You are an MBA!

So you belled the CAT and ran amuck,

Got your future with a B-school stuck.

Waltz in; you did, to try your dumb luck,

So swollen with pride, your shirt untucked!

Back to books, not really to the grind,

Because you are here only to find:

A way out and into the moolah-world—

The place where dumber asses twirl.

The equations shrunk to unit degrees.

Straight lines in graphs always increase;

It doesn’t matter what the Y-axis is:

Profit or Loss, Product buzz or fizz.

Matrices never more than two by two,

Ah! When did you ever have a clue?!

Dreaming bright stars whether night or day,

You surely have become an MBA.

You have no domain expertise.

Dude! You can’t even tell butter from cheese.

All you know are these 4 Ps:

Please, Please, Oh… Pretty Please…!

Reading lines off PPT slides:

Making presentations to sleepy eyes.

That ill-fitting suit is now your uniform,

Do you even know the meaning of “brainstorm”?

Always searching for a bigger fish,

Never have you innovated even a dish!

Solving case studies is your dying wish:

The internet your wand, flick and swish.

Honeymoon’s over, fortune seems bleak,

Can you stifle that final shriek?

Plans of rosy roses and the sun’s bright ray!?

You tow your future into major disarray.

For many years you ran after pretty lasses,

Turned down each time by glowing faces.

Feeling the pinch, you removed the ugly braces.

Vowing to find a way to win those fast races.

Hence an MBA and an eligible bachelor?

But, while you walk around town in that uniform,

From towers and posts, nubile girls holler:

“Lo! There goes the Fraud Scholar!”

At the Close

A freezing cold night would it be

Or a warm, sunny day with light showers?

A rainy, windy dusk in autumn it rather be

Or a dry, torrid unpleasant hour?

The world won’t stop moving forward,

Nor will the ants stop at work.

Neither will the breeze stop flowing,

Nor will the butterfly’s flutter cause a jerk.

It will remain mundane as it always has been

No interesting times further, or prior.

Will there be a few clad in black

When the clock strikes its final hour?

Neither the existence nor the end of one

Will cause even a mild stir.

The tale of ignominy shall continue

From January to December.

Those few glorious moments neatly tucked in

Will evaporate from living memory.

“He was a jolly good fellow

Who spent his life in pointless drudgery”.

An earthy box or a few pieces of wood—

The final nail, the final prayer.

A pompous goodbye or a lively salute

Are nothing but very rare…

Not a choice of the day,

Nor a choice of the hour.

Neither a choice of place

Nor a choice of the manner.

No prerogative of any kind would you get

Except the station that sees you last.

Unless you rely on destiny,

Your job is amply vast.

Love – A zero-sum Game

Attracted to her, like a moth to a flame;

She was a queen; he genuinely was lame.

Never could she remember his name,

Still, he pressed on, to board that fast train.

Most of his efforts went royally to vain,

Then, it was a different kind of pain.

She didn’t harbor much desire, it was plain,

But you see; Love is a zero-sum game.

Being a Romeo was his only claim to fame,

Persistency paid off, she did proclaim.

The fire ignited in spite of the rain,

(He had an umbrella to protect her mane)

The turn of events left many hearts maimed.

Strong was his mirth, she – pretty and vain,

They were caught together in many a frame.

Yes darlin’, Love is a zero-sum game.

Always at service for the pretty dame,

He lost his sleep (he never had a brain)

Tantrums galore but she wasn’t to blame,

Life for her had always been the same –

Whether this fool, or the one in the next lane.

Now he felt a different kind of pain,
One that stemmed from the agony of disdain,

Yes sweets; Love is a zero-sum game.

With a crunch cracked the damned frame,

Apart! Broken! Started the blame-game.

The next in line presented his claim,

Off she went, boarding another plane.

Left was he, soaked in the dirty lane,

Now, many would remember his name—

Added to the list of many pea brains,

Oooh, Love indeed is a zero-sum game.

A to Z of Happyness

Add smiles to faces around you,
Bend rules for the good of all,
Clap aloud at performances,
Dance to tunes even during freefall.

Eclectic is what life can be,
Fun-filled and enchanting,
Guffaws and hearty cheers,
Happyness unrelenting.

Invest in your future no holds barred,
Jump up in glory once in a while.
Kindness will hold you steady,
Longing also can make you smile.

Manage your time for work and fun:
Nastier the boss, bigger the gun;
Open happiness with him still,
Pour out oodles, refill after refill.

Quench the thirst for success,
Race harder each time you fall.
Stand up for mercy and peace,
Together we can, can’t we all?

Utter those magical words frequently,
Venerate the old, help the needy.
Work hard, play harder, steadily.
Xerox delight copiously.

Yesterday is gone, today is a gift,
Zeroes matter, but only after a digit!

Ode to a Motorcar Driver

The traffic snarls get nastier;
In an unswerving line I go.
But, perched in the middle of the road
Is an awkwardly big dumbo.

Lights red, engine purring,
It stands, assuming its right of birth,
Seeing a slight cranny to the right,
I duck in, underestimating the girth.

I back out and the stress eases,
Panting back to life, the monster moves.
With slight hesitation,
I resume my search for grooves.

‘Honk! Honk!’ goes the beast in front:
It’s another of my brethren…
The beast repays its debt with interest,
Hence, he and I get even.

The other animals part ways.
Now it’s only me and this oaf.
We go in blow for blow,
And he breaks like a roasted loaf.

Merry and contended, I race ahead,
But another fight is in the offing,
Dazzling my rearview mirror with luminescence;
Another fiend is in mood for some loafing.

Roadways drained, engines thundering,
A wild chase ensues—
Light and swift, I pass through gaps—
The trail goes cold, the thronging resumes.

The paths ahead converge into one.
Beasts pour in from the opposite direction,
High beams, high temper, high decibels—
All in mood for mad dereliction.

“We don’t want the whole path,
Just give us a tiny pass.
Use dipper at night, and…
Get your head out of your ass.”

Love,
A biker.

And the Kohl was smudged…

This is how it was going to be.
Now, this is how it will be.
Never in her heart she knew
Ever since her life started anew.

Words spoken in heat of moments.
Promises, made at drop of hats.
Lives turn at sharp right angles,
Turn, on top of their heads.

Love is a tricky notion—
She believed it not.
With stories and fairytales
Were her bookshelves stocked.

Butterflies and daisies,
Warm sun and playful rain,
Idle afternoons in cafés;
No tear, hassle or pain.

The pink diary knew all her secrets—
Who made her heart skip a beat?
What caught her eye in esplanades?—
All things lovely, all visual treats.

Hats at different, stylish angles;
Coats dressed with sharp elegance.
Ah those eyes! Those kohl laden eyes
Struck you with bizarre significance…

What this perfect picture craved
Was company, with smiles and hugs,
Sweet nothings and kisses;
And to ward off unpleasant thugs.

One monsoon day, the gloom was cleared—
Laughter and mirth filled the moist air.
The much craved for company,
At last, occupied the adjacent chair.

Days whizzed past, happy and fast,
Those eyes had found love divine,
Theatres, parties, drives and rides,
Only for her did the sun shine?

Happiness and Life seemed kindred spirits,
Even monsoon days lost their gloom.
Those eyes shimmered with brilliance,
And every night had a full, full moon!

Aching to be together forever, hastily,
The handsome couple tied the knot.
Sunshine held onto its gleam for sometime
But soon came the twist in plot.

Unaware of a lurking evil twin,
She went on with life with much joy.
But the company in spirit of youth,
Proved not more than a mere boy.

With the twin, he went abroad,
Leaving her behind in gloom.
No words spoken, promises broken,
Saddened cafés, lonely moons.

Twittering birds still raced her heart,
But she kept still in her chair,
All things lovely, all visual treats
Were to her no longer fair…

Sunlight danced around her eyes,
But those lustrous lips didn’t budge.
Her rouged cheeks pink, coats intact,
But the kohl was smudged…

And the kohl was smudged…

Torn

For months, they had withstood Winter,
The icy chill split their spine.
Oh just a few more gloomy days—
There, there comes the sunshine.

Withered branches and strewn leaves—
Greenness to Yellowness—
From dawn to dusk, coldness ruled,
Emptiness and hollowness.

A few lucky ones were spared the plight,
Leaving the others in grief profound—
Green to brown they went and fell,
They fell to the frozen ground.

The martyrs withered away,
With the dust they mingled.
A few were carried on the winds,
With them the bells jingled.

Spring brought light showers,
Pleasant Sun and happiness abound.
The Greenness was restored,
Hearty cheers all around.

The leaves rejoiced and played,
Never had they witnessed this.
Except the grannies and the granddads,
Who sung tales of eternal bliss.

Suppleness and wit flowed supreme,
Many songs written, many re-sung,
But as is customary with Happiness,
It soon went away to worlds far flung.

Summer brought the Sun out in glory.
The silly leaves welcomed Him without scorn.
Thus started the reign of the much powerful one,
Horrid, thirsty, barren and forlorn…

Dry and rancid, arid and broken,
The grounds were beaten black and brown,
The leaves under the blistering sun,
Hoped for water in which to drown.

The once pleasantness of the welcomed sun
Had turned sour and scorching.
Hardened and brittle, in want of moistness,
The leaves went about searching.

Not the bark, black now it was,
The branches sent similar news.
From the south came word too:
There was no water near the roots.

The dried leaves hoped and prayed,
For bountiful showers, like Spring had played,
The mighty gods sent the clouds:
Menacing, dark and grayed.

From the heavens drizzled the lustrous rains,
Like elixir, they reined in life.
Enjoying the touch of a gentle nature,
No longer were the leaves in strife.

Bathed in cold water,
The thirst at last was quenched.
The rains then came down heavier than ever,
And the ground below got entrenched.

The gentle drops became heavier still,
Forcing the leaves to take cover.
The winds blew in, harder and faster,
The leaves now cowered in terror.

The mighty winds and rains surged further,
To diabolical proportions they grew, they grew.
The leaves wept out, holding tightly
As their mother now fell through.

The havoc subsided leaving behind an uneasy peace.
Attached to the mother, the leaves lay tranquil;
The eyes were closed, their bodies had wilted,
But some had teardrops glistening still…

Social Responsibility and the Youth of India

Mera Bharat Mahaan… Yes, our nation can be considered great if we want to appreciate the fact that we are growing economically at 7-8% in spite of the prevalent corruption, nepotism and the anarchy amidst the largest democracy. India is also growing (read: galloping) on another front: the number of citizens. Amongst them, the largest share of the pie is made up of the youth (15-24 years), the Generation Next of our country. Just to put the future scenario in perspective, let’s mention that India has more children (374.5 million) below the age of 15 than China, Japan, Germany and USA combined!

The youth in urban India today is fashionable, fairly rich, mostly self employed and lucky. Juxtapose this with the fact that youth in rural India is underprivileged, poverty stricken and unaware. Rich youngsters in cities enjoy a life fraught with malls, multiplexes, pubs and binge nights. With high disposable incomes, not a care in the world and a substantially high buying power, the Great Indian Bazaar is their oyster. Flashy neon lights and decked mannequins peeping out of large store windows beckon them on. This change in lifestyle and aspirations has created a big market for companies which cater to the “just-employed” youth of India. Even BSL GenNext Fund’s advertising campaign once read “Benefit from the buying power of the Indian Youth.”

This happy, contended and successful present day youth is us. We have taken a lot from society as if it were our prerogative. Our parents earned enough to see us through big schools and even bigger colleges. Our pocket which becomes heavy with cash each month is partly to their credit too. Well anyway, now, that we are self sufficient, educated and aware, it’s time for us to give back what’s due on us. But, we, in India, have a small problem. Many of us are either selfish or too self involved to look around us and extend a helping hand. We might give the odd rupee to a beggar or donate money for flood or earthquake victims, buy a product because it’s ‘green’ and environment friendly (our ticket to the group of in-the-know-and-aware elite class), mull over the political scenario crippling the nation and curse the politicians, even suggest elaborate ways to change the scenario. But, how many of us really get down from the cozy mezzanines and get our hands dirty? The number, though present, is only slight. It’s high time every aware individual who is capable, rolled up his sleeves and made his presence count.

Still, the situation in India is not totally hopeless. We do have enlightened individuals who go out of their ways to help the poor and needy, educate poor kids and parents, sit in dharnas to foster political and social change, voice their opinions loud and clear against oppression and injustice. When we see such people take to the streets, don’t we feel goosebump on our skin and necks? We must realize how challenging, self-fulfilling, and responsible it would be to be in that number. Various NGOs that work out of big cities, fuelled by HNIs who wish to give back to society after taking so much (well that’s another story), are doing their bit to eradicate poverty and uplift the masses. According to the Society for Participatory Research in Asia (PRIA), India has around 1.2 million NGOs out of which 21.3% work for Community/Social Service, 20.4% for education and 6.6% for Health. That’s job well done but not good enough. According to a 2005 World Bank estimate, 42% of India (480 million people) falls below the international poverty line of $1.25 a day. The problem is that this number is ever increasing. Are we really armed to eradicate poverty and bring about social change?

The youth today needs to rise up. The so-called ‘future of India’ needs to realize that it is its duty to work towards a better, healthier and more prosperous India. We shall overcome… Let this be the war-cry of today’s young India. Let’s make everyone aware, leave no stone unturned, let prosperity flow out of every nook and cranny of this great nation. Let’s drive out poverty and helplessness, shambles and hopelessness, sorrow and tears. The only tears here should be our tears of joy marveling at our own prowess and success. Not everyone can be a Mother Teresa. We can start small. Here’s how: always close an open tap, switch off lights and fans when you leave a room, do not pollute, say no to plastic, be economical when spending on yourself, put aside a small amount for children who beg and sleep on an empty stomach, teach a few kids on alternate Sundays and miss out on the latest blockbuster for a change, offer your seat when an old lady is standing right next to you in a bus, vote in the next election! Give back to society. We have breathed a lot of free oxygen. But, this can be our time. The moment is here. We can make a difference and yes, together, we can… The war is far from won but we’ve not yet lost. There’s a long way to go. Let this be the place where everyone grows together and no one gets left behind.

All said and done, unless all of us join hands, this game can’t be won. It’s one thing to be in the game, one thing to win it. We need to make sure we strive to achieve the latter. Come together for a better tomorrow. Live, laugh, enjoy. But also live for others. Laugh along with smiles on faces which were once poverty stricken. Enjoy believing yourself to be tomorrow’s better India. Let’s be the ambassadors of change, a change towards glory and equality.

A Different Tongue…

If words could speak…
Would they speak our language?
Would they be like people – good and bad?
Would they be happy and sad?
Would they love and hate?
Would they be young and old?

If words could speak…
Would elation bring more joy or happiness?
Would grief be sadder or sorrow heavier?
Would success be more fulfilling or sound sleep?
Would solitariness be lonelier than desolation?

If words could speak…
Would Man listen to Desire or Satiation?
Would he be tempted by Love over Lust?
Would he give in to Wrath or embrace Calmness?
Would he choose Narcissa or Altrusia?

Even if words could speak...
Death would still be absolute—
The ever powerful leveller.
Bereavement would still bring tears.
Darkness would still hound the Blind.
Estrangement would still bitter relationships.
Yet, a new-born would still smile,
Unaware of their existence.

But, wouldn’t it still cry when coaxed by hunger...?
Words speak; they speak a different tongue...