At 1:30 the professor wraps up the lecture and dismisses us. I’m relieved that the class is over. For the last two hours we had waded through a mucky case study involving predicting cash flows after an ERP implementation. The enormous excel sheet that covered the wall from end to end gave me the willies. I make a mental note to avoid all finance electives next year.

Deepa and I emerge from the acad block and make our way across the college grounds towards the mess. A few of my friends are indulging in a lazy game of afternoon cricket. As the stumps are not available, they’ve settled for a dustbin. The umpire is Jango, IMT’s resident mutt. Most of the game involved chasing the umpire as he made repeated attempts to swallow the ball. I smile as we pass him, choking on his prize, eyes far back in their sockets but unwilling to let go. The campus is beautiful in March. The weather is mild and the flowers are in full bloom. I inhale deeply as we stroll.

“So what plans after lunch?” I casually ask Deepa.

She pauses and thinks, a frown of concentration furrowing her brow“ Well, I’ll have to finish working on my short term project. At 5:30, have a meeting with my project group members. At 8:30, there’s an important meeting with the MADF committee members. That should be done by 12:30. Then I have to finish editing the MarkUp Magazine…

Her voice trails off as she pauses to catch her breath. I use the pause to smile a superior, condescending smile. I wait to see how much more she’s stuffed into her day.

She resumes“... Have to register for the case study competition conducted by XYZ B school. Also have to volunteer to be part of the marketing conclave on Saturday. Will later spend a couple of hours studying for tomorrow’s quiz. I’ll probably go to bed by 3 AM. How about you?”

“Umm..I’ll take a longish nap, perhaps for a couple of hours. Jogging with Ali at 6:30 and then dinner outside. Might study for the quiz but good chance I’ll doze off before that.”

Deepa’s countenance is a picture of disgust.

“You waste your time doing absolutely nothing! You are a poor excuse for a manager. I bet you were just as lazy when you were working!” She narrows her eyes in contempt.

“Oh yeah? Well at least I’m not running around sticking my head into everything just for resume points!” I shoot back.

“At least I’m making good use of my time here. There’s some value add in all these activities you know? I don’t see you learning anything new if all you do is lounge around all day. Why did you even come here??” She retorts.

Her question catches me a little off guard but I reply anyway.

“I’m here for the money, what else?”

She says nothing but I’m disappointed with my own answer. I had no idea I was so shallow. Was money the sole motivator?

Like hundreds of thousands of students, I had enrolled for prep courses offered by TIME, IMS, Career Launcher etc. I’d been promised that cracking the CAT involved nothing but hard work. I had diligently worked out thousands of numericals. I’d read long, boring and obscure passages on philosophy, religion and Trade agreements. I’d forced myself to read the editorials of business dailies so that I could reel of statistically proven facts and knowledgeable opinions when required.

After the CAT, I attended numerous classes for Group Discussions and Personal Interviews. I’d been coached to appear to possess leadership skills, to give direction to arguments, to think out of the box, to have a pleasant smile on my face when answering questions, to appear refined and to appear like I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life.

During the personal interview coaching sessions, the instructors had been pretty clear about one point “ No matter what happens, never tell an interviewer that you want to do it for the money. You’ll come across as shallow and directionless. He’ll throw you out the moment the words leave your mouth. Instead tell him how an MBA will help you with your career goals!”

At the interview, I faked my career goals and waxed eloquent on the benefits of the course. When I finally got through, I was thrilled. I’d actually made it. All the hard work and effort had paid off. I’d gone to battle against hundreds of thousands of students and managed to emerge reasonably victorious. The irony was I didn’t know why I was fighting the war. Besides “Lots of money” and “I want to be a post graduate” I had no idea why I wanted an MBA.

I know I’m not alone. While there certainly are a lot of people who know exactly how an MBA will get them to where they want to be, most of us get into a B school and then get even more confused. “Should I go into the manufacturing sector? Or should I go to Pharma? Wait, IT pays the most! No wait, I think it would be really cool to tell people that I’m an investment banker…. But I hate finance!……oh crap, what am I even doing here??”

I guess I realized why I didn’t share the same enthusiasm that Deepa did. The poet in me had been offended. After the euphoria of getting into a good school had died down, I’d been forced to come to terms with the fact that I had willingly become part of the rat race. And with it went the privilege of looking down upon the masses…

Here's a song I've been humming for the last couple of days. Its from "Music and Lyrics". Watch it if you can, its pretty cute.

Its 8:30 PM and I’m sitting in the mess in front of the recently purchased flat screen TV. Its enormous and the sound emanating from the speakers collides violently with the din made by future corporate leaders fighting like savages as they queue up for dinner. There’s no time for elegance and etiquette, you either fight like a mad man for your chappati or end up with nothing but plain rice and a few pieces of carrot.

I’d taken the easy way out and had made it here much earlier than the others. Thanks to my foresight I now had a plate full of chappati’s, panneer, daal and potato. Surprisingly every item on my plate is yellow. Thanks to my foresight, I now wanted to puke.

Bidi Jalyle plays loudly on the TV and the fighting stops temporarily as people stop to admire Bipasha Basu. Any other day, I would have joined the crowd in openly appreciating her fabulous curves but today I’m not in the mood. The alien food, the noisy music, the lyrics I don’t understand and the “Saale Be.. Ch..! Choo..! Maather Ch..!” uttered like a mantra as the fighting resumes depresses me. As if reading my thoughts, my friend Naganathan, also an import from Chennai remarks “First thing we do tomorrow before the others come is set the channel to Sun TV and then hide the remote. Lets see what the Sardar’s do then!”

I grin at the thought of Gurpreet Singh sitting perplexedly in front of a Vadivelu comedy scene. It somehow helps me make my mind. I push my plate away and ask Nags “ I’m going to Krishnasagar for food. Coming?”. He declines, preferring to watch Bipasha’s legs. Unlike me, he finds the food quite palatable.

I pick up a book from my room and head out. I’m one of the few people around in IMT who would go alone to a restaurant. I don’t always need company, a book will do perfectly fine now and then.

I’m heading to a place where I’ve practically emptied my life’s savings. Hotel Krishnasagar is a 10 minute walk from the campus and it’s the only place I can get curd rice. A plate of dosa and curd rice will easily set me back by a 100 bucks but I don’t care. I’ve got a little left in the bank after which I’ll collect alms from my family and friends.

The waiter greets me with a smile. We’ve almost become good friends. He already knows what I’m going to order but waits politely anyway. I order a dosa and a curd rice and he nods knowingly. He leaves with my order and I sit back and read my book.

My food arrives and I admire the virgin dosa as it sits steaming in front of me, long, thin, crisp and pure. I break off a piece and then dip it into the piping hot sambar. I then dip it into the pudhina chutney, the coconut chutney and then into the onion chutney. My dosa piece looks like the Indian flag. I pause respectfully for a moment and then put in my mouth and exhale heavily as the ghee, sambar and chutney blend gloriously and gratify my taste buds.

Next comes the curd rice. Every spoon of it slides soothingly down my throat reminding me of home. Back in Chennai, I couldn’t understand why we ate it everyday. Now I know. It’s the most tranquil food one could have.

I finish my food, pay the bill and head back to college. My stomach is full but I know I cant afford to come back here for a while. No matter. I have a little piece of home in my tummy and its all I need to feel at peace with the world.

Today I became a celebrity. I was part of a discussion on the railway budget on CNBC Awaaz. Granted I contributed nothing significant but now the entire nation gets to see me looking intelligently at the camera for one hour.

It was my first time in a TV studio and it made me feel very important. I’ve never seen myself on television except at weddings where they take videos of you eating. These are profoundly embarrassing as you don’t know how to react when you are blinded by the light and a camera takes a close-up of your face as you chew. Do you look at the camera? Or do you engage in a serious conversation with the person next to you? Are you eating in a refined manner? Or do you look like you are going to steal from the neighbors plate?

12 of the most unqualified people from my college were selected to attend the discussion. We were the management students and our role was to raise pertinent issues and provide solutions to them. On our way to the studio we discovered nobody even had the faintest idea on the railway budget. Instead we came up with brilliant ways to sabotage the show. Balaji and I would heatedly discuss the Cauvery water issue and then wrestle all over the studio floor while Ali vehemently demanded the independence of Ghaziabad from India.

I pondered about raising the issue of certain anti social elements who make a nuisance of themselves on the train but the idea was quickly shot down my Bala and Ali. We didn’t want the country’s entire eunuch community clapping outside my college.

At the studio, the 12 of us were made to sit on a very uncomfortable 2 step arrangement. With us sat some very important people from the railway ministry. To my horror I discovered that the entire program was to be held in pure hindi. While I can swear convincingly in the national language, I cannot for the life of me discuss the railway budget in the same.

The anchor was a nervous man with hairy ears. I noticed the hair on his ears glint in the bright lights. Once the show began, he seemed to calm down and there were very few retakes. I realized we were merely props. While the anchor turned to us occasionally for our point of view, most of the discussion was carried forward by the old men from the railways.

The blood froze in my veins each time the anchor turned to us. I couldn’t understand what he was saying and for some reason he kept turning to me for my opinion. I maintained a fixed smile throughout and prayed until someone else said something.

Somewhere in the middle of the show, I wanted to point out how difficult it was for the elderly to board a train. But a little voice in my head said that I shouldn’t say “ Budde train mein nahin chad sakthe hein.”

By the time the show got over, our bottoms were very sore. Nobody had said anything spectacular and most of were just relieved that our ignorance was not revealed. We shook hands with everyone in the room and were later politely thrown out. They had another show to shoot apparently .

So that was my 60 minutes of fame. I didn’t say a single word for the benefit of the nation but I think my good looks saved me from ridicule.

My friend Ali and I won the 2'nd prize at the IIT Kharagpur Corporate Debate :-). Its the first time we have won outside IMT as a team. I certainly hope we win a lot more in the future.

IMT has very pretty campus. Here's a nice shot of the amphi...

I'm afraid I've been silent on the blogging front. I'd love to tell you that I've been too busy to blog...but then I'd be lying. As an MBA, I am prone to frequent bursts of frenzied activity, true but then I do have time to do other things too...its just that when I do have the time I dont feel like writing at all. I need something like an exam or a project presentation to be made tommorow to inspire me to blog tonight :-)

I'll be flying back to chennai for a week in mid jan. Hope to write something decent then.

This is an ad I shot for an event at a B school competition in Delhi.Its an ad for a product that deodorises smelly shoes. Do let me know what you think of it.

Dirty Dancin@IMT

We all suck at dancing...but hey its fun!

P.S: Turn up the volume

Dancin' little marionette
Are you happy now?
Where do you go when you're lonely?
Where do you go when you're blue?
Where do you go when you're lonely?
I only wish I could follow you

In fond memory of Cocoa...

February 14'th, 4 PM. No women, no romance, no candle lit dinners, no dreamy looks, no intimacy,no passion, no hugs, no moonlight walks, no Eros,no Cupid, no Amor,no Venus, no Aphrodite,no Kama. No sir, all I had was a dogs ass.

A rather unpleasant sight to behold when your in the middle of a cricket match and a dog is lying placidly in the middle of the pitch and chewing the brand new ball . Shouts, warnings, cuss words, a swinging cricket bat, nothing perturbed Cocoa as he calmly exercised his mandibles. The ball morphed rapidly from a shiny sphere to a sorry looking pancake in his very capable jaws but he showed no signs of relenting. On and on went his magnificient molars until all that remained was a piece of dirty dripping rubber. This too was relished and he held it daintily in between his paws as he added the final touches. The job done, Cocoa got up, trotted 11 yards, sniffed around, gracefully raised a leg and peed generously on the stumps. He cast me one final contemptuous look, sneezed violently and then went back into the house.

The match was completely ruined. We couldnt possibly raise the capital to buy a new ball and it also became certain that the stumps would remain pegged to the ground until the world collapsed and crumbled in a dust heap. We groaned and resigned ourself to cursing Cocoa's apalling behaviour.

I met Cocoa for the first time when he came into my friends house as a skinny puppy with an enormous head. I still look back with longing at those days when Cocoa was small enough to fit in my lap. Each time I sat down, he'd run towards me and clamber into my lap. I'd delight in the fact that the animal felt genuine affection for me and I'd grin proudly and stupidly each time he sat on me.

My affection for this particular behaviour began to wilt after a few of months. Cocoa weighed a solid 35 kilos and it became increacingly difficult to breathe when he sat on me. I realised it wasnt affection that made the dog push me down at will, it was downright contempt. I spent many hours lying motionless on the ground while Cocoa gnawed a bone or a coconut on my chest. I couldnt move, each time I twitched, Cocoa would stop chewing and glare menacingly.We would regard each other in complete silence until I let my head fall back. Cocoa would then resume his work, pausing occasionally to growl softly. As reward for my good behaviour, he would leave the remenants of the bone or coconut on my chest which I could chew if I wished to.

When Cocoa went from cute little puppy to terror of the household in a span of two months it I who suffered the most. I was nipped, bitten, scratched and mauled on all possible occasions. When we played downstairs, there was no way I could escape those incisors. I could never outrun him on a straight road so most of my childhood days were spent running round and round a car. I've lost count of the number of times I perambulated around that batterd Fiat car in an effort to preserve the sanctity of my bottom. A million Dinesh's could be cloned from the material on Cocoa's teeth.

Today, February the 14'th was a special day, not because women took extra care to avoid me. It was a special day this year as Cocoa was about to consummate his love for an unknown doberman so that another dozen Cocoa's could be introduced into the world. The thought of a dozen Cocoa's chasing me around the Fiat caused be to break into a cold sweat and I began making plans for a cast iron underwear.

My friend and I secretly envied Cocoa. We'd provided the dog with a home, cared for him, fed him, bathed him, played with him and guess who was getting lucky first? The damn SOB!

The mother to be was to arrive at 3:00 PM and Cocoa was expected to do his stuff and quietly leave. The female would take care of the rest. Cocoa ofcourse had no idea of what was in store for him as he quietly chewed my shoe under the bed. The tension in the house was terrific. My friend paced rapidly back and forth while I hobbled up and down on one shoe. My friends dad kept waiting at the gate , hoping to catch the first glimpse of the mate. We chewed our nails while Cocoa calmly regurgitated my shoe lace.

The suddenly the female arrived. Instantly there was as a flurry of activity. Gates were opened, the female began barking and we began scurrying up and down in search of Cocoa. After an exhaustive search I found him under the bed.

" Come out Cocoa! " I whispered.

" Growl "

" Come out! Come out!" I whimpered.

Cocoa regarded me ominously, a bit of shoe lace sticking out of the side his mouth. Long being used to having my hand bitten, I grabbed the shoelace and yanked with all my might. Cocoa drew his head back and firmly resisted growling all the time through clenched teeth. My friend pulled me and I pulled Cocoa until with great reluctance Cocoa emerged. His eyes had turned a dull red and the course of action became obvious. We dropped the shoe lace and ran. With a great howl Cocoa bounded after us, leaping up to permanantly scar our backsides. Thanks to Tom and Jerry I had learnt the art of skillfully retracting my buttocks at the last possible instant. Having adjusted my shape from convex to conave, I ran towards the garage where the happy couple where scheduled to meet for the first time.

I got the garage and with a roar Cocoa rounded the corner and bounded into view. One look at the female and suddenly everything went quiet. Cocoa was suddenly unsure of what to do and he tread cautiously towards her, his ears cocked and eyes curious. The female growled continuously undertone and snarled the moment Cocoa got too close. Cocoa leapt back and surveyed her with interest. Could it be that it was finally time to abandon the table leg for the real thing?

We decided to leave them alone together. We sneaked out and lightly closed the door. I took the time to survey the crowd. There was my friends dad, mom and sister. The in-laws consisted of a fat hairy man who owned the female and a driver who also doubled up as a " Mating expert ". I was slightly puzzled at his role. What was he expected to do anyway? Cocoa just had to follow his instincts and all would be well. I threw him this question and he grinned.

" Just wait and see " he replied and spat on the ground.

We looked with interest towards the garage and waited for Cocoa to emerge strutting, the female devotedly following him with a meek look in her eyes. In stark contrast, the door suddenly burst open and Cocoa rushed out squealing, hotly pursued by the recalcitrant female. I watched with digust as Cocoa ran round and round the same battered Fiat car. It was obvious he hadnt got lucky.

" Looks like he hasnt made a good first impression " grunted the Mating expert. He spat once more and made his way towards Cocoa who was still galavanting around the car, long after the female lost interest in his blood. I love Cocoa but I would be lying if I were to say he had a high IQ. The mating expert firmly grasped his collar and tried dragging him back to the garage. Cocoa stubbornly resisted and was dragged along his butt back into the love nest. Having shoved him in, the door was shut and we waited once more for Cocoa to emerge the man.

Silence.Complete silence.Sepulchral silence.Cocoa the silent lover silence.

The ME had a frown on his face. I guess he wanted a bit more passion, so he tiptoed towards the garage door and opened it a crack. The frown deepened into a look of complete disgust. He beckoned towards me but I declined. I like Cocoa but there was no way I was going to burst upon him now.It would be sacrilege!

" They arent doing anything " the ME hissed.

" Maybe he's done it and he's taking some rest " I hissed back.

" He's standing on top of the motorcycle, bloody fine place to rest!" he snapped back.

The ME came back obviously digusted with our hero.

" What now? " we asked.

" It simple, we muzzle and tie the female. I hold her head while he does his job." he replied.

All visions of Cocoa, the dog of pure testestorone vanished immediately.

" Cant we give him some more time? " I asked timidly.

" Listen boy, we could wait here all evening but I assure you he isint going to leave that motorcycle. Unless your suggesting we lift the female onto the motorcycle too, I'm afraid nothings going to happen!".

So we bound and gagged the female while Cocoa watched alertly from atop his perch. When it became clear the female was completely immobile, he came down and approached her with great caution. I fled the scene, I didnt want to watch this.

An hour later, Cocoa emerged strutting. He swaggered into the garden and once again relieved himself on the stumps. His manly display was abruptly cut short when the female emerged unbound and ungagged. All pretence was dropped and Cocoa rushed back into the house pausing only to snatch the ME's chappals.

Within a few months, a dozen Cocoa's came into the world and everyone was happy. All I had to do now was to patiently wait for 12 dobermans to get over the fascintation of my tempting backside.

So that is the happy tale of how Cocoa became a daddy. It is also the unhappy prequel to " Cast iron underwear, where can I get one? "

I'd sent a writeup to the Hindu Business Line about a month back and they never got back to me. Thus I was a bit surprised to find out that it had actually been published. Here's the link to it. Its been edited quite a bit however the original remains on my blog.

Hindu Business Line Article

My orkut fortune for sunday said "You will pass a difficult test that will make you happier".

Well, I took the test...but has it made me happier? Only time will tell.

It’s a hot and sweaty Saturday morning and I'm standing at the gate of the institute, waiting for an important alumnus to arrive for a meeting. Being part of the alumni committee has lots of perks but this isn’t one of them. The alumnus had said he’d be here in ten minutes. That was over an hour back and I curse my luck as the full sleeve formal shirt complete with a tie gently cooks my body to medium rare. I don’t even like the tie. It isn’t mine and I'd been forced to borrow it. It’s bright red with garish yellow stripes and it makes me stand out like a beacon to passerby’s who need directions. With my broken Hindi, I try my best but I get the feeling they don’t have a clue as to what language I’m speaking.

The security guard is amused and he calls out from time to time, “ Not come yet has he?
I shake my head in remorse and he grins. I guess it’s nice for him to watch a student sweat in the sun like him instead of dozing in an air-conditioned classroom. As a drop of sweat runs down my nose, I spot a small thin man with a battered suitcase make his towards me. Another lost soul, I presume and I decide that I will talk to him only in Tamil.

“ Why are you standing at the gate?” he asks me in crisp English and for a moment I’m surprised. He looks like a man who lives on the street and the last thing I expected was faultless English.

“ Is the institute open today”, he asks his next question and before I can reply, he answers himself “Oh yes, you have students in the hostel who will be here on weekends too.”

“What is the fees they charge?” he asks the next question and I find myself getting a little annoyed. It’s not pleasant being assaulted with questions by a complete stranger. The fees is fairly steep and not something you feel comfortable disclosing to someone you don’t know.

“You may ask at the admission office.” I reply and look away. He smiles knowingly and shifts himself in front of my gaze.

“What is your educational qualification?”

I look into his eyes. They are large, bright and have a maniacal gleam in them. The security guard looks on with avid interest. I don’t want to answer him but don’t know how to avoid a direct question. I struggle inside and finally mutter, “ Engineer.”

“What specialization?”

“Electrical and Electronics.”

“What specialization have you chosen here?”

“ I will decide in my second year.”

I hate every moment of it. I don’t have the guts to ask him to stop bothering me and I hate the way he’s wringing answers out of me.

He senses my discomfort and smiles.

“Listen to me. In two years you will get a job that pays you a nice fat salary. Then you will get married. But remember this! Keep your wife close to you!”

I look at him in confusion. I don’t know how to react. He comes close to me and looks penetratingly into my eyes. His smile disappears and is replaced by a fearsome scowl.

“Only ten percent of your salary to your brothers and sisters. The remaining ninety percent goes to your wife. If you don’t do that, you’ll end up like this man, a divorcee, a pauper who walks on the road with no chappal.”

He turned around and began walking away rapidly. I didn’t know what to make of the whole thing but it bothered me. I looked at the receding figure and wondered. Did he have some place to go? Was he walking with a great sense of purpose towards a place, which did not exist? Was there anything at all in that broken suitcase? Did he have any food or clothes in it? I wish I’d asked him his story. What had gone wrong with his life? Could the same thing happen to me?

When you studying in a B school, you completely forget the world outside. You assume everyone will earn a six-figure salary, everyone will drive an expensive car and everyone will travel the world. You party, you get drunk, safe in your knowledge that in the near future that some well known company will scoop you up.

As I stood at the gate of my B school, I realized that I was standing at the line that divided two very different worlds. I turned to the security guard.

“Call me when the alumni comes, I’m going inside.”

The song that haunts the corridors of IMT and now my room...

tere bin main yun kaise jiya
kaise jiya tere bin
tere bin main yun kaise jiya
kaise jiya tere bin
lekar yaad teri raaten meri kati - 2
mujhse baaten teri karti hai chaandani
tanha hai tujh bin raaten meri
din mere din ke jaise nahi
tanha badan tanha hai ruh nam meri aankhen rahe
aaja mere ab rubaru
jeena nahi bin tere
tere bin main yun kaise jiya
kaise jiya tere bin
tere bin main yun kaise jiya
kaise jiya tere bin

kabse aankhen meri raah mein tere bichhi - 2
bhule se hi kahi tu mil jaaye kabhi
bhule na mujhse baaten teri
bheegi hai har pal aankhen meri
kyun saans loon kyun main jiyu
jeena bura sa lage
kyun ho gaya tu bewafaaa mujhko bata de wajah
tere bin main yun kaise jiya
kaise jiya tere bin ...
tere bin main yun kaise jiya
kaise jiya tere bin ...

I'm home!

However my biological clock is on IMT time. I slept through the entire day and woke up late in the evening.Its 12:30 AM now and I feel fresh and ready to take on any challenge...but I'm alone..everyone else is asleep.

Fresher's party at IMT....

I'll be going home for 4 days this friday, I cant wait!

As much as I crib about the life here, I've actually had a really good time. The pace of life and trying to be a 4 places at the same time does get to me, but its been a really nice experience.

Right now I look forward to filter coffee(Not Nescafe cat piss), rasam sadam, thair sadam, no phone calls at 2 in the morning("Can you come to my room for the OB project meeting?"), no falling asleep at peculiar hours, not waking up with my heart hammering("Shit, do I have a presentation to make today??").... I need peace...home made peace...

Being in a B school keeps you on your toes. I’m always running around and doing so many things I completely lose track of why I’m actually doing the thing I’m doing. I’m having trouble prioritizing things. Do I study for the quiz or head for the alcom room to make my calls? Do I attend the meeting for the OB project or attend the meeting for the marketing project? Do I figure out how to make a decent profit loss account or do I research the next company that’s coming to campus for summer placements? Everything seems important, I want to do them all but I find myself doing something while wondering if perhaps I should be elsewhere.

There are those who manage to do them all and still find time for a basketball match. Something inside them is driving is them….and I’ve realized I don’t have it yet. There’s a part of me, which rebels at all the hard work. I’m a type B personality caught in a type A environment and I feel guilty about it.

I realize I came to a B school not for the academic learning or the placements. I came to a B school because I felt there were a lot of things about me, which I needed to change. I felt a B school would drive the dreamer out of me and turn me into someone who was assertive and got the job done. Now as I actually try to accomplish a dozen tasks a day, I long for the day I can just loll on the bed without a care in the world. Will that day ever come? What is more important to me? Getting the job done or sitting back and reflecting on life? Can I do both? Only time will tell.

At the end of 3 weeks, we were a limp demoralized lot. The faculty had taken pity on us initially and hadn’t objected too much to our corpse impersonations in class. As the weeks went by however they became more and more irritable and took to prodding those of who drooled on the table, far away in their own sweet world where no senior would bang on the door at 4 in the morning.

Now we found it impossible to sleep during the nights. The 3 weeks had turned our biological clocks inside out. We were wide-awake at 2 PM and colder than stone at 9 in the morning.

The faculty soon started adding to our trouble. Quizzes, exams, assignments and projects began rain down on us. Only now apparently, was real life at a B School beginning.