SuMmEr - A study in light and black.

Summer brings limpid liquid memories...The Speshul drinks of Madurai:
1. Bovonto: For the unitiated, the taste of Bovonto (manufactured by "Kalimark",no less ;-) resembles at times cough syrup and at other times thick grape juice. But only the truest of tongues can detect the evolution of what was originally ginger ale. Bovonto is a dark, sweet fizzy drink manufactured in south Tamil Nadu by Kalimark. Remarkably, the brand is still strong in south TN despite heavy dumping and pumping of stocks by Pepsi/Coke etc. Bovonto,IMHO,anyday tastes better than Pepsi or Coke ...sigh, if only Kalimark had the millions to take on Shahrukh and Trisha! During my MBA, one of my fav dream projects was to craft a deadly marketing strategy for Bovonto that would see it reign the market share charts in South India...sadly, it remained a dream, as did the rebranding of the TVS Suzuki Fiero. When mixed with rum, such dark heaven swirled around in that glass that one could happily down 5-6 glasses without detecting anything amiss. Every Madurai visit sees me popping a couple of bottles of Bo-von-toh!
Last known rate: Rs.10 for 300 ml, Rs.20 for 500 ml (PS: I just love the fact that they price it at a premium to Pepsi!)

2. Fruit miksher: Yes, thats the way any self respecting shop of Madurai would spell it...this thick slushy drink filled with assorted fruits is available in the umpteen juice shops around the Meenakshi-amman temple in Madurai. With a scary orange colour that turns away most of the foreigners and "seths"(as Northies are called in Madurai), Fruit Miksher is savoured by the hundreds of Tamils who throng the busy lanes of Madurai, having come in from distant villages to shop for sarees and shirts. I have never bothered to ask what Fruit Mixsher is made of...after a long walk in the dry dusty streets of Madurai with Rs.10 in your pocket,a fruit mixsher is your best friend that lays to rest the pangs of your hunger, the piercing thirst
and the deadly heat that threatens to suck your soul away in Maduers.
Last known rate: Rs.4/ glass

3. Paneer soda: Like Bovonto, Paneer Soda is manufactured locally in Madurai by M/s Kalimark and M/s Mappilai Vinayagar. No relative to the cheesy paneer, this is a rose-water-flavoured-sweet-soda.After a long basketball game or a 17km bike ride to
college, a paneer soda and 2 paruppu vadas were all that one needed to get the swagger back into one's walk. Paneer soda was a bit more dignified than the "Goli" soda which involved drinking your soda through a chamber with a glass marble (serious,peoples!). Unfortunately apna MNCs are slowly strangling this drink to death...grab it while it lasts.
Last known rate: Rs.6 for 200 ml bottle

4. Jil Jil Jigar Thanda: Ah,that Rajnikant were born in Madurai, this is what his blessed mother would have weaned him on...what a name,huh...WHAT-A-NAME! A white mix of seaweed, milk and other never-to-be named ingredients, jil jil JIGAR THANDA was
usually available near the Tamukkam ground where the annual summer exhibition was held. This exhibition,was by and large the best possible entertainment for the peoples of Madurai and you could make out entire villages visiting this event over the weekend. Imagine a nosiy loudspeaker filled mela conducted in a ground with proper stalls and policemen at the entrance, that was the "chitrai porutkaatchi"-the annual summer exhibition @ Madurai. And jil jil jigar thanda did roaring business during these months, cooling down thousands of frayed tempers, tearful eyes and the occassional village belle, for whom the lads clamoured to buy this treasured liquid pleasure.
Last known rate: Rs.5/ small glass.

Apart from these super speshul drinks, summers brought other charms into our lives:

5. The Annual YMCA camp: This was the one fantastic thing that the Madurai YMCA organized every summer. The YMCA summer camps were toatal fun because my dad made sure some of my cousins were also enrolled into them. In the first camp, I played
football...14 fat,thin,lean,mean boys and a tiny tot of a skirted girl! We later came to know that this feisty character was the daughter of the proprietor of one of the biggest hotels in town, The Pandian Hotel (long buried into oblivion since). The
man was decent enough to sponsor sandwiches during those 15 days, so we always treated the girl with some respect. Camp was where I felt a seniors spike leave dark scars on my ankle, camp was where 10 of us fell in love with a 12 year old chess
player-Krithika, camp was where I started crying for no reason because Ashok, my best friend fell down...camp was where I learnt "Oh my darling Clementine" and "My bonnie lies over the ocean". Exhilarating fun was camp...thank god for Harris Manickam of the YMCA who almost flawlessly organized them, year after year.

6. Cousins: This was easily the best part about the summers. Whether cousins came over to our place or we went over to theirs, the kind of fun that one had during those days was mind-boggling for the sheer variety if nothing else. My cousins
taught me how to spin a top and break another's in "aakher", how to fly kites with powdered glass pasted on the strings,how to dig out scorpions, how to make a chameleon dance with snuff powder, how to smoke a cigarette, how to drive a cycle, how to swing on a gate with 3 other kids clinging on to it, how a turtle bites,how to carry a rabbit...my cousins were an absolutely smashing lot! We did not know nor did we care about the hajaar things that our fathers and mothers argued about...all we knew was that we had to come back for lunch and dinner. The rest of the day was spent in roaming the bylanes of Palayankottai, the slopes of the Nagamalai and the sodium vapour lit streets of Ellis Nagar. Now we are worlds apart and don't know what we have become, each a stranger in a strange world with only the past to weakly weave us together from time to marriage time.

7. I Know What You Did Last Summer: Summer was the title of one of my earliest poems durng a session at the British Council at Madras...a time when I looked at the world through what I imagined were the bloodied doors of perception. I specialized in what I called "poetrie noire" and wrote such bile-filled black stuff that an old lady once asked me if my soul was as dark as my poems...typical of that age, I said "Yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and die" and turned away. Yeats in "The
Second Coming" wrote that "the best lack all conviction and the worst are full of passionate intensity"...that was me,then, intense blasphemic rage and rant, without a reason,with a rhyme. Since then, we've come a long way. Hopefully,GFM.

SETTING FIRE TO SUMMER
- Ganja Turtle
Summer was one of the nights
A drunken man raped a disabled kid
In the Metro
With 12 Mumbaikars watching
Proud race they be.

Summer was one of the days
Ryan O' Connor loved Gloria Axelrod
And won 3 bullets for his love.
The first 2 at the back of his knees
After one hour of
Bleeding,
Gasping,
Crawling,
Creeping,
The 3rd one to his head.
Catholics can't fall in love with Protestants.
Not in Ireland.
F#$%$ Jesus.

Summer was the twilight
When Sun burnt the air,
Water killed the fishes,
Mud dried into cracks,
And Space was filled with
A thousand screams
Begging respite.

Lets burn summer.

- Tagged by Lady Silverine...if only I could find one more to close the list, but then again thats the way life is ;-)

School Chalein Hum

SEQUENCE OF EVENTS
- Miss flight from Cochin to Bangalore
- Miss connecting flight from Bangalore to Pune
- Fight with Jet Airways and try naatak...doesnt work! ;-(
- Shell out 40K for group tickets on Kingfisher.
- Sleepover at Bangalore guesthouse.
- Wake at 4.30am and reach the B'lore airport at 5.30am
- Chai at Cafe Coffee Day at 5.45 am
- Famous call from 00301 at 5.50 am
- Now famous dialogues at 5.55am
"I am at Bangalore because I came from Cochin and I am going to Pune"
" Thank you,sir" to Ms.Donna S
- Big grins ever since then...starting from 5.56 am.
- School chalein hum - Sep 2007!

PS: Thanks all...theres so much to say to so many people, but right now let me float around a bit...if I stretch, I can touch the ceiling,maybe! (Sheesh,what an admit does to some people!)

Such a lovely burden

Last night, I had dropped into Cochin's only English movie theatre to watch The Departed, an otherwise tightly spun movie spoilt by a Bollywoodesque ending. As all of us were crowding to buy burgers and fries, one of my colleagues said "Oh, poor thing!"; I turned around to see an old man, say 50 years, carrying, a young man...either severely handicapped or mentally retarded or both. He had pushed him on a wheel chair till the theatre's entrance, lifted the chair with a help of a few bystanders to the landing and from there carried this man, probably his son, up to the 1st floor and further on inside the theatre. After the movie, this old man, he came back...and without any ado lifted the guy again and carried him down...then he repeated the same act till the ground floor. Then he rolled down the wheelchair down to the rick stand, called one of the rickwallahs and lifted the guy again and gently carried him into the auto. As he was putting him into the auto, he did something that most fathers do when kids are trying to crawl under sofas or chairs-keep a palm on the edge so that the kids head doesn’t hit the sharp edge when he/she comes out or goes in...an exquisitely gentle haiku of a gesture...especially so for a 24 year old man being helped into an auto at midnight. Then the old man quickly folded the wheelchair, gave that "nice meeting you folks" smile to all around and got into the auto. Am not exactly too senti a guy, but my vision of Cochin's fishnet bridge may have been slightly blurred as I drove down.

Most people who have not had the chance to closely know someone either handicapped, retarded or bed-ridden would probably shudder at the life of such a person...especially as a son, daughter, brother or mother. But what they do not know is that such circumstances, however painful they continue to be, present infinite opportunities to witness unprecedented love or duty in probably the most selfless forms that one is likely to see. Instead of talking about the immediate family, let me tell you about a mentally retarded cousin that I knew and loved a lot...reputed surname and fancy name apart, she was always called "Kuttima" because she remained "kutti" all her life.

Kuttima was born about a year after me...she was a blue baby and was born with a hole in the heart. Some medical complication resulted in not enough blood reaching her brain or something like that and she became retarded. From an early age, Kuttima was the toast of the town. Every vacation when my cousins came over here or when we went over, Kuttima used to jump onto me the minute she saw me. Her two favourite demands were "5 stars" and "Double Deckers"(extinct brand) and in a very business like manner, after the first jump and hug, she would check out all our pockets to see if we had gotten anything. After this she would remove all the coins from our pockets ("For Safekeeping!", she would insist) and store them away in her stringed purse. By evening, we would have settled into our usual games of hide and seek and whatnot. Kuttima was always on standby mode, conscientously reporting each and every happening back to our fathers and mothers...about how Joe pushed his friend down the drain or Cruz threated to pull out her hair.

Since she was a retarded kid, she had to study at a local school attached to the church. She got till the 4th standard and stayed there. Everyday for something like 10 years, she went to the 4th standard...packing her bags, waving to us and starting off. Like every kid, she had her favourite teachers, "boyfs" who fought to sit next to her and the usual stories about school. Once back, she would teach us "A,B,C" and also make us spell the usual "CAT,MAT,HAT" stuff. Unlike her sister and brothers who grew up, played basketball and wrote the board exams, Kuttima was a permanent fixture at the primary school...she went on to become the class in charge for 5 consecutive years. On days when the regular teacher was absent, Madam took over and conducted the class with the 20 odd letters that she knew existed.

Among cousins, I think I was her favourite...not because of anything else, but mostly because I would fend off my brother who loved to tease her about her short hair, her "4th std" boyfs or something similar...when she came down to our home for vacation, she even managed to pick up a roly-poly 5 year old boy, Narasimhan ("Narsie") who followed her home from the park and joined us for lunch...much to the consternation of his panicked parents who spent some the entire evening searching for him.

It was lovely to see her entire family weaving their web of love around her condition... vacations would be planned around places she could climb or would involve a hefty porter who could carry her if she wasnt well. Extra sarees would be taken along for her to fold (fav hobby -"folding sarees again and again") and extra 5 stars taken to tide over any emergency. During such trips, she was allowed to become her favourite icon "Indira Gandhi"- she would tie up a saree, over whatever else she was wearing and would walk up and down in a very dignified manner...God forbid that she found a ruler, we would be forced to sit and recite "CAT,MAT,HAT" immediately!

Kuttima used to come down with fits and serious one at that...when she was about to get a fit, she would know...about 15 seconds in advance, she would start saying "I am scared, I am scared,I am scared"...so everyone would rush around to make sure that she was seated or laid down where she wouldnt be hurt...balms would be taken out in quickly to rub onto her palms and insole and a rosary would be pressed into her hand...she insisted on taking somebody's hand just before she went into a fit and would squeeze her eyes shut-tight and start sweating...after her fit was over, we would generally cradle her head and point out to people she had kicked or hit...especially my (then)kid brother who then suspected that this was her way of taking revenge! To show off her heart condition to other novices in the family, we would make her lie down on her back and keep a book on her chest...it would jump up and down @ 90/min...jump as in twitch an inch up and down...if u kept ur palm on her chest, you would have thought there was a small, fast engine inside. Later we learnt that because of the hole, her heart had to beat faster or something like that. We have won countless bets against other kids who didnt know about her heart rate...it was just a game, then.

As we grew up, Kuttima's condition became complicated...her fits became more often and she started getting headaches more often...her family also couldnt afford too much of treatment...even though a lot of relatives chipped in, considering her frail condition, the docs decided not to operate on her and put her on a steady diet of tablets. What’s more, somewhere along the way Kuttima physically became a woman...and it became a problem to keep sending her to the 4th standard...so she stayed at home and became the surrogate teacher for many a neighbourhood kid who dropped by for some sweets, "murukku" and a couple of rounds of "CAT,MAT,HAT".

Prayer time was all the more funny because Kuttima would peek around to check if everyones eyes were closed...if they weren't, she would complain. And she was the only one with a rock steady face as an aunt prayed for God to drive away my "pasi pisasu"(hunger devil) or a cousin requested the angels to make sure my brother didnt grow a tree from the grape seeds he'd swallowed. God was more a friend in need to someone like Kuttima and not a mighty being of the angel-filled heavens..."Dear Jesus, keep my fits away from me" was her daily prayer and we fervently prayed along with her. On many long nights, each of us would take a palm or a foot each and rub Tiger balm and keep her warm...she would get very scared at such times, unable to understand what why her body was doing this to her...but she always accepted this with the countenance of one oft acquainted to pain and would soon put this behind her and start laughing at Mr.Bean with my grandma. Between them, they downed hajaar cups of coffee secretly without the rest of the household ever coming to know about it. Only when the servant started complaining of empty cups, did we find out about "the coffee conspiracy".

Sometime during my MBA, Kuttima became quite sick and her condition worsened...I remember that I was in the middle of my bath at my hostel, when a friend shouted out that I had a call from my home...I said I would be out in a minute, but by then my mom had started crying and had kept down the phone. When I went out to an STD booth and called back, I was told that Kuttima had passed away...all of 20 years old, a child in a woman’s body, hopelessly retarded but thoroughly loved. Now you see her, now you don't...that’s the way it was...but for all her sicknesses, 90 beats heart and her consistent fits, she was such an angel of a cousin...such a lovely burden to love.

Next time you see someone like this, you shouldn't see it as waste of a beautiful mind, an innocent body or a scene to pity...such people are a testament of a family's love, the result of parents' conviction and firmly ensconced among such strong bonds that we will probably never come to know of.

God bless all the Kuttimas of the world.

Tuck-Ding.

December 15, 2006

Dear GT,
Thank you for applying to the Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth. After much thought and careful consideration, I regret to inform you that we are unable to grant your request for admission to the Tuck Class of 2009.

It is often difficult to fully appreciate the competition for admission to Tuck. Our decision is not a reflection on your intellectual abilities, personal achievements or potential success in management. The factor that most often contributed to our decision to not admit an applicant was the rigorous competition created by a strong applicant pool and our commitment to maintain a small class size. This year’s pool is exceptionally strong. We know that many of the applicants who were not granted admission possess excellent characteristics that will serve them well in business school and beyond.

I sincerely appreciate your interest in Tuck and all the time and thought that went into your application. You have my genuine best wishes for success in achieving your future goals.

Warmest regards,

Dawna Clarke

Director of Admissions
Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth

...and thats the way it is.

The first leaves of...spring?

Ah,ye admits have started flowing in...

JatWarrior has gotten into 1 of my fav schools - Tuck. I have been following his story from last year and I think this has been long overdue. Absolutely fantabulous-congrats dude! (slight shade of green ;-) If you were to look at his application submission dates, you can see the kind of work he has been putting in long before his apps were due...wow.

MBABlogger apparently has done some very hard work on his apps and added a pinch of pixie dust and guess what...its working! With admits from Darden and UNC, our mans on the moon already!

Heres to hoping all this rubs off on the rest of the gang too...sigh....amen.

Col. Mike Martin is dead.

- The man who choose the desert and the SAS over a wife is dead.
- The man who introduced me to the H&K MP5 and the Ka-Bar is dead.
- With these lines in his mind, he died...
And how can man die better,
than facing fearful odds,
for the ashes of his fathers,
and the temples of his Gods?

After trekking through the deserts of Arabia, the jungles of Borneo, the streets of Belfast and the Afghan mountains, after no-god and god, tending a garden, slitting enemy throats and stitching up dying friends, he is finally gone - dissolved and disappeared amidst the sordid reams of pulp fiction.

And in a way like Col.Mike Martin, Forsyth too is kind of gone...a relic of an era bygone. After some racy books like The Day of the Jackal, The Devils Alternative and The Veteran, Forsyth kind of lets us down with The Afghan. A decent plot with deep background, lots of interesting facts but a loose storyline and some improbable coincidences make for a very superficial novel (not that international conspiracy thrillers are expected to spout metaphysical truths) which is half Forsyth and half-not.

And a very shallow reason to kill Mike.

So long and thank you for everything, Mike - the Brecons, Qui Audet Vincet, Horatius and the Lays of Ancient Rome, the terrible beauty of Ireland, the Holy Quran, Saddam and the House of Sa'oud. If my father had not insisted, perhaps we would have known each other better - in the Paras, the Grenadiers or the Rifles....if only life was not what it was...ah, but it is.

Rest in peace,Colonel.

Tuck

Submitted appl: 11-Oct
App turned complete: 31-Oct
Interview call: None
Decision date: 15-Dec
Like the school: Really do
Pref for admission: In top 3

Attitude 1
Tuck is a hands-on school-believes in interviewing all potential candidates. Its been 3 months since I applied and I havent even got any interview call. Results are due next week.Therefore I am as good as out -DINGED, OUT, KHALLAAS, MATTER-KILOSED.

Attitude 2
I have been emailing Tuck since 2005 on how serious I am about their program. I have interacted with their Dean directly and met up with their alumni/profs while they were in India last year. Since I have been doing all this, they dont think they need to meet me - they think I fit perfectly! I fit,therefore I am...likely to be admitted. A week left for celebrations! Yoohoo!

Attitude 3
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

Thank you, Mr.Kipling.

Darden reception at Bangalore (2/2)

ACT 5-ACTUALLY SPEAKING,THE ACT BEGINS
Step 1: Settle in after fried mushrooms for the actual presentation.
Step 2: Smile and nod at regular intervals.
Steps 3.1 to 3.9:
Listen to Jay Bourgeois speech on Darden "High touch, high tone, high octane". Pop peanut. Understand that its a small and young school. Known for high standard of ethics. No specializations. Listen to gyan about how school truly helped out an Indian applicant who lost his father. Pop peanut.

Listen to the prof's challenge about whether any other school's dean would reply in person to a mail. Seems like a nice small school in a nice small town. Not bad. Pop peanut-miss mouth. Dirty looks from Neha,Ishita,Anu and Mehgna. Decide to be careful....wonly for Ishita's sake ;-) Immediately decide to apply.

Sigh when Jay announces a case study-RIGHT HERE,RIGHT NOW! Yeah,wow! ;-( Case on Latino banana plantation which brings in workers and provides acco. A socially responsible move to get local prostitutes involved as workers backfires when man leaves wife+kids and shacks up with one of the new women. In South American jungle. House goes to woman and kids? Man does what? Keep him? Sack him? Kids?Sob,sob.... Almost an Oliver Stone movie.Pop peanut.

The knives are out...Listen to Northie chap questioning morality of the move and establishing an ethical culture; Jay does a nice war dance over his arguments and stamps them out. Am very happy for my unhappy Northie friend-practice a double peanut pop.

Listen to women arguing for commitment. Wonder how this relates to business. Finally someone realizes its not about ethics and its about business. Jay closes the case by bringing in a priest into the picture and khallaas! The problem stands solved-priest decides whats right and whats wrong. Case over. Ultra-kuwik decision and resolution to pop in last mushroom for the day.


ACT 6-BYE BYE ISHI DAHLING.
Step 1: A last sip of wine,a long and lasting look at Ishi Dahling and out we go...train at 9.45, Ganja at hotel at 9.35. Will he make it? Thanks to a decent Citrix employed Mallu former entrepreneur (who ofcourse wants build a company and become an employer), Ganja gets a lift...quick exchange of thoughts on admission process and entreprenuership as we zoom down in a Corsa. Leave calling card and vaguely exchange promises of getting in touch etc etc. Indian Railways saves the day and brings the train home late.

ACT 7-HORROR IN THE ORIENT EXPRESS
Step 1: Funny looking Mallu guy says "Hellllluuuu" to snotty looking lady.
Step 2: Both exhange the usual "weather, naadu evude" etc etc in sadly practiced English accents-Ganja entreats the powers of the universe that they dont become kilose and friendly.
Step 3: Bury head into Man's World mag and stare at Claudia Schiffer,I-pods, Azzaro Silver Black and the Graham Chronofighter. Ah, the fates...two born again X'ians with fake accents.Why? Why? Why in S1?
Step 4: Man spots opportunity and asks the dreaded question "Are you Xian?" naheeeeeeeeeennnn...why me?!!?
Step 5: Denominations exchanged-Protestant/CSI. World views exchanged-Born again/Always was.The guy gently lets loose a whopper of a statement "Yaactually I gawt a Maasters in Theoology and now am eentu sochal serveez"-Go dude!
Step 6: BOOM-that statement does it! Bibles brought out-Arguments exhanged-Interpretations cast about-David the sinner/Thomas the doubter/Mary the mother. Ganja cringes and hopes they dont spot his rosary. Thankfully they dont.
Step 7: Louder and louder arguments continue till 1am. A pissed off Ganja considers giving his version of Xianity by example and then asking to shut them up, but decides to get aggro and snaps off light. Silence observed for 10 seconds. 5-5 man decides not to confront 5-11 Ganja. Softer interpretations sally forth.

There you go-that was a fine step by step description of sequential events. Logic in my blood and water in my tie...tch tch...just so like me! Gut nacht!

Disclaimer: For all the yak yak that he did, its very likely that he is actually a social worker running an orphanage or old age home somewhere in Kerala. Its just that I personally have a problem with action over words...esp when its this "my God's bigger" business. If a religion is as nice/deep/profound or true as it claims to be, it should show in the practitioners' behaviour and not in their words. With such a smug homily on religious values, GT gets back to work.

Darden reception at Bangalore (1/2)

SUMMARY
Attended the Darden reception at the Windsor Sheraton,B'lore on Sunday evening.Darden is a "warm" compact community driven B-school which espouses the case study method strongly. Has many things in common with Tuck like "designed to be small", located far away from the big cities with a closely knit community.If you are OK with that and the "Case Study" method, you should apply.

DETAILS
Ms.Lynn Garnett,Asst Director-Admissions and Prof.Jay Bourgeois, Asst Dean of International Affairs (whatever that means!) were present. I had just landed in from Cochin on one of the many a/cd Volvos that ply to Bangalore;awkward business of lobbing around a suit, a laptop and a airbag. Reached the hotel in time and stepped into the cloak room to change into the shoot.

ACT 1-SET WET
Step 1: Put on tie
Step 2: Put on jacket
Step 3: Bend over to wash face
Step 4: Withdraw wet tie from sink

ACT 2-EVEN JAMES BOND MAKES LOUD AND RANDOM NOISES.
Step 1:Bend to tie shoe laces
Step 2:Realize you cant bend or bow too much with a jacket on.
Step 3: Flex knee to chest to tie laces.Proud about flexible body.
Step 4: Lose balance and knock over brass flower pot and dust bin.
Step 5: A composed,serious, jacketed gentleman greets the hotel staff with an sophisticated, amused, puzzled look and turns away to tighten his tie before walking away smartly.
Step 6: 20 minutes later a panicky jacketed gentleman runs back to toilet to check misplaced mobile phone.

ACT 3-SUAVE AND SOPHISTICATED LAUGHTER
Step 1: Bend to sign in the register; ignore water droplets that drip on the table from wet tie. Disdainfully dismiss weird looks from next signatory.
Step 2: Agree with Lynn Garnett when she asks if you just flew in
Step 3: Agree with Jay Bourgeois when he asks if you are staying overnight
Step 4: Quickly join in the laughter and after 5 minutes realize it was directed at self.
Step 5: The protagonist smiles wisely at everyone again just to show he is a man of humour and walks off for a glass of Shiraz.

ACT 4-UNE PROBLEME DE COUTURE
Step 1: Join Prof. Jay in animated discussion-listen to how he offered free seats at Univ of Maryland desk for any Indian applicant who could get his name right. You naughty,naughty man!
Step 2: Happily explain about the beauty of Kerala, about the joy of work and ofcourse the Thrissur pooram.
Step 3: Mistake his animated gesture for a handshake and extend own hand.
Step 4: Realize mistake and withdraw hand just when hes extended his.
Step 5: Nervously laugh and spill some wine...put on "I ponder,therefore I am" look and walk off for another glass of Shiraz.
Step 6: Prop up sinking heart after realizing that the prettiest babe in room saw your fumble. Recognize the old "I saw you do it!" chuckle and put on stiff upper lip again.
(To be contd...)

MAD Part 2: The Interview

Preparation
- Trawl the internet for 4 hours on how to buy a new suit.
- Consider 3 buttons, 2 vents, more wool than polyester and ponder between classic black, quiet grey, navy blue and adventurous stripes - consider philosopical questions from friends "Are you zebra?"
- Try out 32 new suits in 4 different showrooms - blow off persistent salesman with specific requirement of "a single vented, three-button grey suit with a 75:25 wool ratio and flatfronted trousers".Run away while he's searching.
- Read up on schools; read up on courses; read up on interviews;practice talking in front of toilet mirrors, surprise maintenance staff at office.
- Hum out answers in the elevator; practice body language and try to act natural when the lift opens on your classic "If I were to slice my career into 4 signficant parts" gesture.
- Dress up for interview.
- Wear just tie, vest and boxers...walk around...just to get those streaks of juvenile lunacy off before the big hour.
- Practice "Serious look", "Thoughtful look", "Look of awe and wonder" and "Thinking fingers aka twirling thumbs".
- Look stupid in sticky new suit.
- Look stupid in sticky new suit in an auto in Bangalore.
- Look very stupid in sticky itchy new suit in front of 3 giggling schoolkids.
- Look very stupid in sticky itchy new suit in front of Nepali gurkha who says interviewers office is closed.
- Consider Vanaprastha in the Himalayas.

Week after 1 okkkkkay interview and 1 good interview
- Start gathering statistics about interviewed vs. selected.
- Pore through Business Week's selectivity and yield ratios for different schools.
- Try to create historical trends and juxtapose them against respective country GDPs and come up with a statistical trend to prove favourable future. (Only for experienced MS Office users; at this point, novices to consider The Art Of Living courses).
- Read interviewed University brochures again and again hoping that the greater laws of the universe will work in favour of those putting in really hard work...ie staring at pretty women in brochures er..sorry...assimilation of the school's culture and statistics.

Week 2 after 1 okkkkkay interview and 1 good interview
- Get smarter...install mobile Gmail on phone.
- Check Gmail on phone every 10 minutes.
- Stop just visiting applicant blogs and instead start commenting - "you got anything yet? what abt u? huh...me too ;-("
- Micro Schadenfreudish relief at people who havent got any invites from your fav schools....then realize the tilting of cosmic scales against you...quickly ask forgiveness and try to swing the scales again...muditaaaaahhhhh! (Powers of the Universe to take note)

Who says life is not beautiful...atleast until Dec 20/21.