The Drenched Down Diaries

Did we just think that the rain got lighter?

We did. 

And that was the reason that we went out of the comforts of the restaurant we dined and left the shades and powered the lifeless unicorn.

Within the 1st minute of riding, I could feel my teeth chattering with the icy cold downpour over our heads. My breath was going in and out deeply with the chill creeping up my spine. I could feel my heart beating against my Adam's apple. I could barely breathe as the chilly water droplets were taking its toll. . My eyes went to the auto-tightly-shut mode and my body curved to expose to the minimum amount of rain. 

We were drenched head to toe and were shivering. 

By the time the bike gathered speed, I could feel the rain letting its might on us with pins and needles poking us, faster the bike, higher the prickles. 

Soon, whole drench made us rebellious to the after-rain-side-effects. I suddenly started getting warm. My eyes were slowly opening and was auto-focusing to the pitch darkness, erred at times by the oncoming headlamps and the electrifying lightning. 

Every turn was to be made with utmost precision and care.

I was just thinking of the same-name-but-tirelessly-worked-up rider who braved all the hardships and was valiantly riding to the destination.

The Light that chose to Shine

The silhouette that emerged from the darkness to the light of the single bulb in the room was of an enervated fragile lady. Her eyes were shallow and effete. The under-eye black marks and a scar-smitten pockmarked face made her otherwise charming face seem hideous. The breeze edged her long locks of hair. The sequins on her shoddy suit were glimmering as the fan blades cut the sheen of the bulb above her head.

The surroundings of the police station created in her a sense of fear. The last few days in her life was grief stricken for her body, mind and soul. Till that day, she was a girl of substance. On that day, she was torn apart from the façade of life. She was brutally assaulted and put into shame by the maniac-flesh-loving-heartless-dwellers of the darkness yonder.

The fighter in her freed herself from the clutches of the cables and cords of the dingy methylated spirit-smelling corridors of the hospital.

She was a rape victim, raped once, forsaken by humanity put to rest.

She was not raped once, but every eye that fell onto her dishevelled face gave her a glaring stare. She was getting raped psychologically by her kith and kin. Every look with pity at pittance was raping her. The whole world was putting her through an excruciating pain.

The number was piling on. Every look on her was raping her over and over.

The demeanour and individuality that she possessed had all been sacrificed at the stake. The interrogating policeman with a raised eyebrow and sly smile left her to tears after an eyeing attempt to capitalize on her lost chaste.

The hovering crowd at the gates of the police station wanted to see the rape victim. To see a sad and totally lost person burst to tears, to appease their sadistic hunger at her expense, to rape her all over with their callous eyes, she had to see it all.

As she left the station, the bandwagon of heartless ruthless humanity cheered for her bravery and in the inners, burning cinders jeering for her fate. Did she deserve the jeering of a fallen humanity or the humane touch of solace?

The light that shone over the soul left her astray. She had miles to go over a two forked path that either led her to a necropolis or to lead as an exemplary to fight against the cause she had been hit by.

The Idea of a Sunday Morning Breakfast

Lazing in the bed with the rays of the sun falling on the eye and the smell of breakfast being made running up the nose is a dream nowadays. 

Mom would have already been up getting the Sunday breakfast ready. 

Idlis, the typical South Indian delicacy that now adorns the crest as a breakfast option pan India would be on the cards.

The thick rice batter would be poured into the hemispherical moulds of the idli cooker. 

Soon steaming idlis would give signal to the cooker to let on the whistling and would be gently heaved off the stove. 

Shredded coconut, along with green chillies and salt would go to the mixer to form a uniformly blended thick concoction called chutney. The small tawa would be set on the stove where sautéing mustard and curry leaves would make them splutter and splatter in coconut oil to form a thin tadka topping for the chutney. 

The preserved ‘podi’ (sautéed urud dal, toor dal, asafoetida and red chillies made into a powdered form) would form a heap on the plate where the finger would take intense motions to mix the ‘podi’ with sunflower oil.

Soon the family would be seated around the table, laying their hands on the luscious, succulent, round, plump and soft steamed rice cakes, graciously dipping them in the two accompaniments and gradually washing down the breakfast with hot tea.

Alas!

A 2*2 life

I have often been enthused by the idea of being the topper in class.

Well, my mom, too must have had the same feeling. 

That feeling in her kept me at the top till my 5th standard.

But then, things began to go out of her hand.

And marks went out of mine.

Slowly I sank into the ocean of competition. Went from the top to the top 5 to the top 10 and deeper and deeper.

I have had the privilege to touch the ocean bed once. And mind it, it sucks. All alone in the vast expanse of darkness. Never want to cast a glance again. Crossed fingers got intertwined!

Well, as time progressed, single digit classes went on to double digit classes. And single digit ranks too followed suit. 

As graduation graduated to a phase called post graduation, I was barely hanging on the shaky branch called 3 point CGPA. 

And yes, I wanted to be a topper there too. I had made up my mind to do it in the beginning, as always. But, as always, my mind deviated to the actual calling, to do what I was good at- being idle.

There was this lady, the descendant of the zinc baron, all set to the strings into her course of action and was of course beyond 'question'. 

Also a lady whose name followed the 1st avatar of Vishnu kept that tag 'topper' forbidden to others. 

The third lady, who is to finance as Prof Minerva McGonagall is to Transfiguration, sealed the fate. 

Guys, shame on you.

Shame, shame, puppy shame, man! Oh me!

I was caught busy striving to seal the shakiness of the branch. Hence couldn't pick on the mocking and stayed put.

The weight on the branch was shaking down those who had a less tighter grip on them. 

We, the MBAs from a premier B-school, who believe that we are God's gift to mankind and bear a diadem encrusted with gems dazzling with innate braininess, often use 2*2 matrices to work out on the aspects of management.

After hours of futile thoughts and bizarre streaks of imagination, 
After many cups of coffee and midnight oil burning, 
After going through hundreds, no, thousands of research papers, 
I have come up with a theory that could set the earth off its course. 

A path breaking invention, the brain child of a thought leader designed to classify parameters that could make or break the formation of the future - a blessing to the mankind in disguise. 

I present before you, a 2*2 matrix, one of its kind- for you, for the future CEOs. 

Oh, wait! 

Did you mean to say that some teeny-weeny company called Boston Consulting Group has already come up with this? Is it? For corporations, that too to analyze their business lines. 

We lack IPR. We lack IPR big time.

Et tu America. Et tu BCG. Et tu world. No offenses otherwise!

Cricket Fever!

Cricket is a religion as far as we Indians are concerned.

The breathless moments, the edge-of-the-seat anticipation and the associated excitement- these are some things that the whole nation has bestowed to this game and is second to none.

Well, as we skew the sample size of the nation to within the boundaries of a small b-school nestled in the serene and picturesque hamlet off the coast, 60 kilometers from Chennai, the cricket fever is pitching in high and hard at Great Lakes Institute of Management.

The Great Lakes Cricket League or GLCL in short is the amassment and exhibition of cricketing talent and prowess at its majesty.

Four teams representing the four corners of the nation feature the best of the players of the Mamallas.

The teams namely Madras Macchas, Red Vikings, Royal Strikers and ShandaarLaundey represented the four cities of Chennai, Delhi, Kolkata and Mumbai respectively. Led by valiant captains (Srinivassan Rajan, Mukund Chndran, Arnav Talwar and Saheel Joshi), the teams started to battle it out from 8^th August 2013.

Just a few days back, there was emancipated enthusiasm as the auctioneer Dron Malhotra took the reins of the auction to the next level. The teams were sold with their captains and managers as over 6 different consortiums eyed for the 4 different franchisees.

In the end, those who emerged victorious in the run for the teams were Om Joshi who roped in Saheel, Sundeep Babbar who bought Mukund’s team, Sanjay Gajja who bought Arnav as his captain and Anand K V who bid for Srinivassan for the highest amount in the bidding process.

Soon the event started with an IPO issuance which allowed teams to allot up to 50% of their shares to the interested investors.

And then it began. Money flowing in and excitement flowing out, unbound. 

After undergoing many predicaments of choosing the better out of the best lots of players, the match between the final 8 of Royal Strikers and Shandaar Laundey went live at the basketball court from 1530 hours on the 8^th day of the 8^th month.

The match summaries:

Match 1: (Royal Strikers v/s Shandaar Laundey, 8/8/13, 1530 hrs- Match drawn)

The high octane adrenaline pumped match wrapped up in a draw with the second batting Laundeys failing to hit that one winning run.

Match 2: (Madras Macchas v/s Red Vikings 13/8/13, Madras Macchas won)

The second match of the season was a game of classy stroke plays and solid partnerships. The local boys wrapped it up in style.

         

Match 3: (Madras Macchas v/s Royal Strikers, 15/08/13, Royal Strikers won)

The season’s top scorer emerged in this game with a stellar performance from Striker’s Tarun Ajwani. The gap was too hard for the Macchas to wade through and the Strikers took the game away in style.

Match 4: (Royal Strikers v/s Red Vikings, 16/08/13, Royal Strikers won)

With 2 wins and a draw under their belt, the Royal Strikers won the match after a nail biting finish. Arnav’s boys royally cruised to the finals.

Match 5: (Shandaar Laundey vs Madras Macchas, 16/08/03, Madras Macchas won)

A pompous display of excellent bowling and a great batting performance by Jeetesh made the Macchas’ day with a resounding win.

Match 6: (Red Vikings vs Shandaar Laundey, 29/08/13, Shandaar Laundey won, to meet Madras Macchas in the semi-finals)

A convincing batting line-up and a good show with the ball made the Shandaar Laundey, the favourites of the game and the Red Vikings were knocked out of the tournament.

Match 7: Semi-Finals (Madras Macchas vs Shandaar Laundey, 29/08/13, Shandaar Laundey won, to meet Royal Strikers in the finals)

The pay back was paid with its due price. 

Sreeni’s boys bowed down with pride.

Match 8: Finals (Shandaar Laundey vs Royal Strikers, 26/09/2013, Shaandar Laundey win, Champions)

The most anticipated game of the series was yet again a pay-back time for the Laundeys for the denial of that one run. The only 12 over match in the series swung in the favour of the Laundeys to get them on the top of everything, the cup. 

Wrapping up the series and clinching the cup, the Great Lakes Cricket League has its first champions- the Shaandar Laundeys.  

The Yogam for Experiencing Leadership!!

A 15 minute wait at the gate for the transport followed by another 5 minute wait for the driver to come.

A beep from the phone and you see a message from the god-forsaken-same-destination-bound-person- 'wait for 5 minutes, me too coming'

The wait for him would take ages to get done with. After another 15 minutes and puppy face to cover his face, he would join the crew to get started for the 'yogam'. 

The bus chugs and chooes through the kachcha village road and by the time, you  reach the 'oors' and 'backams' and 'purams', you become black and blue. 

The rickety bus ride ends as the battered bus pulls into the shade of the banyan tree that sprawls into the peaks of infinity. 

The tired backs yearn to rest on the protruding roots of the tree which doubles up as comfy seats. The coordinator from the 'P' would suggest that we should set forth to the north side of the village. The D representative bounces back with a reply to go to the school and teach the poor 'blessed' souls.

While the tag in the turf progresses, the other members would have made the shade of the banyan tree and its benevolent roots home. Somebody would grab packs of crisps and cokes from the neighbourhood shop and start munching and global talks. 

The time when a consensus reaches, the members would be 3 or 4 bottles down and the empty covers of the crisps would pile to form a small mount. 

The sun would be blazing enough for the lice on the ladies' head to take a sunbath. The walk to the decided place- the village school would be hindered by the sun and the ogling by the village ruffians at our group's gender diversity. 

The children in the village weren't notified about the arrival. The Sunday morning crucification of having us deprive us of our sleep and the children of their playtime. Finally we would manage to get hold of around 10 scantily clad kids and thus the war of the words was waged.

Most of the children knew little or new English. Except the coordinator, none in the group could speak fluent Tamil. 

The children would ask something in Tamil. The response would be the assumed up answer of what the hearer perceived based on the situations, in English. Thus the fun would go on.

Showered with doubts on random things like 'What is 1 in Tamil?' and 'How do you ask the child his name in Tamil?', the Tamil speaker would be in a fix.

By the time the conversation gets to the other, yeah, the allotted 3 hour limit would have ticked off.

The major aim of such a noble thought, an idea of philanthropism and social commitment seems nullified with the bridges as wide as ever. 

The underlying emotion to serve the world with disparities on both the sides hampers the effect of generating leadership for the benefactor and the benefits for the beneficiary. 

After all, the contemplating actions to serve the society is supposed to come from the heart. The imposed mandate on the corporates to earmark 2% of their profits for CSR is nothing but branding and advertising for the company. Drawing analogy to the fact, the question that still remains is ' Does the action sink in to the heart as much as it does to the mind?'
   

Jaago 'V.' Jaago!!

The "1" year difference

The law in its majesty does not seek vengeance. So is the case with them. 

Our judiciary. 

Had there been a man like the Godfather, the weeping parents of the media christened 'Nirbhaya' wouldn't have to weep. 

It is said that he was the most ruthless. But the courts called him a minor.

It is said that he did the maximum harm. But the courts only gave him a measly 3 year sentence. 

Why?

Why?

The answer is that he was a minor. Just because he has a year (6 months precisely) to attain the celebrated status of being an adult does not mean that he is not capable of doing a crime. A crime as heinous as shredding life out of a lady in a moving bus accompanied by heartless 2-legged beasts. 

Ripped the poor soul apart. 

Mutilated her.

Shattered the family's dream. 

A question that erupts from many minds would be: Is a 17 year old a child or a man?

He was a man, a rogue imbecile anarchic example of how a man should not be. Yet, for a crime that ought to get his instrument chopped off, he just got 3 years in a juvenile home. The 8 month period before trials was cut off from the period and in effect he would be serving just 28 months. 

How nice of them to cut off atleast something?

Time would churn him out to be a hardened criminal and man of low personal demeanor. But do they allow 18+ year old in juvenile? The mystery of the verdict still remains. 

We really need Corleones to get things sorted. Revenge tastes good only when it is served cold. But really does not happen in this era of erring humanity and unstructured way of life. 

While we protest and hold rallies against this maddening disease, danger still lurks behind the ladies and rapists would remain at large!