I was talking to a fellow nightbird - like any other night. I like talking to him because of the interests we share. What I do not like is that he is doing his MBA and that reminds me of a few things I want to erase from my mind. Now do not ask me what - I already said I want to forget them. But today's post is about MBA nonetheless.
Well, undo the picture of an ambitious professional contemplating the higher steps in the hierarchical ladder. Even that of an astute entrepreneur giving 2 years of his God-gifted life to 'school' to ascertain which of his 23 business ideas would yield maxmum success. And, I am definitely not someone who would treasure the black-clad hat-throwing photo well into retirement. But if you consider the fact that I am allergic to peanuts and as technically adept as dumbest caller to the helpdesk, you might think that MBA could have been a neat and short way out of my crisis.
So, why am I thinking about all this when I should by now decide the sourness of the grapes? I have seen quite a few MBAs - both impressive and unimpressive. The only point I am trying to make is, I have not seen someone yet who said, or I felt, that his MBA course changed him for the better or made him a great manager. The benefits are always on your work profile or your paycheck. This makes me belief an MBA course is more of a launchpad than a breeding ground of genii.
There is one thing common - though. An MBA - or nowadays even a decent professional services company - does teach you listless jargons. For example, we no longer have meetings to discuss plans. We always go for some brainstorming to strategise the roadmap and take it forward. And so my friend, who is being taught the nuances of effective documentation, has to do a SWOT analysis of the client's existing (you should call it as-is) infrastucture and processes.
"I hate SWOT", he said, "it makes no sense." It makes some sense no doubt - I thought. Your strengths and weaknesses help you evaluate yourself, and then outlines what opportunties/threats they provide/pose, respectively. Someone tells you all this along the four coordinates drawn on the whiteboard and you nod your appreciative head, at the same time trying to hide your inferiority complex.
At this precise point, just sit back and relax. What value does this piece of analysis help you in your real life. If someone instead asked to overcome our weaknesses and improve further on our strengths, what difference would it have made? You would lose your air of an MBA for sure, the air that propels you above plebeian existence.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
7 tolerable ones
Tenacity is one word that I sincerely do not associate with myself. More often than not I would leave things, that start going wrong, midway and forget about them. You might be tempted to think that blogging is an exception to what I said now. After all, writing a blog that maybe, exactly 12 people read is indeed something that comes from a resilient writer. There's more, he has also completed a year today.
But no, I have not given up yet because I never believed I would have a hundred regular readers for this blog - where 80% of the posts are labelled 'rambling'. I am on with it because I like writing here. The apparent disappointment would surely make way for joy and contentment when I read these years later.
Going to the numbers, the count of 60 odd entries in a year looks decent to me. So, keeping with the trend, here is a list of my seven favourite posts from the past year -
But no, I have not given up yet because I never believed I would have a hundred regular readers for this blog - where 80% of the posts are labelled 'rambling'. I am on with it because I like writing here. The apparent disappointment would surely make way for joy and contentment when I read these years later.
Going to the numbers, the count of 60 odd entries in a year looks decent to me. So, keeping with the trend, here is a list of my seven favourite posts from the past year -
- I like the sandwiches and salads at Subway now. It was not always like that. (Read)
- It's here that the trend of the 7-item lists started.
- Sometimes you get attached to something that is pretty mediocre. This post is one. Perceptions?
- Can I sustain myself without the magic of Ghulam Ali? No.
- Someone told me to be more expressive and speak out my mind. Have a sneak peek here.
- Can I sustain myself without the magic of Rafi Sahab? No.
- Are you tired of seeing Gemma Atkinson in the sports page of Times of India? I am.
I hope to reduce the percentage of 'Rambling' in my labels in the next year. On that note...
21st Century
When I was introduced to some of my colleagues in the USA, and they heard I was from India, many of them asked me if I am from North India or South India. First on, it came as a surprise and I was even happy that they were aware of the Indian geography - though not to the extent some of us know. I know people who, without ever going there, can tell the names of all the 50 states and their capitals by heart. Anyways, after this happened a couple of times, the surprise made way for curiosity. After all, after this question, most of them came back to the usual questions about elephants and Indian weddings. And then I thought - this North Indian and South Indian thing - was it something they know? Or was it something they observed in us? Then I thought some more.
When I was leaving home for my first job in Bangalore, one question everyone invariably asked was how was I going to manage with the South Indian food? Everything is sour there - said someone from experience. (He had stayed in Chennai for 2 days en route to Port Blair some 30 years ago.) I did not like these questions at all - because I normally like to take things with an open mind. Anyways, when I landed in Bangalore, in my new group in office, I was instantly called a North Indian. "East," I said repeatedly. But, was anyone listening?
There is this view/counter-view for every situation. At least in this respect, the grass is not greener on the other side.
In Bengal, whichever house you go to, there is a 100% chance that on the first day itself you would be asked - "Ghoti na Bangal?" Meaning, originally from West Bengal or East Bengal? For someone from West Bengal, the other group will always be considered as refugees, even if they had migrated 50 years before the partition. And likewise, someone from West Bengal is always branded as unenterprising.
Then, there is this eternal fight between Bengalis in Calcutta and the Districts. Calcutta view - 'O, you live in a village.' District view - 'Spoiled, useless lot.'
If you think you'd be at peace if we just talk of Calcutta, you need to be more clear. North or South. South view - the North is old and we are the elite. North view - we uphold the tradition of Calcutta, who are they?
Then there are talks about how the Marwaadis constitute 30% of Calcutta's population and hold 70% of the money. "All they know is money with no value for education." Now hold on and hear the other party. "We, industrialists, make the destiny of the city. Bengalis are just a bunch of unambitious people who just know how to eat fish."
Now if this has your head reeling, I can just empathize with you. In the last four years, all I have been hearing are things like - 'Malayalis are spoiling Bangalore, but I don't care; I'm from Mysore', 'Telugus are ruining our Tamil culture and tradition; but when have Chennaites cared for it' and 'Everyone comes to Hyderabad to earn their living but we do not care, we have the highest immigration numbers for the US; the Telengana imbroglio would only get worse'. I am leaving out - just to name a few - the Tulu, Cauvery, Brahmin, caste, non-vegetarian, Sivakasi, Kadapah, Old Hyderabad, Guntur, Reddy, Naidu, Nair and similar angles out of this discussion.
In essence, no matter where you go, no one sees who you are. You invariably become what the other person thinks you are. I get to hear things like 'how can you be a Bengali if you don't smoke?' and 'yes I know, in Bengal fish is considered vegetarian' so frequently that I do not have to struggle anymore to keep a smiling face. I just take care that the smirk does not show up.
I remember filling up five pages in the History paper of my tenth Board exams explaining why India exemplifies Unity in Diversity. I doubt if I could write what I did if I had these experiences then. Hats off to this diversity, but just where is the Unity?
When I was leaving home for my first job in Bangalore, one question everyone invariably asked was how was I going to manage with the South Indian food? Everything is sour there - said someone from experience. (He had stayed in Chennai for 2 days en route to Port Blair some 30 years ago.) I did not like these questions at all - because I normally like to take things with an open mind. Anyways, when I landed in Bangalore, in my new group in office, I was instantly called a North Indian. "East," I said repeatedly. But, was anyone listening?
There is this view/counter-view for every situation. At least in this respect, the grass is not greener on the other side.
In Bengal, whichever house you go to, there is a 100% chance that on the first day itself you would be asked - "Ghoti na Bangal?" Meaning, originally from West Bengal or East Bengal? For someone from West Bengal, the other group will always be considered as refugees, even if they had migrated 50 years before the partition. And likewise, someone from West Bengal is always branded as unenterprising.
Then, there is this eternal fight between Bengalis in Calcutta and the Districts. Calcutta view - 'O, you live in a village.' District view - 'Spoiled, useless lot.'
If you think you'd be at peace if we just talk of Calcutta, you need to be more clear. North or South. South view - the North is old and we are the elite. North view - we uphold the tradition of Calcutta, who are they?
Then there are talks about how the Marwaadis constitute 30% of Calcutta's population and hold 70% of the money. "All they know is money with no value for education." Now hold on and hear the other party. "We, industrialists, make the destiny of the city. Bengalis are just a bunch of unambitious people who just know how to eat fish."
Now if this has your head reeling, I can just empathize with you. In the last four years, all I have been hearing are things like - 'Malayalis are spoiling Bangalore, but I don't care; I'm from Mysore', 'Telugus are ruining our Tamil culture and tradition; but when have Chennaites cared for it' and 'Everyone comes to Hyderabad to earn their living but we do not care, we have the highest immigration numbers for the US; the Telengana imbroglio would only get worse'. I am leaving out - just to name a few - the Tulu, Cauvery, Brahmin, caste, non-vegetarian, Sivakasi, Kadapah, Old Hyderabad, Guntur, Reddy, Naidu, Nair and similar angles out of this discussion.
In essence, no matter where you go, no one sees who you are. You invariably become what the other person thinks you are. I get to hear things like 'how can you be a Bengali if you don't smoke?' and 'yes I know, in Bengal fish is considered vegetarian' so frequently that I do not have to struggle anymore to keep a smiling face. I just take care that the smirk does not show up.
I remember filling up five pages in the History paper of my tenth Board exams explaining why India exemplifies Unity in Diversity. I doubt if I could write what I did if I had these experiences then. Hats off to this diversity, but just where is the Unity?
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Choices
Browsing on, then talking trite
Over tasteless teas and coffees
An extra week off, without pay?
There's more to life than office.
Popcorn and coke; weekends
With have-been's and to-be's
A good book that you read - can you say?
There's more to life than movies.
Move your body and spill your drink
So much white in your cigarette stub
Ever stopped by, as children play?
There's more to life than the club.
The years pass by, and wink at Time
You still feel it can't get better
Then, the end comes blocking your way
There's no more life - to live later.
Over tasteless teas and coffees
An extra week off, without pay?
There's more to life than office.
Popcorn and coke; weekends
With have-been's and to-be's
A good book that you read - can you say?
There's more to life than movies.
Move your body and spill your drink
So much white in your cigarette stub
Ever stopped by, as children play?
There's more to life than the club.
The years pass by, and wink at Time
You still feel it can't get better
Then, the end comes blocking your way
There's no more life - to live later.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Friends indeed?
Pranks make for some serious business. Someone, sometime must have been really good at it and made it look very simple - and we still have to 'play' a prank. But I can assure you it is no easy task. It is not at all easy to rise up the ranks in pranks. I can easily write something like 'The best hundred' - courtesy the company I keep. But I'd rather just write on why I said it's a serious business and requires real hard work.
I am having a bad headache today. And when five of us went out for dinner today, two of my friends had a stint at the bar earlier in the evening. Being a bit tipsy from their drinks, it was only natural for one of them to leave his bike keys on his side-plate. The three sober pair of eyes glowed at such an opportunity and the bunch was flicked in a flash. We were happier because this was going to be a lengthy affair - all five of us were spending the night together as well.
He realised it on the way back home. "Did I leave my keys on the table?"
"No." Three sober voices spoke at once. And, kept on convincing him that he must have left it at home. The prospect got more interesting when he said that the bunch had his house-keys as well. The intoxication was done for already - we, the good friends that we are, ensured he does not get up with a hangover on a Monday morning.
The house was ransacked and speculations were rife. But no sign of the keys. And so, the natural course of action was decided upon - he would go to all places (the bar, a paan shop and the restaurant) he visited since the evening and enquire. Someone even suggested to keep tracing the same path with an alert look on the roads as well. And, to make it really look real - I accompanied him on this trail despite the headache. Three no's and half an hour later, we were back home. I was trying hard to keep my lips straight while he did the same with his brows.
"I thought of going to the temple today, but I did not and instead went for a drink. That's why this happened to me." This was his last take on karma before he slept off.
A very satisfying night to say the least. But before you think we are rather mean, let me tell you that all these are done only in a very close group of friends. He is going to find the keys under his pillow when he wakes up in the morning. Maybe, he'd start the day cursing Santa for coming thirteen days late.
I am having a bad headache today. And when five of us went out for dinner today, two of my friends had a stint at the bar earlier in the evening. Being a bit tipsy from their drinks, it was only natural for one of them to leave his bike keys on his side-plate. The three sober pair of eyes glowed at such an opportunity and the bunch was flicked in a flash. We were happier because this was going to be a lengthy affair - all five of us were spending the night together as well.
He realised it on the way back home. "Did I leave my keys on the table?"
"No." Three sober voices spoke at once. And, kept on convincing him that he must have left it at home. The prospect got more interesting when he said that the bunch had his house-keys as well. The intoxication was done for already - we, the good friends that we are, ensured he does not get up with a hangover on a Monday morning.
The house was ransacked and speculations were rife. But no sign of the keys. And so, the natural course of action was decided upon - he would go to all places (the bar, a paan shop and the restaurant) he visited since the evening and enquire. Someone even suggested to keep tracing the same path with an alert look on the roads as well. And, to make it really look real - I accompanied him on this trail despite the headache. Three no's and half an hour later, we were back home. I was trying hard to keep my lips straight while he did the same with his brows.
"I thought of going to the temple today, but I did not and instead went for a drink. That's why this happened to me." This was his last take on karma before he slept off.
A very satisfying night to say the least. But before you think we are rather mean, let me tell you that all these are done only in a very close group of friends. He is going to find the keys under his pillow when he wakes up in the morning. Maybe, he'd start the day cursing Santa for coming thirteen days late.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Shine Time
There is something about polishing shoes. I had mentioned earlier about how I, in my absent-mindedness, had stroked my cellphone on my shoes keeping the brush aside. I did something today in office that reminded me of this incident. And then, I remembered a few more.
First, what I did today. There is this automated machine for shoe polishing in office (the manufacturer has very aptly named it 'Handsoff'). Most of you must have seen them somewhere. In case you have not, the machine runs on electricity and has three sections - a cream polish dispenser, a brush for black shoes and one for brown. In Hyderabad, moving feet gather a lot of dust and so, I use the brush once I am in office. Lost in my own world, probably thinking about the lack of work in office, I went for it today as well - completely forgetting it was Friday and I was wearing my sports shoes. I realised what I was doing once I looked down to check the shine. I did the first thing I do in such a situation - looked around. I guess my luck was also closing down like the week. Here he was, someone from the floor who would have probably died if he did not come for a shine at that precise time of the day, dying to control his laughter but unable to stop the grin. I did my best to hide my face - I did not want him to remember me as the 'shoe-polish guy'.
Circa 2004. My office in Chennai had this machine as well. One day, with a luck like today, I went ahead and, still unaware of what was lying ahead, collected the cream on my left shoe - only to realise that Mr. Handsoff was having an off day and refused to work. All that the rubbing against the static brush did was to smudge the white of the cream onto the black leather. After a few, futile minutes, I gave up. The public embarrassment could not be avoided that day either as a 'friend' in the restroom made public the news of me rubbing my shoe with hand-tissues. Now you know why, after that day, I always follow the sequence of brush (read check usability), cream and brush-again.
It's not that I have always had this rotten luck when it came to polishing shoes. I decided to save the one satisfying experience (surely qualifies as one of the most fulfilling days of my life) for the last. Once when in college, three of us were staying at a friend's place which was our usual den for enjoyment in the name of studies. The next morning, we were to go to a friend's place for her birthday. And as I got up, late as usual, little did I realise it was to one of my best mornings. So eager was my friend to put his best foot forward, that he actually polished his shoes for a full 30 minutes. Only, we had bought identical shoes which just differed in size. And he, with all his energy, mistakenly went on buffing my pair. The joy welling up, the laughter gaining uncontrollable force, the superhuman efforts to stay nonchalant at such a moment of glory; remembering these feelings that can sustain me in the most difficult of times. If I could click the the look on his face when the truth dawned on him, I would be more than happy to carry that photo and smile the way to my grave.
First, what I did today. There is this automated machine for shoe polishing in office (the manufacturer has very aptly named it 'Handsoff'). Most of you must have seen them somewhere. In case you have not, the machine runs on electricity and has three sections - a cream polish dispenser, a brush for black shoes and one for brown. In Hyderabad, moving feet gather a lot of dust and so, I use the brush once I am in office. Lost in my own world, probably thinking about the lack of work in office, I went for it today as well - completely forgetting it was Friday and I was wearing my sports shoes. I realised what I was doing once I looked down to check the shine. I did the first thing I do in such a situation - looked around. I guess my luck was also closing down like the week. Here he was, someone from the floor who would have probably died if he did not come for a shine at that precise time of the day, dying to control his laughter but unable to stop the grin. I did my best to hide my face - I did not want him to remember me as the 'shoe-polish guy'.
Circa 2004. My office in Chennai had this machine as well. One day, with a luck like today, I went ahead and, still unaware of what was lying ahead, collected the cream on my left shoe - only to realise that Mr. Handsoff was having an off day and refused to work. All that the rubbing against the static brush did was to smudge the white of the cream onto the black leather. After a few, futile minutes, I gave up. The public embarrassment could not be avoided that day either as a 'friend' in the restroom made public the news of me rubbing my shoe with hand-tissues. Now you know why, after that day, I always follow the sequence of brush (read check usability), cream and brush-again.
It's not that I have always had this rotten luck when it came to polishing shoes. I decided to save the one satisfying experience (surely qualifies as one of the most fulfilling days of my life) for the last. Once when in college, three of us were staying at a friend's place which was our usual den for enjoyment in the name of studies. The next morning, we were to go to a friend's place for her birthday. And as I got up, late as usual, little did I realise it was to one of my best mornings. So eager was my friend to put his best foot forward, that he actually polished his shoes for a full 30 minutes. Only, we had bought identical shoes which just differed in size. And he, with all his energy, mistakenly went on buffing my pair. The joy welling up, the laughter gaining uncontrollable force, the superhuman efforts to stay nonchalant at such a moment of glory; remembering these feelings that can sustain me in the most difficult of times. If I could click the the look on his face when the truth dawned on him, I would be more than happy to carry that photo and smile the way to my grave.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
2008
I just realised that ringing in the New Year can hardly get better than being with an old friend after a long time. I had decided not to go for any 'New Year Party' this time around - a decision that I think I will stick to for some years on. I do like being in our group where some people make me admire their dancing skills while I give them something to laugh about with my vigourous, uneasy movements. But the biggest deterrant in such a setting has always been the crowd that one cannot possibly ignore. While "party animals groove and jam to the tunes (sic) of the DJ," it gets really difficult to look the other way. The floor is thronged with similar animals showing off their stuff under the multi-coloured lights. And, with clubs charging abysmally high cover charges on New Year's Eve, this decision went easy on both my mind and wallet.
One of my closest friends from college was visiting with some of his friends and we spent the last 3 days of 2007 amidst a lot of fun, feasting and jokes. (On this, must admit that the Chowmahalla Palace at night and the Biryani at Shadab are two things no one in Hyderabad should give a miss.) I got to learn a few card games and did horribly bad at them. After we called off the night, my friend and I would start afresh till the early hours of the morning - revisiting the past and planning for the future. Those quieter hours were definitely the best time for me - where the happiness is more felt than expressed.
So the new year dawned in a quiet manner this year - a year when I want to quietly tick a few items hanging in my checklist for a long time now.
P.S. I could not give the boisterous revelry a miss altogether, however much I tried by staying indoors at a common friend's place. When returning home late at night, it was the return of the same dreaded animals that made the roads an eyesore. Just as I was telling the friend whose bike I was on that this New Year's eve was one that really went well, bikes were all around us with people shouting 'Happy New Year' at the top of their voices - screeching down the speed, changing lanes and zipping ahead. Perhaps, making way for the next set to perform.
One of my closest friends from college was visiting with some of his friends and we spent the last 3 days of 2007 amidst a lot of fun, feasting and jokes. (On this, must admit that the Chowmahalla Palace at night and the Biryani at Shadab are two things no one in Hyderabad should give a miss.) I got to learn a few card games and did horribly bad at them. After we called off the night, my friend and I would start afresh till the early hours of the morning - revisiting the past and planning for the future. Those quieter hours were definitely the best time for me - where the happiness is more felt than expressed.
So the new year dawned in a quiet manner this year - a year when I want to quietly tick a few items hanging in my checklist for a long time now.
P.S. I could not give the boisterous revelry a miss altogether, however much I tried by staying indoors at a common friend's place. When returning home late at night, it was the return of the same dreaded animals that made the roads an eyesore. Just as I was telling the friend whose bike I was on that this New Year's eve was one that really went well, bikes were all around us with people shouting 'Happy New Year' at the top of their voices - screeching down the speed, changing lanes and zipping ahead. Perhaps, making way for the next set to perform.
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