My 3-hour romance...

It began like most such instances begin: A friendly encounter at a get-together hosted by a mutual friend. In the midst of all the laughs, I caught her glance from the corner of my eye; staring into blankness she was, as if waiting for a trigger to push her towards a sense of meaningful purpose.

I extended my hand, and she accepted. And from there started this episode of rare socially endorsed remarkability. After some more time with the boys, we headed off. But where to?
With that question still unanswered, our little steps led us to the jetty, where soon enough my memory reminded me of the urgent need to coordinate with people regarding an upcoming event. Excusing myself, I made the call which would instruct me to rush to my team, and then accompany them for a dry run of their plan.

I hung up, looked into her knowing eyes, and smiled at her effortless, though unasked consent. Taking her by the arm, I made my way to the team room. After some general chit-chat, we headed for the dry run, in the accompaniment of a few more members. All this time she was right there next to me, perhaps growing weary of the sidelining, perhaps not.

Either way, one thing was for sure. With every detached moment I spent with her, her neediness increased in very tangible terms, which translated to the way she looked at me, touched me, the works.

Passers-by and colleagues passed glances at us, owing to her slightly out-of-place presence. Nice feeling it was, somewhat reminiscent of Clapton's classic. Wonder if she felt strangely the same way.

Returning to the timeline. Event test done, went off for another little errand, before heading to a friend's room, and introducing her to her. Having kidded about the eroticity of holding one's partner for this long just a while back, I realized its true force while sitting there. I lavished praise on the little thing next to me, in a manner not unlike a champion stud's owner. Savouring every single bit of her existence, I explained to my fast-growing-confounded friend, the joys of having someone vie for one's attentions at all times. In generous detail, I waxed eloquent on how my muse tasted on my lips, on the tip of my tongue, and how the sweetness was perhaps a result of her having to fight off competition from the engagements described previously.

I wasn't sure if my uninhibited rambling displeased her. It didn't really matter though, for in accordance with the pattern thus far, her body just got sweeter still; her eyes looked into mine with a passion tinged with pleading, and for that moment, I was all that there was, is, and will be.

Eventually, we left my friend to her case study, and returned to the fateful spot where we'd met only 3 hours back. A friend was alarmed to see that I'd clinged on to her this long (and vice versa). By that time, I had pretty much gotten over as well, the glass almost empty. A brief operational discussion ensued with the encountered friend, after which I looked at her one last time, sipped from her inviting mouth once more, and bid her farewell.

That, was one amazing Smirnoff-on-Pepsi.

Cheers to all that lent themselves to the night, and to her!

PS: If at any point my blatant flamboyance had elicited a "Damn u MCP!" from her, the weak dog in me would have responded with a "Screw u b*tch!"; reflecting upon which, the purported self of mine would've passed a gentle smile, looked heavenwards, and marvelled at His works.

PPS: Being chased (rephrase: courted) is fun! Isn't it?

PPPS: The Importance of being Idle.

Evolution of the unthinking caveman

Though the title and pic really should suffice...:

1. The caveman after his daily (?) bath.

2. Dusting off the thin layers of the "Generally Accepted Desirability Practices" imbibed in 1, the caveman is now officially in his element.

3. The first signs of social infringements on freedom, deceptively concealed in the garb of pleasantness and the ilk; the caveman senses a certain sense of gloom approaching.

4. With the conclusion of the ghastly civilization process, the hapless caveman realizes the reality of it all, in one gigantic leap of trans-evolutionary thought and comprehension. The fading smile inverts to an expression of pure and absolute horror, as the poor caveman begins the long journey, of contemplating what he has gained, and what he has lost.

Hmmm...

PS:
Suresh Wadkar sings...

Sunne waale sun lete hain,
Kan kan mein sangeet ho..
Dhadkan taal hai,
Saans hai sur,
Jeewan hai ek geet..

Kya baat hai!
Kandisa!

Sleep deprivation, exams, and the feeling that is "IIM Joka" - 1

The entities enlisted in the title led to this piece yesternight.

* * *

Why Amitava Bose Rocks

Very often, when one comes across a brilliant piece of art/music/poetry, one is compelled to ask oneself, just what it is that lends said piece its characteristic excellence. In many of these cases, one is left with a wonderful sense of emptiness within, borne out of the seeming intractability of the asked question. However, there are those times, maybe rare, maybe not so, when one chances on one or two “critical success factors” that have contributed to the magic.

Such an incidence is what this piece relates to.

Stepping into the hallowed portals of IIMC, it doesn’t take one long to find one’s reasons to love/loathe this place. While some never seem to get over the raining crow shit, some get perpetually immersed in the depths of the lakes. Fortunately for me, it’s been one mushy little tale thus far, with one muse after the other enchanting my very being. Thus, what began with midnight journeys across campus, soon led to conversations with the unassuming bystanders all around, solar observations at dawn, and even arose more earthly passions such as footer. However, perhaps the greatest sense of joy and grateful satisfaction I have derived is from the incessantly awesome people I have had the privilege to interact with here. For it is my sincere belief, that people must form the core driving engine of my existence, be it my inclination to HR/BS, or experiences such as these, or anything else that speaks quintessentially of me.

And it is here, innocent passerby, where this long and winding road brings us to the door step of a certain Prof. Amitava Bose, among others, though for now we shall pause right here.

It is indeed rare, that one comes across a person of such immaculate completeness of being (at least in my mortal, unknowing eyes), that his every word and deed seems part of a larger scheme of uncountable equations, variables and dimensions. Perhaps the only other such person I have met to date is Ust. Fahimuddin Dagar, a dhrupad artiste, representing the 19^th unbroken generation of musicians in his family. It is not surprising then, that this Economics professor at IIMC, has crossed many a sea in his academic career, and has even been approached to be the RBI Governor on multiple occasions.

While the above stated factoids serve only to build the hype around the great man, they do just about enough to ensure one’s ears are pointed straight in his first class. From then on of course, each man must earn his slice of bread, irrespective of the history that may embellish his esteemed self. And did he earn it!

Waxing eloquent on the nuances of unemployment and inflation, each word he spoke shone brightly in that intricately woven fabric of inexorable logic, meaning and purpose. One oscillated between scrambling to capture every single pearl he chose to reveal, and just sitting and basking in the pure and unadulterated sunshine that he so effortlessly pulled out of his little kitty.

From that point on, one knew that this was the stuff that formed the best part of the brilliance that institutes of excellence prided themselves on. The value of human capital to any organization, educational in particular, was never this evident.

In my thinking, what makes Amitava Bose the phenomenon that he is, is the manner in which his genius tends to blend with the wonders all around him. Put another way, the way his thoughts seem to honestly radiate from the impression of his self generated in one’s mind. This sense of truthfulness ensures that his knowledge appears not as a spike in the manhattans of one’s consciousness, but more as an integral part of the entire ecosystem, seated in its rightful place in the scheme. This sense of observed oneness may be likened to what Tagore says in his introduction to “Creative Unity”:

This One in me is creative. Its creations are a pastime, through which it gives expression to an ideal of unity in its endless show of variety. Such are its pictures, poems, music, in which it finds joy only because they reveal the perfect forms of an inherent unity.

I believe one must have truly immersed oneself in one’s art to have attained a voice that resonates with the truth that the art tries to convey. Prof. Bose falls under that category for me. His lectures impart that all welcoming yet infinitely intense sensitivity previously restricted to the domain of bibles such as Resnick – Halliday, Boyd – Morrison, et al.

In conclusion, I feel blessed to be a part of IIM Calcutta owing to the many wonders that shine all around me. Along with the crows silhouetting the setting sun sky, the night lights gaining volumes of meaning in their misty lake reflections, and the innocent joys of sitting seemingly aimlessly at the jetty, Amitava Bose and his ilk do their bit in making IIM Calcutta what it truly is.

May that always thrive.

May Jokaland always find its light.

* * *

PS: What is it that makes exam time the most suited for creative explorations and the like?!

Photography, Expression et al

In everything man does, he seeks a certain sense of meaning and purpose. And expression forms a major part of all that drives human endeavour. Though speech and text may appear as fundamental, pedestrian modes of ‘communication’ rather than those for seemingly loftier objective of ‘expression’, one must clearly understand, that all that separates the two near identical twins, is an invisible wall of man made context. And all that lends any semblance of weight to the wall, is the coloured lens of perception that we all so gracefully adorn.
Realizing the generic flavour that my wandering mind has lent to this piece thus far, I shall embark on a quick hyperlink, straight to photography.

“Writing with light” – it is surprising how sharply accurate this etymological translation can be. For in every frame that one captures, by design or happenstance, there are inscribed a million words, each waiting for one’s eye to place them together. Every line that directs you to a higher object, each shade and colour that embellishes the developing orchestration, every single entity present, distinct or otherwise, is an ambassador of so much. From one world to another, and yet, in so many ways from one to one’s own self.

Photography lends a relatively easy-to-decipher, and easy-to-implement medium to that which poets fill pages with; which dancers use to immerse themselves in; which painters dedicate their every stroke to; photography gives wings to the mind which knows no bounds, in a manner that negates deficiencies of more physical talents.
Personally, I have observed I love pictures that don’t overtly speak out too much to you. For instance, to me, a bunch of friends snapped just after they break their pose beats the picture posed for initially. For it is when images are left alone, with little expectation of direct meaning, that they allow one to read deep into them. Every expression captured, be it human or otherwise, asks one to sit down and listen; listen, to a long and fascinating story that it has just witnessed. All that stands between our selves and that untold story, is our own willingness to lend it the ear it so deserves. Linkages may be drawn to this quote I chanced upon long back:
“What is destroying humanity today is not the lack of wonders, but that of wonder.”
(Think. Digest. Proceed.)

So the next time you chance on a picture, pause, and listen to it speak. The music it encompasses is very, very beautiful. Lakeside lens loving is indeed the stuff dreams are made of!

PS: Lakeside Lens Lovers - The Photography Club of IIMC.

On joy, sorrow, depression, and the love beneath it all

Or in one word: Placements
Being the follower of self-proclaimed abstractionism, I shall at the very outset inform you, innocent passerby, of the total disregard for stats and figures that this post holds.

Also, the views/experiences/opinions, are obviously those of the author, and may not hold true for anyone else under the sun.

(I'm not called a diplomatic rat for nothing! :-)

Continuing...
Placements are a tough time for the best of us. The scope and depth of its influence makes it one of THE most brilliant social experiments around. (Pardon the tone of insensitivity. Those who know me would realize the contrast. Either way, scientific temper requires objectivity. Perhaps not to the extent of Stanford and Milgram)
Either way though, I think "we all emerged from the experience, stronger and wiser" should fit in without much of a diplomatic hassle.

Continuing.. further.
Placements are inherently laden with such distinguished qualities that make the whole experience quite the potboiler. Even a blockbuster season leaves its fair share of highs and lows, cuts and bruises. The bleeding markets all around had got the alarm bells ringing in jokaland as well.
Eventually though, 6 days from the moment the Goldmans of the world landed on our shores, looks like we're done. We've done better than many feared. But thats just what this post is not about.

Most of us live in a world where ambition, relative competence and (the by now cliched) "competitive advantage" govern most of our actions. [Unrelated sidenote: I think (stress, owing to my respect for logic and rational thought. Empirical observations cannot be deemed facts) this phenomenon is a product of one's own choices; though these choices are often hard to see, let alone take.]
Coming to IIMC (or any other "institute of excellence" for that matter), is one milestone on the path dictated by the above decision; sitting for placements is another; you get the picture.

So.
To give a rough sketch of what these 6 days go like.
(Though my experience is only with one IIM, I am pretty sure it can be extrapolated, with no loss of generality. What may change will be the duration or flavour of the insanity, but the insanity, in essence, is everywhere the same.)

Day 1
The offers begin to trickle in. General euphoria reigns, as one by one, the next set of PGP2 idols take their place in the annals of joka's rich culture.
Those of us with no calls tend to enjoy the scene, jestering around with those not quite as chirpy. Relative ego sizes, and perceived life priorities also played their part in the whole role play assignment.

Imagine a little kid staring at a tidal wave, coming to gobble up the entire town. Typecast that, to the end of day 1, and the little kid gets personified by every unplaced candidate who started with 5+ calls. That sinking feeling, is a carefully prepared cocktail of helplessness, looming inevitablity and plain old gloom. All sense of perspective and balance gets dunked into the lake. The thought of repeating the process another day. is. sad. bad. mad.

Days 2 through 6
After the hype over Day 1 subsides, one is made to awaken to days of progressively higher levels of pragmatism. With each passing day, one learns the fine art of sprouting up new 'dream companies' in one's head, so as to put up a respectable show in the interviews/GD's. Unbeknownst to the self, one begins to sink gradually into an invisible 8th lake, that of a slowly growing disillusionment, dejection and melancholia. While this is hard to detect for the self, as one indulges in random jestership all day long, it seems the truth is all too evident for the objective bystander.
To elaborate on the subtleties that mark the 2-6 continuum:
With each passing day, small/pep talk becomes more and more forced. At times, and this is I'm sure amongst the darkest hours of the entire period, the concern shown by those out of the process before oneself, takes on pereptive colours of condescension, and general hues of unpleasantness.
People break down all around you, again, in direct proportionality to time passed by. Some keep that collapsing skyscraper within themselves, as they sit alone, staring into blankness, while others let it out after a few warning signs of the impending flood. Within or without, the sense of heavy despair that this lends to the air, is very, very palpable. Perhaps the lowest phase of the entire process is when one begins to doubt one’s own capability and worth.

And now, as is very often the case, the sole positive to emerge from such hopeless darkness, raises its head.

Before continuing with that infinitely bright, all overwhelming revelation, a partial disclaimer is in order:
As with most things in life, this too lies almost completely in the eyes of the beholder.
While this takes nothing away from the pain endured, or the injustices dealt, it does serve to add meaning to an otherwise torrid, torrid week; it is essentially symbolic of that spring of light that is part of the deal one makes with oneself, on every crossroad of faith et al. Somewhat aptly, the most pertinent example I can think of now, is that of Job.

That one light, that in retrospect makes one weep tears of joy and gratitude; that reveals one's innermost selves to the self; that embodies the one real result of the entire social experiment that so many have just endured, is love.

Love, is perhaps the one thing one can give to the beleagured many, without any overt, mis-construable action. Returning to the wonders encompassed by this blog title, 'simply being a friend' is sometimes the most one can do for a loved one in need.

When one bleeds upon seeing those around one weep, one is confirmed of the underlying humanity that forms the basis of one's existence. High concepts of dharma and the like suddenly lose much of their abstruse quality, to simplify to something elementary, bordering on the naturally obvious. Much like the way Ganga opens one's eyes to many new shades and meanings, so does this gala of figurative sordid torture. After all, the message is what counts, why discriminate by the colour of the messenger.

At the end of every single one of those morosely painted days, one looks at the moon, the stars, and the people all around; and one feels this very hard-to-put-in-words emotion, wherein one is extremely moved by the state that one's people are in, not to mention one's own self, and at the same time, the very fact that one is this deeply touched, induces a sense of objective, dispassionate, un-rejoicing bliss. It is similar to some extent, to the surprisingly profound speech Butters makes in Southpark's "Raisins" episode.

With so much drama all around, quite unsurprisingly, one almost forgets one's own plight, wishing instead to be truly free, so as to be next to one's people, unburdened and unhindered by the blues directly pertaining to the self.

Anyway, one manages to hold oneself together, enough to survive a near breakdown just prior to the critical interview. Of course, the nameless volunteers present to fulfill "good begets good" do come in handy.

Eventually, the show gets over.

One is done, and so are the others, or pretty much at least.

And one looks back at what was lost and won.

An alumnus once claimed that the batch loses its happiness after this week. This can only be verified with time, though I sincerely hope and pray that it is disproved.

Though many a tear were shed, and many a bleeding hour lost, one and all did emerge stronger for sure.

And not to mention, I was blessed with the added boon of realizing all the aforementioned; of experiencing that lofty ideal which makes up a big, big part of humanity, that is both compelling yet liberating at the same time, that is, my favourite four letter word, love.

And that I believe, is the first and last duty assigned to us, as we fly down to take our places on stage.

Cheers duniya.

Be happy.

You are loved.

PS: From a conversation during the week:

sometimes i stop and stare,
and see the pain all around.
and in that feeling raw and bare,
i search for that which cant be found.

as i gaze at the people i so love,
the wounds appear to lose their meaning,
is this not the gift from up above,
that lifts us up thru every leaning?

Edit PS1: It seems to me that the joys that embellished the process were somehow lost in the course of the post. Thus a clarification, there were several instances of great, great happiness, for the good news of one's peers. But I guess those were after all tiny, twinkling stars, in the oceanic, black, shrouding sky. Still, worthy of a mention they are nonetheless, given that love shone through then as well.

Also, equally importantly, happiness, sorrow's twin sister, though easier to appreciate, loses none of its artistic/poetic sheen.

:-)