I don’t know if you have heard this song by Justin Timberlake, but don’t judge me unfavourably for knowing of its existence. It’s just one of those annoying songs that stick in your head steadfastly until another equally or more annoying song substitutes it. I was listening to FM Rainbow (107.1 in Mumbai, to the uninitiated. The only station worth listening to if you ask me). They were doing this one-hour Elvis special on the King’s birthday and I was glued to the station much before the special began, lest I missed my favourite tracks. That’s when this Timberlake song assailed me (right before Blue suede shoes assuaged my wracked nerves). I have never liked Mr. Timberlake and have never bothered to follow his career graph; in fact I thought Timbaland was just Timberlake misleading people into buying his music by changing his screen name (I don’t listen to Timbaland either, come to think of it). Anyway, the song had an eerie, prescient quality to it- in a totally different context though. It was something of an omen, a forecast of certain events about to unfold in my life.
(Following are the excerpts from my recent B-school interview.)
I was interviewed by a panel of three- a middle aged lady, flanked by two youngish people-one male, the other female. The Holy Trinity, ha. The lady in the centre looked oddly familiar and just as I was about to say “Good Morning”, realization dawned- she was in the interview panel last year when I had made a thorough fool of myself. Dear G, please let her not remember me, please, please, please. Even if she did recognize me, she wasn’t letting on much. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. May be she doesn’t remember. Yeah, not everyone has a good memory. Just get me through this G; just this once and I promise that I won’t ask for anything ever again. Having got the obligatory social niceties out of the way, we proceeded towards the raison d’etre of the panel- the grilling of JD.
(All three started at the same time. Sheesh, there was such an enthusiastic, violent alacrity to grill me that they were all vying for first place. Anyway, the youngish female (YF) won by dint of a high pitched voice)
YF: So what made you switch from IT to an NGO?
Me: (smiling inwardly. I had rehearsed this answer at least a zillion times)
Blah, blah and blah, blah.
YF: (confused into silence at the profusion of words that came out of my mouth. Hoo-ha, take that! Score: Panel -0, JD-1)
OF: But you left a high-paying job for a pittance?
Me: (High-paying? Ha, hardly. Yeah, like the simple arithmetic never occurred to me. Duh.) Blah-blah. (Some noble, self-righteous jazz. And then some more. God I hope she buys it.)
The Only Man (TOM): So, which was your favourite subject in college?
Me: (Holy &@!%*$. It’s been two years since graduation and they still expect me to remember stuff that my memory retained only for exams. I don’t even remember what I had for lunch three days ago. Jeez!) Er, (smiling sheepishly) I don’t remember very well. But, I’ll try to answer. OR was my favourite. (I said tentatively, mentally gauging the depth of the shit I was in)
OF: (Finally in her element) Ah, ok. What is Linear Programming? Give me an example.
Me: (Phew! Easy-peasy. I knew this.) Blah-blah.Bl-
OF: (interrupting me with an imperious wave of the hand) You are complicating things unnecessarily. Give me an example.
Me: (the cockiness waning a little. Good thing I remember) Blah-blah. Blah-blah. And that’s how we solve it.
OF: But why only the points of intersection? Why is that the optimal solution?
Me: (stumped) Blah-blah. (Squeamish, tentative answer. 1 all)
OF: (leaning back in her chair, purring satisfactorily. She had had her fun with me.)
TOM: So, tell me. Do you remember anything in Thermal Engineering?
Me: Sir, not really. (again hoping he’d buy the smile. JD-1, Panel-10)
TOM: Ok. Can you tell me about the Narmada Bachao Andolan? And which side won?
Me: (Won? What was this, a cricket match?) Blah-blah. Blah-blah.
TOM: (not too pleased at my answer. Panel-15, JD-1) But, I though you work in the social sector. So you must have more than a lay-person’s opinion about the issue?
Me: (Damned ignoramus. Social sector, yes. But I work for children’s education. And it’s not as if we have a secret network of all NGOs and are totally up to date with the details of each and every NGO. Gawd) Sir, my involvement is with the education sector.
TOM: (silenced. As if education was not as meaty as dams and bhook-hadtals. Damnation. JD-0, Panel-20)
OF and YF: (In a ghastly jugalbandi of sorts, tag-teamed to ask me questions. One fired and the other glared. Then the roles were reversed) But why an NGO? What compelled you? What was your motivation? What are your plans? Why MBA? Where do you live? Why an MBA after working in an NGO?
(Good thing my sex allows me multi-tasking capabilities and a general verbosity. I wouldn’t be badgered. I wouldn’t perish. I’m a survivor played in my head. Damn, why always the songs I don’t like, why never the ones I do like? Why? Why? Anyway, I did manage to out-energize them, but was the worse for wear.)
YF: (the first to recover her breath) So, you are from West Bengal?
Me: (What are you, Raj Thackerey??? I have lived in Mumbai all my life, so what does that make me, huh? West Bengal, my left eye-ball.) Well, Ma’am, I was born and raised in Mumbai. (smiling sweetly) But, yes my parents are from W.B.
YF: So, what do you think of the happenings in Nandigram and Singur?
Me: Blah-blah. Blah-blah. Blah-blah.
OF: (wounded at being left behind at this modern day, B-school version of the Spanish Inquisition.) Which are the neighbouring countries of India?
Me: Blah-blah.
OF: Which is the link that connects Sri-Lanka and India? And what’s the controversy surrounding it? What are your views?
Me: Blah-blah.
OF: (looking very bored suddenly. Maybe I wasn’t sufficiently moronic for her predatory tastes. Sigh.) Ok. Thank you.
TOM and YF: (smiling in unison) Thank you.
Me: (a little unsure. Is it over??? I couldn't believe it) Thank you. (attempting a smile)
I came out blinking at the abrupt ending of the grilling. In fact, it wasn’t even a grilling. It was more like a light sauté, tenderly done- something which ended even before the heat could be turned on. Sigh. I can never evaluate these things. Was I to feel good or bad? Were the smiles welcome-to-our-college ones or hell-no-we-plan-to-keep-you-out ones? I can never tell. Inscrutable humans. Damnation.
(Following are the excerpts from my recent B-school interview.)
I was interviewed by a panel of three- a middle aged lady, flanked by two youngish people-one male, the other female. The Holy Trinity, ha. The lady in the centre looked oddly familiar and just as I was about to say “Good Morning”, realization dawned- she was in the interview panel last year when I had made a thorough fool of myself. Dear G, please let her not remember me, please, please, please. Even if she did recognize me, she wasn’t letting on much. Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths. May be she doesn’t remember. Yeah, not everyone has a good memory. Just get me through this G; just this once and I promise that I won’t ask for anything ever again. Having got the obligatory social niceties out of the way, we proceeded towards the raison d’etre of the panel- the grilling of JD.
(All three started at the same time. Sheesh, there was such an enthusiastic, violent alacrity to grill me that they were all vying for first place. Anyway, the youngish female (YF) won by dint of a high pitched voice)
YF: So what made you switch from IT to an NGO?
Me: (smiling inwardly. I had rehearsed this answer at least a zillion times)
Blah, blah and blah, blah.
YF: (confused into silence at the profusion of words that came out of my mouth. Hoo-ha, take that! Score: Panel -0, JD-1)
OF: But you left a high-paying job for a pittance?
Me: (High-paying? Ha, hardly. Yeah, like the simple arithmetic never occurred to me. Duh.) Blah-blah. (Some noble, self-righteous jazz. And then some more. God I hope she buys it.)
The Only Man (TOM): So, which was your favourite subject in college?
Me: (Holy &@!%*$. It’s been two years since graduation and they still expect me to remember stuff that my memory retained only for exams. I don’t even remember what I had for lunch three days ago. Jeez!) Er, (smiling sheepishly) I don’t remember very well. But, I’ll try to answer. OR was my favourite. (I said tentatively, mentally gauging the depth of the shit I was in)
OF: (Finally in her element) Ah, ok. What is Linear Programming? Give me an example.
Me: (Phew! Easy-peasy. I knew this.) Blah-blah.Bl-
OF: (interrupting me with an imperious wave of the hand) You are complicating things unnecessarily. Give me an example.
Me: (the cockiness waning a little. Good thing I remember) Blah-blah. Blah-blah. And that’s how we solve it.
OF: But why only the points of intersection? Why is that the optimal solution?
Me: (stumped) Blah-blah. (Squeamish, tentative answer. 1 all)
OF: (leaning back in her chair, purring satisfactorily. She had had her fun with me.)
TOM: So, tell me. Do you remember anything in Thermal Engineering?
Me: Sir, not really. (again hoping he’d buy the smile. JD-1, Panel-10)
TOM: Ok. Can you tell me about the Narmada Bachao Andolan? And which side won?
Me: (Won? What was this, a cricket match?) Blah-blah. Blah-blah.
TOM: (not too pleased at my answer. Panel-15, JD-1) But, I though you work in the social sector. So you must have more than a lay-person’s opinion about the issue?
Me: (Damned ignoramus. Social sector, yes. But I work for children’s education. And it’s not as if we have a secret network of all NGOs and are totally up to date with the details of each and every NGO. Gawd) Sir, my involvement is with the education sector.
TOM: (silenced. As if education was not as meaty as dams and bhook-hadtals. Damnation. JD-0, Panel-20)
OF and YF: (In a ghastly jugalbandi of sorts, tag-teamed to ask me questions. One fired and the other glared. Then the roles were reversed) But why an NGO? What compelled you? What was your motivation? What are your plans? Why MBA? Where do you live? Why an MBA after working in an NGO?
(Good thing my sex allows me multi-tasking capabilities and a general verbosity. I wouldn’t be badgered. I wouldn’t perish. I’m a survivor played in my head. Damn, why always the songs I don’t like, why never the ones I do like? Why? Why? Anyway, I did manage to out-energize them, but was the worse for wear.)
YF: (the first to recover her breath) So, you are from West Bengal?
Me: (What are you, Raj Thackerey??? I have lived in Mumbai all my life, so what does that make me, huh? West Bengal, my left eye-ball.) Well, Ma’am, I was born and raised in Mumbai. (smiling sweetly) But, yes my parents are from W.B.
YF: So, what do you think of the happenings in Nandigram and Singur?
Me: Blah-blah. Blah-blah. Blah-blah.
OF: (wounded at being left behind at this modern day, B-school version of the Spanish Inquisition.) Which are the neighbouring countries of India?
Me: Blah-blah.
OF: Which is the link that connects Sri-Lanka and India? And what’s the controversy surrounding it? What are your views?
Me: Blah-blah.
OF: (looking very bored suddenly. Maybe I wasn’t sufficiently moronic for her predatory tastes. Sigh.) Ok. Thank you.
TOM and YF: (smiling in unison) Thank you.
Me: (a little unsure. Is it over??? I couldn't believe it) Thank you. (attempting a smile)
I came out blinking at the abrupt ending of the grilling. In fact, it wasn’t even a grilling. It was more like a light sauté, tenderly done- something which ended even before the heat could be turned on. Sigh. I can never evaluate these things. Was I to feel good or bad? Were the smiles welcome-to-our-college ones or hell-no-we-plan-to-keep-you-out ones? I can never tell. Inscrutable humans. Damnation.
P.S.-Panel-?, JD-????
