The God of Cricket makes 200 in an ODI.

We all know that Sachin Tendulkar is a great batsman. Being an Indian I am a big follower of his game. I like the rest of India have always looked forward to seeing him play good cricket. Most of the time when he plays I have unreasonable expectations from him.

It was like any other day… but today India was playing South Africa. I was in office when Naveen came over to my cabin and asked me if I wanted to see the match live on the internet. A few clicks and 2 CISCO commercials later I was watching the match.

Out of the blue I suddenly felt today Sachin will score 200 runs. To be honest this was not the first time I was wishing for something as unreasonable as a 200 from Sachin. But this was just a wish… I had a few weeks back when Sachin crossed 160 against Australia also made such a wish but this time was different.

I decided to share my wish on twitter, FaceBook and other networking sites. “My wish for today: India should score over 400 and Sachin should score the first ODI 200. 3:22 PM Feb 24th via web”

Needless to say my wish and prediction came true and the rest as they say is history.

The Tolani College Interview.

Few months out of my MBA I was looking out for some meaningful jobs… I had already bagged some stupid sales assignments but was getting totally frustrated with the unreasonable targets and paltry remuneration. I never thought I would be doing this kind of a job after an MBA. My parents were very supportive and ensured I did not fall into a depression. Not that I was ever susceptible but being the only child my parents ensured that they did their part most dutifully.

One morning before going to work I was scanning through the papers and saw this small classified advertisement from Tolani College of Commerce. The ad was for a lecturer’s post at the college’s BMS section. I had heard about the ambitious BMS course of the University of Bombay and was always inclined to teach. Plus I thought anything would be better than sales.

In response to my application I got a call from a sweet sounding person from Tolani college called Manju. She informed me that I had an interview. “Wow” I thought, “that was quick.”

Quite honestly I thought there would not be many MBAs interested in a teaching job. Moreover Tolani was never such a reputed college. In fact I had never heard of this college myself except that there was a bus that directly went to this college from the Juhu bus station.

My interview was at 12 noon and I used my Kinetic Honda to get to Tolani.

I soon realised I was totally wrong about the number of people applying for this job. Contrary to my expectation more than 50 MBAs of all shapes and sizes had turned up. There were MBAs from some of Bombay’s most prestigious institutes. Some of them even had up to 10 years of experience in the industry. Then there were others who claimed to be running businesses. So I never understood their motivation to apply to a job like this.

Many pretty women who had done their MBA some years back and were now married and were looking out for some ‘lite assignment’ had also turned up. These trophy wives even had the temerity to shamelessly talk about how this kind of a ‘little or no responsibility role’ would enhance their quality of life and provide them independence to buy vanity products out of their own pocket money.

Although the wait was killing but I somehow was having a good feeling about it. I made light of the grim silence that prevailed in the waiting room by making some casual remarks about the desperation. Some liked it and laughed, some didn’t understand it and some smirked and gave me those looks that were asking me not to act smart. These things helped me gauge competition. Making instant conversations with almost everyone who was not looking into the files I realised that there was no one in the room like me.

Yes on the negative side nobody in the waiting room had an MBA from a place like BVIMK, but on the positive side no one there had any idea about a fulltime lecturer’s roles and responsibilities. My communication skills and confidence too were better than most candidates. So much for being born to two Professors.

After waiting for almost 5 hours, it was my turn. I was the last guy to be interviewed that day. Ironically when I entered the room the panel did not look exhausted at all. On the contrary each of the 3 old men in the room seemed to be having fun. I thought may be the experience of interviewing so many women had got the oldies exited.
The first question almost stumped me. Aspi Doctor asked me, “What is your favourite TV Programme?”

“Bournvita Quiz Contest …” I found myself answering. I had never expected a question like this upfront. The answer was more of a reflex.

Another guy called Shahani asked me why I wanted to teach after an MBA. So I told him about my fascination for lecturing and gave him a little bit of my background by telling him that I was the son of two Professors. Wow that literally got me the job. Two of the three panellists knew my parents and I thought getting this job would be just a cake walk now. But then suddenly Aspi said “Well that does not mean you can teach. You see teaching is neither hereditary nor osmotic.”

Phew… never knew what to make of that statement, especially the osmotic bit.

There were other questions that followed. “Business Process Outsourcing… Do you know anything about this?” A Sindhi poet called Mirchandani asked. I think I gave an impressive answer. Honestly I had no clue what it meant. Another question “What will you do if a student asked you a doubt and you are not able to answer it?” In my mind I thought… “well, bluff… What else?” but controlled my emotions and keeping the most serious face said “To the best of my ability I will prepare before the class but if such a situation arises, I will admit I do not know and try and find the answer before the next class.”

As soon as I mentioned ‘admit,’ the Sindhi poet jumped up and said… “You will admit???” And I stood my ground and said “yes I will.” Though Mirchandani did not like my frankness Aspi and Shahani who surely had more experience teaching than writing things that people do not ready bought into my side of the stand.
More meaningless arguments followed. Somewhere in the middle of the interview I realised they had already selected.

In the end Aspi informed me that they will connect with me soon and if shortlisted I would have to go to the Head office for another interview round. I was almost certain I would be shortlisted and that is what happened. I was summoned to ‘Baktawar,’ the head office of Tolani Shipping. Two more people were shortlisted with me. One was an eye candy type trophy wife and another was a 65 years plus gentleman.
The interview there too was similar except that the panel now had another member – Rohet Tolani.

After the interview I was confident again but this time the guys chose the eye candy over me. A short letter arrived few days later in the evening by hand delivery. I was almost heart broken when some prick called Ram who first said he was the Vice – President and later corrected it and said he was the Vice - Principal of Tolani College called up and said “congratulations.”

I didn’t quite understand, but Ram explained that there had been a mistake and I was selected. Now before I could celebrate, Aspi the Principal of the college called up and said that there had been another mistake and my heart skipped a beat.

Aspi informed me that though I was selected but I would have to do a demo lecture to prove my worth. I thought that would be easy.

So on Friday the 13th of August 1999 I joined Tolani College as a Lecturer for the BMS.

More funny stories on Ram coming up in future blogs...

The Jiyala n Hyd Biryani connection…

One of the main time pass activities in Kolhapur where I was sentenced for two years was watching movies. My diary of those days tells me that by the end of the stay I had watched more than a hundred and twenty five movies. We would go as a group to watch any kind of flicks that ranged from naughty ones like Sirocco to classics like Titanic. We also watched a lot of Hindi films too like Dil Se to more nondescript ones like Mere Sapno ki Rani. Super flops like Prithvi and Jhoot Bole Kuwa Kate can also be included in our list.

This will give you an idea how desperately devoid of entertainment our college life was.

One Friday in my final semester, our HR class as usual got over early. Three out of the six who were in class thus decided to go for a movie. We took an auto and landed up this place just beyond the railway station. There were a lot of theatres and cinema halls in Kolhapur and so getting a ticket was not an issue. However there were hardly any options. Jiyala was a movie that had a lot of TV publicity. From the very name we did not seem to like it but still decided to go in.

The movie lived up to our expectations. It was hopeless and the three of us were feeling miserable for having spent our money. On our return to our hostel, we decided to not let anyone know how bad our experience was. In fact we gave raving reviews and thus by evening another set of hostel inmates decided to go for the movie. When they came back they were so dejected that they wanted to blow us originals apart but realised that they had been fooled. To ensure that they were not the only ones fooled they too decided to give a 5 star rating to the movie. As a consequence, by Sunday everyone had seen the movie in the hostel and declared it a hit.

Even today when we meet sometimes we make fun of this Jiyala adventure of ours.

Hyderabadi Biryani too I feel has a similar thing about it.

I think long years ago some disgruntled traveller to Hyderabad must have had to gulp down the 100% substandard and barely edible Biryani at the Paradise hotel and the revenge continues to haunt us.

Love thy neighbour but don’t get caught...

In school I was not one of those whom you could define as a ‘naughty boy.’ However, somehow it was me who always got caught. I think it had something to do with my height. I was the tallest boy in class. I was the youngest too, but that’s another story.

Like it happens in most primary schools, at the end of the day we had to fall in line and walk out of the school gates. Since I was the tallest I was usually seated at one of the last benches in the class. I would try hard but somehow the anxiety within me to meet my folks outside the gate would make me invariably break the queue. Now whenever someone breaks the rules of this so very unjust system, s/he was subjected to detention. My breaking the law was so regular that my class teacher almost made it a ritual to hold me back.

It was my 9th birthday and like most school students I too had gone to school all dressed up. At the end of the day, I thought to myself and decided not to break the rule today as it was my birthday. I treated, my getting caught on my birthday as something that would occur all year round. So very cautiously I decided to ‘fall in line.’

Out of sheer habit my class teacher picked on me and subjected me to a detention. I cried, pleaded and reasoned but she would not give in. I made a last ditch attempt by telling her it was my birthday n I did not deserve the punishments. She replied by telling me that this would teach me a lesson for life.

A lesson I did lean for life. After that day I never got caught for breaking the queue ever in school. I must confess though I never stopped breaking the queue till my last day at school but somehow no one ever managed to catch me.

The rationale behind my casual approach to life.

People often ask me how I could have been so causal with big decisions of my life, like my marriage with Anita, my taking up an MBA in a classless college like BVIMK or my not applying my mind to clear the NET exams of the UGC that would have ensured me a permanent job in a college in Bombay.

I too wonder but may be the story of ‘The Verger’ my mum often told me when I was a kid must have had something to do with it.

THE VERGER is a story by W. Somerset Maugham.

It was about an illiterate guy who worked in a Church in London on odd jobs like cleaning, dusting and its upkeep. Suddenly one day a new Catholic priest who was commissioned to reform the parish asked this illiterate and near uneducated verger to pass an exam to retain his job. The poor guy to retain his job tried desperately to clear the test but after several attempts realised that it was not his cup of tea. Desperately dejected he hoped for a miracle but nothing happened and he lost his job.

At such times we all know the walk back home is long and painful. To fumigate his sorrow the guy thought of having a smoke and to his surprise could not find a single cigarette shop on the really long street he was walking on.

A business idea was thus born in his mind and soon he executed it. Thank god he was not an MBA and thus did not waste time writing a ‘business plan.’
His cigarette selling business flourished and within a matter of years he became a rich man; Rich enough for the bankers to notice.

On one of his many regular visits to the bank a high ranking bank official called him to the investments office and explained to him the benefits of investing instead of using the savings option. Convincing as they are, the banker managed to make a kill and convinced our verger to invest. All that the verger was expected to do was read the papers and sign.

This is when the cat was let out of the bag and the verger confess that he could not neither read nor write. The banker almost feeling pity for him said something that provides the ironical climax of the story.

He said “do you mean to say you became such a rich man without knowing how to read or write...? Imagine what you could have become if you only knew to read and write...”

Pat came the verger’s reply... “well I would have been a VERGER at that church around the corner there.”

Fr. Simon, SJ.

Fr. Simon was my boss when I taught at the St. Xavier’s college in Bombay. His simplicity had a profound impact on my life. He also has a great sense of humour and thus was my choice for the Toast Master for my wedding with Anita (ex-wife.)

Even though he was a priest, his discourses would make very interesting sermons.

This is what he said at my wedding:

There was a couple who happily married for a long time. So in this day and time when marriage is the first step towards a divorce, people wanted to know what their formula for such a successful relationship was. The wife being the talkative of the two was very forth coming with her explanation.

She said that the crux of most discords in a relationship is the decision making function in life. Decision making often leads to arguments which go on to become fights and thus result in unpleasantness.

So she explained how the couple right in the beginning of getting together had decided not to ever fight over decisions taken by the other.

The couple had apparently decided that all the ‘Big’ decisions in life would be taken by the Husband and all the ‘small’ decisions would be left to the wife. No arguments were entertained once the decisions were taken and thus happiness was guaranteed.

Some smart soul who had tried to apply this logic in his life came up to the couple and asked the obvious question: “Well who takes a decision and decides what is a ‘Big’ decision and which one is a ‘small’ decision?”

The Wife instantly replied.... “Oh! That is a very small decision... so it is left to me...”

They once thought I was dead.

It was one of those breaks in school we call summer vacations. Our exams had got over in March and the results were out in April. From then until a black Monday in the second week of June we had holidays.

To escape the heat in Bombay people would take a short break to hill stations but we had this ancestral home by the beach in Goa. This place needed heavy duty maintenance before the rains. So my summer vacations were neither short nor cool. They were always spent with family in Goa where the heat could make anyone see apparitions on the Candolim Beach.

I would year after year look forward to the semi luxury Kadamba bus ride to Goa. Somehow right from my childhood I always loved the Journey more than the destination. But that’s another story and I will leave it for another day.

I had learnt swimming at a very early age. My mum who had no knowledge of swimming taught me swimming by ringside instructions. Over the years I had mastered the art and could swim my way through most pools. On my many trips to Goa I had always begged and pleaded with my elders to let me swim in the sea but since I was the only child, I was always denied permission.

I wonder why they still feel the only child has it easy. Anyway moving on...

So it was around 11 am on a hot May morning in Goa that a group of children from the neighbourhood were going for a swim. The idea was to take a dip and thus cool off.

You must understand that this was a time where we did not even have a ceiling fan in our Goa house. Moreover they electricity situation in Candolim even today is pathetic. So the idea of taking a dip to cool off was actually not so bad.

I requested one of the older boys to help me with the permission from my parents and as my luck would have it he obliged. I think my luck was damn good and even my dad agreed to send me. My mum was worried and in her chicken-heartedness warned this older boy with dire consequences if something happened to me.

On the beach the logic was simple. I just ripped off my cloths and pushed my glasses in to the hands of one of the girls who had come to watch over us and jumped in to the water. I soon realised that swimming in the sea after one passed the waves is no different from swimming in a deep pool. What I did not realise thought was the fact that none of the boys who had come for the swim really knew to swim. Thus they went only as far into the water as their legs could carry them.

Without my glasses I was virtually blind. I had hardly a few meters of clear visibility beyond which it was a haze. Swimming to have fun I soon lost sight of land behind me. I only realised this when I wanted to turn back as I could not sight land. With water on all four sides, I should have been frightened to death. But as a kid I knew no fear. I decided to use my sense of direction. Moreover as it was day the Sun helped me. What I had learnt as a boring lesson in Geography was now suddenly making sense.

A little tired I managed to make my way back to land. I could hardly see where I had reached and there was nobody on the beach. I had lost track of the time and thus thought, may be the people who had come with me for the swim must have left. I realised that there was no sense looking for my friends and decided to head home. Although my home in Goa is hardly 90 meters from the water I still have no idea how I found my way back home from where I landed. In retrospect I believe that I may have been guided by some divine force because I actually found my way back quite easily.

Once back home I did not make much of my trip to the beach. I thought bragging would jeopardise my future chances of swimming in the sea.

I was so thirst that I started to drink directly from the earthen pot. Soon mum sent me off to a bath and then it was lunch. In the meanwhile I also managed to find myself a spare set of glasses and thus could finally see.

It is like a tradition to take an afternoon nap in Goa. So we all went to sleep. Around 4 in the evening I heard a shy knock at the door. As no one was up I decided to answer the door. At the door were a group of my neighbours who looked very scared. Some of them were crying and the moment they saw me the expressions on their face changed so drastically that I could not believe my eyes. Some of them looked at me as if they were seeing a ghost while others were relived and almost rejoicing. While I was wondering what had happened, I saw my clothes with one of them and another one carrying my glasses with both hands.

I soon realised what had happened. These guys thought I was dead when I did not come back from the sea.

Later they told my dad that they waited for me for almost an hour and when I did not come back they thought I was dead. Some of them who thought they would be held responsible for this were so afraid that they first went home and informed their parents about what had happened. Their parents then met and decided what to do and finally mustered up the courage to come to my home to break the news to my folks.

To their surprise they found me home.

Now for the caveat... don’t try this at home unless you know to swim...

The Placement Prank

It was placement time at the BVIMK. All the self appointed captains of the team were trying to get companies to recruit at the College but with absolutely no success. I was supposed to be the head of placements myself but had long given up hope of anything positive. The preparedness of the school was total and the desperation was visible.
Once again it was the 1st of April and the devil in me was egging me on for one final prank before I leave BVIMK and Kolhapur. Immense success from last year was also telling me I could pull off a real huge one.

So the plan was to call up our course coordinator Prof. N J Chavan on the official BVIMK phone and tell him that the Notre Group had met with me - Llewellyn Desouza - the College’s placement head and would like to recruit from the B-school. The story would gain more credibility when Prof. Chavan would connect with me to find out more about the Group showing keen interest in recruiting. Next the Placement committee would put the brigade to work and ensure that the people in charge of hospitality get ready for a welcome and the guys interested in jobs from Notre Group would get ready in formal clothing.

The planning and execution of this entire practical joke was being done by Rathore and yours truly as usual.

As planned, Rathore called up Prof. Chavan at 5pm on the official number of the BVIMK. By now I had acquired quite a reputation of being a master prankster. So to ensure that no one suspects me I was right there standing in front of Prof. Chavan talking to him about my project work when this call came. God alone knows what Rathore said to Prof. Chavan but he came back to me in 15 minutes in a real upbeat mood. He patted me on the back and asked me about the Notre Group. Like a real pro I acted as if I did not remember about this company and told him it was difficult to say as I had been to so many companies with the college brochure.

Prof. Chavan then called Amir a classmate of mine in charge of hospitality for placement companies and told him about the Notre Group wanting to recruit at the BVIMK. Amir was super exited as this was the first company wanting to come to recruit. Amir further put his network to work and thus the juniors got involved.
When Anup Tiwari of my class heard about this he was almost sceptical. Anup had closely worked with me on placements and knew that this was near impossible. Speaking his mind out to Prof. Chavan, Anup told him to beware of the fact that the day marked for the visit of the Notre Group was April First. Anup the sharp classmate of mine had smelt a rat and had almost blown the lid on our prank. Anup had a big enough following and this would mean that by just speaking to people in his hostel he would sow the seeds of cynicism in their minds.

By late evening both Rathore and I after making almost flying visits to the various hostels realised that people were believing what Anup and his group was telling them. We understood that the credibility of the system was at stake and we needed to do something that would make people believe in the ‘official’ version.

We thought that if when we were in class with Prof. Chavan and he gets summoned form the college office for a phone call from the Notre Group on the official number, people would believe his word and thus the prank would work. Also if we were in class with him at that time no one would suspect us. But how would we call him when both of us were in class?

Besides the MBA Students at my hostel, we had a few rich MCA juniors. Shenu was from Kerala and he had the most advanced possession of the time – a mobile phone. When I first had used it I had no idea how it worked but knew that this hand held wireless devise would help us solve the credibility issue. I took Shenu Mobile and his roommate Sajan Pager (that’s how the whole of Siddique hostel remembered them) into confidence. Trust me it was no mean feat as they both hardly spoke or understood any kind of language I spoke or understood. After the negotiations I felt I should have been a hostage negotiator for the Government. Anyway Shenu readily agreed the moment he understood that I was playing a prank on Prof. Chavan. Shenu just hated Prof. Chavan.

In the class the next day Prof. Chavan made our life easy by organising a debate. I ensured that the debate was very lively and intimidated Anup into a fierce argument with Ashish Kapoor. While the entire class was showing off using jargon I was gesturing to Rathore very desperately to make the bloody call. Rathore had developed cold feet and I was very angry, irritated and frustrated. I somehow slipped to the back of the class took the mobile from Rathore and decided to make the call myself.

Now the mobile also needed to be hidden as it was not a very common device. It was bound to draw a lot of attention if noticed. Putting my entire ventriloquism to use, I made the call looking straight in the direction of Prof. Chavan. I spoke to a clerk and asked him to call Prof. Chavan. The idiot started to argue with me saying Prof. Chavan was in class. Left with no other option I had to put the call down.

Not to let anyone feel I was missing from the action, I almost immediately after cutting the call jumped into the debate. As most were speaking nonsense it did not look as if I was putting up an act to participate. All were talking and no one was listening. Rathore was however keen to know what had happened and opened my notebook and stared asking written questions. I was so bloody irritated with him I would have almost slapped him.

I realise after a few minutes that I could call again and try using the key word ‘urgent.’
Mustering up courage after you have failed at such a mission critical but non consequential exercise is very difficult. But I was committed. I called again and this time a peon answered. In a very stern tone I told him I wanted to speak to Prof. Chavan about placement and urgently. It did the tick. He ran and came to class with a message for Prof Chavan. No sooner had he come to the class the bell announcing the end of one class of Prof. Chavan when off.

Prof. Chavan had two classes back to back that day with us. Prof. Chavan asked us to take a break. I hid the phone in the draw of my bench as my entire class walked out for the break. By the time Prof. Chavan reached the college office phone I was in a position to talk freely. I told him that we from the Notre Group will be coming to recruit with our director today at 3.30. I also told him that our director would first like to meet the Profs of the school and then do a small presentation on the Group to the students and then take CVs of interested candidates for short listing.

The tricked worked and Prof. Chavan came back to class with renewed vigour. By the time he was back in class a lot of the students were back from the break and thus he shared with them the breaking story. Anup was still not convinced and asked Prof. Chavan about the whole thing one more time to ascertain facts. By lunch time the hospitality team had got to work on full swing ordering Samosas and chips. Another set of juniors was working on getting the brand new, but unused two year old Transparency Overhead Projector working. Some of the guys from my class walked over to their hostels and came back after lunch dressed in a necktie.

At 3.30 our Director Jacob and Prof. N J Chavan were given bouquets to receive the guests but no one had arrived. By Four, patience was running out and by 4.30 Anup was out telling Prof. Chavan that he always felt this was a prank. Both Rathore and I showed as if we were still hopeful until Six. Finally when everyone went home after eating the Samosas, we had the last laugh.Even today all feel it was a prank but very few know that it was us.

The Prefect Mistake (How I took up an MBA.)

The year was 1997. I was working for IMRB for some time now and making reasonably good money. My assignment can today be classified as a KPO/ BPO job but this was a time when no one had any idea what out sourcing was.
Although I worked in the Esplanade Mansion office of the IMRB in Bombay, my work was assigned from an office in Hong Kong. The job was all about analysing market research data that would come via email from Hong Kong. The problem was that the emails were generation next technology at that time and we had to go to our Nirmal Towers office to even check these incoming packets. Yes, believe it or not we did call these attachments to emails as packets. Once we got the email and the relevant attachment, we downloaded them on to the most unreliable storage devises of the time called floppy disks and transport the data to our desktops. This ensured a few trips between the offices a day and if lucky the data to be analysed would be on our desktops only by 6 in the evening. As the processing started after that, I had to stay back nights in office. With firm regularity, I travelled home only in the wee hours of the morning and thus returning back to work by 9 am to sign a muster was almost impossible.
Moreover the work I did was complex, used yet to be relied upon technology, subject to rejection, time consuming, tedious and most importantly not understood by anyone in my reference group. For example, the timekeeper (yes we had one) at the IMRB, employed by the HR of the company never understood that it was impossible for me to come at 9 am to sign a muster when I had just left office at 5 am. The timekeeper would insist on a ‘red mark’ on the register and three such marks would mean a causal leave (CL). Exceeding the number of permitted CLs per week which was 3 invited a Memo. Not replying to the Memo would mean a remark in the service book and no pay until justification. It was only during the clarification interview that the HR head would realise what was going on and for some strange reason even though the pay would be released no corrective procedural action for the red marks or the Memo would be initiated from his end.
More than me it was my parents who were impacted. My parents in their line of work took their service book and muster remarks very seriously. A Memo for them would mean some grave crime committed against organization like neglect of duty or embezzlement of funds. Also my family was a close knit one. Each one of us would usually comeback from outside and sit together and discuss what happened. This ritual though time consuming and almost an invasion of privacy was the binding force in the family. Eating out every day with hardly any physical exercise had now made me 145 kgs. I was finding it very difficult to move the ton around. With my erratic timings and my weight problem I was drifting apart from the family.
I think this is what they call pressure and thus the cookie crumbled. Suddenly one day Mum got palpitations. Not that this was a new sickness as this kind of a problem with mum’s Blood Pressure had happened in the past when I was in college but the difference here was I was not free and available to do the legwork. So dad was stressed out a lot. Almost a month after mum recovered, Dad got a heart attack. My dad who is, was and will always remain the back bone of my existence was never so sick. I had no idea what was happening to me and my life. It as if the rest of life took a back seat. I had to become the man of the house. I had to look in to my mother’s eyes and tell her “My father is not dead, he is just sick.” Not knowing want else to say, we had to simply resort to stopping each other from crying.
This episode jolted us out of our comfort zone.
My mum and I would take turns at the hospital vigil. At the hospital one day I met a college friend of mine. He was there because his father too was admitted to the ICU. In the waiting room outside the ICU, I saw him struggling with some math like problems. I took keen interest in what he was doing and after some time indulged myself in solving the puzzles. Soon he told me that the puzzles I was solving with extraordinary easy were not puzzles as such but aptitude testing material that frequently appears in MBA entrance exams. Later in the day that friend of mine told my mum that I was too good at the MBA entrance stuff and should try my luck at the Common Entrance Test. Convinced that I had no future with the job I was doing both my mum and my dad even in that condition forced me to think of an MBA.
An MBA is a big decision in a students’ life. However like many decisions of my life, I took to an MBA ‘Just like that.’
The World around people take up an MBA after a few years of work. The logic is to use the MBA College like a dictionary and refer to it with problems you encountered at work. Using your MBA years to find solutions for the problems you encountered while working makes your MBA sojourn more meaningful.
However in India we do it differently. We first try and finish all our education at one shot. So we go through our bachelors’ degree and then straight into an MBA. At the MBA we equip ourselves with solutions for the business world, which we have no idea how or were to apply. Then we go out into the big bad corporate world ‘looking for problems’ which would help us apply our knowledge. Now I always thought leading a life looking for problems is not such a great idea.
Once dad was back from the hospital I went back to work and got myself re engrossed in the routine forgetting the MBA preparations. My routine was tough and my schedules were punishing so there was no time to think of anything else.
I still remember the day before my entrance test; I was working till 2.30 in the night. I don’t know how I managed to get up the next morning and go to the examination centre. At the centre I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of people that had come to give the test plus the fact that each one of them was preparing for the test vigorously till the last minute. After the test too I met a few acquaintances furiously debating some college ranking. All this puzzled me as I had not taken my MBA decision seriously.
Once I went back to work I made inquiries about an MBA course and its prospects. Even though I was an educated son of educated parents, I had no idea about how admissions to an MBA work.
The scene was very complex. There were some 2 to 3 hundred MBA colleges in Maharashtra affiliated to the various universities. The admissions to their MBA programme were centralised. Which means a common entrance test was taken and then a group discussion was held and then we were subjected to a personal interview. At the end of this we got a score and a rank. With this rank we were suppose to appear for a counselling session. At the counselling we get to chose from the available colleges from all over Maharashtra. Though the system looks simple, what makes is complex is the stature and reputation of each MBA college and the placement record of the institution.
One day I got my results and I realize I had not done that badly after all. With the kind of score I could comfortably get an admission in a good college in Bombay. However things were made difficult by the fact that most of the seats left in Bombay were ‘paid seats.’ So not knowing the consequences of a bad college, I decided to take the economic option and go out of Bombay to do an MBA….
Moreover what I thought were good colleges were not necessarily the top colleges in Bombay according to the others who were appearing for the counselling. Some of the people who appeared for the counselling ahead of me had taken up colleges in Pune and one had even gone to Nasik. There was hardly any time to think when my turn came. So I asked the polite looking gentleman on the other side of the ‘Counsellor’ sign where would I get a free seat. To my surprise he said Kolhapur. I had once been to Kolhapur so I kind of liked the option. I asked him to tell me which was the number one college in Kolhapur. What I meant was a qualitative numbering implying the best college but he was a simple man and went by the first college on his list as far as Kolhapur is concerned. Bharthi Vidyapeeth Institute of Management was the number one college on extra large register and I don’t think was the best college on any list but not knowing what to do I signed on the dotted line, submitted my certificates (as I had not got the necessary drafts) and took a plunge into the unknown.

April Fool!

It was the 1st of April. We as students of an MBA seldom had classes for more than 2 hours a day so after that we got down to some serious work like meeting up at hostels and doing nothing at all. Since today was all fools day... people were out to outwit each other. Fooling the daylights of the system and people running it we reached the place of Syric and Rathore. They stayed in the first floor portion of a bungalow in the Ruiker colony. Pranav, another friend of mine was with me. The motive was to help Rathore & Syric finish the lunch that would arrive for them from the mess in a Tiffin Dabba by doing a 2 by 4 and thus saving some money.

Together the four of us thought no end of ourselves. We would always boast about the fact that individually we may not have it all that a girl desires but together we had everything like... Colour (Rathore was very fair), Figure (Syric was a pocket size mussel man), Brains (Pranav was an engineer) and Size (I was BignTall as ever.)

Once we reached the bungalow, we first checked for the Tiffin Dabba. As we were about to settle down to have our grub, we realised the Tiffin today was heavier than usual. As we opened it we realised, it was packed with stones. A note told us we were April fooled. Hungry, insulted and angry we decided to take our revenge. We had realised that this was the work of the group of girls led by a girl called Madhuri staying in the same block from where the food had been dispatched. The girls had colluded with the messwali aunty as she was also their landlady and worked this trick on us. We were about to pick up sticks and beat the shit out of the girls when the Saint in Syric told us to be ashamed of ourselves for even thinking in that way.

Soon an idea struck us. We decide to pack the Tiffin dabbas and the stones we had received as our lunch in a big shoe box. We then wrapped the box in Blue Dart courier packaging. To make the packet look authentic we used a sticker label to write the name of Madhuri. Resourceful Rathore helped us with the inside and outside address and the name of the Madhuri’s father. I still wonder how he had all these details.

The packet was ready. The plan was to pose as a courier guy and deliver the parcel claiming some money by saying the parcel was heavy and thus Octroi was charged. To fake the encounter we used an old Octroi Challan. To make the plan foolproof we needed a guy who would have guts, would not panic under pressure, and most importantly look like a courier guy.

As the people at the mess would recognise Syric & Rathore, their participation as the courier guy was ruled out. Pranav was smart but being a no nonsense guy was a very bad actor. With no other option the courier guy role was left to me. The role demanded that I look dirty and my unshaven look helped. The script was created by Pranav and Rathore and it was very unreasonable. I had not only to deliver the packet and collect the sum of Rs.275/- but also write out a receipt. This would involve not just dialog delivery but also acting silently while others were watching. Any actor worth his salt will tell you that this was a tough conman like act.
Before leaving on my Kinetic Honda I remember giving a look to Syric and almost pleading him to pray for me. Syric was a trained but non practicing catholic priest and I still sometimes ask him to pray for me. I believe his prayers always work for me.

I very confidently carried out the plot and to this day pride myself on the gag. No one suspected and I pulled of an act worth a million dollars. Even today I sometimes think of this and feel I am in the wrong line of work.

Back with Rs.280/-, as I pretended I did not have change, I with the remaining three decided to celebrate. We walked down to Kolhapur station and ate that afternoon at the PanchGanga. When we came back to the bungalow a magnitude of girls from the girls’ hostel had descended there. A visibly disturbed Madhuri was crying. I felt sorry for her. Both Pranav and I had almost reached for our wallet to reimburse her loss but Rathore was ruthless. He went into overdrive mode and even abused the girls out of the place by telling them that they were no saints when they put stones in his dabba.

Once the girls left we burped with guilt but decided to not to pay back. The Sunday that week we took Madhuri out on an all expenses paid trip to our favourite picnic spot in Panhala. Although not in touch but we are still friends and will always remain that way. This one is for you Madhuri.

Binary Cricket!

The Game is called ‘Binary Cricket’ coz there are only two players per team. The matche are played in a box type enclosure like an indoor basket ball court with a rubber or plastic ball.

The game and how it is played:
Binary Cricket is a super condensed version of the Limited Overs Game of Cricket.
Each innings will consist of only 3 overs a side.
The fun part is even if you get out you get to bat on.
However, each dismissal will cost you 2 runs.
It is a batsman’s game so bowlers will be allowed to do only the underarm action.
Each ‘no ball’ and ‘wide’ will be punished with a 5 run penalty.
But batsmen will have to work hard as there are no fours or sixes.
And as the fielding side has only two players they too will have to (quite literally) cover a lot of ground. (No neutral fielders!)
Normal cricketing rules with regards to dismissals, runs, overthrows and other things will apply except no ‘Leg before Wicket’ (lbw) and no ‘leg -bye.’
The onus is on the team fielding to finish 3 overs in less than 15 minutes.
Failing to do so will invite a 10 run penalty per minute starting from the ‘first second’ of the minute.
As the game is played at a boisterous pace that can give Basketball players a complex. The fielding side is allowed one timeout of 1 min and the batting side can take two timeouts of 1 min each.
To encourage women participation the matches are played with a soft tennis or rubber ball.
If you like swing you can try a plastic ball.
The Game requires very nominal Cricketing skills but requires extra ordinary agility and aggressive athleticism plus an extraordinary ‘will to win.’
This is a ‘Unisex’ game any David can kill a Goliath.
Anyone with an able body and a good cricketing mind can play and win. Trust me when I say ‘any one can win.’
Wish you all the best...

Reality Check

It was a Wednesday in the last week of November 2008. I was as usual on some networking site trying to hunt for contacts of some Alumni or Student activist of a premium college in India.

Today was a little different because I was not at all with myself. My mother in Goa was sick and temporarily bed ridden and the impact of the Global meltdown was weighing on my mind.

Life has been always like this with me so it did not come up as a surprise when Hima my boss called me to her rooms and told me to get ready for my first international assignment – Dubai.

I must confess here that although I was internally very excited, I did think this was possible. I am a bit of a travel freak but always thought of international travel as a huge hassle. I firmly believed that India had a lot of places that I needed to explore yet. Most of my friends and family thought I was taking up the ‘grapes are sour’ line even before trying.

Any way I reluctantly walked up to the ISB travel desk to understand the formalities. First and foremost I needed a passport that was valid up to six months from the date of travel. To be honest I did not even know where my passport was. I asked Usha at home to check about my passport. In a few minutes Usha called to inform that my passport expires on March 24th 2009.
I spoke to many agents and officials that evening and tried to reason with them but it was of no use.

This simply meant I needed to renew my passport in the next two days and after that go and apply for a Visa which would take another 3 to 4 days. Knowing the formalities involved I realised that any task that has to deal with a Government department in India is not going to be simple.

Moreover being an arrogant Bombay boy who never wanted anything to do with Hyderabad, I never bothered to get any of my documents transferred. I had no proper address proof of a place I had been staying for the last 4 years and all my identity proofs were like me Bombay based.

My first reaction next morning was to get my passport renewed from Bombay. I thought this would be easier than to deal with a situation in Hyderabad. However, when I spoke to agents and officials in Bombay and Hyderabad, I realised this was not possible. I had been staying in Hyderabad for too long to be recognised at least officially as a Bombay boy.

For a ‘tatkal’ passport renewal in Hyderabad I needed 3 documents as proof of residence or a Verification Certificate from an IAS/ IPS cadre government officer who knew me in person. I had a telephone bill of a reliance FWP/ land line but no other proofs to prove that I was resident in Gachibowli Hyderabad for the last 4 plus years. I thought I knew no government officer.

Finally I gave up. I picked up the phone and spoke to Usha and said to her that we need to do a ‘reality check.’

Usha never gives up so easily. In a consoling tone she heard me out but gave me her trump card ideas as usual. She has a few tricks up her sleeves and as always she told me to do a few things that will work for me.

Usha reminded me that we had a Bharat Gas Connection and I could get my address on my bank account changed. This would give me the 3 ‘address proofs’ if we include the telephone bill. She also reminded me of a certain acquaintance of mine who worked with the income tax department. I vaguely remembered that he was a very high ranking officer.

She immediately also asked me to register online for a passport appointment in Hyderabad and get myself clicked.

I did as she said and spoke to my friend in the income tax department the next morning. To my delight things started to fall in place. My friend checked and realised that he was entitled to give me the Verification Certificate. He also decided to accompany me to the passport office as he knew some top official there.

In just 2 days my passport was in my hand and Usha still taunts me about the ‘Reality Check.’

2963

It was May 2006 and I had just bought myself a beautiful Yellow Wagon R (YWR). This was my first car and I hardly knew to drive it around. In my various sojourns I was generously helped by my friend Imtiaz bhai. They told me that I had to bring my car to a Maruti Service Station to get it serviced for the first time. This was part of the free service package. Besides this the Maruti Dealer had to give me a permanent number plate as I had already registered my car. The Service Station was at Somajiguda and I had never driven that far. Imtiaz bhai was my rescue idea.

After waiting for an hour at the Somajiguda office of Saboo motors I was told that since it was a Saturday, servicing the car here would be difficult and I would have to drive it to the Nampalli Service Station. With my limited driving skills this would have been impossible. Imtiaz bhai was also reluctant to drive further. So I was real angry with Saboo motors for having called me this far and not directed me to Nampalli directly when I had called in the morning.

To pacify me the sales man told me I would any which way have had to come here as my number plate had to be fixed and RC book/ card collected. I was still a little pissed off.

After another wait of around 15 to 20 mins what was being fixed on my car first surprised me, then shocked me and later flabbergasted me, but till today intrigues me as a mystery.

Long years ago when I was a little boy, my mother had told me stories about her father (my Nana) having various cars. She told me many stories about many cars but only one of them I remember till today. It was about a Morris Minor that my Nana owned somewhere between 1950 to 1965. I was only born in 1975 so I had not even seen this car. The story told so many times over the years had no plot as such but remained in my mind as the “ two nine khichdi” story. You guessed it right... Nana had a Morris Minor that had a registration number 2963. My Mamu named Chotu could not pronounce a term as difficult as “Six Three” when he was young and so called it “ two nine khichdi.”

The Registration number of my car too is 2963.

Nana I love You...

This is how I got into ISB.

It was late August 2004. I had been married for less than one year and was going through one of the worst phases of my life. My wife had seen a lot of potential in me and had nagged me into giving up my job at St. Xavier’s College. I was now working for the Indo American Society as a Manager for Academic Programmes.

By changing my job I had not only lost my super star status at my workplace (something I had become used to) but also had to adjust to a new work culture. This adjustment was getting on to my nerves. I was getting some salary but was totally unhappy about it. More than me my wife was unhappy about it.

Moreover my wife got a superb job offer and had decided to take it up. Her salary was thus now going to be more than double my salary. She was thus ashamed of me and had left no stone unturned to let her displeasure be known to me.

Battered and bruised by her nagging and outright wild n abusive remarks, I went to work everyday.

At work, that day the electricity had failed and the only thing that was working was my computer because of the UPS. My mouse had a severe malfunction and was very difficult to use. So I by mistake clicked on a pop up of monster dot com.

Realizing what had happened I decided to make use of what had just popped up. It was 1135 in the morning when I finished filling in the details and went out of the office to tell the security man to instruct the student who had come for the 1130 class to leave as there was a power failure.

Many of the guys who had turned up for the class were agitated and thus I had to spend some time pacifying them. When I returned to my seat it was around 12ish. My secretary came in with an invite of her wedding and placed the card on my table. After exchanging the usual pleasantries she asked if she could go out for lunch with her fiancée. After she left I got a call from Simran Khara from ISB. She told me she had seen my profile on monster and was asking if I would be interested in working for ISB. At first I thought it was a practical joke but later said ok to the interviews on phone.

My first interview was scheduled for the next day at 11 and the next one at 2 pm. Both on phone. When I came back home that day I told this to my wife n she told me “be careful!” I just casually also told this to my dad and he told me the usual …. “Go! All the best but I am sure your worst will also get u through… so do ur worst!”

After I finished both the interviews, Simran again rung me up and told me I had to come down to Hyderabad for the next round of formalities. I had to book my tickets so I called my secy in to take down my schedule and see if a booking is available. As she left I noticed her wedding card on the table, I opened it to see an embossed Ganpati on it.

I flew down to Hyderabad for my interviews and came back with mixed feelings. The ISB is like the TAJ Mahal. Once a person sets foot here and is given an opportunity to imagine, you can be sure the guy will dream of making it big. I too came back with similar feelings. My interviews like always had gone off real well and there should not have been any problems.

However, even 10 days after there was no news. I had almost lost hope.

On the 11th of September, I landed up at my office as usual and was meeting up with this girl from ToI. She had a gift for me. An Idol of Lord Moreshwar one of the Astvinayak idols from near Pune. She was kind of afraid to give it to me as I am a Catholic. I put her at ease and took the idol and put it down on my table as if to install it and told her this will now always remain with me. She was so happy to see me accept it that she thanked me a lot before she left. As soon as she had left, Monica Reddy from the HR at ISB rung me up to ask why had I not replied to their offer letter. I told her I had not got any. So she checked with me for my email address and found a few ‘L’(s) missing. Soon she sent me the letter and the rest is history.

This is how I got into ISB. String of coincidences or just one huge miracle by the Man Himself?