It’s JATRA time in this well known institute of management in Western India. I still don’t know the origins of the name of the event. In Bengal, Jatra is an open air theatre form in West Bengal, while a play is called Jatra in Oriya. None of that happens here, however.
According to the folklores which are handed down to the juniors from their seniors, Jatra is presumably the oldest tradition in this institute, the students of which seem to have a special love affair with traditions, however, illogical they may seem to be. Jatra is however, different.
It is an inter block competition and tempers run high in the two days, with each of the hostel blocks going the fullest extent to emerge victorious. And here is a sample of what that “fullest extent” can be:
Trying to have maximum points for those events where the block has an apparent advantage. So, if you have a creative genius in say block X, then that block will rally for having a greater weightage in events like collage or face painting. Or a block having toughies push for a larger weightage in the tug-of-war.
Leveraging the weak points for those events, where brawn gets better of the brain. This tactic is especially followed by the girls’ blocks for events like tug-of-war in deciding the ratios of males and females in each team, if they were to come face to face. The ratio is normally kept at 8:12, but might as well go up to 8:13 on the insistence of the fairer sex and depending upon the softness of hearts, the (male) members of the organising committees possess.
The best of friends take no time in becoming foes during these two days. Block songs are sung everywhere. Expletives are everywhere in the air and madarc*** and behenc*** become the order of the day. The worst time is however faced by those who are in love or assume that they are in love. Now, that is what I would call a moral dilemma. While desiring that their block wins, they seem to go weak when they are up and against the block of their loves. This however, holds true for the male species, more than it does for the female species.
The term blockism assumes a perfect meaning in these two days. Each one is for his own block. Even talking or going to the nearby kiosk for a quick ice cream, especially with any member of the fairer sex, can be reason enough for raised eyebrows and wagging tongues. The love for the block can reach such an extent, that a person who never stays awake beyond 11:30 PM stays awake the whole night for one event and shaves off his moustache for another.
Two days of mayhem and chaos later, things get back to square one. Pending assignments get tended to. Readings are hurriedly gone through. Old friendships are mended. Relationships get back on track and the junior batch prepares itself to pass on the folklore to their juniors.
Disclaimer: I distance myself from any of the views expressed above, except the penultimate paragraph, since it is based on my personal experience. All that I have written elsewhere in the post is a result of my journalistic tendencies resulting into eavesdropping, euphemestically known as unobtrusive observation in this well known instituteof management in Western India.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Little Giant
As I type, my thoughts go back to a day in the late 80s. India was touring Pakistan and I would get startled by my mother’s shouts now and then. When my father came back from office, my mother told him about a certain 17 year old who had torn one of the best Pakistani spinners apart. Watching the 9’0 clock news on Doordarshan, I came to know his name. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.
I was too small to understand cricket then, and Kapil Dev and Srikanth were the better known players. I mean the players whose names would be there on almost every lip.
Later however, when India toured Australia in 1991 and after the 1992 world cup in Australia, Kapil Dev slowly but surely paved the way for the pint size powerhouse answering to the name of Sachin Tendulkar.
Sachin was our role model when we would play those inter club tournaments. At a subconscious level, almost all of us could identify with him. He had come up from a middle class background almost similar to ours. He began with school cricket, which almost all of us did. We would gape at the NIKE ads in Sports World and The Sportstar, where he had learnt most of his shots by playing gully cricket, which again most of us did. And he had become famous at such a small age, which almost every middle class school going kid wants to do.
I still remember the first time he opened in a One day international match. India was touring New Zealand and the match was being beamed live on Star Sports (then Prime Sports). The way he tore the Kiwis apart, was really heartening. I had gone to a neighbour’s house to watch the match as my father hadn’t got a cable connection then. And that match almost had me kicked out of home. So barbaric was Sachin’s onslaught on Pringle, Morrison and co. that we would jump at almost every shot he played. So much so that, my friend’s father was jolted out of his sleep and needless to say, he complained to my father. When Sachin finally got out that day in Eden Park, Auckland, India were just twenty runs away from victory.
The day he got his first ever century in one day cricket, in Colombo, I was suffering from conjunctivitis. But I risked my dad’s ire and the doctor’s warning of vision loss (yes Mr. Doc had told me that I would become blind if I watched TV for an extended period of time, a period which he did not specify), to watch Sachin tear apart Mc.Dermott, Mc. Grath, Fleming and of course his favourite bunny Warnie.
I can go on and on. The Sharjah sandstorm and the subsequent final, which again, I had watched at another friend’s house is again something which every Indian will remember with pride.
Sachin’s love for cricket and that for the country is really unparalleled. His face says it all. Infact he seems happier when he scores a blob and India wins than when even a century from him fails to help India emerge victorious.
His love for the country and his love for cricket were visible during the 1999 world cup when he came back from home, after his father’s death. The fact that he hit a century was probably God’s gift to him and the country which gave birth to such a great human being. I would have bowed in reverence even if he would have been out for a blob.
I was the saddest person when he was made the captain of the team. In fact I had a fight with my best friend over this matter too. But in the end, I (sadly) won. I would have loved to see him excel as a captain, adding another feather to the proud blue cap. But somehow may intuition would always tell me that he is better off without any liabilities. At that point in time, his shoulders were already over burdened with the expectations of over a billion arm chair critics, who would just look for alibis to tear the cricketers apart, which, mind you is not something which every Tom, Dick and Harry can carry, that too with commendable élan.
Talking of Sachin, one can not but avoid his comparison with another great, Brian Charles Lara. The left hander may have garnered all the records, but this quote from Sir Vivian Richards says it all. “The fact that Sachin is still playing (400 one day internationals), itself speaks about his consistency, which Lara lacked”. Great words from a great himself. And it is true.
I really wish, I were sitting with the great Sir Don Bradman, the day he declared that Sachin plays a lot like him. I would have hugged the don and kissed his cheeks. For someone whose idol was being praised by a great, probably, the greatest man ever to hold the cricket bat, there could not have been a happier moment.
I have never batted as Sachin does. More so, because, I have always been a bowler. But if at all, I get a chance to be born again, I would like to be able to bat at least half as good as he does.
I will consider myself, to be one of the unluckiest persons on this earth, because, I could not watch him in that moment of crowning glory, when he hit the first ever double ton in one day cricket. But, I will wait eagerly for the day when I watch this inning on India Glorious and show my children what greatness is.
I was too small to understand cricket then, and Kapil Dev and Srikanth were the better known players. I mean the players whose names would be there on almost every lip.
Later however, when India toured Australia in 1991 and after the 1992 world cup in Australia, Kapil Dev slowly but surely paved the way for the pint size powerhouse answering to the name of Sachin Tendulkar.
Sachin was our role model when we would play those inter club tournaments. At a subconscious level, almost all of us could identify with him. He had come up from a middle class background almost similar to ours. He began with school cricket, which almost all of us did. We would gape at the NIKE ads in Sports World and The Sportstar, where he had learnt most of his shots by playing gully cricket, which again most of us did. And he had become famous at such a small age, which almost every middle class school going kid wants to do.
I still remember the first time he opened in a One day international match. India was touring New Zealand and the match was being beamed live on Star Sports (then Prime Sports). The way he tore the Kiwis apart, was really heartening. I had gone to a neighbour’s house to watch the match as my father hadn’t got a cable connection then. And that match almost had me kicked out of home. So barbaric was Sachin’s onslaught on Pringle, Morrison and co. that we would jump at almost every shot he played. So much so that, my friend’s father was jolted out of his sleep and needless to say, he complained to my father. When Sachin finally got out that day in Eden Park, Auckland, India were just twenty runs away from victory.
The day he got his first ever century in one day cricket, in Colombo, I was suffering from conjunctivitis. But I risked my dad’s ire and the doctor’s warning of vision loss (yes Mr. Doc had told me that I would become blind if I watched TV for an extended period of time, a period which he did not specify), to watch Sachin tear apart Mc.Dermott, Mc. Grath, Fleming and of course his favourite bunny Warnie.
I can go on and on. The Sharjah sandstorm and the subsequent final, which again, I had watched at another friend’s house is again something which every Indian will remember with pride.
Sachin’s love for cricket and that for the country is really unparalleled. His face says it all. Infact he seems happier when he scores a blob and India wins than when even a century from him fails to help India emerge victorious.
His love for the country and his love for cricket were visible during the 1999 world cup when he came back from home, after his father’s death. The fact that he hit a century was probably God’s gift to him and the country which gave birth to such a great human being. I would have bowed in reverence even if he would have been out for a blob.
I was the saddest person when he was made the captain of the team. In fact I had a fight with my best friend over this matter too. But in the end, I (sadly) won. I would have loved to see him excel as a captain, adding another feather to the proud blue cap. But somehow may intuition would always tell me that he is better off without any liabilities. At that point in time, his shoulders were already over burdened with the expectations of over a billion arm chair critics, who would just look for alibis to tear the cricketers apart, which, mind you is not something which every Tom, Dick and Harry can carry, that too with commendable élan.
Talking of Sachin, one can not but avoid his comparison with another great, Brian Charles Lara. The left hander may have garnered all the records, but this quote from Sir Vivian Richards says it all. “The fact that Sachin is still playing (400 one day internationals), itself speaks about his consistency, which Lara lacked”. Great words from a great himself. And it is true.
I really wish, I were sitting with the great Sir Don Bradman, the day he declared that Sachin plays a lot like him. I would have hugged the don and kissed his cheeks. For someone whose idol was being praised by a great, probably, the greatest man ever to hold the cricket bat, there could not have been a happier moment.
I have never batted as Sachin does. More so, because, I have always been a bowler. But if at all, I get a chance to be born again, I would like to be able to bat at least half as good as he does.
I will consider myself, to be one of the unluckiest persons on this earth, because, I could not watch him in that moment of crowning glory, when he hit the first ever double ton in one day cricket. But, I will wait eagerly for the day when I watch this inning on India Glorious and show my children what greatness is.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The fifth term
The term is finally nearing its end. G talk status messages are changing everyday indicating the number of days left before most of us are done with our student lives. Post placements no one is under any kind of pressure and many have even gone to the extent of telling the professors that passing us is their headache now.
But you can count upon the quizzes to spoil the party. Not to forget the submissions and the presentations and the readings. Hell, can’t we get rid of them? The teachers while acknowledging the fact that teaching in the fifth term is the toughest of it all grab at every opportunity for screwing us.
I remember what one of our profs told us on the first day of this term-“Till mid term you won’t study anything because, you will study for the placements. Post mid term you won’t study anything because, by then you will have been placed.” And the obedient participants that we are, we are hell bent on making his prophecy come true. But this does not deter him or any other of his ilk from loading us with assignments, presentations and God knows what. In fact that’s how I spent Valentines’ Day, making two presentations, four hours from each other. It is a different matter that I don’t have any one in my life whom I’d have spent the day with. But Valentines’ day was a Sunday, goddamnit. I would have spent it with myself. But…..well rest is all history.
Things got to real pass today. We had two quizzes. Imagine! Two goddamn quizzes one of them being a surprise (shock) quiz, that too in the fifth term! The teachers are now down to testing our patience. I, in fact all of us are tired of repeating the same thing to the teachers over and over again, that it is the fifth term and we don’t, as a rule, study anything. But then, who the fuck listens to us?
An assignment waits to be submitted the day after, which I am yet to begin typing and we have a quiz tomorrow, which I am yet to start studying for. I have never been so shameless as far as studies go. Though I have always been an average student, I have been serious with my studies. Especially so, in this well known institute of management in western India, irrespective of the fact that I have consistently maintained a place among the bottom fifteen in the class. But it seems, things are changing. It is the fifth term you see!
But you can count upon the quizzes to spoil the party. Not to forget the submissions and the presentations and the readings. Hell, can’t we get rid of them? The teachers while acknowledging the fact that teaching in the fifth term is the toughest of it all grab at every opportunity for screwing us.
I remember what one of our profs told us on the first day of this term-“Till mid term you won’t study anything because, you will study for the placements. Post mid term you won’t study anything because, by then you will have been placed.” And the obedient participants that we are, we are hell bent on making his prophecy come true. But this does not deter him or any other of his ilk from loading us with assignments, presentations and God knows what. In fact that’s how I spent Valentines’ Day, making two presentations, four hours from each other. It is a different matter that I don’t have any one in my life whom I’d have spent the day with. But Valentines’ day was a Sunday, goddamnit. I would have spent it with myself. But…..well rest is all history.
Things got to real pass today. We had two quizzes. Imagine! Two goddamn quizzes one of them being a surprise (shock) quiz, that too in the fifth term! The teachers are now down to testing our patience. I, in fact all of us are tired of repeating the same thing to the teachers over and over again, that it is the fifth term and we don’t, as a rule, study anything. But then, who the fuck listens to us?
An assignment waits to be submitted the day after, which I am yet to begin typing and we have a quiz tomorrow, which I am yet to start studying for. I have never been so shameless as far as studies go. Though I have always been an average student, I have been serious with my studies. Especially so, in this well known institute of management in western India, irrespective of the fact that I have consistently maintained a place among the bottom fifteen in the class. But it seems, things are changing. It is the fifth term you see!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Early Morning Blues
The post mid term classes began today. And the early morning (8:45 AM), brought to light one of the harshest realities of life, which incidentally was forgotten in the post placement euphoria. That lectures in this well known management institute in western India begin as early as 9:10 in the morning. The week after the placements had spoilt my habit and I would get up at even 10 or 10:30. Quite justified, since I had very little to do besides not studying. But getting up late on a day when you have the first lecture at 9:10, means that you are doomed to make one of the biggest sacrifices mankind can ever think of making. Forgoing your breakfast. And that is exactly what I was forced to do today.
They say, “early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy wealthy and wise”. I can bet my right hand and my left eye, that the person who had put forward this piece of shit had never attended b-school. How the hell can one be early to bed in a b-school is the million dollar question. The professors leave no stone unturned in ensuring that we are always busy with some or the other thing. In fact, things have come to such a pass that even if we, by any stroke of luck, hit the bed, before 1:30 in the night, we would actually doze off only at 3:00. And then to think of being the one to rise early is absolute stupidity.
I must say, I am fortunate enough to have many mates in my hostel block who take pains in waking me up in time, so that even if I am forced to miss my breakfast, I do not miss the lectures. But not everyone is so fortunate. I fully empathise with them. This syndrome called the “early morning blues” syndrome has affected almost everyone in the batch. Bleary eyes, drooping heads and dishevelled hair are some of the sights which are a common feature in the classrooms. The air conditioned climes provide a more conducive environment for a peaceful nap in the class. Presentations or a video show, however, provide a far better opportunity for a power nap. With each passing term, the students in fact grow bolder by the day and select those sessions which can be used to catch up on lost sleep. This, by the way is done on the last night itself.
It is 1:15 in the night. I am bored of not doing anything. Perhaps I should watch a movie. But then it will get over at around 3:30. But, hey! Wait……We have the microfinance lecture first thing in the morning. I can sleep then. Chalo guys! See you….I am off to watch 3 idiots, once more all over again!
They say, “early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy wealthy and wise”. I can bet my right hand and my left eye, that the person who had put forward this piece of shit had never attended b-school. How the hell can one be early to bed in a b-school is the million dollar question. The professors leave no stone unturned in ensuring that we are always busy with some or the other thing. In fact, things have come to such a pass that even if we, by any stroke of luck, hit the bed, before 1:30 in the night, we would actually doze off only at 3:00. And then to think of being the one to rise early is absolute stupidity.
I must say, I am fortunate enough to have many mates in my hostel block who take pains in waking me up in time, so that even if I am forced to miss my breakfast, I do not miss the lectures. But not everyone is so fortunate. I fully empathise with them. This syndrome called the “early morning blues” syndrome has affected almost everyone in the batch. Bleary eyes, drooping heads and dishevelled hair are some of the sights which are a common feature in the classrooms. The air conditioned climes provide a more conducive environment for a peaceful nap in the class. Presentations or a video show, however, provide a far better opportunity for a power nap. With each passing term, the students in fact grow bolder by the day and select those sessions which can be used to catch up on lost sleep. This, by the way is done on the last night itself.
It is 1:15 in the night. I am bored of not doing anything. Perhaps I should watch a movie. But then it will get over at around 3:30. But, hey! Wait……We have the microfinance lecture first thing in the morning. I can sleep then. Chalo guys! See you….I am off to watch 3 idiots, once more all over again!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Ambition
So, the placement season is finally over. I now have a job. A “decent” job, by my middle class standards. I can now tell my relatives and family members (in that order of priority), that I have always been career conscious. But what did I actually want to be? Which sector (in management lingo), I wanted to go to? Honestly, I don’t have an answer.
When I was in school, I had always wanted to become an engineer. And this ambition of mine was there even when I neither knew what an engineer did nor could I spell the word correctly. But an engineer was all I wanted to become, because my father wanted me to be one and most of friends wanted to be one.
The first serious thought I gave to my career was during my class X board exams, when I watched my first porn movie. I had this bright idea of becoming a porn star. This seemed to be a very lucrative career option and imagine, being paid for having sex, without being a prostitute. However, that idea died down as fast as it had emerged. And then on, it was back to becoming an engineer, till the day, I opened the book, “IIT Mathematics’ “, by ML Khanna. It was then that I started giving serious thoughts to being a doctor. I did not have any other option you see. Telling my dad that I wanted to become a journalist would have resulted in him kicking me out of the house. Only engineers and doctors earned, chartered accountants too did, but for being a chartered accountant you had to study commerce, a social taboo in itself.
Anyways, I did become a doctor, but would treat neither the human beings, nor animals, but plants. Come on, plants too have lives! And they are supposed to be treated. So our euphemism for the students of agriculture came out to be “plants’ doctors.”
Now, studying agriculture alone does not serve any purpose, so you need to go in for higher studies, which would be either an M.Sc. in agriculture or an MBA. I did both. Another change in my career plans happened, dangerously close to the placement week. I wanted to be a manager but wanted to apply the knowledge of the subjects of master’s degree as well. So I had certain organisations in my mind, which would fulfil this ambition.
I also cleared the first screening stages of these organisations and found myself comfortably close to fulfilling this ambition. But then I got a spot offer from another organisation (I did not know what it did, till five minutes before my interview was to begin), and accepted the offer.
Life is full of uncertainities. I had always known this sentence to have existed. But its existence was re asserted a week before valentines’ day of the year 2010. Just the other day, I was listening to the Bengali song “Aami bhobo ghureyi hobo eitai amaar ambition” (I will be a wanderer and this is my ambition).
What is my ambition? Well, am I left with any choice anymore?
When I was in school, I had always wanted to become an engineer. And this ambition of mine was there even when I neither knew what an engineer did nor could I spell the word correctly. But an engineer was all I wanted to become, because my father wanted me to be one and most of friends wanted to be one.
The first serious thought I gave to my career was during my class X board exams, when I watched my first porn movie. I had this bright idea of becoming a porn star. This seemed to be a very lucrative career option and imagine, being paid for having sex, without being a prostitute. However, that idea died down as fast as it had emerged. And then on, it was back to becoming an engineer, till the day, I opened the book, “IIT Mathematics’ “, by ML Khanna. It was then that I started giving serious thoughts to being a doctor. I did not have any other option you see. Telling my dad that I wanted to become a journalist would have resulted in him kicking me out of the house. Only engineers and doctors earned, chartered accountants too did, but for being a chartered accountant you had to study commerce, a social taboo in itself.
Anyways, I did become a doctor, but would treat neither the human beings, nor animals, but plants. Come on, plants too have lives! And they are supposed to be treated. So our euphemism for the students of agriculture came out to be “plants’ doctors.”
Now, studying agriculture alone does not serve any purpose, so you need to go in for higher studies, which would be either an M.Sc. in agriculture or an MBA. I did both. Another change in my career plans happened, dangerously close to the placement week. I wanted to be a manager but wanted to apply the knowledge of the subjects of master’s degree as well. So I had certain organisations in my mind, which would fulfil this ambition.
I also cleared the first screening stages of these organisations and found myself comfortably close to fulfilling this ambition. But then I got a spot offer from another organisation (I did not know what it did, till five minutes before my interview was to begin), and accepted the offer.
Life is full of uncertainities. I had always known this sentence to have existed. But its existence was re asserted a week before valentines’ day of the year 2010. Just the other day, I was listening to the Bengali song “Aami bhobo ghureyi hobo eitai amaar ambition” (I will be a wanderer and this is my ambition).
What is my ambition? Well, am I left with any choice anymore?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)