Anirban Sengupta`s time-pass

hard times ...

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sat, 10 Nov 2012 14:16:00 +0000

Makes our times most terrible
and our hopes most void –
that pigeons are suicidal
and crows paranoid !
And all exothermic minds,
lose more with passing days –
and survive on as ashes –
blaming time and space.

If blaming could have returned –
the league of missing minds :
we could die not knowing ,
how our universe unwinds.
But we still live on ,
inheriting the starry nights –
Knowing well althrough:
how misguiding are these lights !

Our times are most random-
governed by a single law :
that makes universe expand –
and our good intent a flaw.
Our times get most scary ,
and future out of breath –
when peace white pigeons fly
from safety nests to death !

taken by surprise ...

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sat, 10 Nov 2012 14:12:00 +0000

hey winter –you were locked outdoor,

who let you in – tell me more :

with steaming coffee – black and strong ,

thought you’d pass –I was wrong.

misty nights of forgetful toils,

and sleepy eyes and midnight oils :

like a woman whose tricks can kill,

you come inside to have your fill ?

and as we sit face to face ,

gazes locked in deep embrace :

I wonder aloud what next came,

end of world or something lame!

hey winter – now my coffee ‘s cold,

my blankets torn, my dog ‘s gone old:

and I can see through frigid eyes,

a whitish world - of snow and lies.

Coming to terms with a windy night

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 21:55:00 +0000

When life is but a yellow leaf …

ready to fall out of sheaf :

Lo woman, let me hold thy waist-

and help you dance out of step …

and guide your miss of every beat ,

to watch the fun –of lone retreat

Oho it’s a windy night

cruel ,cruel windy night –

cruel for sparrow’s nest:

and empty boots enjoying rest –

inside cabins fires burn ,

letters go , scares return –

kisses happen- lovers too ,

peculiar hullabaloo !

it’s windy windy -birds still fly :

naughty birds, just don’t comply

to trajectories of still-born days

birds and their birding ways !

Lo woman, if ever at all,

thy will be bird of the fall

surely then -I’ll let thee fly

blue and big ,higher than sky –

till winter takes the final call –

and windy words break the wall!

“The good Friend” – the plight of an average Indian male

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 20:32:00 +0000

WARNING: CHAUVINISTIC

(Not based on research, but what I see around me)

“I wanted to tell you something for quite some time.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I kind of … kind of… ok hang on …”

“Come on – tell me. Don’t feel so scared.”

“Well I am in love with you.”

“Ha?”

“Yes dear, I do love you.”

“Ok. But ..”

“But, what?”

“I respect your feelings but I really don’t see you in that sense. You know what I mean? You are my good friend. I care for you … but I can’t fancy a relationship with you.”

So the hammer is struck and the verdict is out. Good friend it is!

Unfortunately the conversation above is not a figment of fiction but a bitter bite of reality. The Average Indian male (AIM – let’s call him), is left with no option but to carry on as the good friend. What is ironical about being a good friend is the fact that it neither feels good nor friendly to be one. As a typical AIM with straight intents, your maneuver’s around her for day after –your comic attempts to make her smile - your patient ear for her irrational demands and off-course your explanations to dad about your increasing expenses all zero down to the bigger picture. Deep within you – friendship was just a route that you took to win her heart. Philosophers say journey matters more than destination – but if that was to be true wouldn’t we all spend a greater time of the year in trains?

It’s all gone now – and the route has transported you to a dead end – with nothing left to console you but old-monk. Oh yes – it is indeed a dead end and to make thing worse there is no way to turn back. At the end of the day reverse time travel is just another abstract concept in Physics.

Phone bills will come down. Pub bills will go up. You will spend more time with Mr. Arun Sharma’s treatise on Quantitative Abilities ( hoping to crack CAT – become a big shot in five years time and hire her as secretary). Your real “good-friends” will see more of you. All of a sudden your favorite song would be Cobain’s –Where did you sleep last night!. You would avoid the mall – the cinema hall and definitely the old paani-puri walla outside the campus.

Mark my words – the feeling that you would go through is only comparable with that of a cigarette quitter disoriented with withdrawals. Moreover , just like your cigarette quitting attempt gets foiled and marred by a sudden smoke one fine day – even this time round you carry a similar risk.

“Hello”

“Hey hi –“

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah – why?”

“Nothing?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me please- is anything wrong.”

“That’s what I want to ask you. Ever since that day you haven’t even spoken to me. “

“Oh I am so sorry – I was a bit busy studying for CAT.”

“So CAT is more important than me?”

“Oh no .Not at all”

Dot. Dot. Dot. And AIM is all set to make the next big error of his life.

To be precise (or you may say frank and rude) – AIM , would end up in deeper shit this time round. His coming back to her is louder than yelling out – “As you say ma’am – I am your good-friend … and just like the Hutch pug will stick on to you forever – till the better guy kicks me out.”

Unfortunately for AIM, SHE would never let him go- on his own. His going away is inconvenient to state the least. At the end of the day SHE allowed herself to get associated with him because of convenience. If he tried to go away – she had to be crafty to hold him back .

Convenience, if nothing else. She knew all the while what he felt about her. He is definitely not Asexual –or a hermit beyond hormones! It never skipped her eyes how hungry he was for even her slightest nods of approval. Moreover being a 21^st century woman she ‘s aware of Mr. Freud’s words. She still wanted him around – to teach her quant, to cycle her to the mall or maybe to listen to her endless rants about her room-mates.

Crafty she has to be – at-least till she finds the man of her life! The man who looks good , remembers her birthday, makes her feel special every-day , is good in quants and definitely has a bike! The man who can sing to her -“You fill up my senses –like a night in the forest.” That would definitely make others in her dorm, beige (ha?) with jealousy !

Once the knight arrives in shining armour she can easily demote AIM a step further – and gift him a new designation – acquaintance (thank you social networks for teaching the word).

But there will be time for that – for now she’s ready to adjust with AIM. A sort of makeshift accommodation with a diplomatic name –‘good friend’ !

Epilogue:

AIM –Poor AIM – walks back to where he left her last. She would be waiting there. He wants to runaway – from everything neo-platonic! He keeps walking in the direction he hates. He sees her. She sees him. They smile. “I am sorry”, says AIM. “It’s alright”, says she.

Sitting at a distance – observing the mishap – I have no option but to shake head and dedicate a short verse to AIM and his kind –

My dear dear , average Indian male –

It’s pains me a lot –every-time you fail!

Don’t dry your tongue or wag your tail

Cut the crap – this one’s gone stale!

You need some Floyd – to soothe your ears –

Leave it to others to dry her tears,

Her tears are easy – like her smile:

Breathe a bit – it’s been a while!

It’s been a while – since your throat was wet:

The guyz miss you –anyone can bet!

The guyz will never make you wait -

No more chick-flicks –aint that great ?

Realize the fact, that I tell thee –

She chucked you for some S.O.B !

Give it back –till there’s time

That’s enough- no more rhyme !

Freedom

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sat, 10 Mar 2012 06:58:00 +0000

(a poem deliberately fragmented into three parts.)

Part 1: Neil & Sana

Pink Floyd made more sense than

a two decade long relationship

with formal education leading

to a merchant office bubbling with vacuum.

It ‘s taking Neil years to figure out,

where inside the garbage heap

full of files and flies with foreign names –

did he leave Sana last.

Promising return or a ceremonious goodbye.

Yet he is searching –

Investigating every compassionate stranger;

who seemed unfamiliar

and capable of remaining so.

Investigating every poem or song

that spoke about his past

masqueraded from understanding.

Investigating every word that seemed

less strange than the rest …

every word that was Pink Floyd!

Locked in a mesh of humans , advertisements

and spam mails promising fortunes –

Sana waits imprisoned for every new day.

Fancying fairytales or a tamed coincidence,

Sana waits on – shackled and weathered –

as her eyes wet unsure;

whether it’s the smell of rain or Neil.

Part 2: Enter Anirban (The Poet)

“Chuck it, assholes!

Why complicate a simple Neil & Sana story?

Look at the love birds … happily screwing

On each other’s friend-studded walls.

Like them and fuck off to porn files

and Pink Floyd.”

Looking around for faces that seem convinced,

I noticed Neil look back at me-

Trace disappointed, trace helpless, trace tired.

I noticed many Neils look back at me,

pausing infinite searches

for the Sana that waits imprisoned

with eyes wet and Neiled.

“I am not a stranger –

I am your fucking creator”

I yelled at one that inched closer

expecting aides or maybe just an e-mail address.

He inched closer,

as a deafening reverberation

of my own words,

detached to hit me hard.

He inched closer

as a deafening reverberation

that seemed more Pink Floyd than my words

hammered merchant offices and centers of education

calling out Neils by numbers and lots.

He inched closer

as the deafening reverberation

like a beating heart knocked Sana’s breasts from inside

pleading for freedom.

He inched closer

as I felt overpowered

and silently joined their search.

Part 3: T.S. Eliot style exit of all.

We searched for Sana ,

trying hard to remember

where last the individual promises were made.

At all prisons empty of prisoners

and gates carelessly open-

we searched all stones

and searched all records that education helped us maintain.

We searched for Sana-

unsure whether smell of rain would lead to her,

alone in her cell

coming to terms with a rapid beating heart.

We discussed all night,

all information we hoped could help

till realizing at dawn :

Mistakes were our only coincidence.

The Sana Neil knew,

the Sana we knew –

the Sana I knew

was further away than ever before!

Neil ran to strangers requesting aid

We ran to strangers requesting aid

I ran to strangers requesting aid

till reverberations we heard,

familiarly absurd –

“Chuck it asshole,

why complicate a Neil & Sana story?”

Reverberations rocked hard

all the senses Neil ever knew existed.

All of them writhed,

to come out of pain.

All of us writhed

to come out of pain.

Storms knocked us through tenses of verbs,

like a ritual we fought ,

braving echoes distant yet strong :

“Chuck it assholes.”

Braving echoes that reached Sana

in the language of beating heart.

“Chuck it assholes.”

And many years slipped by

and many new echoes were born

to get etched onto heartbeats

to get etched onto each limb muscle

owned by Neil

owned by them

Owned by me.

Announcing pain like never before.

And many years slipped by

before we reached right on time.

To the bedside and the side-table

full of medicines and fruits staling,

to see Sana die.

“Chuck it ass-hole”

She said and died.

Neil walked back

through ambiguous alleys

and smells that made his life.

Neil walked back

to the merchant office,

his education fondly gifted.

Neil walked back

to the world full of assholes

and bits of Pink-Floyd,

hoping to reach freedom.

Freedom ! Freedom ! Freedom!

Oh Neil , Poor Neil- I give you Freedom.

Oh Sana, dead Sana -I give you freedom.

Oh beating heart, I give you freedom.

Oh fucking asshole , I give you freedom.

Oh echoes & reverberations , I give you freedom.

Oh dear world , I give you freedom –

be Pink Floyd.

The blackout

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 12:32:00 +0000

None spoke a word that dusk

none shrieked- out fearing arrest

none braved to sing a love song

none did, what they liked best!

Ah that evening – there was silence

beyond repair there was darkness

with all pens and keyboards confiscated

blackout evolved with threatening finesse

And as caricatures of predators roamed

to shut off lamps that dared to glow –

none questioned the deafening silence

all were gagged and kneeling low!

Lets meet again

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 19:30:00 +0000

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,”

-Allen Ginsberg (“Howl”)

One by one I saw them go ... Lost beyond repair engulfed in their personal solitudes

in a billion geographies – Unkempt and left to die amidst foreign codes and tongues.

They wanted to create a world that is easy to understand

and where storms shut windows open and tongues wag out for the sake of drying,

they carry on scribbling words advertising their obituaries.

It is funny the way their world swapped form and shape :

With thousand unmindful dictations and bogus intents –

till their shadow discolored and cannot be identified any longer.

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

He looks out from the window that is familiar,

To bid adieu to a sea unfamiliar and faces strange and provoking.

‘Never mind’ thought he, ‘the sea was never domestic!’

From deep within all the woes piercing out of his unshaven face:

he sees clear the photographs of the age begone.

And music that doesn’t sync any longer-

Keeps reminding him of faces he dared not appreciate beyond friendliness.

It would need no satanic urge to make him persist forward undeterred

where minds are pinned and clipped to the floor.

Bitan lives on waiting for funny lips to break into strange smiles.

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

From Calcutta to Bangalore all clouds that float

speeding to and fro , urged by winds and dope-

to catch some flies and some insane impulsive snapshots

kept aside to forgive the memory that forgets with ease.

Nauseating ego pulverized by momentary lapses :

catch hold of him unprepared and naked

to make him regret, the roads that go on without him!

“such roads never mattered to me …till they were gone”

Forever a prey of a never-ending ploy:

Samyamoy!

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

Suffocated to the core and drunk to madness-

Dibyodeep traces back home through complicated sinusoids.

Breaking the doors of madhouses all maniacs on the road

shadow him to his sacred insanity!

I will wait for all cars to speed on you- Dibyodeep,

I will wait for all dogs to wag you back home.

I will wait drunk and stupored in a fantasized Eden,

Till lights go off and my madness overtakes yours –

I will wait for you to come back home- Dibyodeep!

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

‘Never mind’ said he, ‘I never wanted to clear it all’

Dusted and left alone to dust out pangs of Park street woes and Jeerat fetishes,

Supratim bangs hard to words that peculiarly make sense of late.

Oh forgive him for all that is gone and tired in live-wires seeking peace,

a world is unfolding somewhere and some window keeps reminding

of confessions made of bad investments in form of pricey jewels

and misunderstandings. Forgive him for all meshes of wires gone wrong

‘cause he dreamed insane!

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

When Satpati asked the world to remember songs he cried for,

there were omens floating and distrusting faces

and toy guns fired to remind him of the suit he sported.

Too bad Satpati , the world rolls on beyond music and battered relationships.

Too bad Satpati , too much of commercial buzz in your Mumbai

Too many fake orgasms and roads battered with semen:

from men who make policies and adulterated children!

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

The sea was never his domestic-

And he was caught unprepared and naked,

too drunk to come home that night

but insanely banging hard to peculiar words making sense

in a land of fake orgasms and droplets of adulterated children!

The streets race against each other –not crossing for once!

We will meet again underneath floodlit Milan Samity

Smoking cigarettes and swallowing bitter tea

We will meet again to relive the minds we lost

and faces that matured to become unfamiliar.

We will meet again fired by evening glow

We will meet again to follow silhouettes

that drove us out of home!

We will meet again when Jaideep will talk us

through new devices and trends…

We will meet again to face Sayan’s expert photographic eye…

Undeterred by a life that spilled us apart:

when streets that race each other, bang hard.

Dear Idiot.

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 19:47:00 +0000

Dear Idiot,
Long live you…
May your daughter live in peace.
Your friends have killed the creature
Called Binayak Sen,
Throw on my face some grease …
‘cause I call you a bloody idiot.
A senseless piece of life on earth.
You and your family will be killed soon –
And your memories burnt on hearth.

You and your mother didn’t know what to do,
When Tenzin Tsundue screamed aloud.

Dear Idiot,
Is your job going fine ?
And increments happening too?

Very soon you’ll be dead and dry
And your uncle behind bars…
You’ll blame for all calamities
Mr. Ifthikar Gillani from Mars.

But Idiot,
Who will ever forgive you?
And your government that rules
They have made the country a playground,
For Ajmal Kasabs and mules.

Let them not let you go…
Safe and unhurt
Let them make you hear the song
They play when you depart.

Dear Idiot!
Are you ready to be killed?

‘No Camera, No!’

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 17:53:00 +0000

Don’t be the boulder that knocks

the flow of my dreams

slow!

It took years to build

an empire that made sense-

with unfolding garden-full of

faces – known and funny.

Don’t spoil it all.

‘No Camera, No.’

Too much locked in

droplets of fading memories-

with distorted spheroid full of

lanes and by lanes and trespassers

that was once familiar –

Don’t unlock.

When the bubbles burst-

they will be lost

underneath a meshed survival strategy,

killed by successors.

That’s simple like words

those follow one another

in a note kept aside-

unattended for ages.

That’s where my dreams and memoires

survive together.

Don’t mess .

‘No Camera, No!’

A face hidden by Adverts (translation)

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 14:34:00 +0000

This is a modest attempt by me to portray the maturity of Bengali Poetry to readers foreign to the language.

Following is a translation of the immortal poem : "Mukh dheke jay biggapone" (1984)by revered Bengali poet Sankha Ghosh. Incase you like it I believe my purpose is successful, incase you don't the fault lies solely with the translator.

Note: To maintain the rhythm of the original masterpiece I am forced to use the word advert (the Brit informal shortform)instead of advertisement.

Do comment honestly.

A Face hidden by Adverts.

Standing alone waiting for you

where the road bends, diverts.

Waiting to show my face to you-

smacked hidden by adverts.

A couple of simple exchanges

of secret glances between us

burn out bright -loudly intense-

fired by advertised ruckus!

In what light one sees another

isn’t easy to estimate.

Pardon me my native land

whatever I exaggerate.

All the glances of our eyes are sold

everything between you and me-

The neon glow is ready to sell,

A life kept safe personally.

My words for you stand alone

where the road bends, diverts.

Only that tired mask of mine-

dangle down, from the adverts.

For every one who understands Bengali , here is a recitation of the original piece by the poet himself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TMIPKvy9Dc

The Pendant

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 07:56:00 +0000

They Killed her -

because she wore a pendant

that they hated.

When her corpse dried ,

and the stench overwhelmed

all the curse

her tiny life carried ;

they debated -

whether to shift the shit elsewhere.

They hated her for the pendant she wore-

they tore it away-

while making love with the flesh

whose owner they hated.

They sold the pendant. Weighed it first.

The metal was mighty -

and the money they got

was put to use

selfless use.

Two more bells at their place of worship.

They sought blessings from god -

and a sort of permit

to convert all such pendants

to bells-

to convert all curses

to pious furniture.

To seek more blessings

they hated her pendant.

They hated her for the pendant she wore

they had nothing against her flesh-

they made love with it,

to prove the point.

They hated her-

because she didn't moan,

she bit her lips-

and clenched the pendant instead.

The pendant that they hated.

As her body dried

and the stench got denser

bells rang loud

and they passed the scene

with blessings and handkerchiefs.

There was no more Pendant

left on her to hate,

There was no more flesh

left on her to love.

Here I rest my case.

Excerpts from an unsent letter

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 07:47:00 +0000

If only I could be the dream

That mesmerizes you within-

Like the leather hanging loud

From the shoulders of a mannequin.

As we walk through rainy dusks-

Of deeds undone and dispatched woes,

Some raindrops rest against the heart

Some yesteryear’s anecdotes.

With noisy intent as pages turn-

Revealing words -hollow as life,

Somewhere somehow it can be heard-

The cries of a wanton strife!

The sacrifice of tears and smiles

Bringing together lost chagrin-

If only you could be the dream

That mesmerizes me within!

Mumbai had a Blast!

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 19:16:00 +0000

A subtle judgment of error

reverberates as terror –

and crystals of hate:

gather on every plate!

If only I could kill,

I’d surely have my fill-

and give it back aloud,

(am a face in the crowd).

With no corner left to hide,

spreading our arms wide-

we take it on our face:

a deadly embrace!

The old-men form Jury

while we burn in fury -

amazed to say the least -

being served at a devil’s feast!

Looking around for faces,

with familiar specs and braces,

we stumble on ourselves-

in a crowd of fellow elves.

Faces marred with stains,

give birth to personal pains –

and voices get dumb and still ,

( vultures have their fill!)

Familiar roads turn funny-

“I am Safe, honey.”

and million other chores-

from thousand helpless pores.

Which song to hear tonight?

To distract my selfish sight –

From words that run fast:

“Mumbai had a blast!”

Take Flight with Colors.

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 08:22:00 +0000

I must admit that this entry of mine is more of an after-thought than a genuine attempt to nail a contest. I am doing now exactly what I have been doing for years to meet assignment deadlines: Shove in my contribution at the very end and keep my fingers crossed!

Oh yes ... there is nothing genuine at all in the very concept of Me writing about Colors. It is similar to a situation whereby a deaf person writes music review for a journal! Oh don’t mistake me, I am not blind. By the grace of my manufacturer my eyes are pretty much in working condition. Logically speaking I am fully able to appreciate the power of colors. The question is whether I have ever done that.

“I remember that day I first saw you. You were looking gorgeous in your Blue outfit … Outstanding amongst all others …”

“Thanks … I will pass on the information to the person concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was wearing pink that day; my friend Priya was wearing Blue… I think you meant her while appreciating.”

If only I hadn`t mentioned Blue, my situation would have been better. As she walked away I wanted to scream aloud that I didn`t give a damn about the dress she was wearing, I was smitten by her grace and nothing else. At that moment it didn`t matter. She was Pink, her friend Priya was blue. I turned purple.

I hate colors. They make me feel dumb every alternate day.

“Anirban , why do I have to remind you always not to use Red in your presentation Layouts? Our color is Green. Our competitor’s color is Red. I expect a little more loyalty from you,” my boss screamed at me one day in such a manner that some of the onlookers fancied I was caught misappropriating public funds.

I shouldn`t be blamed for being an avid Color hater.

To be precise I don`t hate colors because they irritate my eyes. I hate colors because they create stereotypes all around me by becoming indicators of associations. I hate colors because they are so powerful.

I hate colors because I am bad with colors. Maybe it is a sin.

If a child is bad with spellings and numbers, he invites sympathy and soothing lyrics like “kho Na jaaye ye taare zameen par”. To be bad with colors is a sin that invites scorns.

“Just look at him. He is so unaesthetic.”

“Imagine I saw him wear a shocking purple shirt. Someone should remind him of his complexion.”

“Don`t tell me you haven’t heard of beige and mauve. Such a chauvinist you are.”

I feel wanton amidst million colorful associations around me. I feel helpless when a salesgirl at a apparel outlets tells me, “You should buy this shirt. The color suites your personality so well.”

I feel disturbed whenever I see two girls walk past me dressed in Pink and Blue. I try hard to remember who was wearing what once they have gone past. I fail miserably. Consequentially I hate Priya more just because she was wearing blue on a particular day.

I hate colors because they cause Apartheids of different kind. The eyes of onlookers prevent me from wearing shocking Purple. My boss would perhaps gift his wife yellow roses on their anniversary as red is the color of our competitor. His wife may-not be pleased with yellow roses as they mean something else.

Colors dictate terms. I hate to be dictated. My memory is mine. It is not a photograph of events as it is. In my memory Priya and her Friend had swapped dresses. I still would fall for Priya`s friend and not her. I would like to tell the apparel stores sales girl that even the most dull color combination would suit my personality if I had any.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Despite all my shortcomings I would take flight with colors. And yes, fly high indeed. Higher than all remote associations that human mind can think of.

Colors are powerful dictators. Why not use them to dictate some terms to the world around me? All videos and pictures that were shot in black and white and have yellowed with age- I would like to attack with a palette of infinite colors. Let them all change beyond repair, beyond all stereotypes and beyond all apartheid. Let Julius Caesar die again in the hands of his killers who are decked in million colors. Let it look as if it is a consequence of a brawl happening during Holi! Let the 12 Angry men dressed in colorful polka dotted attire come back to debate the fate of a killer. Let Rhet Butler in a rose-pink suit, tell Scarlet O’Hara … “Frankly my dear, I don`t give a damn”.

Do I give a damn? May be I do.

I am still trying to remember which girl was wearing pink and who was wearing blue. I am trying hard to select for myself a color that would make all ‘women who come in and go, talking of Michelangelo’ confess, “You look good tonight”. I want to look good to the eyes of many for whom I am ‘the man who was wearing a sky blue shirt last Saturday’.

I am the being, camouflaged behind the color I sport. I am a sinner because all around me I look for people, for faces, for expressions beyond the colors of the wrappers.

For once I would like to recolor all wrappers beyond recognition. I will then try to recognize the faces. I bet I will still distinguish Priya from her friend. My company from my competitor. Myself from the man in sky-blue shirt.

(Written for competition hosted by HP and Indiblogger.in. If you like vote for it here )

When Gary met Mahi ...

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 09:40:00 +0000

( 22 yard Love Stories)

Over a decade has passed since Mr. John Wright took a flight to India to take up a new assignment as the coach of the Indian cricket team. Meanwhile cricket in India has matured from a business to a mammoth industry. Long gone are the days when one could sit back and say, "relax it's just a game" or maybe a consolatory," it's alright, you can't win everyday!"
Today Indian cricket has multiple stakeholders ranging from bollywood stars to business tycoons. Many smaller investors are in fact secretly waiting for BCCI to come out with an IPO so that they can be a part of the billion dollar success story. With investors pouring in money the expectations for Returns is higher then ever before.
In such a situation when every single penny invested in the game is loudly seeking returns the governing body is under tremendous pressure to ensure that no hole is barred. It won't be much on an extrapolation to conclude that the decision to rope in foreign coaches was a measure to demonstrate that the game was heading to an era where Professionalism would supersede patriotism that previously drove the game.

Mr. Wright's appointment was not welcomed by all. The role of the "Indian Coach" was then seen as one that provides post-retirement employment to Indian cricketers. For obvious reasons thus Mr. Wright was seen as an intruder by many influential voices of the time.

Whatever be it, Mr. Wright may not have created history but definitely he influenced the format in which the history of Cricket in India would be documented in future.
Post John Wright's arrival in the Indian Cricketing scene a new nomenclature developed to describe eras in Indian cricket. In this new nomenclature two names were used to mark an era : that of the captain and that of the coach. Thus emerged the Sourav-Wright era, The Dravid-Chappel era and finally the Dhoni-Kirsten era. In the days of Sandip Patil, Wadekar or Chandu Borde no one could imagine such a happening! Quite logically so. Before the entry of the foreign brigade the role of the Indian coach was to assist players at the net and to cheer the team from the dressing room. Today the Indian coach has to take up multiple roles like that of the strategist, the Human resource manager, the motivational speaker and definitely the internal consultant. In other words along with the captain he is expected to lead the team from the front.
It is interesting to note that with time even the Indian masses who have forever worshipped the cricketers as demigods have realised the importance of Captain-coach chemistry as an ingredient for a team's success.
When Wright joined Sourav Ganguly , the team undoubtedly was in a bitterly battered state. Shocking match fixing allegations coupled with constant failure had made Indian cricket hit rock bottom . Sourav-Wright ably transformed a limping team to a team to reckon by making best use of their leadership qualities. It is often alleged that in the presence of Ganguly , Wright's role was heavily sidelined but it cannot be denied that Wright understood his role better than his predecessors or as a matter of fact his immediate successor.
John Wright knew well that he was not expected to teach the demi-gods in the team the art of playing the game. He knew exactly when to take up the yoke and when to let go responsibility. In contrast to John wright's accommodating leadership style , his successor Greg Chappell firmly believed that strong leaders had to be authoritative. Chappell's leadership style could had worked wonders in some other organisation but definitely it wasn't remotely suited for the Indian cricket team. It invited resistance from quite a few in the team including the highly vocal captain Ganguly. I am not sure whether the Chappell-Ganguly feud was the first of it's kind, but surely Chappell was the first coach to bring to an end the career of an Indian captain.

After Ganguly's departure Rahul Dravid was ceremoniously given the responsibility to lead the team and thus began the Dravid-Chappell era. Rahul Dravid was definitely not the best candidate at time to do justice to the role but fitted the bill perfectly for coach Chappell . Dravid voluntarily submitted to the aura of Chappell and enabled him to become the soul authority in the team. In the Dravid-Chappell era for the first time ever in India , the Cricket team was being driven by the whims and fancies of the coach. None of the demi-gods in the team dared to speak out against Chappell as they were all aware of the fate of their former captain.

Post 2007 world cup Chappell was sacked from his job and Indian cricket entered yet another phase of intense uncertainty. Coach Chappell's methods had made the players severely low on confidence and moreover the fans had also began losing hope on the team they previously worshipped.

But then the legendary phoenix rises from it's ashes. From within the ruins of the team emerged a new leader in the form of Mahindra Singh Dhoni. A highly aggressive batsman and an agile wicket -keeper, Dhoni, very soon justified why he was made the captain even in the presence of senior players in the team. Under Dhoni Indian cricket team regained the self-confidence that was murdered by Chappell with surgical precision.

In late 2007, when Indian Cricket team was just about faring well with Mahi at the helm, it was decided to rope in another foreign coach. This time it was Gary Kirsten. The whole nation seemed paranoid about Kirsten's selection as they were well aware of the negatives of a misfit coach. Kirsten himself was unsure about how well he would be accepted in the Indian cricket team (then led by two captains one being Dhoni and the other being Anil Kumble).

Gary Kirsten was well aware of Chappell's fate and Wright's following in India. He decided to spend time with the team during a test series before formally taking up the role of Indian Coach.

It was then when Gary met Mahi and a new love-story unfolded. The third angle to the story , India`s test Captain Anil Kumble departed soon by retiring from all forms of International cricket in November 2008. Kumble's retirement kick-started the full-fledged Mahi-Gary era.

Gary Kirsten proved that he had educated himself well and was more than prepared to take up responsibility. Coach Gary concentrated on building rapports with individual players. He was definitely more candid than Chappell and more effective than Wright.

The Mahi-Gary chemistry worked wonders for the team. Not only was the team performing unexpectedly well on-field but even off-field players went ga-ga about the leadership. The love story continued to drive the team through all sorts of hurdles en route to taking it to the pinnacle at the ICC World Cup 2011. Such was the magic of the leadership that it was applauded and appreciated by the God himself (sometimes referred to as Sachin Tendulkar).

Gary Kirsten bid adieu after India's historic world-cup victory. Unlike Chappell who had to depart with a bitter note , Gary retired with the good-wishes and support of a billion strong population.

The bottom line is that the role of the Indian Coach can no longer be carried out by someone who is an amateur by attitude. Gone are the days when the Indian coach was more of a sideline figure. The billion strong population that has made cricket in India an Industry today, expects much more from the coach. The Indian Coach is now a public figure by himself and not just a company to the captain at press conferences. To survive he has to perform just like the playing eleven has to. The Billion strong fan following is no longer satisfied by good performances, they want nothing less than winning performances. The question that can't be avoided right is whether Duncan Fletcher the right candidate to take the story forward from here. Not just me, but a billion others are impatiently waiting.

Keep it Simple, Sirjee!

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 15:45:00 +0000

(A take on present day telecom advertising in post MNP India)

Till about a year ago telecom advertisements in India didn’t have much to talk about.

Most of the advertisements revolved around incomprehensible value added services and tariff plans that made customers wonder: where’s the catch? Moreover, companies were trying hard to create characters and trying harder to make these characters household names. For these companies it would have definitely been a dream come true had some updated couple nick-named their kid “zoozoo” or if some localities began calling influential residents : Sirjee! Did it really happen? You tell me.

Then came the necessity. Necessity still continues to be the mother of invention. In an attempt to make mobile service more Indian-customer friendly TRAI introduced mobile number portability (MNP). It allowed customers to switch operators without changing numbers. All of a sudden the telecom service providers began to feel that their respective empires were mere packs of cards! It brought them face to face with some sort of a reality check: Is my customer loyal to me, or is he just loyal to his number?

They looked around them seeking answers only to realize that even without MNP customers churned off with glee. Brand loyalty in the sector was indeed very low. The so called high-profit long-term “Super users” had stuck on with their respective operators only because changing mobile number was not a viable option for them.

It didn’t take the highly qualified business managers of Telecom industry much time to realize that MNP would undoubtedly make the sector a fiercer battle field. They were all forced to go to war without really knowing which weapons might save their day. However, all these managers from a very early age had participated in structured mock GDs on topics such as: When life throws lemons at you, squeeze and make lemonade for yourself! They sat down together to discuss the same topic in a group yet again. However, this time it was far from being mock!

We all got to see the output of the discussions soon after. The advertisements pertaining to MNP might have different story-boards but surely a common theme. It is clear that no company is eager to protect their own barracks but instead they prefer to launch full scale attack on all others.

MNP changed the very nature of attack too. Earlier the attack was mostly on tariff or in other words the war was just another price-war. Post MNP the war involves attack on each others products, services, distribution, promotions and of-course price. Traditionally advertising is used by firms to prove the superiority of ones offerings. The Indian telecom companies are now more interested to prove the inferiority of their respective competitors. This of-course is not that difficult a task. Even in our personal lives isn’t it easier to point fingers than to rectify oneself? And oh yes… it works wonders too! It makes the customers smile and say: I too thought so.

While pointing fingers it is not so important to clarify whether you are yourself a similar sinner. If you keep pointing out that all others in your industry own pathetic networks you are likely to attract some sympathy votes as freebies from customers. Even if your network is the worst you might get some blessings such as: At-least this one is honest and on the face! No Idea about what I am talking about? My advice to you would be: Get Idea!

Earlier Idea advertisements hovered around associating the brand with socio-patriotic causes to such an extent that many started wondering whether they had poached the brand manager of Tata tea. They tried hard to force down our throats a certain Sirjee and were lucky enough not to face some sort of a PIL. The Idea Sirjee tried a lot of things starting from using mobile phones to spread education to using the handsets to garner the voice of people. He even went to the extent of posing as the bark of a tree in one of the ads. Post MNP, Idea went to war with a basket full of new ads that had everything novel other than the brand ambassador. However the brand-ambassador was no more “Sirjee” -the social opinion leader. This time his role was that of another face in the crowd who eagerly small-talks with distressed telecom customers. In the new idea ads the customers were distressed mostly due to mobile network problems… So it was loud and clear to others that Idea would attack the short-comings of their network more than anything else.

It is interesting to note what DOCOMO is upto when it comes to post MNP advertising. It decided to play with the consumer psyche at a much more sublime level. Unlike Idea it abstained from attacking any tangible aspect of its competitor’s offerings. Its attack very blatantly was on the complications that have historically been laced with telecom offerings. When it comes to humor DOCOMO undoubtedly beats Idea. Moreover their use of “stand-up-comedy” also is coherent with their butter-knife attack philosophy. DOCOMO was perhaps the first ones to use comparative advertising in the Indian Telecom industry when they attacked all existing tariff plans by introducing per-second billing. Even then their communication theme was to attack existing complications. DOCOMO thus has gone for the post MNP war without changing much it’s positioning. Its not that Idea didn’t try to do the same! During the Cricket world cup they did come out with a series of advertisements that were themed on “Keep Cricket Clean”. It was an attempt to punch their traditional “Socially concerned” positioning with their newly acquired attack philosophy. I personally don’t think it worked much. I over-heard quite a few say: What the F***, where`s the telecom? On a lighter note, DOCOMO somehow proves here that practice makes a man perfect !

(Of the records, I have some sort of a gut feeling that DOCOMO is somehow playing the role of a suicide bomber in the Industry. It`s per-second-billing earlier had made the industry profitability hit rock bottom. Till date its persistent attack on complications is somehow causing irreparable damage to the industry as a whole. Can’t be denied that with profits lowering all that telecom company’s had for earning their bread was the complications … )

With Idea and DOCOMO fighting hard in the battlefield how could Virgin sit idle at home? It thus didn’t take much time to come out in the open with its Salt & Pepper advertisements. Virgin adopted the theme of “time to break-up” for its new line of advertisements. I must say that its haatke concept of comparing one’s relationship with his mobile operator with that shared by two troubled lovers did strike a cord … but only on Youtube! The virgin ads do deserve critical acclaim for being micro masterpieces but it is still to be seen how much they would help the company’s market-share. Even paying the customer for receiving incoming calls couldn’t help them much earlier.

Before I wind up this rather unexpectedly long post I would like to present the war strategy of the two big brothers of the Indian Mobile Telecom Industry : Vodafone & Airtel. These two were undoubtedly different from the pack when it came to post MNP war. Precisely they preferred protecting their own empires rather than pelting their neighbors. While others tried to woo customers with comic timing and small-talk, the big 2 preferred relying on the brand equity that they already possessed. No wonder their post MNP ads spoke of class more than anything else. Vodafone`s caption : “everybody is welcome without changing their number” is undoubtedly the simplest yet most effective take on MNP. Airtel too abstained from excessive competitor bashing and kept things simple by portraying what they were more than anything else. The question is why so?

The answer is written in the pages of www.coai.com (a site that gives in details subscriber figures of all the Indian telecom companies). Even in a highly competitive and fragmented market the big two enjoy a market share of 60% between themselves. On the other hand others are struggling hard to retain each percent of their market shares. For the big 2 MNP comes with not much new opportunity if they don’t aspire for unrealistic market share. For the others it is a severe opportunity. It gives them a chance to have a peck at the highly profitable first generation mobile phone users who have minted money for the big2 for ages. A senior manager in an upcoming Telecom had once told me off the records (few months before the introduction of MNP) that his company never really saw MNP as a threat. On a lighter note he said: “You can only be insecure when you have something to lose. For us it’s a chance made in heaven.”

Whatever be it, all companies must agree that amidst all this war and bloodshed, the Indian customer will have the last laugh. They will decide the final victor in this business war. So more than anything else it’s important to keep them happily in the loop. So keep things simple. In the language that you understand one last advice: “Keep it Simple Sirjee!”

What HUL can but IIPM can`t!

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 07:28:00 +0000

(A few marketing lessons for IIPM)

Many of my friends from esteemed B-schools consider IIPM to be a four letter word. I would beg to differ. I consider them to be just another institution imparting Business education to students. Just like IIMs do or my alma mater Symbiosis does. There is nothing wrong in it at all!

However the question is what makes thousands of people make nasty faces and utter expletives at the very mention of the name IIPM? Is it just because they make tall claims about being what they are not or is the reason much more deep-seated? Let`s try and figure out.

I somehow believe that IIPM has not just dug its own grave but has also ensured that the grave is cemented once the burial is over. Mind it, the reason is not because of placement figures or anything in those lines. It is a simple case of a marketing mishap!

I really don`t know what marketing curriculum is followed in IIPM. Whatever be it, one thing is for sure that they are not practising what they are supposed to be preaching. They seem to have assumed that Marketing and Promoting are synonymous. Nothing can be more follied than that. Important steps in marketing strategy design such as segmenting, targeting & positioning seems to have been totally kept aside. Ironically they have also missed out on application of the 4P`s concept even though “4Ps” happen to be the name of one of their publications.

Before I progress further with my analysis allow me to present a fictitious scenario. What if you wake up one morning, reach out for the morning newspaper and come face to face with a full page advert of Tata Nano? Will you utter expletives? Probably, not. Now consider a funnier situation. You notice that the tagline of Tata Nano is : ‘Dare to replace your BMW?’

Will you be able to restrain yourself from uttering expletives? Probably, not.

So what exactly is the source of all irritation in the above case? Definitely none of us have anything against the car called NANO. Just like we are at peace with the detergent called Nirma, the soap called Hamam or the shampoo called chic! I mean why should we complain as long as we are deriving value from products?

Now it is obvious that IIPM is not the worst B-school in the country. There are so many other B-schools that are faring even worse than IIPM. Although we may not hold such B-schools with great regard but we surely don`t use their names as intellectual swear words. With IIPM the case is slightly different. Not only is the name now hated intently across the nation but also the name has become synonymous with fraudulent practices! All so for keeping out essential steps in Marketing Strategy design.

Had IIPM adopted a conventional approach to arrive at their marketing strategy they would have never swallowed burning coal. Let`s begin with segmentation and targeting.

In the case of IIPM the overall market is the population of B-school aspirants. All aspirants are unique in terms of several variables like background, intellect, ambitions etc. It is sinful to assume that all of them are birds of the same feather. Perhaps IIPM thought so. They considered all B-school aspirants to be crazy about a seat in the IIMs and settle for nothing lesser. Had that been the case would be have B-school`s mushrooming across the country? A typical B-school aspirant is a 20 something fellow who has already gone through over 15 years of formal education. Such a fellow has some idea about his strengths as well as his limitations. Many of them consider IIMs as a fairyland beyond reach. These people readily accept deals that are far inferior to an IIM admit.

Had IIPM done the segmentation right they would have realised that quite a few segments of students might be interested in their value proposition. Instead IIPM decided to go for a full market attack strategy and targeted the entire population of students. The situation is very similar to the one where Tata Nano targets all potential car buyers (including the BMW customer). Such a strategy might work for a firm that trades in commodities but definitely is suicidal for a B-school.

Now let`s move on to the question of positioning. Here IIPM`s very tagline (” Dare to think beyond IIMs/IITs”) says it all! The IIPM thintank must have fancied creating a separate axis in the mental map of B-school aspirants. However the very usage of names of the likes of IIMs and IITs made their strategy fall flat. A layman after reading the tagline would assume that IIPM claims to hold a position on the same axis as that of these institutes of repute. Such is the trouble of comparative advertising. You have to be sure about the competitor with whom you are comparing yourself. In this case IIPM was totally unsure about the value proposition of IITs/IIMs. They assumed that the only point where they were required to match their competitors was on placement figures. Now I will not get into comparing the placement statistics of IIPM with that of IITs and IIMs as that has already been done time and again by zillions of bloggers across the world and nothing more is left to be said on that front. The fact remains that IIPM never really tried to fight out IIMs by arranging exceptional placements for their outgoing students but instead they got themselves rated high on fictitious rankings. So far, so good. Had IIMs just been glorified employment exchanges many more would have fallen for IIPM`s glossy claims. The truth is a bit different.

IIPM failed to realise that one important component of IIM`s value proposition was its exclusivity. An IIM grad has high regards in the industry because of his business knowledge and also because of the fact that no ordinary Johny can bag a seat in his institute. When IIPM began to wage a war against IIMs did they at all work towards making themselves exclusive? They appointed telemarketers to cold call students, their selection procedure had no rigour involved and they began operating in almost thirty branches. In simple words an IIPM admit was an easily available option. This by itself dilutes their entire value proposition.

IIPM also got it wrong when it comes to the application of 4Ps of marketing: Product, Price, Place and Promotion. Consequentially they became a weak product at an inappropriate price-point sold through improper channels! IIPM`s product strategy is a classic case of marketing myopia. The key highlights of its offering emphasise on free laptop and a Europe trip. These are perhaps the last things that a student is looking for in a B-school.

If you remember correctly , years ago Kodak introduced cheap cameras which they tried selling through kirana outlets and failed. The reason was that a kirana outlet visitor has come there to buy groceries and not a cam. Similarly, telemarketing is dangerous for a B-school that compares itself with IIMs in advertisements. It is nothing less than selecting an improper marketing channel.

When it comes to Promotion IIPM undoubtedly surpasses all others in its league. Its promo budget could well be comparable to those of FMCG giants. However, Promotion activities which helps FMCG giants sell their products has made IIPM some sort of a swear word. Promotion is helpful only when all other steps are in place. Roping in a silver-screen celebrity might be a good option for an FMCG player but is not worthwhile for selling something like Business education. I might take an actors word when it comes to selecting a fairness cream but I definitely won`t take his advice while choosing a B-school.

IIPM brings us face to face with the importance of aligning a firm`s marketing strategy with the uniqueness of the business that the firm is in. It is perhaps impossible to sell Business education in a method similar to selling a soap. What might be magical for HUL could well be poisonous for IIPM.

It would be interesting to observe IIPM`s future marketing activities. If they are not waging a ego-war soon enough we might observe intense repositioning happening. The repositioning might not make them a better B-school but would definitely save them from becoming a permanent intellectual swear word.

Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 09:18:00 +0000

Let’s face it now.
When some revolutions later,
we sit down
to settle all bills –
there will be nothing left to say!

Nothing at all to ask each other.
No testimony remaining,
mystique enough
to hide with pride-
“How much do I have to pay?”

It`s all there on the walls.
Etched and scribbled,
with time-less ink
to remain forever –
spooning anonymity out of the way!

We will recognize each other.
Even though our faces,
slapped by time
have changed beyond repair-
“You were looking good last Saturday!”

We will refrain from all inquiry.
It will be all known,
with thousand perspectives
and approvals of adoration-
The status of our ordinary days.

Let’s face it now.
Nothing remains to amuse us,
or confuse any subtle sense
and so when we meet again
Nothing will be left to say!

Suggestions ...

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 09:17:00 +0000

Never mind what’s right what’s wrong...
As long as you are a part of a song.
And like I claimed all along...
It makes sense to ding and dong.

As you grow old, as you go white
As you imagine blinding light,
Amidst the wrecks of a night –
Broken bottles and a torn kite.

Once and for all call it a day,
Buy a drink and forget to pay...
Before its late lose your way,
Before its late- learn to play.

Coming of Age

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sat, 19 Mar 2011 12:36:00 +0000

Talking, talking – all the while,
She and me, we walked a mile.
A little closer, to somewhere unknown –
Like aimless feathers riding the blown!

Over the years, we locked our lives:
Imprisoned safe, in our own hives.
From morning tea to midnight snack
Leaving no space for a perilous crack!

All voices that made the world so damned
All ethics and styles that we faithfully crammed
All eyes that accounted every breath and sigh-
It’s time to forego – before evening s die.

Locking ourselves in our comfort zones
Bringing closer our funny bones
We walk on slow for our steps to match
Reading all stories, those wait to hatch.

Talking, talking – about our lives,
Bout husbands, children, friends and wives –
Bout glasses of wines and cigarette smoke
And the discontent that made us choke!

One last time – all cars that stand,
(Like birds of prey locked in the sand)
Bid adieu, to the shadows that stray
Down broken roads to faraway!

Swallowing a Promise

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Fri, 24 Dec 2010 08:05:00 +0000

its tough.

takes time and

an immense amount of water...

to shove it all in,

its painful,

and chokes with determination

and reminds you of your tonsils

embedded deep within.

SecC

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 10:16:00 +0000

( The inside story of the section C guys)
NAME: Deepak
IN A NUTSHELL: Package of confusion. Hardcore fun lover. Fantasizes after drinks.
MOST LIKELY TO: Appreciate Rajnikant
LEAST LIKELY TO: Refuse a Drink

NAME: Balaji
IN A NUTSHELL: singer & swinger. Has the loudest voice on the floor. Drinks responsibly. Florence Nightangle for his drunk allies. Future face of the premium cosmetics industry.
MOST LIKELY TO: Fall in Love
LEAST LIKELY TO: Turn homosexual

NAME: Amit
IN A NUTSHELL: Personality Defined. Respected by all. Talks sense and finance most of the time.
MOST LIKELY TO: Discuss company valuation with JD.
LEAST LIKELY TO: take a beer bath

NAME: Pilot
IN A NUTSHELL: Speaks soft and flies high...
MOST LIKELY TO: Be on the Phone
LEAST LIKELY TO: look depressed

NAME: Lala
IN A NUTSHELL: cool and chubby. Yet to reach the legal age for alcohol consumption. Hence, consumes ice-tea all day long.
MOST LIKELY TO: Motivate diaper Sellers.
LEAST LIKELY TO: run out of ice tea

NAME: Adish Anna
IN A NUTSHELL: Stick. Conducts focussed group discussions with drunkards. Yet to decide on his specialisation and orientation
MOST LIKELY TO: Rape and get raped
LEAST LIKELY TO: grow a beard

NAME: Ajju
IN A NUTSHELL: very angry young man. Moralist. Idealist. No nonsense fellow.
MOST LIKELY TO: 1. Download songs 2. Scold
LEAST LIKELY TO: get drunk and sloshed.

NAME: Lohia
IN A NUTSHELL: joined the college as (0.5)*CA. Has matured to become (0.75)*CA. By 2011 aspires to become 1*(CA) + 1* (MBA).
MOST LIKELY TO: Explain finance to his buddies.
LEAST LIKELY TO: pierce his tongue

NAME: Guru
IN A NUTSHELL: loves Shimoga . secretly(!) admires his classmate. Dresses minimal. Has found a soulmate in Naren
MOST LIKELY TO: talk out of context. Write on doors.
LEAST LIKELY TO: become the HR manager of a company.

NAME: Neil
IN A NUTSHELL: Ulfa. Listens to music. Appreciates women. Undresses in front of cam
MOST LIKELY TO: Sing a love song
LEAST LIKELY TO: sell his bike

NAME: Hisham
IN A NUTSHELL: Master of all trades – movie making, love and comedy. Loves volunteering. Also loves his roommates
MOST LIKELY TO: motivate his pals
LEAST LIKELY TO: study for a B-Quiz

NAME: Alloysius (special guest)
IN A NUTSHELL: the sophisticated singer. Shakespeare of the batch. Loved by women
MOST LIKELY TO: rock the show
LEAST LIKELY TO: go for a drink with Mithu.

NAME: Sameer
IN A NUTSHELL: soft spoken. Smiling. Lover.
MOST LIKELY TO: get snapped with booze and cig
LEAST LIKELY TO: miss out on a photo shoot

NAME: Naren
IN A NUTSHELL: too huge to fit in a nutshell. Loves H5 and Hyderabad. Active inside gym , inactive everywhere else.
MOST LIKELY TO: sleep under the stars after a party
LEAST LIKELY TO: turn veggie.

NAME: Navraj
IN A NUTSHELL: the most eligible bachelor of the batch. Respected by all including Subbu.
MOST LIKELY TO: read for the sake of knowledge
LEAST LIKELY TO: dance bhangra

NAME: Ganesh
IN A NUTSHELL:
MOST LIKELY TO: study
LEAST LIKELY TO: not study

NAME: Mathur (special Appearance)
IN A NUTSHELL: can compete with Pilot in the art of flying high. Sleeps during day. Nowadays even sleeps during night.
MOST LIKELY TO: hallucinate
LEAST LIKELY TO: care about 75% attendance.

NAME: Deoras
IN A NUTSHELL: HUL poster boy. The proverbial good guy. Sarcy to some extent. Intellectual.
MOST LIKELY TO: Go on long walks.
LEAST LIKELY TO: not support MI in IPL

NAME: Anant
IN A NUTSHELL: present big brother of the batch. Balances time between work and play. Baaaaaas.
MOST LIKELY TO: stay chilled out.
LEAST LIKELY TO: spend a day without gaali.

NAME: Jatiya
IN A NUTSHELL: proverbial chutiya
MOST LIKELY TO: gossip
LEAST LIKELY TO: make sense

NAME: Shukla
IN A NUTSHELL: mimic. Comedian. actor. heart-throb of the opposite gender. Hogs limelight in all chat sessions
MOST LIKELY TO: keep the show going
LEAST LIKELY TO: bore people

NAME: Ballu
IN A NUTSHELL: slow. Very slow. Very very slow. Master Pfaffer . very active after midnight.
MOST LIKELY TO: pfaff.
LEAST LIKELY TO: participate in a long jump competition

NAME: Nikhil
IN A NUTSHELL: intellectual. Calm. Gets emotional after drinks. Has connections in most states. Mallu by birth , bong at heart and gujju by... (lets avoid controversy)
MOST LIKELY TO: read blogs like “ Pleasure of being a woman” or “what women want”
LEAST LIKELY TO: stay up all night.

NAME: Sheikh
IN A NUTSHELL: white and plump. Lives life sheikh style. Does monthly shopping in Mumbai. Doesn’t give a damn about most things.
MOST LIKELY TO: lie down with his laptop
LEAST LIKELY TO: write a love poem

NAME: JD
IN A NUTSHELL: = f(finance,desserts,passion,debating)
MOST LIKELY TO: contest elections
LEAST LIKELY TO: see the sun rise in Hinjewadi

NAME: Manish
IN A NUTSHELL: mysterious
MOST LIKELY TO: stay absconding
LEAST LIKELY TO: go on a date with JD

NAME: Jin
IN A NUTSHELL: tech savvy. Reads his fill. Can fall asleep anywhere
MOST LIKELY TO: start a library
LEAST LIKELY TO: survive without electricity

NAME: Chandaks
IN A NUTSHELL: no-nonsense fellow. Loves the comfort of being surrounded by books.
MOST LIKELY TO: Discuss Financial statement analysis with his date.
LEAST LIKELY TO: have lunch/dinner in D-hostel Mess.

NAME: Kolhe
IN A NUTSHELL: Initiative taker. CR. Appreciator of women.
MOST LIKELY TO: write a self help book
LEAST LIKELY TO: observe maunvrat

NAME: Tushar
IN A NUTSHELL: chocolate hero. Genius. Epitome of seriousness
MOST LIKELY TO: becoming the next big thing in the world of operations.
LEAST LIKELY TO: murder.

NAME: Bhargav
IN A NUTSHELL: owns one of Pune`s largest movie libraries. Drinks in peace. Has a special fan following known as “angels”
MOST LIKELY TO: watch a movie
LEAST LIKELY TO: gossip

NAME: Bala
IN A NUTSHELL: Bangali by definition. Enthusiastic drinker. More enthusiastic in mugging. Chills out in the gym.
MOST LIKELY TO: bunk classes and visit the gym
LEAST LIKELY TO: become a Hindi writer.

NAME: Sid
IN A NUTSHELL: Playboy.
MOST LIKELY TO: have an affair
LEAST LIKELY TO: stay single

NAME: Chetan (Special Appearance)
IN A NUTSHELL: six sigma certified. Master in statistics (both non- vital and vital)
MOST LIKELY TO: give Balaji competition in a particular art
LEAST LIKELY TO: collect funds for “shapath”

NAME: Nihal (Special Appearance)
IN A NUTSHELL: the big man. Mr. Dependable. Thinking woman`s sex symbol
MOST LIKELY TO: talk less
LEAST LIKELY TO: become a RJ

Lucy in the sky wid Diamonds!

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 10:17:00 +0000

Some Peculiar Allegations

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 10:10:00 +0000

Had I been your child, would you let me go wild,
Wouldn’t you teach me to be sober and mild?
Wouldn`t you tell me what’s wrong, what’s right-
When I stood ready to head for the fight?
You taught me to curse you taught me to hate
You better be sorry before it’s late!

I have been growing amidst all the ashes...
Of broken promises- torn eyelashes!
You taught me to smile when I should`ve cried
You told me to love shadows that sighed...
You taught me to suffer, you taught me to wait
You better be sorry before it’s late!

Had you let me, I would whither in peace
Wouldn’t take the trouble of being a disease
I would have believed everyone is right
Everybody someday would see the light,
You taught me to judge, you taught me to rate...
You better be sorry before it’s late

Btech MBA

noreply@blogger.com (anirban...) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 18:52:00 +0000

Come April 2011 and I will be a Btech MBA. For those who are unaware of what a Btech, MBA means let me explain.
In very simple words:
Btech: The only graduation degree that helps an “ordinary intellect guy” earn a living.
MBA: The only post graduation degree that helps an “ordinary intellect Btech” earn a fortune.
Now, dear ignorant reader I hope you are aware of the implication of me becoming a Btech, MBA!
Whether Btech and MBA at all has a connect or whether being a Btech helps an MBA are totally different debates altogether which I belief are beyond my intellect to analyse. For the time being I am enjoying my transformation.
During my Btech days I used to hate the system. I hated whatever was taught in class. I hated my subjects. I hated my teachers. Above all I hated the fact that whatever I was learning was actually doing no value addition.
Consequentially, I adopted habits and developed point of views which no “self-help” book would ever recommend. However amidst all these ruckus and degenerations I took one correct and accurate decision: My decision to do an MBA! It wasn`t a path breaking decision. At some level it was inevitable.
I really don’t know what the role of an MBA is. I guess he is somewhat like blue jeans. He can fit in any closet across the world! You can use him any way you like ...You can get him cheap without a label or may spend a little bit more to get a branded variety. Unfortunately, I am still unsure whether I am cheap or branded. However, one thing is for sure: I will be useful!
It gives me immense pleasure to fancy that two years down the line I will actually be useful.
At least, more useful than I would have been without being a Btech MBA.
To be truthful even today I really don’t think that I have experienced value addition in the true sense. But, as I have already mentioned I am numbed by a sense of belonging!
As time will pass more and more Btech MBAs like me would flood the system. At some level they all talk alike and work alike. Common eyes cannot distinguish between them just like they can’t distinguish between different labels of jeans by just looking at the fabric.
Government loves this breed of Btech MBAs and shower them with benefits. They will never betray the trust of the authorities or prove to be a nuisance. Even when they bulge in numbers they will never become a force to reckon!
So for the internal safety of the nation it’s important to convert more and more mid-intellect wannabes to full-fledged Btech MBAs.
I guess the government is listening and thus so many more IITs and IIMs!