That Feeling!

It is that feeling that I am talking about. Being high on oneself! Human history is laced with examples of (in)famous individuals and their (mis)deeds stemming from high dosages of narcissism. Ego is one such thing where defining “how much is too much” is probably not that easy. I mean, all of us are born with that ego node in our brains (and probably of a similar degree, that is, if we keep genetics outside the ambit of this debate!). It gets conditioned in our formative years and becomes a part of our personalities thereafter. Then who decides “how much is too much”? Well, we do! We do it for others just as others do it for us – we judge, we react, we bitch! Ego is really a personal thing. Sometimes I wonder if all the education, the history lessons, the human behavior studies, the spiritual talks et al. even mean anything to us in real life. It is funny how we value these lessons theoretically, very quickly pass judgment on others and at the same time distance ourselves from the “criminal”. Maybe there is a certain degree of hypocrisy which plagues the human nature – the fact is, we just don’t judge others, but we judge ourselves as well. And while judging ourselves, the rules of the game are distorted just enough, sufficient to make us stand out, and look the best (borderline narcissism if you may). Well, this is not the case with everyone in every situation but most would find the imbalance in situations more often than not. What is ironic is that this narcissistic attitude is incomplete in itself – it thrives as a parasite with the host being our inherent lack of confidence on our ability – our ability to truly evaluate our skills and our life as a whole. It needs people around us to massage our egos (generally these people have their own ulterior motives) and acknowledge how we are the best there is out there. Ever heard these – “I only travel first class!”, “There was nobody else who could do this, so you know who was called – yeah, me!”, “What...are you kidding? You really think 8 drinks are enough for me? I have not even started yet”, “Driving below 140 clicks is for gutless people!”, “Horror movies do not scare me.” Unfortunately, the false “self-esteem” keeps building up like a tornado and pushes us beyond the threshold of judgment that other people have set for our evaluation. Question is, can it be controlled?

It is that feeling that I am talking about. Being high on others! I read a lot of stuff these days that is written to fuel our self confidence, to teach us to “love ourselves” and how we need not give a f*#k about what others feel about us. Look at how social media is flooded with such status updates and you will probably agree to what I am trying to say. I only partly believe in this theory. It is bang on when, for example, we see cases of crime – a woman bearing the torture of her partner while still being emotionally attached to him. Such ghastly acts can never be justified and the woman’s love for the man definitely needs to be replaced (needless to say that the cowardly act deserves befitting punishment). But I find this argument being casually extrapolated by everyone, with the general message being to love yourself AND to not care about others. This is where the confusion actually surfaces.

Picture the human heart as being an empty vessel which needs to be filled. My argument is that the vessel needs to be filled with “love for others” also and not just “love for oneself”. It is, however, not that simple either, as the tortured wife loving her coward husband example shows. The magic is in loving the right person – be it your family, friends or spouse! It is such a fulfilling feeling – the feeling of immersing yourself completely to something so pure and devoid of any evil; caring selflessly for someone else that you actually forget what you want for yourself, because it hardly matters anymore. The real satisfaction is in putting a smile on the face of the people you love, instead of fanning your ego all the time. It does not mean that you trade-off your ego, but you just channel it in the right direction. And the beauty is that you earn back the same love and respect in a truthful manner, very different from what you earn by being a narcissist! Only this pure form of love is capable of filling the vessel, while leaving only marginal room for narcissism. Most would think what is unique or fresh in this argument – but take a step back and reflect honestly – do you see people following this simple approach as much as they should? Do you follow this approach as much as you should? As a generation, I find mine (myself included) going in a confused and perhaps the wrong direction. 

So, if you believe in what I am implying, let us course-correct..... let us  try being more humble, more compassionate, more solution oriented.....let us love life. I know that a real question that the intellectually inclined (no sarcasm intended) would ask is – how to find “ideal” love? Well, let us leave that for a separate debate on a separate day – let me close this with a cliché – do not find love; let love find you J!

Decoding Nostalgia

 "I'd trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday."

                                                                     - Kris Kristofferson

Disclaimer:  I am no Psychologist, nor do I claim to be one. My JD is closer to that of a ‘Research Analyst’, which in itself is quite funny...Ah!  Well, at least in my case. ‘Research’ is generally what I do to restrict my boss from shouting at me (unless you want to really categorize my daily routine of looking for some random pictures/profiles/videos as ‘Reserach’....sssshh!). On the contrary, ‘Analyst’ is something that is more characteristic of my personality. The analogy drawn to the subject in this article is purely symbolic in nature and is not meant to spark off a mathematical debate. Please pardon me for my limited wisdom. This is one of those abstract  posts where I aim to put forth a simple argument around an emotion I encounter consistently, without attempting to ‘Research’ on the topic beforehand.

It is a moment of reflection.  I am high on a heavy dosage of nostalgia, an emotion which Merriam-Webster defines as the pleasure and sadness that is caused by remembering something from the past and wishing that you could experience it again. Now I have never been a literary scholar in my life, so let me draw an analogy to the discipline I am more comfortable with.

I prefer to call it the Fuzzy Syndrome – the inability of my brain to logically select a binary state of either of the contrasting extreme emotions. To come to think of it – there are possibly other use cases of the Fuzzy Syndrome, and nostalgia could be viewed as just a subset of the phenomenon. One moment you just chuckle as you remember an old prank, a joke, a funny experience; the next moment reality hits hard and you realize that the moment is now a thing of the past, and it ignites the yearning to experience it the one more time.

It could be while moving into a new house, city or country; it could be graduating college or changing a job; it could be bidding farewell to a friend or simply the end of your favourite sitcom. The feeling is always there – the degrees of contrasting moods (fuzzy states) keep changing, but never reach either extreme. Say for example when graduating college, one moment you are happy for the achievement and the excitement of taking on the world makes you happier in general, and the next moment you are sad because of the friends you would miss. The continuum of these fuzzy states is what sums up the Fuzzy Syndrome or Nostalgia you witness while reflecting back.

Here is where the catch is – you would have attended college with probably 150 other folks, but made good friends with a handful, say 5 of them. You would still meet these 5 folks regularly. Then what is it that we miss? In my opinion, it is the affect of the other factors that have a strong role in creating any of such memories. Let us take an example to dissect this further – right now reflecting back on those college days, you are missing the golden memories created while playing basketball with your five best buddies. I categorize these fuzzy variables into four distinct sets:

• Event – This is the actual action itself, and hence is the most important factor that forms the experience. For example, the 6 friends (including you) playing basketball is one such event. If you just string together multiple such occurrences of the 6 friends playing basketball, what you get is an experience, or a memory unit.
• Actors – These are the key members of the event, in our case, the six players playing basketball.
• Setting Variables – These are the background variables - psychological externalities, which during the time of the actual event might be perceived as dormant. It could include THAT PARTICULAR basketball court, THAT PARTICULAR basketball, the cheerleaders, the other classes being disturbed in the vicinity, the ire of professors being irked, the class being bunked, the time of the day, the hairdo the actors had, etc.......I hope you get the point. At the time of the actual action these merely served a simple purpose – they were just the means to a few hours of fun with your folks. At that point, it is only the ‘folks’ that is important to us. But the brilliance of the argument is that the purpose that these ‘means’ serve changes significantly after you graduate. You would still hang out with your folks; you would still play at basketball courts (and probably at better ones!).....The setting variables would change. You could at best simulate similar setting variables in order to travel down memory lane, but rationally speaking, how often would you be returning to the same basketball court with the same set of friends, set aside the same setting variables?
• Time – All of us want the clock to remain still during the happy hours, and to be ticking 10x during the bad times. The truth is that time is one thing we mortals never have a command over. Even if you are able to replicate the above three factors to a tee, unfortunately time is one thing which can never be recreated.

In the end, I would geekily want to summarize the argument by symbolizing these 4 factors in a mathematical jargon (purely to satiate my urge of complicating things). The fuzzy state that you experience is the outcome of a 4-dimensional equation that would have all of these variables:

 Fuzzy State, f (a,e,s,t) = ∑a_n + e + ∑s_n + ∑t_n

You do a summation (eh..club all) of these Fuzzy States (i.e. in our example, all such episodes in college) and Eureka – you get that Nostalgia experience.

 Where,

a → the set of actors that are integral parts of the event

e → the event itself

s → the setting / psychological externalities / background

t → a timeslot

T→ a block of timeslots representing a memory snapshot

What is even more fascinating is how little do we realize while experiencing the event itself. I mean, how often while reflecting back do you find yourself saying – “Oh! I wish I had more time.” This is the reason memories are so special and why we are asked to treasure these all our lives.

Anyway, this is where I sign off and grab a coffee to cherish some golden moments of the past. 

                      “How sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet” 

                                                                                                        - Robert Browning

Do you also suffer regularly from the Fuzzy Syndrome?

The Dark Night

Note: Reference to Sardar in the below article is not a racist remark, and by no means does it signify anything for the Sikh community. It refers to my dear-est friend (up till that day), who became my dear friend later J (I am sure you will get the joke upon reading the last line carefully, and if you don’t get it, read it again after reading the whole story.)

It was one wretched night. Recollection of 17^th March 2010 still drives terror down my spine. In hindsight, the Daredevils humiliation at the hands of the Indians was not worth cribbing, for it was dwarfed by the terrible incident which was to follow ─ and we were not just there to witness it but to be very much a part of it!

We were 6 of us when it all started, from leaving for Kotla at around 6PM till the time we were cursing the distasteful Connaught Place rajma-chawal around midnight. I think we should have read the signs perhaps. They were all there, right in our faces! One of our fellow biker’s bike-tyre got deflated midway, and it was surely not because of their weight (the riders’ weight I mean), both of them were barely 220 pounds put together. And it should not be surprising when I say that we had to take a bus for the last 2 miles of our journey, for reaching the venue with our bikes / scooters / cars was just not possible. After all, it was the Delhi v/s Mumbai clash in the IPL. The 2^nd sign propped up when one of our mates had her mobile phone stolen from within that ‘25 odd feet disfigured assembly on 4 big tyres’, a thing which we erroneously call bus in this part of the world.  Even the miles-long multiple queues outside the Kotla gates couldn’t quite deter us from our commitment for the evening. I was just about to sneak in clandestinely when I was caught red handed by the bulkiest of guards. My crime was that I was trying to smuggle inside a weapon of mass destruction- Odomos cream, a mosquito repellent which I guess he assumed to be trigger for doomsday. Well, the match was hardly anything to make a note of, apart from the mad frenzy of a large crowd, who was rooting (not in the Australian connotation of the phrase) in the favour of the visitors, not a surprise since they had the Little Master playing in their team.  “Sachin! Sachin! Sachin please hit a six.......” was all I could hear, even when Daniel Vettori and Dirk Nannes were batting. Not only was the crowd imagining the opposing side’s captain to be batting, but also hoping that he would hit a six in their direction......I don’t know if it qualifies better as the Height of Madness, or as the Height of Optimism!

While trying to push that horrible Rajma Chawal meal down my throat an hour after the match, I kept wondering why Ravi Shastri had the same speech recorded for every post match presentation- “Ladies and Gentlemen! We have just witnessed another nail-biting cracker of a match!” Doesnt he realize that Delhi lost by a huge margin??? With all due respect to the CP Dhabha, I guess the horrible taste could also be attributed to the way my Daredevil ego had been dented that night. Sardar and I later tried our luck at McDonalds and by that time, only the two of us were left behind. It must have been around quarter to 1 when Sardar was reasonably satisfied with his 2 Chicken Maharaja-Macs, 1 large French Fries and a Pepsi, and we decided to head back to our college hostel. “Dhaula Kuan or Janpath?”, I remember him asking me as my preferred route to be taken that night, and I am sure he still hates me for answering “Janpath, it’s quieter and serene out there!” It was all quite serene till about 100 meters from the Rajpath-Janpath crossing, when suddenly we had a close shave with death...

Our LML Vespa was not over 40 Kmph, partly because of the ‘serene’ surroundings and mainly because of Sardar’s impaired night vision. But we soon realized that the same was not the case with others. “Chadhe, accident hon lageya hai” (Chadha, an accident is about to happen) is what I distinctly remember being told by Sardar. I request the reader to not judge me when I say that I got excited when he told me this, for I had never ever witnessed a live accident in my life before. It was a reflex action from my side when I asked him- “Kitthe?” (Where?) But I give you full right to judge Sardar for his foolishness, for he left out a small yet most crucial detail out of his sentence. Actually, his full sentence was- “Chadhe, (Sadda) accident hon laggeya hai” (Chadha, OUR accident is about to happen). Well, he thought that the OUR part was implicit in his statement. So the next thing I see is that in less than a microsecond Sardar applied the brakes of his LML Vespa. Approximately at the same time, a Lancer, speeding at around 140 (well the speed part is Sardar’s estimate) hit a Wagon R side-on. The Wagon-R must have been around 80 Kmph (Sardar’s estimate again), and such was the impact that the Wagon R was uprooted and spun 360 thrice in our direction. Both of us knew that we would not survive the impact, and our scooter skidded 3-4 meters before coming to a final halt after being hit by spinning Wagon R. It was no less than a miracle that the rear end of the busted car missed our heads by 10 centimetres. Both of us were shaken with disbelief, and were lying in the middle of shattered glass panes, 10 meters from the unrecognizable Wagon R and the pile of blood pouring out from it.

A crowd was quick to assemble, followed by the loud sirens of the police. Out of the 10 people involved in the accident, both of us were the only ones who were still conscious and escaped with minimum damage. It took me 10 minutes to convince the police that the occupants of the part crippled 2-wheeler had escaped the destiny’s wrath. The policeman probably was not interested or excited to see us alive. He kept asking me- “Bhai Saheb, aap samajh nahi rahein hain....woh jo scooter gira pada hai kaanch k beech, uspe 2 log jo baithe they, aapko pata hai unki laashein kahan hain” (Dude, you are not understanding my point. The 2 people on that scooter, which is lying there in the middle of broken glass-panes and a  pile of blood, do you know where their dead bodies are?) Sardar, on the other hand tried his best to assist the less fortunate Wagon R occupants. The site was dreadful. There was an immediate casualty, a 13 year old boy who had been ejected by the spinning car and was killed in a second. It took us 20 long minutes before the rest could be taken out and carried to the ambulance.

I again request you not to judge us when I say that we only entered the ambulance which was registering First Aid when we realized that it was being done for free! You know how college life is, don’t you? I was trying to avoid first hand media publicity and humbly told them how shaken I was after that terrible incident and that I would not be able to entertain their questions. They empathized with our situation and understood our condition. They were hence not expecting Sardar to tell them anything either, when to everybody’s surprise Sardar told them- “O Naaji naa! Koi chakkar nai! Poocho poocho!” (It is absolutely okay, we are ready to give interviews!) Quintessetial Sardar! I still managed to escape the dozens of cameras that were flashed upon us the next instant, and could only hear Sardar explain the whole accident using Collision Theory, Newton’s Laws of Motion, Rotational Motion and Projectile Mechanics. And yes, there were some Speed Distance Time estimates thrown in there too! How we managed to reach back our hostel is a different story. Let’s just say that luck was on our side as we escaped another possible accident 30 minutes later. Both of us were laughing hysterically, not because we did not care, but because we were so scared to death and in a state of shock that we could not have reached back had we not been laughing to calm ourselves somewhat. We later learnt that the driver of the Lancer was arrested. We were never contacted thereafter, despite being registered and documented in the police records as principal eyewitnesses. It took us quite a few days to fully recover from the mental shock. But three things have indeed changed since then ─ a) that was the last time I went to see an IPL match live b) I no longer take Janpath as my preferred route, nor do I consider it 'serene' anymore and lastly and most importantly c) it was the last time I risked my life on Sardar’s LML Vespa!

I felt like I was a part of the real Final Destination scenario out there. If only had I read nature’s signs that day! If only I had revolted my Odomos being thrown away, and had returned to the college hostel without watching the match....On a more serious note though, I think God wanted us there so that some people’s lives could be saved, the credit to which goes to Sardar. Amongst the various epic lines from that long day that have been etched in our memories forever (all statements in italics are verbatim from the incident), I remember one more that was so ironic to our whole situation. I would not provide the literal English translation to this one though, as it would completely kill the essence. When I was sitting on the roadside, spitting continuously to prevent any intake of glass particles, I saw a car slowdown beside me. Twenty odd meters from the battered Wagon R and a dead-body, this guy rolled down the window of his car, and asked me......

“Bhai Saheb! Ye Dhaula Kuan Ka Raasta Kahan Se Padega!”

The End

Further details of the incident:

·         http://www.mid-day.com/news/2010/mar/190310-Delhi-car-crash-Rajpath-Ferozeshah-Kotla-IPL.htm

·         http://www.indianexpress.com/news/postipl-crash-kills-teen/592804/0

·         http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2010-03-19/delhi/28129209_1_car-crash-lancer-deadly-crash

(Wagon R photographed on the 18^th morning, after the deadly accident)

The Diary of a Sales Man(ager)

Disclaimer: The article below is a piece of fiction, but it does bear strong resemblance to people living (and maybe a few otherwise). It is a satirical work only to bring to light the funny, yet real side of a world we call Sales, and should be taken in a sporting spirit. (If any of my mangers- present or future, happen to be reading this, I confess it was written under heavy over dosage of paranoia due to a phenomenal week of sales; it should not be held against me!)

Just a few miles south west off the Lucknow city lies a huge municipal dumping ground. Recycling and Hygiene are words pretty much alien to the area, so no point taking a guess about when the area would have been last cleaned (attempted). If questioned, I am certain the authorities would defend by stating that it is a strategy to keep unlawful activists at bay! The repugnant smell is strong enough to take care of a mini army (don’t judge the authorities- with a state of size this big, it needs all the help it can muster). Nevertheless, the dumping yard serves as an artificial habitat for numerous pests and rodents. Meandering on the path right next to the site yesterday, I spotted a book on one of the troughs. Well, people have miraculously found the The Book of Eli, or The Book of Love....so I thought to myself, what if I would have just found myself some treasure guide (Lucknow has been the city of Nawabs after all). To my amazement, it was titled ‘Diary of a Sales Manager’, by Raman Chadha (name changed to preserve the true identity). It seems to be an agonising weekly account of a Sales martyr working with some telecom company. Google happens to return just an FB account, my friend request for which is still pending at his end. Anyways, coming back to the book, it happens to be well read, as the pages are all messed up (ask the rodents!!!). I have been trying to reconstruct of whatever is left of it, and the following are a few excerpts I have successfully extracted so far:

“Date: 28th July, 2010

Dear Diary,

I completed 1 month of my first job today. It has been such a steep learning curve for my personality that I am geared up to face my next interview already, if only they would quiz me about my abusive language! That’s right, my vocabulary has been improving day by day, and going with this speed, I shall master the art of Sales verbal expression before my promotion (somebody told me that the promotion itself is based on the Sales vocabulary; wider your vocab, more is your PLI, better chances of a promotion). To be honest, it has been a true test of mettle, the Punjabi accented ‘galiz’ which I picked up all my graduation years in Delhi won’t work in this part of the country.......‘bhaiyyaji’ wouldn’t understand a thing. It is the most frustrating moment for a punjabi when he is madly spewing out anger and the bhaiyyaji  on the receiving end isn’t responding in a meek fashion that would make you feel like The Manager, only because he wouldn’t understand a word.  

The other achievement quite connected to the above mentioned one is the anger mismanagement rule. You just have to be the Angry Young Man at all times, hands down! And that is irrespective of the circumstances, even if your team performed well today- just shout at them.....because that is the rule. After all, the rule percolates top-down, and you shall be treated no differently.”

“ Date: 7^th August, 2010

............a routine day, started with a meeting with the Boss! I wonder whether it is his love for numbers or hatred for me which makes him ask me the same question each morning- “Kitna Number? (how many numbers?)” As usual, my Good Morning Sir Colgate Smile turns to inverted parabola and I respond with the innocence of a 10 year kid....”Sir excuse me, but I dint get you (knowing very well that he is asking me how many sales would I do today).” Its a stupid question really, how can I predict that? I am no Nostradamus, if I were, I wouldn’t be here! I justify this each subsequent morning when my promise falls short by 50-60%. But he makes me do it each morning, and  I keep thinking- what a silly way of humiliating an employee, only if he would not be spoiling my mood early morning, I would be overachieving or atleast meeting my promises. But I know he wouldn’t like that, more is never enough here, targets are revised every hour of the day, its like being in the stock market, where the stock values keep spinning your head,......Radheyshyam (a fellow Sales Man) summed it perfectly- “There is no Month End for Sales people.....we have Closings daily!”

“Don’t worry Sir, I will cover the loss by next week......”

“ Date: 15^th August, 2010

.............is it really the Independence Day? I am still ruing the unbelievably low Sales figures of the day before.....how could this have happened? I seldom meet Boss’s fantasy targets, but what about my own realistic targets.....maybe because there is an extent to which I could go.

Boss- Raman! Push the product...Push! Push! Push!

Raman (in my mind)- Thank you Sir, but you are grossly mistaken if you think that I am pregnant! Why don’t you give me loaded pistol, sales might become easier at gunpoint!

I overheard Vishu (a telecaller from my team) do a sales call today:

Vishu (with complementing expressions) to a customer- You have time till 11 o clock. Don’t you dare not submit your documents by that time. Our field agent will come to you and deliver the product; you will make me extremely unhappy if you don’t accept it. I have spent three days convincing you now; I have my own targets to meet! Understood?

The customer actually took three connections from us later in the day, and there has been no Customer complaint pending my name till now, I am keeping my fingers crossed. As for my Boss, I told him- “Don’t worry Sir, I will cover the loss by next week......”

“Date: 29^th August, 2010

..........month end review meet, with all the Sales Mans present. The Boss kept rambling about our incompetence and we had the same inverted parabolas. After a painful couple of hours, I was expecting we would not talk amongst each other out of sheer shock, but dear Radheyshyam said- “Let us eat some Tunday Kebabs.” I thought he had lost his mind, after all, we had just come out of a extremely depressing review, but he was adamant. “Dude! You need to cheer up! This is a part of the monthly routine....look at the rest of us, we are all giggling and mimicking each other, gradually you will start enjoying these meetings. Start being indifferent.” Shyam was right, I came to realize that these review meets were always followed by booze n dine parties thrown by the senior management itself. I found that very strange while dancing late that night....nobody had a clue what we were celebrating...maybe we were expecting an even worse performance! I mustered the courage to ask the Boss- “Sir! I fail to understand any possible reason for the party.” He replied- “Son! Here in Lucknow we always feed the Goat well before the festival of Eid!” There, an important lesson learned. Before the booze could take effect, I signed off the night by saying the golden words:

“Don’t worry Sir, I will cover the loss by next week......”

“Date: 8^th September, 2010

..............what an insanely ironic situation! After the immense pressure that we had from the corporate regarding billing the stock to the distributors, I did what was expected of me....billed the latest product! The pressure had been mounting b’coz it was being touted as the ‘product that would rock the market’ and yet no Sales Man had billed it up till then....after I thought I was through with the hardest part of Sales (Push! Push! Push!), I was informed that we were out of stock (and not because the product had been miraculously sold off in 1 day, but because we were still waiting for the stock to arrive to the warehouse...all the pressure for no reason, isn’t that brilliant? And since I was busy ‘pushing the product’ I couldn’t focus on the sales. Hence, again...

“Don’t worry Sir, I will cover the loss by next week.....”

“Date: 22^nd September, 2010

..........i wonder why Radheyshyam keeps telling me after every discussion-“Thats not our job. Thats not what we are supposed to do!” I am always left thinking what is it that is my job then? Is it only to make a fool out of everybody else? Is it stupid to expect the system to help, if not change? And what about the customer....what did that poor fella do? Am I not even responsible to help him resolve his problems? Radhey tells me that the definition of a customer is ‘cust/mer----jo kasht se marr raha ho’ (someone who is dying of pain) ...”

I am working on the rest of this diary. This account is an eye opener. It tells me that the sales job is an enigma. Even the people who are doing it are not clear what their job profile is. You just need street smart people who are capable of playing the game, and not by the rules! You have got to outdo everybody else, fellow sales mans, customer, and even your bosses. There is no ally in this game, it is a tussle of a Sales Man against the whole world. So next time, don’t blame his angry young man look. He is not suffering from a personality disorder; expect him to be laughing out loud at his own misery (or somebody else’s)  seconds after thrashing out people. I honestly don’t know about you, but I have started sympathising for this poor guy, look what sales did to him.....it could only be attributed to intense sales pressure, that he martyred trying to sell the rocking product to the rodents...why else would his account be found here....hats off!

Seven Minutes

Let me clarify at the very outset that this article has no connection with Irwing Wallace, and infact it is not even remotely connected to his piece (those interested may actually go for the rather modern adaptation by Paulo Coelho). Seven minutes is the approximate time that it used to take me to walk through a rather interesting path from my college till the T-point that hit the main road, which then lent itself to the shady by-lanes of Katwaria Sarai. In the vicinity of at least 5 B-Schools, it is not surprising that the area was flooded with students all the time, and is precisely where I spent the last 2 years of being an MBA student!

I say interesting because of the fact that there have been countless instances when you are supposed to come prepared in class with some presentation, some article, some assignment….and what do you do??? You just put in tonnes of hard work……and only when you are sweating to the point that girls stop entering the TT (table tennis- the author’s passion) room saying “Oh My God!! Is there a dead rat in here or whattt!!!” do you leave the crazy room and sleep yourself off to glory; oblivious to the surprises that God (& the Professor) has in store for you the very next morning. Your roommates kick your backside in the morning and somehow throw you out for the class. The dead rats are taken care of thanks to the ‘Axe Effect’ but what about the case/presentation/assignment….that is when one realizes the worth of those seven minutes.....

While the MBA course is said to be a mixture of diverse minds (well in India that is seldom the scene- I had 70% engineers in my batch and most of them used to think alike), I realized that this ‘seven minute’ thread tied most of us together. Everybody had their own seven minutes, my roomie used to have his while eating his daily staple diet - a banana....some may have had it during answering the nature’s call, while some (and only a few) may have had theirs while taking a bath, multitasking by singing ‘Waka Waka...This time for Africa’ (with the passion which would make you wonder whether they would substitute Torrez in the next match, or if they are currently dating Shakira).

For those with other professional paths, the golden question is- “What happens during these seven minutes?” It actually depends on a lot of parameters, some of which I am listing down below:

• What is the current status of my attendance in that subject? (This is the 1^st thing any MBA student would calculate, and believe me when I say that we are the most optimistic creatures- our analysis always creates the feeling that we are better off than what we really are). So bunking is our 1^st choice for the course of action, a rather evasive one. Only when we are certain that it is not an option do we consider other things.

• Who is the Professor of the subject? (The subject in itself doesn’t matter to us, as we believe in practical learning anyways....it is always the professor that we think of) Our imagination on this parameter at times lends us to the professor’s wife as well- What if she didn’t treat the professor well enough.....What consequences would such an event have had on his mood in class today?

• How lengthy was the assignment/presentation? (Well, chances are very high that hours spent in alcohol last night would kept us aloof in this aspect, so I always recommend do have a couple of friends in each class- because they will save your ass during such testing circumstances). That is because if your ‘friend’ tells you it isn’t that long, you start arranging for a pen and a paper (yeah, we don’t start off with such things)....have another 'friend' ready for the same!

• If it is an exam or an individual assignment for which we can be embarrassed amongst the more learned ones in class, we analyze if our cellphone has its battery charged? (if not, we try charging in those crucial seven minutes), does it have atleast a 1.3 megapixel camera? (picture resolution is the key to take effective pictures of the relevant book contents), hoping that we did not abuse our neighboring roll number students last night under the influence of alcohol.....All this is done to make sure we have all resources ready for what the world calls ‘Cheating' or 'Farre' in local language and what we call ‘Helping the Needy.’

• The cool dudes amongst us take the ‘Be Indifferent, Be different’ path...Their analysis tells them that they would be indifferent to whatever lashing the Prof would shell out.....they are too good to work (‘Workkkkkk......thats not what we are born for....gimme a breakkk!!!’ kinda’ attitude)....These humble human beings are wannabe cool dudes who would impress the chicas (if any) of the class... (well, at some point or the other, we all are guilty of doing it!

• The last option depends on our guts and all the other factors mentioned above....The “Lets have some fun” option. This is exercised to break the monotonous routine of MBA education. When it comes to this, the seven minutes are spent on thinking about the weirdest excuse anybody could ever think of.....the intention here is not to sound funny, but to irritate the Prof, so that he throws you out of the class and you are back to playing the dead rat for those 90 minutes. We don’t even consider the option of thinking of a reasonably genuine sounding excuse ('Aaaaarghhhh, thats for school kiddos, gimme another breakkkk!').

If I have shaken your belief to ever consider an option of doing an MBA, there is some respite......we do have 1% students who would be right on the button.....never floundering on any time schedules, you can call them the ‘A+ Guys’ (but please don’t call them Geeks...after all, this is the 1% that constitutes the ‘Friend’ for the rest 99%). And these guys have their seven minutes too (or multiples), mostly while commuting to college, just like me.....but the difference being that whereas my mind used to be occupied analyzing the above mentioned options, the ‘A+ Guys’ would utilize it what they called ‘Revising’....flipping sheets of paper all over the place!

The MBA experience is just like Life....growing by learning....each such episode lets us play with the options the next time, tuning our brains to attempt coming up with better choices, but the base remains the same! The intention of writing this piece was to remind my friends of those fascinating 2 years of our lives which brought us all together....for cherishing those ‘seven minutes’ which we now call sweet memories part of our past.

P.S.: I apologise for the continuous transition of the tenses in the article. I started writing this when I was still pursuing the MBA programme, and I just tried to maintain originality at some places. What gave me the inspiration to complete the article are similar experiences in my current Sales job, which just hints that Life is a full circle.....the characters have changed- the Professor has been substituted by my Manager, and my ‘Friends’ by my ‘Colleagues’....time to create more memories!!!

The Chronicles of Naraina!!!

Three months since the last (and my 1^st) blog entry! It goes to show what a busy last sem MBA life gives you (don’t just freak out, studies/presentations/project reports/lectures are not the only things that can keep you busy). But all that is past me now, and a promise to my best friend brings me back to the world of blogging!

I just realized what a wonderful place Delhi is! When you are just chewing your thinking hat off regarding what to write, it senses your agony and just spews something at you. While returning from South Ex yesterday (which by the way is inevitably a painful journey and seems to last till eternity, and often makes me rue the fact of having my home in North Delhi), I donned the hat of an avid (aspiring actually) blogger.

Once upon a time there used to be a magical place called Naraina. For my friends who have no idea of this journey, let me just tell you that Naraina’s magical powers are different but no less than the legendary Narnia’s (pun intended). It blocks the way of any commuter making (read: trying) that journey. In the initial years, if there was a poll done in Delhi, I bet 90% of the respondents would have preferred a toll at Naraina rather than facing the 25 minutes traffic blockage. But, over the years when people realized that there is no escaping, they sort of adjusted their lives- ‘Husbands who had to leave early because of Naraina and would miss the morning talks with their wives would stop the car, call home and make up for it! Students who could never hit the morning lecture on time would always make the puppy face and tell their teacher- “Sir! You know naaa….Naraina!!!” I always used to fathom that soon would come a time when some morning/evening office meetings would take place within those 25 minutes, over a cup of honking cars….

Anyways, so I was quite confident that I will get sufficient time to observe fellow commuters to string through some story for my blog, when I actually saw the heaven’s gates open…..Yesssss, FINALLY, the Naraina flyover was ready and in full swing. Though I got to know that it was inaugurated 3 days back, but I could still see the glee on many first time Naraina flyover users. Their world had suddenly changed- no more stoppages, no more missing their wives, no more missing 1^st 5 overs of IPL matches, no more traffic excuses by overloaded students (genuine or whatever)! And 92.7 played a befitting song… “Tumhe kaise main bataaoon, kya main paa gaya hoon……” My head took 360s, and everywhere there was the same sight. You know, when you realize you are in love, and the heart beats really fast…it was a similar feeling, and some people really went overboard! While doing the jive, you may ‘accidentally’ put the wrong foot forward, and before you know, the car accelerates above 60Ks….you suddenly feel you are bazooking your way through in F1, and are the star performer of the show with the bikini clad gals chanting “go dude go…” The adrenaline gets the better of you, but long before you get the chance to open the Champagne bottle, evil strikes you……The Delhi Traffic Police!!! Well, if you are from Delhi (or for that matter from the remotest nook of India), an intriguing question always puzzles you- “Yaar ye Indian police humesha crime hone ke baad hi kyon aati hai?” Well, the traffic police story is somewhat different. They shall deprive you of their company when you are feeling sick amidst a traffic jam because some Blueline (read: The Beast) is trying to take a wrong turn….but if you are trying to play Michael Schumacher’s maniacal younger 2^nd cousin (driving at 70), you will see a whole flock of ‘em! Another ironic difference is that while you would wonder whether the Indian Policeman’s gun would work or not, the Indian Traffic Policeman’s Speed Gun always seems to work! What a pity for the aspiring Schumiz! Hats off to the traffic police (the same hat I was earlier donning and chewing)! The land of Naraina had changed forever. I witnessed a dozen cars doing the parade (i.e. slowing from 70 to 10 Ks and in 1 line) before stopping, pretty much like the lion in the circus meekly obeying at the hands of the ringmaster…the dreaded challan playing the cruel whip. So lucky I was not one of them….

P.S. I did manage to reach my home in 30 minutes, quite a miracle as compared to the arduous 1 hour minimum that it used to take me before. And those were my Chronicles of Naraina!!!

Quest for the Numero Uno

Neural Networks draw inspiration from the world of biological neurons. But let me draw a reverse analogy from the world of artificial intelligence and try applying the business intelligence model of neural networks to the way a human brain works.

Putting a threshold value to the output node invariably results to a unique and precise answer in the case of neural networks. The answer would be correct or not is not what I am trying to contest, what seeks appreciation is the sheer lucidity. It is an established fact that AI tries to encapsulate only an iota of the biological neural network complexity. Artificial models can still not match the functionality of tens of googols of neurons of the human brain. But then, is it not only fair to assume that given the fact that a human brain network is more complex, the clarity of the output should simply be lot more than the artificial networks! But is it?

Human nature is inherently indecisive, more often than not. Going by the above argument, it probably should not be so. Then why is that we are left with so many choices in the end? After all, is it not the brain who is supposed to take these decisions for us and make our lives simpler? Let me leave this argument here and shift focus to another argument that would form the antecedent to this one.

They say that life is a rat race, and we are daily fighting to achieve, to supersede, and to win! 23 years of going through the same, I have to say I have hit saturation levels. There are two types of creatures in this world: there are people who always strive to excel, and to achieve better than the others. Then there are those who actually excel, who attain the pinnacle of success and are the leaders in their domains: the highest levels of performance! Does it mean that they have won the rat race…..not quite! Both types of creatures have one element in common…the need to improve…the fight with the alter ego. I hope the majority of readers would agree to my statement that often they are faced with a situation wherein they see two facets, two solutions, two apt choices for the same problem. At the entrance of the business world, it is imperative we are accustomed to such situations. To simplify what I am trying to say, imagine what our very own Bollywood hero goes through while in his “Dharamasankat,” remember the two surreal images that pop out of his head- the angel and the devil who offer contrasting advice to our Mr. Hero. Mr. Hero in the end goes with the wiser advice of the angel. But in real world, how often do we know which one is the angel and which one is the devil? This is a different definition of the rat race, common to all. What essentially I am trying to say is that there is a constant tussle between man and his second self, or the inner self, whatever you want to name it. This is the real contest, as it would determine who wins in the end. A soul at peace with itself could only be declared the top dog.

Let us try to string the two seemingly disparate arguments together. Traditionally, our model of biological neural network is trained with the data that we get as our culture, through family values and all. For example, if I talk about supervised learning, we train our neural network with data like: ‘A Punjabi is likely to be spendthrift, or an IIM grad would be super intelligent.’ But when faced with real time problems, our model many a times goes for a toss….it is so because our alter ego trains itself differently. Maybe it trains itself on the practical realities that we face ourselves. Heraclitus had coined the famous saying-‘The only thing constant is change.’ Generation Y is testimony to this very fact. What we are groomed on is the knowledge we attain as a legacy, from our family and the traditional educational system. But then there is the other world, the real world, which is not quite as bright. Our alter ego trains itself on the real data. Because of differences on the training set in both these cases, the weights for the synaptic links come out to be different, hence giving different outputs at the output node, leading to the ever so confusing word…..CHOICE. Our achievements in the longer run are a function of these choices that we make. In a nutshell, it is a regular struggle that we go through not against the world, but against ourselves.

In the fight of me v/s me, do you think it is possible to hit the numero uno???