Alumni social events were held at chapters across the country to welcome the Class of 2010 into the alumni fold.
Class of 2009
Prologue: March, 200X:
The job was good; and the money decent. Faces were familiar and the vending machine coffee though insipid, was effective if you let a little bit of the water strain away. The pick up shuttle at half past nine, a cappuccino with two sachets sugar at five to ten, and then the boring daily huddle. The same routine played like music on recursive. I skipped the occasional huddle and I knew it did not turn the company’s fortune this way or that. Life was on auto cruise and sensibility by the look of things was in status quo. But then I decided to be Robert Frost – the ‘other road’ and all such profound thinking. Why am I throwing all this up for what could only be a pipe dream? What really is at the other end of the big budget costly MBA. One-upmanship? Ego? High stakes, higher return? Why not try the horses then? Or Ladbrokes? Or better still, why not Vegas?
Apparently, Mark Twain said – “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
Is that reason enough to do an MBA? Wasn’t he a fiction writer?
May, 200X:
High on caffeine and short on sleep, I am still pondering the decision. Well, it’s not too bad. They make your bed every morning and the food is good. And there is a squash court and some really pretty women who strolled in to yesterday’s party. But that’s where the goodness ends. I always knew I was not meant to be an Engineer. Economics perhaps, I had thought. How wrong was I? How can you have formulas for when demand meets supply? And why is there a Grand Canyon like chasm between my marks and the class average? Is it because they are smart and I am not?
To hell with it. I need that consulting job. What am I doing with this diary?
June, 200X:
The end terms were like the Jallianwala Bagh. Or so I think. They say your GPA never recovers from an early carnage; but you generally feel better after a few shots of Rum and Coke. I went home during the break. Felt like Sanjay Dutt on bail. The real world with real people. How nice. And the girl next to me on the flight sat up when I told her I am from the ISB. The magazine was put away and the ‘How did you prepare for your GMAT?’ questions were soon being asked.
After the battering at Microeconomics. And Statistics. And the rest, the ego massage felt good. Thank God for small mercies.
July, 200X:
I was at the dining hall when he accosted me. “Hey, we haven’t met. Where are you from?” I replied. “Cool, my second cousin is from there as well. Great place.” I thanked him. “What did you do before ISB?” I answered. He went on for the next couple of minutes talking about what he had done for the betterment of the world. “I am standing for GSB President tomorrow. Vote for me,” he said suavely. I nodded.
When I returned with a re-fill of salad, I heard a familiar voice at the neighbouring table - “Hey, we haven’t met. Where are you from?”
The elections happened. He lost.
Among other things, the first of the Finance subjects also happened this term; and I had another realisation – I will never become an investment banker.
August, 200X:
When I pulled the curtains apart this morning, they were there. Both of them. Paranoid and yet deeply in love. Casting those furtive glances as though to ensure no one was stealing glances at their amorous escapades. The overnight rain had softened the land and there was that sweet smell of first rain on parched soil. The clouds loomed overhead in vicious splendour. And the MGTO professor was probably having hot butter on toast before the 8 o' clock class which was due in ten minutes. Damn!!! But I stood a few extra minutes by the window and watched; and there was providence in it. It was then that he did it. I swear I saw him do it. The feathers unfurled in brilliant peacock splendour and he danced. Bless life. Lucky me.
October, 200X:
I think the elective bidding process should be a course in itself. To study free markets; to study how rational people behave irrationally when handed a few bidding points and a few courses to select. This explains so many of the travails of modern day business. I did not get two of the best courses because of the whole rationality doctrine. The moral of the story at the end of it all is that if you want something real bad, you bid all you’ve got. Another day and another life lesson at ISB.
I now have so many bidding points in my kitty that I am hoping they can be redeemed at the end of the year for school merchandise. Probably a t-shirt with the message – ‘I did not get the courses I wanted; but I redeemed my bidding points for this t-shirt’.
Electives. It feels weird when you handpick your own misery. I picked Pricing. There are also fourteen B-plan competitions that I am currently participating in. If not win in any of them, I think I might at least end up becoming really good at Microsoft Word.
December, 200X:
SV2 A15. I have never felt more comfortable in a 10x6 before. None of us eat at the dining hall any longer. The pulusus and the poriyals have started making us cringe. The waistline not withstanding, we all have our favourite joints. I pick up the phone and order by rote – ‘SV2 A15. One chicken biriyani, less spicy’. ‘Ok sir. 15 minutes’ comes the reply. Four gleaming Guntur chillies stare at me as I open the parcel. There are no complaints. This is what I ask. This is what I get. What is less spicy for one is more spicy for the other.
Placement fervour is now in full throttle. I have just completed the third version of my resume; and I think it looks decent. At the least it makes me sound employable. But I was a little intimidated recently when my quadie walked up to me and asked – ‘My resume is Arial font 10. It will be 9 shortly. Yours?’
January, 200(X+1):
Happy New Year. I can’t believe I’ve spent so much time here already; and in a few months we will be out of here as well. Sigh. I have not scribbled anything in a long time. It’s been busy. I never did imagine that preparing for the job interview would be this difficult. But it has paid off. Not sure if it is a dream job but I am looking forward to it. And as ironic as it may seem, despite the looking forward to it, I hope it does not happen. Because for it to happen, ISB has to end.
March, 200(X+1):
We had one of those emotional parties last night. We all know it’s over. The bloody roller coaster ride. The ride that I was so happy and yet apprehensive about taking. The barman at the lounge had worked furiously to keep pace with the drinking. And by 3 o clock, DJ Tiesto and Akon had stopped playing. Someone pulled a fast one and played Morrison. Wicked. ‘This is the end, my only friend, the end’.
Many cried. I cried. In a few weeks, we will graduate. There are a few things money can’t buy. Such times are a few such things. I am emotional, so don’t crack that lame ass joke that it cost you the course fee.
Epilogue: May, 200(X+1):
I am in the real world now. No one knocks on the door to make my bed. My normal day does not have an option of eggs either poached or scrambled. And that ‘life on steroids’ phase that was ISB is over. One year is a long time; and with it comes wisdom. The learning was in the people not the
Powerpoint; the journey was in the experience not the destination; the achievements are in the friends you made and not in the bullet points on your resume; and the whole darn learning was in the fact that a day has 24 hours and all that can be done in it and not heteroscedasticity.
Mark Twain once said - “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did so. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
I am glad I sailed away from the safe harbour. Who said fiction writers don’t say the truth?