Dark Secrets and Forbidden Words.

Okay, so there have been a lot of troubling developments over the past week but I would like to write about the most distressing one. Writing about my fears is the last (many times the only) trick in my survivors' handbook.

In classes, and on the bus-stop, in a corporate presentation or right after, while running on the track (okay, running to school) or gulping my food - basically practically everywhere I go or everything that I do - I have started to feel the presence of a snoopy something right behind.

Something's been stalking me and the faster I run, the swifter it gets. No really, it does, I've tried.

Wherever I go, it follows. Except that its not the cute hutch doggie but a huge, scary bull-dog that's designed to scare the living daylights out of me. It doesn't bother anyone else you see, it's a nice well-behaved dog for the other pedestrians, the ones they pet and smile at, the one they wish they had.

But inside its screaming, barking, and cursing - spewing nastiness right into mind. It blocks my thoughts, and cuts my veins, it numbs my moves and freezes reflex. My hands start to tremble, my mind starts to wander, my heart is pounding, I struggle to mutter. Thick beads of sweat start surfacing on my forehead (they've been conniving with the bull dog) and they start converging along temples form thicker, more prominent signals of my weakness. I start to stutter and try to recollect my name.
"Who am I, what is all this even about, urgh", I think. A third voice in my mind now takes charge, "This is NOT the time for philosophy, idiot", it starts another bloodcurdling scream. As three conflicting, angry, and obviously fuming voices fight for airspace, the confusion inside my head starts to surface in wrinkles now. The sweat finds more challenging trajectory to start sloping downwards. Aha, and now its starting to smell as well. Incredible, what can get worse. I bring sweaty palms forward to shake hands and hope they're not leaving an impression (literally).
Hope, that's what keeps me alive as the screaming gets louder, the sweat gets dirtier and my trembling hands now graduate to shaky legs. Isn't the room too stuffy, or are the windows closed. There isn't enough oxygen here, I try to stop the screaming as my wobbly legs turn rubber and my mind start to phase out. I am falling or fainting or losing consciousness or I think.

I pass out. The dog's tail is wagging, right behind me.

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Uncomfortable.
That's the one word that describes networking. I simply do not know how this works, despite numerous sessions, 'practical' advice, a long list to-dos, do-not's and keep-in-mind's. This does not come naturally to me and I am tethering on balancing rope hoping that I am doing the right thing. Hoping that they don't hate me. Hoping that I'm not cutting the chances of landing a job of the very limited options that I have here. Okay, I'm just a little anxious. But I still hate networking. Shh, don't say that loud. The snoopy something follows if you call out.

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PS. For the uninitiated, networking is a socio-academic activity which involves casual conversation with prospective employers. B-school grads ask relevant questions, create an impact, to try and land an interview call. The fear of messing up is so high that it makes the whole activity something of a nightmare. Fingers crossed. And that's really not the point, I think. I'd just like to know people for fun. But anyway, what I think doesn't matter and fun is definitely not on the agenda.

Blitz-burgh, Thoughts and Basecamp

So, this is my first time here in the States and the following are my quick observations about the city, its people and the whats in store ahead. Business school seems like its going to get tough. Our Dean said that once classes start we'll be at least one month behind after wading through the first week. Urgh, I'm not sure I'd like that feeling.

Anyway, here I am happily typing away, waiting for (read terrified of) the high tide.

1. Shut up and Run: 

Running, if not a neurotic overuse of thyroid glands, is very much an anytime obsession here. I mean, you could wake in the middle of the night, say 2AM, or jump right out of a meeting at 12 Noon on a business day to spot people quietly running on the road like burning calories on the running track is their full time job description. Talk about a one-track mind. Not that tracking them is any of my business, but I just like to keep my eyes open to contrast.

2. Chees-y and Loving it:

By Indian standards, I am a cheese lover. I like cheese on my bread, I enjoy pizza with a cheese base and toppings, and I like cheese tomato sabzi. But W.O.A.H, I learnt the real meaning of a cheese sandwich when I saw a few broccoli, lettuce, and two pieces of tomato gasping for air like inexperienced swimmers in a sea of cheese. Not just one type of cheese, mind you, but 15 thick layers of 3 different mozzarella, pepperjack and parmesan. Cheese is no joke here, they like their food cheesy and they like to see it dripping.

I think Indians easily spend about 3 times the amount of time as compared to Americans on contemplating, preparing, eating and digesting their food.

Though I'm really not sure which approach works out better, maybe something on the middle path?

3. Self-Service or No-Service: 

Though my parents don't really (thankfully) support the servants-culture, I come from a land where there are always other people to do your work. It could be any work - from washing your dishes, to preparing your food, to parking your car to getting a photocopy, you can always pay someone peanuts and get it done with. Though there is nothing wrong with the concept per se, (it gives someone poor a livelihood, after all), I think that psychologically it instills a sense of superiority in the payer, which over time matures into the illusion of power. 

But service is so expensive here, that one would rather move their own muscles.

And although I've been running around looking for instructions on how-to-do stuff that comes almost intuitively to the natives ("just put in your username and password to get the print-out, duh"), I like that.

DIY

I guess that this do-it-yourself culture helps to develop a sense of appreciation for every job (any job) and a mutual respect for everyone irrespective of who they are or what they do. So the 'janta-hai-mera-baap-kaun-hai' attitude does not surface, no-one is a king by birth. They've got to work their way up. 

As a corollary, people do not pollute the streets or spit on the footpath or throw trash on the road, simply because they have picked up their own garbage at home and know what happens if they litter.

No, this does not mean that US is bias free: I have seen impolite people, rude by-passers (interestingly enough, it was right when I entered the airport), the polluted Michigan lake (my first two days in the States), cigarette butts in no-smoking zones, thick black smoking vehicles polluting the whole world with them and more. It simply means that the incidence of such incidents is less, and more specifically, this is not the norm.

4. A picture is worth a thousand words: 

I found this house number very close to the street on which I live, and just had to take a picture. Americans really have their own sense of humor.

House Number 5218.5

5. Miles to go before I sleep

Everyone here has work to do. An errand to run, a task to complete, a scheduled run (!) perhaps, and food is the least of everyone's priorities. They'd rather just "grab a sandwich" or "pick up a (cheesy) pizza" and be done with it. Ah, they need to visit my laid back city in India.

The famous slant structure at CMU cuts right through the sky

So here I am in the middle of Tepper Basecamp - this is an orientation of sorts, which has preliminary maths classes, an introduction to the various MBA specializations, internship talk, resume reviews and the forbidden N-word*. Spirits are quite high in our batch (both literally and figuratively) and we all are practically at somebody's place or at Walnut Street or in the middle of the road, every other evening, chatting each other up. The batch is quite diverse and there is loads to talk about. Very soon Basecamp will be over, though and scaling Mount Tepper in harsh Pittsburgh winter will begin, hmm.

*In case you haven't guessed it yet, it's also the subject of my next post, so please wait up :)

Last Day at ZS!

This is a small poem which I dedicated to my workplace, ZS Associates, New Delhi on my last day of work. 
Most of the jokes here are ZS internal, but I can provide a little context (starred) as we go along. 2.5 exciting years of my life have been spent here and ZS has been my first impression for a lot of corporate jargons, management techniques and consulting jingles, if you know what I mean. (Makes sense, ahan!) 

Just to offset the fact that I have cribbed in discomfort, revolted in anger, fought in frustration, cried in helplessness over ZS and its experiences, I would like to add that I have also met AWESOME people, made friends for life, gained faith in my abilities and overall had one helluva experience! And as I set out to newer, crazier experiences, I will really miss my partners in crime :)

And I thought they’ll never go

Those starry ZS days

The grand entries in client calls

Accents, deliverables, delays

And I thought I’ll never miss,

That sudden adhoc request*

That rep on leave, the DM’s pet-peeve**

Why normal distribution works best 

And I thought - it is the end

But I still got partners in crime

For excellence is really getting it right

First time, every time.***

* Sudden, panic analysis which generally comes with a strict deadline
** Project specific, IC joke
*** Connotes fresh wave of formalized process excellence at ZS, where all efforts must be got right, first time and every time

Team 0101 NY2922: You'll be missed!

Clockwise from left: Siddharth, Umesh, Buddhi, Prateek, Me, Kunal, Vinay, Deepam, Shivam, Anurag, Chanpreet, Vinay, Nitisha, Anand, Anu, Deeksha

Not in the picture: Ankur, Rajiv, Praveen, Vaibhav, Mayuri, Amit, Karishma, Tania
We missed you Manoj!

L-R: Sonali, Me, Swati, Saloni

Team 0793 PH 2767: (L-R) Sonali, Me, Rohit, Saloni, Ankit, Nitin

PS. We missed you Chan-dan!

... Because Every Dog Has Its Day!

(Click on each image to expand)

Starbucks, ahan!

                                                 Sip.                                               Lick.

 Mmmm.

Happy Mother's Day Ma!

Three little difficult daughters old,
And you're still going strong
I'd think you have some special skills
For you made it all along

Three different shades of crazy
Three different worlds to tame
Each one wanted 'meri muh'*
And worse, we looked the same!

We want to thank you Mama,
For the terrible pees and poos,
and screams and shouts and tantrums,
We were tough, stubborn, obtuse

We applaud you Mama, for still
Lookin' thro' a rose colored lens,
For letting us explore all possible options
to maybe upgrade your dressing sense

And though you'd think I'm quite confused
About what I'd like to do
A journo, aimless MBA, and maybe PhD too
The truth for sure is Mama, I'd like to be just like you.

* Nah, that's a secret.

Truth be told.

I'd always placed you on a pedestal. I enjoyed smiling up to you. Up, the keyword here.
And, sometimes, when you'd look out of the window, with a faraway look on your face, I'd poke you and you'd look away. That scared me, it wasn't easy to bare myself in front of you in the first place and I really didn't know what I'd do without.
So in those uncomfortable moments of pinching disorientation, I accused myself of hallucinating again. Making up problems for myself, because they made life so much more interesting. Didn't they make life feel like one big struggle? And overcoming them made my otherwise uneventful life heroic. Like all those accomplished quotes I loved reading. I have to stop doing that, I'd tell myself.

Smiling of course, as I looked up at you.

You couldn't be wrong and I knew that.
Because when you did look, you looked straight into my eyes, poring into my head, reading all my dirty thoughts and staring right there, smiling a knowing grin even as my eyes paced around the room, fidgety yet longing to look back. I hankered quickly cover up as much as possible. I didn't want to trust too much. As always, I was scared. But, not cynical no.

Not until you walked out on me. Just walked out. Without a second thought. Without a backward glance. Without as much as parting word.
Leaving me scared, confused and searching. Searching for an explanation. Searching for what'd gone wrong. Searching for my bare self, and all that I'd lost to you. Searching for that moment, that brought me closer to you.

Truth be told, dear Trust, you broke my faith.

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In the memory of my trust, in people, processes and intentions, which died a slow and painful death. I bow to your inexplicable power, but I'd like to keep my distance now. Thank you very much.

Love, Actually - The Story Starts Now.

Story coming up. Read extract here ;)