The first face-off at Kotla Stadium, Delhi

Moochu Singh at the SMS Stadium, Jaipur

19th April 2008

Delhi Daredevils Vs Rajasthan Royals

Feroz Shah Kotla Stadium, Delhi

Braving a nasty traffic jam and reaching the stadium about an hour late… I’d missed most of Akshay Kumar’s stunts, the much-touted cheerleader hip-swinging and some other stunning performances. The only consolation that cheered me up was the debut of my homeland team, the Rajasthan Royals, and in the offing was a probable win that promised to make my evening woes look insignificant. Comfortably seated by 8.20pm on the chairs that my friends had (thankfully) saved for me, I was cherubic and excited about the 8.30pm commencement of the game. One look around and it became apparent that almost everybody present in my stand, and at the stadium, was rooting for the daredevils. Shrugging it off as an obvious consequence of delhi playing at its home turf, I made up my mind to cheer for the royals anyway. That kind of confidence was backed by my faith in the team and the captaincy of Australian skipper Shane Warne. Then of course my Rajasthani roots, that the three years in Delhi had failed to blur, came calling.

As scheduled, the game kicked off at exactly half past eight. With a less than enthralling opening, it became clear early on in the game that delhi definitely had an upper hand and the royals were in for a tough time. Initially at the edge of my seat, I hailed every four and six that the batsmen so sparingly blessed the few royals supporters with. As the game progressed it became clearly evident that the royals were in for a pasting and my enthusiasm, in sync with the enthusiasm of the small bunch of royals supporters in the ground, fizzled out… and though the cheering didn’t stop completely, our vigour definitely toned down.

The abysmal total of the royals at the end of the innings was hardly an inducement to stay on till 11:30 to watch the entire game, and having entered the grounds on a complimentary DDCA pass (thanks to an uncle currently in the US, owing to whose membership of the club I diligently get passes for every event at the kotla), I decided to push off and watch the rest of the match on my television over dinner. The spooky delhi roads at night also helped me take my decision of leaving the grounds at a decent hour. On reaching home, true to all speculation… the royals lost out to the daredevils in a one-sided game by 9 wickets and all my enthusiasm about my home team, and IPL per se, nose-dived. My confidence in the team was shaken and little did I know that it would take three entire matches to be won by the royals thereafter to restore my befuddled faith in the team.

Scene shifts…

11th May 2008

Rajasthan Royals Vs Delhi Daredevils

Sawai Man Singh Stadium, Jaipur

Similar setting and the same teams, the only thing different about this 33rd match of the IPL was the steady progression of the royals to reach the top slot at the tally tables. A much stronger team now under the effective captaincy of Shane Warne and the humble presence of cricketing veterans like Shane Watson… the sentiment on the ground was optimistic. This was rajasthan’s second stint with the team that had raised several questions on its genius in its opening game and the royal hit-back was more than expected. The daredevils were also comfortably placed on the charts, figuring among the top slots, playing second fiddle only to the royals.

The match started with the daredevils batting first and their slow crumbling became evident around the 15th over. Then towards the end, they picked up momentum and dazzled the crowds with a host of fours and sixes. Wrapping up the innings at a decent 156 runs, Warne’s boys had no scope to get complacent. After a weak opening and much after delivering IPL’s lowest five overs score ever, the royals recovered fast and moved on to conquer the score that delhi had set for them.

Watson showcased another brilliant performance but was eventually declared out after a mammoth 74. The team was marching towards a much-deserved victory and the crowds were clearly getting more ecstatic. The cheerleaders were going ballistic, as so were the team mascots (men masqueraded as mascots, actually). So while ‘Moochu Singh’ delighted the crowds with his early victory jigs… Mexican waves and boisterous hooting characterized the home crowd. A lot of romping and thumping later… the royals had clinched the game with a neat 3 wicket victory over the once insurmountable daredevils. This also ensured their ticket to the semi-finals. A perfect ending to a perfect saga of loss, determination and victory of arguably the best team in the IPL so far.

Afterthought:

Just because some Rajasthan Royal’s players don’t find a mention here doesn’t mean that their efforts are overlooked or disregarded. Promising players constitute the team and each one of us supporters are continuously observing, and appreciating, their performances.

A word on T20 cricket:

Thrills, chills and state loyalties aside… my views on the T20 format of cricketing essentially remains the same. In this world of instant gratification… we get what we don’t mind spending (squandering?) money on. Paisa phek tamasha dekh. Have money… will spend on catching a four hour game that offers lots of fours and sixes here and there, glitzy fireworks, raunchy cheerleaders, celebrity endorsement, team mascots and oodles of sponsor advertising. Flashy teams are fast transforming into brands… while good cricket has taken a backseat. Teams now claim victory owing to the scores mustered up by single run-hitters alone. Previously unthinkable run-rates are being achieved and the concept of cricketing legends is being redefined. Case in point being Shane Watson, who up till now has been accredited with three of the many rajasthan wins and has been awarded the Man of the Match title an equal number of times. Does that make him the new T20 badshah? Subjective issue that only time will give an answer to. Many others like him are fast swooping their teams to easy victories and what worries me is the possible overlook of forthcoming talent, as also the gross neglect of the other maladies that might plague the team. Does that make me a purist? A pseudo-purist for sure.

Then again, my views are my views alone and can be passed off as initial hiccups that have since forever marked the beginning of great new things. I’m fully aware of the possibility that whatever is a con for me, might be a pros for somebody else. In fact I’ll refrain from brandishing the whole concept altogether because, and this is an honest confession, I quite enjoy all the T20 games myself. So here’s hoping that all my apprehensions about this format of cricket are proven wrong with the passage of time… and it does evolve to become as popular a form of game as did the ODIs (that FYI, have had their own share of misgivings at their inception way back in the 1970s). With that little bit of information in mind… lets sit back, reach for our beers and enjoy the game! Cheers!!

The Reluctant Fundamentalist
-Mohsin Hamid

The first book review from my stables, for the blog…

Low-down on the author:
Mohsin Hamid is a Pakistani British author. His first novel was named ‘Moth Smoke’ and was published in 2000. His second piece of work, ‘The Reluctant Fundamentalist’, was published in 2007 and earned him a Booker Prize nomination the same year. An Ivy League graduate, he studied at Princeton University till 1993 before attending Harvard Law School and graduating in 1997. After working with McKinsey and Company as a management consultant in NYC, he soon moved back to Lahore and undertook freelance journalism. Currently he resides in London and works as a part-time consultant.

Storyline:
* Spoilers begin here *
The protagonist, Changez, hails from the Punjab district of Pakistan. He gets admitted at Princeton University, New Jersey at eighteen and packs his bags to come and settle down in the US. After graduating with straight As’, he joins the most reputed valuation firm of his time in New York. He proves his mettle at Underwood Samson and also falls in love with a lady called Erica simultaneously. Erica is a white woman and hails from an affluent American family. She had been with Changez at Princeton and was reeling under the emotional trauma of dealing with the sad demise of her childhood boyfriend Chris due to cancer. Just when Changez’s life graph is all set to skyrocket… the 9/11 tragedy strikes and all goes haywire. Erica, who had been slowly recovering owing to Changez’s presence in her life, is thrown back in time and is reminded of the period when she had lost her boyfriend. One thing leads to another and it all boils down to Erica entering rehab at a far of institute and curtailing almost all contact with Changez. While his love life is on the rocks, Changez visits his family in Pakistan and is plagued by pangs of guilt on his way back because India is threatening to wage war against his country after an unabashed attack on its parliament. A victim of brain drain, he soon realizes that his motherland needs him more than the US and he quits his job to return home. He tries one more time to re-establish contact with Erica only to find out that she went missing some time back and circumstantial evidence point its finger in the direction of a possible suicide. Changez, disillusioned and gloomy after hearing about Erica, is in for another rude shock when he notices America’s indifference towards protecting its nuclear ally Pakistan against India. Its diplomatic impassivity evokes disdain in him and he comes back to Lahore to teach finance as a university lecturer. Perceived as a pioneer in starting a new wave of agitation against the Americans, he bears the brunt of being candid and fearless with a probable undercover assassin, masqueraded in the garb of an American tourist. In the end, Changez is culled for delivering an articulate and appealing media interview bashing America and its unwarranted interference in the affairs of other nations, most particularly Asian.
* Spoilers end here *

Review:
The entire story is narrated in the form of a monologue. It’s a literary feat to deliver a tale this fast paced and captivating with just the support of a single man’s dialogues. Riveting read that demands your attention and at the same time allows you to glide with the words with flummoxing ease. A Booker nominee… this book is a healthy departure from the stereotypical, hard-core Booker novels like those of authors like Kiran Desai and Salman Rushdie. It doesn’t require you to sit with a dictionary and look up every ninth word to make sense of the story. Talking of the story, Changez’s backdrop is highly autobiographical and corresponds well with Hamid’s vital stats.

Exponential human emotions have been highlighted delicately throughout the course of the novel. Take for the instance the emergence of subtle arrogance as a natural by product of talent; the amazement and the sense of achievement that tags along with attending an Ivy League college, joining a reputed firm that pays eighty thousand dollars per year and flying business class for the first time; the plight of falling in love with somebody who is still in love with somebody else and the frustration of knowing that the rival ‘somebody else’ doesn’t even inhabit the planet anymore; the vagaries of an educated mind; the upsurge of love for family at a time when the threat of a war looms large on the heads of the people who matter the most; the feeling of betrayal at seeing the apathy of the country you are serving towards the country you hail from; the occurrence of a terrorist attack that brings the world’s most powerful nation to its knees; the gory aftermath; its toll on the lives of others; a brainflash that washes away all traces of a preceding binge of braindrain; a woman’s dilemma at almost loving two men at the same time and altering loyalties between both; the feeling of defeat at not being able to pull the woman you love out of depression; the sense of pride at showcasing your exotic country to a foreigner; the intricacies of a high pressure job in a even more richly competitive environment; and the trade off between doing the right thing and giving up everything that glistens like gold…

The narrative is smooth and we are reminded repeatedly that it’s a monologue being delivered in Old Anarkali (Lahore) to an American tourist who clearly suffers from xenophobic paranoia. Owing to incidents like the decapitation of Daniel Pearl, the American journalist who was investigating the possible links between Islamist terrorists and Pakistani intelligence services in 2002, his jitteriness is completely in sync with a foreigner’s psyche. Though the concluding pages are unforeseen and unexpected. The candidness and honesty that comes attached with the protagonist (Changez) and his near assassination in the end forces one to reconsider abiding by one’s virtues in extraordinary times. Are we to be on our defensive during testing phases and curb natural tendencies in favor of what is politically correct and pleasing to the people in power? Broadening horizons and expanding the purview… will Pakistan ever see the light of being a truly democratic, secular and sovereign nation? Will the US ever confess that its an imperialist and loosen its grip on the nations that it constantly demands ‘cooperation and support’ from? Will it look beyond immediate gains to consider the well-being of these nations that suffer under its constant, unbridled whims? What does the future hold in store for Iraq? Will the world see more Changezes who give up a golden life in a far off country to come back and serve the interests of their own nation? Will reverse brain drain, as a concept, flourish? How many reluctant fundamentalists do we have amongst us?

The ending depicts the sanguinary side of the rivalry between the east and the west. In an atmosphere of suspicion and distrust, over-optimists pay the price for their overtly hopeful dispositions. Spruced with noteworthy lines everywhere to constantly keep the reader at his toes, I feel compelled to share a few of these lines with you-

· “… it is not always possible to restore one’s boundaries after they have been blurred and made permeable by a relationship: try as we might, we cannot reconstitute ourselves as the autonomous beings we previously imagined ourselves to be. Something of us is now outside, and something of the outside is now within us.” (On Erica)
· “…the lives of those of us who lived in lands in which such killers [terrorists] also lived had no meaning except as collateral damage.” (A reflection on life in Pakistan)
· “... I smiled. Yes, despicable as it may sound, my initial reaction was to be remarkably pleased ... I was caught up in the symbolism of it all, the fact that someone had so visibly brought America to her knees.” (On the 9/11 attacks)
· “I had always resented the manner in which America conducted itself in the world; your country's constant interference in the affairs of others was insufferable. Finance was the primary means by which the American empire exercised its power” (A third world national’s views on imperialistic America)
· “Every fall, Princeton raised her skirt for the corporate recruiters who came onto campus and—as you say in America—showed them some skin. The skin Princeton showed was good skin, of course—young, eloquent, and clever as can be—but even among all that skin, I knew in my senior year that I was something special. I was a perfect breast, if you will—tan, succulent, seemingly defiant of gravity—and I was confident of getting any job I wanted.” (On placements at Princeton)

If this has managed to wet your appetite even slightly, pick up this book… it shouldn’t take more than two and a half hours for a comprehensive read. I’ll give a 3.5/5 rating to Hamid’s ‘The Reluctant Fundamentalist’. Still can’t think of any genre of readers who wouldn’t enjoy this breezy, intelligent and highly engaging piece of fiction.

Afterthought:
I received this book from a close someone who insists that I infuse more opinions in my posts. Here's promising the saviour that I will try...

There’s something about Bombay that draws me to it…

3:30 at night, sifting through my albums, looking for snaps to pass on to a friend… I’m reminded of the two wonderful days that I spent recently in the maximum city. Reflecting on what enthralled my senses the most, the answer emerges almost effortlessly when I think of the sea. From carter road to marine drive… the sea held my attention for unusually long spells, much to the dismay of my Bombay relations who loathed the idea of even setting foot on the beach. So while the world was busy shunning away the waters, I rolled up my jeans and stepped in without any inhibition.

Two tranquil evenings in Bombay, both spent on the beaches, pondering over the vagaries of the everyday world. Standing on the shoreline, I had the hustle-bustle of a very busy metro city on one end… and the comfort of a serene endless sea on the other. Why am I going gaga over the waters? Well for one, having spent almost my entire life shuttling between Jaipur and Delhi, the absence of beaches or any other form of water-body made its presence felt early in my existence. Second, and this realization is relatively new, I recently discovered my love for Mother Nature.

Standing at the shore with the water hitting my legs and then retreating gently while slowly taking away with it the sand from beneath my feet, I shift my weight from foot to foot… staring aimlessly at the seams of the sea blending subtly with the blues of the sky at the horizon. Marine drive, famous as the queen’s necklace, affords the most scenic pleasures that the eyes could ask for. While progressing from evening to night, watching the sun disappear behind the high-risers and skyscrapers that define the Bombay skyline… I pat my back for having reserved an isolated spot on marine drive for soaking in the view that I knew I wouldn’t be seeing again in a very long time. While my friends grumble from behind that Goa has all the real beaches and this place hardly qualifies as even hygienic… I ignore the ranting and continue to revel in the moment. I think about Dharavi, and I think about the Taj. I think about gloominess, and I think about delightedness. I think about what lay buried deep inside the Arabian Sea waters, and I think about the untold secrets that the endless skies held up there for us. I feel like a free bird for whom the entire ocean spread ahead, while simultaneously I also feel like an insignificant speck in contrast to the spread of the whole wide universe. The senses betray each other. While the ears are engaged by the stillness of the sea, occasionally stirred by the sound of the waters hitting the shores… the eyes see the moving cars and constant motion in a city that is touted as never being asleep. There’s something about Bombay that draws me to it… the compounding of two polar fantasies here on the beach might have something to do with it…

Phoenix Towers, Lower Parel

Mumbai 29th Jan 2008

01.33am

Looking down from the 24th floor… seeing life slowly fade away from a city that is touted as an eternal insomniac. Sitting in the lap of luxury, the Mumbai skyline reminds of the view that I saw from atop the Empire State Building in New York a few years back. Fortune favors the brave… and one such legend sleeps peacefully across the hall from my bedroom. Heaving sighs of relief and content at a life well utilized. I feel silent admiration swelling up inside me. Is this how the ‘view from the top’ feels like? Nothing less than pure elation…

Today proved to be a dreamy day. A heady bus ride from Pune(my home for the last 4 days) to Mumbai in a Asiad Volvo… the scenic pleasures that NH4 could afford…reunion with somebody who forms an essential part of me(so I realize now)… a shopping spree at Bandra west… a walk on the Carter shoreline… accommodation in one of the finest places that the city could afford… a skyline view that brings back nostalgic memories of cherished days gone by… a laptop (with a data card, mind you) to work on at the end of the day… the presence of a special someone who I can relate to with illogical ease… affection from previously ignored quarters… and a dynamic somebody else who snores peacefully in her room across the hall. Life has been more than generous of late. Looks like fate is trying to make up for all that I have been made subject to in the recent past… a past that is finally well behind me.

Tomorrow comes with more promises attached to it... more things to look forward to. Leopolds, Marine Drive, Juhu Beach, Church Road and Dalal Street… a package that others would kill for. Add to that the company of the people who matter the most, the sweet taste of independence and the constant nurturing offered by endless luxury. I couldn’t be more content. But if life is as perfect as it seems to be… how do I explain the feeling of incompleteness that envelopes me on repeated occasions… a void that dwells deep inside me even while looking down from the 24th floor of Phoenix Towers, Lower Parel Mumbai…? I still look for my answers…

P.S. Happy Birthday, new phone.

5th October 2007
Friday
Jaipur

(Yeah, this happened a lot of days back but I’m penning it down today cause my writings had taken a beating due to what was going on in my personal sphere. Now after the wind has passed and the dust has settled in a fashion I highly favour… the pen was bound to come out soon).

The incident happened on a perfectly chirpy day when the air deceits you into believing that all would turn out to be fine. Here’s a glimpse into what happened:

10:00 am:
The news headlines are playing and I’m sitting lazily in my living room, brooding over what plagues our country over a cup of coffee. I’m home for vacations and the nitty-gritties of daily domestic life are playing themselves around me. Mom is in the kitchen fixing us a quick breakfast and dad is on the phone spelling out instructions to the engineer about how the new kitchen that we’re getting done should look like. I’m taking it all in with quiet satisfaction at the fact that some things never change… no matter how long you stay away from home. One quick glance at the clock and I realize I need to go pick Rahul, my younger brother, from school. His exams are going on while he’s also trying to recuperate from a sorry medical condition. In my quest not to be late, I quickly finish my coffee, grab the car keys and am on my way.

10:20 am:
Now going to the school was not a problem. Neither did it intimate me of the dangers that lay ahead on my way back. You see that’s the ‘beauty’ of living in a small town… you never assume that you’ll ever get stuck in anything even remotely close to a riot.

I made it on time and after some quick questions about how the exam was, Rahul and I were on our way back. Now anyone who is even sparingly aware of the roads and routes in Jaipur should be able to make more sense of what follows. We were coming back from M.I. Road, where St. Xaviers is located, and were going towards Hawa Mahal, the area around which I live. At the Ajmeri Gate Chauraha, I was waiting at the red light. The traffic in the city has evolved and one might be forced to wait for two, even three, red lights before he is finally allowed to pass through. In normal circumstances, I would object to such long waits and succumb to road rage. But today was different because of two reasons. Firstly because I was happy about the homecoming; and secondly because I was getting to drive daddy’s new car. Glasses up, a.c. and loud music on, I was oblivious to what was going on outside. Two red lights down, it was my turn to move ahead. Now this is where your ears should perk up… out of the blue, I see this huge mob approaching the road from our left. The trajectory was such that while the cars ahead of me could just manage to slip away before the mob arrived… I was amongst the unfortunate few who were left behind. As the mob blocked the way, I realized I had crossed the red light (so there was no turning back) and couldn’t even move ahead because the mob now surrounded my car. Lathis and banners in place, for a second I thought it’s all over. The next few seconds were spent in turning off the music and trying to come in terms with the fact that if nothing else, I’m at least losing my windshield today. Looking at the slogan-shouting, banner-flaunting crowd… I knew no mercy would be spared. My brother was sitting next to me, not fully aware of what was going on. The bemused expression in his eyes just gave way to his confusion, but not the slightest hint of fear. Adding fuel to fire was a media photographer rapidly clicking away pictures of the two of us trapped in the once-cozy confines of our car.

Hmmm… I noticed I was leading a blue car right behind me (the rest had stopped at the red light itself) and decide to take a left turn from there. Left… the direction from where the mob was coming. I still don’t know what prompted that decision but my only bet was to stick to my guns. The car behind me followed. So far so good… the lathis hadn’t hit the windshield yet. Behind me, the motorcyclists were being manhandled. Their bikes were history and their faces were a huge red web of terror.

I weaved my way through the mob… tried talking to a traffic cop who, unfortunately, was as baffled as me. Realizing he wasn’t going to do any good… I looked around for an exit and quickly spotted one at the far end of the road. The challenge: reaching there unhurt. Then the added responsibility of taking care of my brother was weighing down on me. Glasses still rolled up… I took a deep breath and started moving towards the elusive end. A distance of roughly 60 meters had to be covered but the pack of people weren’t making things any easier. I had covered a good 35 meters when, inevitably, fury found me. A group of protestors, seeing a car trying to get away, turned furiously towards us and were about to bombard our vehicle with their lathis when something transpired between us and them. The fury in those angry eyes toned down immediately when they saw a hapless girl behind the wheel and her little brother sitting with a quiet expression on his face.

Now, call it fate or luck or providence or whatever you mortals like to call it--- but the protestors actually made room for us to pass through and I, grabbing the opportunity before they changed their mind, quickly zapped my way to the exit. Looking at the rear-view mirror, I saw that the blue car behind us had also been allowed to pass because the occupants were a harried looking senior couple. Letting out a sigh of relief… we made our way home without even turning back once. Let bygones be bygones!

Epilogue:
On reaching home, we narrated what had happened to mom and dad who literally flipped out after hearing the whole description. Evening papers later in the day were full of stories about what was going on in the city. For the uninitiated, I wouldn’t mind giving a lowdown on what the riots were all about. These were the infamous Gujjar Riots. Gujjar is a community in Rajasthan that is demanding ST status to increase the ambit of reservations available to their class. The government, obviously not okay with the demands, is resisting the pressure that the Gujjar’s are now trying to create by initiating a spate of unprecedented riots in the state. In the fray are big Rajasthan MPs and MLAs including hotshots like Sachin Pilot and Nathu Singh Gujjar.

Just to bring it to focus, the Gujjar riots have had a bearing on my existence in the past as well. Read more about it here. One sincere request to the people and government alike is to show better cooperation and at least ensure that normal life isn’t affected due to trivial tiffs and disagreements. Its not pretty, its not convenient, and it almost definitely violates the rules of staying together in a harmonious society.

C.A.T. - the hype and hoopla that this three-lettered word generates would put George Bush (caught in another dopey act) to shame. Come November and the media enters a crazy frenzy - covering every single move that the candidates appearing for the exam make, making documentaries on what it takes to bell the CAT, presenting the already hassled students with institute profiles, vital stats, health tips, stress-management techniques, et al. As if appearing for one of the world's toughest exams wasn't enough, students are made to grapple with all the ballyhoo surrounding this newly christened 'do or die test' (read: CAT).

Its general knowledge that the Common Admission Test, or CAT, is an all-India test conducted by the Indian Institutes of Management (IIMs) as an entrance test for the management programmes of its seven business schools (located each in Ahmedabad, Bangalore, Calcutta, Indore, Lucknow, Kozhikode and now Shillong). We also know that the number of students taking the exam grows with each passing year. With over 2,00,000 students fighting for the coveted 1200 seats that the IIMs have to offer, the tussle to enter the hallowed portals only gets tougher with time. Even with a top 1% score, a candidate must also cross the equally stringent hurdles of a group discussion and a personal interview. All this taken collectively makes the procedure more selective than all the Ivy League Universities put together. Operating in circumstances like these, the last thing that an aspirant wants is media-attention and critical-performance-scrutinization at every step.

Names like Career Launcher, IMS, Time, PT Education, Roots Education, Alchemist, etc. are synonymous with MBA test preparation and are etched onto public memory. Cut throat competition, peer pressure and sometimes parental persuasion coupled with filling complicated application forms and handling challenging sections like Data Interpretation, Problem Solving, Verbal Ability and Reading Comprehension define what goes on in the life of an aspirant for months before the third Sunday of november arrives. Add to this taking innumerable mock CATs in simulated surroundings and the mental agitation that surfaces as an obvious aftermath of bad percentiles. All this describes the plight of an average test-taker, though not denying that things can be different for some sections of people (if after reading this line you've broken into a smile, congratulations, you're the 'section of people' I am talking about).

The good part, its not as horrendous as it sounds. The seven-figure salaries, the intellectual stimultion, the 'branded for life' feeling, the institute experience and the useful things that one learns in the process makes it all worthwhile in the end.

One bone of contention though. The 'media hype' surrounding this one particular exam results in a lot of undesirable things. For starters, it results in adding yet more importance to the already illustrious institutes at the expense of their lesser-known coevals. There are other deserving institutes in the fray which the media tends to overlook. With atleast 98-99 percentile as the cut-off for IIM calls, other institutes with even 97.5 percentile as their cut-off are grossly sidelined and their roles majorly underplayed. For the candidates who miss the A+ grade, premier b-schools by even a 0.1 percentile deficiency (and the numbers run into hundreds), its nothing less than spending the rest of their lives in an inferno. This reflects on the extent to which the media generated hype has affected the brand-equity of our b-schools. So much so that CAT is being used as an umbrella term to cover most of the other management entrance exams in the country as well. Acute depression, guilt-pangs, reduced self-esteem, lower feeling of self-worth and a humongous beating to the self-confidence creeps into the lives of those who end up taking the test too seriously and failing even slightly.

The solution to this problem lies in bestowing the other almost equally good b-schools with their due credit and making the junta realize that missing the school of their dream by a negligible margin doesn't make them unworthy in any way. Its all a matter of luck and chance that our contemporaries may get into places that we always thought we deserved to be in. Being too harsh on oneself is not an option and key to a happy life lies in scanning the other options and to continue giving it your best shot. Even getting into foreign institutes might prove to be less mind-numbing!

A parting shot for the media would be to focus their energies on talking-up other institutes rather than putting the spotlight on the already celebrated ones. Some attention to the candidates is good but going overboard with the coverage of everything related to CAT only makes them more anxious and far more jittery...

Guess who got published on CNN-IBN's online news portal http://www.ibnlive.com/ !!! Yes yes, you're right... yours truely got her own blog there! Thats like taking my passion for writing and expressing one step ahead. Ok I'm providing the link below... check and comment!

http://www.ibnlive.com/blogs/author/1276/yashikatotlani.html

And keep visiting!