Ho ho ho!

I’m going to start with the usual – so much has changed, since the last time I blogged.

Tersely put, this is a recap so that I can maintain a mental diary of the chronology of important life events. Mind it that the events that I’m going to talk about are going to guide everything in my life: my career progression, my relationship with my parents, my marriage.  

I stepped foot in ISB on the 18^th April 2015. On 5^th December, I got a job offer from a top notch consulting firm, with a fairly plush pay package. Yay! I never thought I would manage so much. I have had such muted expectations from myself that it seems that my luck must be at its highest point that day. Anyways, now that I have the job, I’m just going to pretend that I deserved it.

I got the job in December, and I was done with my placement season. And therefore, I had a lot of time on my hands thereafter. But I basically didn’t do much besides partying, gaining 5 kilos, and screwing up my sixth term. Well worth it, I’d say. But eventually, I was hit by an epiphany about myself: nothing depresses me more in life than to not have a goal to pursue. If there’s no goal, there’s no feeling of accomplishment – there’s no adrenaline rush, there’s nothing to feel bogged down about, and nothing to pick myself up for, like the typical Hindi film hero.

I also realized that I don’t like revealing my goals explicitly to others. I’m a secret achiever, who tries to achieve what he has to, in a rather discrete, non-revealing way. When the goal is achieved, I may just come back to my room, close the door, and say – ‘Yay’ to myself, with a fist clenched, and a sheepish smile on my face. And that would be the end of it, till of course, I give myself something new to chew on.

These days, I have a couple of things that keep my mental bandwidth preoccupied. Good health, is one. I used to be 72 kilos, and still think that I’m not the fittest. Today, I weigh 76. It’s plainly disappointing to think how I let this happen. Anyways, I lost 4 kilos in the last 45 days, and slowly fitting back into the clothes that I had long abandoned. I’m treading a path of dietary discipline, and its making me a happier person. I’m not letting myself be till I get ‘Fit as Fuck’ (FaF) – it’s my personal verbiage.

If you’ve read my blog earlier, you would know that hardly a post goes without mentioning an update on my relationship angle. Since you see no mention, clearly it’s on the backburner. I was told that relationships don’t survive MBAs – definitely not two of them, and most certainly not simultaneously. My relationship survived alright; but it lost a  few of its senses. Pity. 

With a little time at hand

So for a change, today I have some time. It reminds of the days of nothingness, when had less to do but to introspect. Though I never really did any serious introspection. I think, I was just killing time thinking.

Anyways, it's been about four months here, and I'm significantly more uncertain about what I want to do in life, than I was when I came to ISB.

There are just so many options, and if there's anything I've realized about myself, it's that options baffle me. My indecisiveness almost always gets the better of me.

I screwed up the bidding process so badly that I got none of the courses I really wanted to take in the next term. While I feel slightly disappointed about this fuck up, I'm also simultaneously happy that I resorted to fate accompli - that is, I did not get to decide it for myself, and left it on chance. 

There's a limit of how bad it can get - I mean, it's just one term - and I'm hoping all the good guys took better courses anyways - so I'll be in a class which has a lower expectation about its own expectations. So, may be I'll get an A. Or May be not. Don't Know. Don't Care.

The high points of the day though was that I got to meet Ankur Warikoo today. When I meet people like him, it reinvigorates my zealousness; zealousness to do something different, to take risks, to achieve excellence, to be outspoken, to manage myself better - and what not. 

He said, it's important to know which industry one's headed towards. And I sat there thinking : where am I going? what am I pursuing? Consulting or Retail? What am I focusing on? Grades or Experience? Am I getting too comfortable here?

Surviving an MBA

It’s almost hard to believe that it’s been two months at ISB already. And really, what a roller coaster this is. As an alum rightly pointed out in a session yesterday – one won’t necessarily miss these days in the time to come. An MBA at ISB is ‘highway to hell’ – he rightly said.

 

But then, the eventfulness of the last months is hard to ignore. It’s like I squeeze out the eventfulness in the last four years of my life, it’ll probably be equal to the eventfulness I’ve squeezed in the last two months. Shit happens – and then it sorts itself out. By the end of it you’re all stressed and you’d like to burn the burn-out so you party like crazy. That pretty much sums it up.

Honestly speaking, in the first two weeks, I felt my natural self won’t even last in this place. There’s just so much going on around you all the time – and you tend to find yourself around so many great people that it’s almost impossible to be your own un-interesting self. But then like interest rates come down in a growing economy – people’s guard of pretentiousness comes down in a fast paced MBA. And then you feel you’re more like everybody – than you thought you were.

 

Not to say that there aren’t any jerks in your personal life. But then a few phone calls here and there – and you’re sorted. The funny thing is that there isn’t an iota (imaginary) second available to think about it. May be I spent the last four years thinking what I’ll do in life. And maybe I’ll spend this year doing things without thinking them through.

 

Also, I think I’m becoming more and more Punjabi everyday. Not something I’m terribly proud of. At the risk of exposing my bad taste in music, this one's on the jukebox.

 

 

 

Pistanthrophobia

So, I learnt a new word today - Pistanthrophobia. Going by the dictionary - it means the fear of trusting people. It's mostly described as a disorder. I think I suffer from it.

Now, to be brutally honest - I have a hard time trusting people or as some say, letting my guard down. I think I've always been wary of trusting people, but only recently have I seen a spillover of this personality trait in my professional life. 

If you're a stickler for getting the job done, and getting it done well - then you can only delegate stuff to people whom you really tend to trust ; perhaps, people who have as much at stake as yourself. But that doesn't happen always. I mean it's a hierarchy. Some people have more at stake and some have less. And as responsibilities increase, you'll have a hard time believing that you'll be able to get everything done by yourself - if you can't find anybody trustworthy.

It then boils down to inculcating this habit of trusting people first and then giving them opportunities - instead of hoping them to prove their trustworthiness first. And this applies not only in the professional sphere - but also in your personal life. We never completely trust all our friends, do we? It's a little trickier with friends than with colleagues at office. There's no job to get done here. One needs to trust their intent.

I need to draw this to a close now. The only self corrective action that I can think of from this moment of introspection - is to start trusting people more often. Instead of asking: Why should I trust him/her? - I need to ask - Why shouldn't I trust him/her? Life would be incredibly easier(and simple, and less devious) if everyone around yourself could be trusted.

So, if you know me - then I'm going to trust you - I'm going to trust your abilities, I'm going to trust your intent, I'm going to trust your willingness to help - unless of course you give me a reason for doing otherwise.

Notes to Self - I

Just so much has changed since the last time blogged.

I'm a year older. My hairline seems to be receding. I find myself in a long distance relationship. I also have an admit from ISB. So, in about a year's time I'm going to be an MBA. Believe me when I say that I don't, at the slightest, mean to boast.

I don't even know how much I've detested doing an MBA. But shit happens. There are enough motivations outside of yourself that guide your decisions. They're more influential than you would imagine.

I've probably lost my edge in blogging. That's what not being regular at something does to you - you're a dude one day, and another fine day you realize that you're a dud.

I believe the only thing that can make this blog interesting is if I be completely honest about how I see the world. More than three years out of college, and people still tend to think I'm diplomatic when it comes to being bitchy. I don't blame them. I don't really bitch that much - at least not in public. I'm going to change that from now on. May be I'm only going to bitch publicly now.

Perhaps,I need to start bitching about myself first. I'm such a non-sense prick at times. I depend solely on my ability to talk people into things. Things I believe in at that moment, and may not believe in, a few minutes later. I would end up being such a shitty manager. But may be I will change. Or may be I'll just become a lawyer one day.

On the top of my mind these days are relationship hassles. I'm a bit of a prick when it comes to being in a relationship. I'm super insecure, super suspicious, and super paranoid.

I think every boyfriend goes through this dilemma. Nobody wants to sound patronizing - but you just can't stand some stuff. I'm slowly learning the art of being direct. In a long distance relationship - the bandwidth to learn from non-verbal gestures is extremely limited (as you'd imagine).

Are you super insecure about your significant other? Well, don't kid yourself into believing that it's a signature of your affection. It's not. In most cases, it displays your competitive arrogance. Most people like to think of their boyfriends/girlfriends, as their prized possessions - and you fear losing them to others - just like you fear losing your face in public.

I think I'm getting better at dealing with this. Apathy helps. Engage yourself in something. Like I'm engaging myself in writing this. Try to remind yourself that you strive to be a good person first, and then an achiever. Then concepts of happiness and contentment will start creeping in your mind. Finally, you will begin to reason with yourself. And you'll start thinking of something more sensible.

On the jukebox.

Engineering Love : Chapter 1 : Part IX

I’d never smoked earlier, but from trusted sources I’d heard that the mind felt at ease after a fag. This tryst with destiny was coming to an end, I said to myself. Soon Saswati would board the ladies coach on the metro, I’ll say a decent – “Bye” and it shall all be over. She’ll swear not to recognize me again – and every time I approach her to talk in the next four years of my dull B.Tech life, I’d have to remind her that we met on the first day of college, with the typical – “Remember Me” tone. All this ran through my head as I waited for Saswati to emerge from the frisking booth.

After a couple of seconds, she came out with a tinge of laughter on her face. I was so disappointed already with the separation that awaited us that I didn’t bother to ask why she had that smirk. I did realize later though that it was a matter of muted obligation to be curious about a person’s unwarranted change in expression. We took the stairs to reach the platform.

“By the way – where do you put up?” -  She asked. I almost feared this question. And I’ll have to freeze time here to tell you why.

For the next five minutes you’ll be a part of a social experiment. Imagine that somebody came to you and told you that they lived in a place called – “Patparganj”. What comes to your mind about the place?

Since this is monologue - let me guess on your behalf. You probably imagined a stinky lower middle class suburb with ill constructed houses stacked shabbily next to each other. The symmetry in their asymmetry stood out. The in-roads are narrow with sewers running on both sides. Most of the houses had an old Bajaj Chetak parked outside. Exactly one of the houses however had a brand new Maruti Alto parked right outside the gate; the best guess is that some recently married guy got it in his dowry. The plastic sheet on the car has been carefully preserved. And one person in the family always keeps sticking his nose out from the balcony to ensure that the car is unharmed. There’s a wire mesh floating all around the area. Most of the houses have a wire hooked on to the sole electricity pole standing in the lane. At the end of the lane, there stands a parched hand pump that lives to serve as the batsman’s end for the kids playing cricket.

Patparganj, in reality and unlike what the name may suggest, is the hub of all high end group housing societies of East Delhi. And I wouldn't be too far off if I said that it’s decently posh.

“I.P. Extension” – I said. It’s a close and much more respectable alibi that the similarly disgruntled Patparganj junta had resorted to.

“And where would that be?” – She asked.

Now why would a girl be interested in knowing that? – I said to myself.

“It’s the area on the left side of the east Delhi highway” - I answered hoping to put a full stop to her curiosity about my residence.

“You mean – Patparganj, right.”

I opened my mouth just enough to say – “Yep”.

This girl knew the Delhi roads. Impressive.

Engineering Love : Chapter 1 : Part VIII

Both the cigarette and the path had come to an end. It was a rather silent last hundred meters. She must have realised how unmanly I felt walking besides a smoking hot girl – or should I say, a hot girl smoking and not smoking myself. Perhaps she understood the Indian prejudice of men expected to be doing all the wrong things. Or perhaps she didn’t care. I was hoping for the latter. I wanted to keep the chat going.

We were about ten steps away from the metro station. She started looking here and there for a dustbin to throw the tiny leftover cigarette butt. I didn’t want to stop her – but personally, I wouldn’t have rattled myself for throwing that much garbage on the road. In fact by doing that I would take pride in making the jobs of the municipal jamadaars worthwhile.  But no, this girl was persistent.  She couldn’t find a dustbin so she took copy out of her sling bag, tore away a page and wrapped the cigarette butt in it. To be thrown later in a dignified dustbin – I assumed. Either she respected her cigarette too much or she had an environmentalist bone in her body.  

“Can you believe it - these guys don’t have a garbage bin outside a metro station. Now how ridiculous is that?”

 “I know.” Well clearly, that was the best thing I could have said.

The fifteen minute walk to the metro station had stationed my thoughts completely away from my own life – my otherwise ignominious life. My brain, as if, was taking notes observing her every move. For those fifteen minutes, I’d forgotten who I was in making sure that I did not forget what she was like.

We stepped inside the metro station towards our respective frisking booths. Every time she fizzled out of my line of sight, I feared she might pounce on the opportunity to escape my company. I wouldn’t have minded that. Actually I would have, but compared to her being rude straight on my face and telling me that we’d rather not talk again – I’d have preferred that she left without letting me know. This was indeed the longest conversation I’d had with a girl in a long time. And I wanted to sleep with this thought tonight. Also, I thought this would be closest I would ever get to sleeping with a woman.

I have to time out here to describe what an agony the frisking booth is like. Did you really think it Delhi Police frisked people to search for pointy objects and weapons? Well, let me break your myth. That’s not even remotely their intention. It’s to make you aware of how unfit you were. As soon as you stand on that elevated step – they would, in all certainty, press hard against two spots on your body: first, the love handles and second, the butt. A man’s love handles are not be messed with. They are, quite ironically, the handle to his door of agony – if not given their due respect. I have to say though that the whole frisking business is undoubtedly a good security strategy. Even terrorists wouldn’t like to be man-handled in such a way. I wondered if the women’s frisking was any different.