life goes on. But ’08 lounge dance tracks continue to haunt me. To quote Colin Hay,
I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say
I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
- Kaumudi Goda- Class of 2012