Of boredom, beliefs and biryani

My thoughts joined my body in the astral plane. The noises in the ‘bored’ room droned on like torture equipment running on low battery, at best tickling me and eliciting a chuckle at my own misfortune. I couldn’t help but notice I was the only member in the room not to sprout ...and may I add, proudly sport, ear hair. Enough said, as my thoughts leave the room behind and retrace their path to spring of last year.

Cut to April 2008. The rose tint rushes back to my lenses. Yeah baby, I’m going to the land of the Nizams, the land of Biryanis...those long-grained beauties, pampered by a dose of magical spices, seduced by a low flame...geez, lady Biryani - the femme fatale of foodies! The greater mission of donning a mortarboard in a b-school took a backseat, or in this case, the backburner. The biryani diet washed down with the finest brew from Bangalore was the highlight of every week. Our field agents brought in pieces of intelligence – “I promise you, just eat there once and you’ll never smack your lips at any other,” “Man, the biryani there is worth waiting till midnight,” “That is the food of Gods, my friend. If you don’t like it there, I’ll pick up the tab.” Every lead was duly followed and my waistline cooperated, unlike my wardrobe. It would be unfair to say that the experience was not enjoyable. We had our fair share of “Dude, that was the best damn biryani!” and also an unfair share of “What on earth was that? Does ‘slow’ cooking mean a dufus trying to whip up something?” Little by little, my romance with lady Biryani lost its lustre. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I don’t give in to her charm and engage in a tryst once in a while ;-)

Moving on, there’s a thing or two I have to say about the local practices and beliefs. Jaywalking! In this town, it is a sport, a hobby, a religion, a ritual, a way of life!! There’s something to be said about their staunch belief that if they turned their back on you and crossed the street, a powerful invisible shield would be generated instantaneously around their inconsiderate rears. Nothing can hurt, cos I put my best part backward. This they believe in strongly. So strongly that I feel tempted to peek into their schools and see if it is taught in there. The second and stronger belief is that the city is a huge sink and/or commode. You can’t drive half a kilometre without spotting someone relieving themselves or exercising their right to spit with no regard to oncoming traffic – on wheel/foot. Before I cry holier than thou, I have this to say to the folks in question – “At least get off the frikkin’ black top and get closer to the bushes, you cavemen!” I wish the traffic woes ended there, but it would be like wishing for Salman to keep his shirt on. I recently encountered this – four guys on a bike, from three glorious generations I think, going by their spectrum of hairlines and dressing styles. Four fully grown men – some more fuller than the others, of course all references are to the physical side of things. It was a couple of minutes past sundown. Just about the time sensible drivers turned on their headlights, but our quartet don’t fit the description. The bike comes hurtling downhill, no lights...and on the wrong side of the road! C’mon guys, give fate a fighting chance, you morons!! Here’s the kicker – they do all this with a cop as witness. Top that, I say!

Phew! There, venting done. Sadly, my daily dose of exhilaration is yelling expletives at these ‘believers.’ I promise myself that I need to relax, ‘cos yelling ain’t the solution. So, I’m starting my campaign by making a flyer that says “Try. Your headlights can operate in low beam as well. See, I told you!” Followed by “I know you have to go that bad, just move into the bushes a tad!”

Bored room calling M3: "Come back here you lil fella. Listen to what I'm sayin'. I know it all. See my wisdom hair? Got any? No? I didn't think so. Run along."

Night of Travesties

Well, our night of travesties was not quite like Harold & Kumar go to White Castle, but certainly had a burger-chasing flavor of its own.

Q. What do MBAs in the current gloom and doom situation do to entertain themselves?

A. They drive 23 kilometers to the airport at 2 a.m. to eat a burger under the golden arches.

The hotshot (some more shot than hot) MBA characters – Al, Ozzy, Smoothie, The “I”, and yours truly.

Ozzy: “Let’s go get a burger man.”
The rest (in various levels of inebriation): “What?”
Ozzy: “Man, seriously, let’s go.”
Smoothie: “Let’s go to the airport dude!”
Al: “Oh yeah, let’s go to the airport. I so like driving on that road.”
Most of the rest: “Ok, let’s do it!”
The I: “Man, this is just ridiculous. Ok, let’s go.”

So, we head out to the airport with Smoothie at the wheel with his right foot flooring the gas pedal, which was in response to an earlier comment about his driving resembling an octogenarian’s. The ride seemed short, with Ozzy playing the DJ, Al looking out the window at rock formations (apparently, in pitch darkness) and The I following the car’s high beam chewing on his nails. We get to the airport and park. Then we park again. Trying to get as close to the arches as possible. As we walk up to McD, our man Ronald McDonald is spotted sitting on the bench, much to The I’s chagrin. We order, pick up and sit outside to relish our burgers. The I, fortunately for us, has a clear view of Ron McD. Amidst talks of placements, or the lack of it this year, The I gets into his act.

The I: “This is ridiculous!”
The rest: “What?”
The I: “People are sitting next to Ronald McDonald and taking pictures. I can’t believe it!”
The rest: “Dude, let go. He’s a clown, people like clowns.”
The I: “But four of them on that bench, I mean, c’mon!”

We go back to placements, past careers, future plans…

The I: “Oh, for crying out loud, there’s a guy running his hand up and down Ronald’s legs.”
The rest: “Really?”
The I: “Oh please, this is just ridiculous”
Smoothie: “Is Ronald McDonald the clown’s name or the owner’s name?”
Ozzy: “The owner…well no, I think it’s the clown”
Al: “I don’t care. Why is my cup of hot chocolate half-full?”
Smoothie: “That’s why I always order things served in a transparent glass.”

Then we finish eating and head back to the parking lot…when The I spots a dude dressed in shorty shorts wearing a garland, and what appeared to be sunglasses(?). We hear his customary “This is ridiculous!” in the distance. As we keep walking, one more expression of The I’s displeasure is heard. This time it is directed at a man sprawled on the lawn doing something with his cell phone. We keep walking and reach the car…just in time to find someone parked next to us at a 45 degree angle.

The I: “You’ve got to be shitting me. What was he thinking when he parked?”

After one more round of laughs, we get in the car. With Al at the wheel trying to better Smoothie’s time, we head back to campus. The I has the final word - “This was a night of travesties!”, he sighs as he goes back to following the car’s beam and finishing up on the remainder of his nails.

Whirlwind, catch up!

It’s been a wild ride so far at ISB. I’ve been here for just over a month, but it feels like I’ve been hanging here since they wrote the vedas. The path to school, the view from my student village, the café, the classroom…seem to be seared in my memory, partial credit due to the Hyderabad heat. Goodness gracious, it is HOT out here! I had my coat on when I boarded and good ole modesty prevented me from totally disrobing when I landed here. The orientation week was the most fun I’ve had so far in Nizamland. The alumni (’08) were so into organizing the week’s activities and did a great job breaking us in. They’re an insanely talented bunch who set the bar so high in pretty much everything. I’m sure that the current crop is equally good, but mainly thinking about next year’s harvest week at this point!

I was worried that the transition back to school after a long break would not be easy…but now I’m worried that it may be over before I do anything about it. Anyway, I hope to be a regular blogger post mid-term. Yes, mid-term! Already got done with a couple of exams today. One went fine, but I don’t have a warm fuzzy feeling about the other…and don’t really know what hit me. It just felt like a cargo plane from Massachusetts decided to unload a ton of bricks on me ;-)

Excited about tomorrow ‘cos we plan to venture into the world of mortals who btw have no clue that we control their levels of satisfaction oh so indifferently with a curve, and their needs and desires with a line. For those of you (non Economics majors) who don’t understand what on earth I’m talking about, trust me – I don’t either! All I’m looking forward to is hitting this place so aptly called "Liquids" in Banjara Hills tomorrow. That’s it baby, living my life one weekend at a time – nice, slow, easy and not too sober if I can help it.

A big shout out to Nate...if you still read my blog.

It takes two to “Tangoe”

I love customer service representatives! Yes, what’s not to love? After pushing every button on your phone and being put on hold due to extremely high call volumes at 3:00 am, you get to talk to an individual with Socratesque wisdom. True conversation follows…with thoughts in italics.

Socratease: “Sir, for your own security, can you spell your name?”

Me: What a relief to put my security in your hands, and that too with a code this strong! I start off…”S.A.T.I.S.H”

Socratease: “Sir, I have S.H.C.I.S.A”

Me:  I feel sorry for your condition, whatever dreaded disease that Shcisa may be, but lady let’s try this again…”S-Sierra, A-Alpha, T-Tango, I-India, S-Sierra, H-Hotel”

Socratease: “Great, and now your last name?”

Me: “T-Tango”(…and interrupted)

Socratease: “T.A.N.G.O.E – Tangoe?”

Me: Right on lady, just call me Shcisa Tangoe. Phew! Just can’t imagine a world wherein you are not in charge of my security! I can sleep for the first time in 6 and a half years without the fear of Islamic terrorists trying to do a balance transfer using my credit card.

On a side bar: Please put my social security contribution to good use Senator McC. Retirement benefits are for wimps anyway. I may not be around for a hundred years, but I see that you have everything figured out. I’m glad that you have been endorsed by the man himself, cause it takes two to tangoe…or tap dance if you can keep up with the Bushman.

Saawariya

Good lord! What on earth was that Mr. Bhansali? Err...did you take a little help from Lucy, you know, the one in the Sky with Diamonds? Hands down, THE worst movie ever! I was thisclose to breaking my TV, swallowing the DVD whole and pulling out what's left of my hair - all at the same time. One song by Himesh would've done the trick I guess. Thank God for small mercies. I'd rather watch a re-remake of Sholay with Gulshan Grover in a triple role as Jai, Veeru and Thakur...and Bappi-duh in a double role as Gabbar and Basanti. One contraction of advice if you ever feel like making one more movie Mr.Bhansali - DON ' T! For the love of God, my TV, my hair and my digestive system, please don't.

‘Tis the seasoning

As I bit into my sandwich, I couldn’t help but follow my taste buds as they high-fived the cranial nerve and excited a million neurons. Go Cajun “Tingly” Chicken sandwich! Yes, ‘twas definitely the seasoning. Love ‘em spices. These days I seem to love almost about anything. Maybe ‘tis the season? The lights, the snow, the “family” tree, Sankt Niklaus, the retail madness…’tis all good!

Changing tones, the race for the white house is pretty interesting this time. Most of the contenders have nothing to fear about following the current President’s act. Oh heck, I think I’m one up just for being able to pronounce ‘nuclear’. Black/white, woman/man – who cares? In any case, the white house could certainly use some diplomacy, accountability, and a little less 'redneckism' at a minimum. Not to mention a VP who is not perpetually playing Marco Polo. That’s just my 1/50th of a free falling currency.

Happy Holidays! Send me your wish lists and hang up those stockings! I'm doing my best to fill up that red shirt as I order one more sandwich for the road.

Quick Jeeves, make me a word

I was walking my dog last night when I ran into my neighbour doing the same thing. Very nice fella. Has a smile that competes with the xenon lights on his Bayerische Motoren Werke. Our conversation usually begins with sports, and drifts towards dog training, diet, dog this, dog that. Yesterday, our man summarizes a story with "...from humantality to animality." Now, I am easily amused by such creativity, but did I dare express myself in front of him? Well, I did not. Mainly because I love my life for the most part, and he happens to be a professional football player. I didn't want 220lbs of pure muscle coming at me. Even if the reflexes I developed in high school as a ping pong player kicked in (yeah baby, I was an athlete too :-D)...and even if I'd managed to dodge him, his second line of offense would've had me for an post-dinner snack. Yes, like all his other NFL buddies, his contract needs him to own a pitbull! Discretion is the better part of valour, I explained to my dog on the way home. He wagged in agreement.