PUZZLES OF DESTINY

What should one feel after realizing that he/ she is in the wrong place at the wrong time. I being caught up in the clutches of management education considered different options,

1. Running away, dropped it because it is too pessimistic

2. Stay and make the most of it- too optimistic for a normal person especially the second half of that so called inspirational and brief sentence

3. Be myself, and let the destiny decipher out the puzzle itself

Shakespeare, being my first love, I considered his words “There is nothing good or bad, But our thinking makes it so.” But in spite of my love for him, I should admit that it is too philosophical for me. I don’t wish to be a philosopher at this age. Of course there are good and bad things, I would like to hug the good things tightly and throw the bad ones away from my vicinity.

Wavering between the first and second option at times, my days turned more and more unstable like the weather in this green valley,...

Staring blankly

At the blanket of mist,

Time does melt down.

Blunted and rusted hours

Poured over the valley of days.

And the sun,

Casting only desperate shadows.

While the whips of winds whisper

Crumbles the silence.

I used to remember Shelley’s words in his poem, “Invitation”, especially when the raindrops drop like pearls in to the beautiful soil which nurtures the botanical life of this place with rich and unexplored flora and fauna.

“Away away from men and towns,

To the wild wood and the downs,

Where the soul need not repress its music”

My pen turned out to be prolific in its outputs especially when the management and financial theories catered to people who are interested in them and me sitting like a moron among the crowd.

AN AFTERNOON SESSION

The afternoon hours,

Falls to the lap of vacuum;

Unable for the hands of sleep,

To grasp, to hug.

The speakers around

Spit out economics and theories of finance.

What would be the exchange

For an hour of peace,

For an hour of sleep,

I wonder;

But what I hear is

The exchange of money,

The market system,

And my purse is empty;

Empty of dreams, and

Incompatible with the reality.

We are always urged to think and act creatively and ironically enough, nobody wants a genuine person. We are trained in etiquette, body language, language, grooming and how to think and analyze. Readymade catalogues are made for you. So, come on future managers, ready to get moulded, be a leader, be a success, and be in corporate world.

IRONY OF HOURS

What an incongruence it is

To be shut up below

a concrete roof,

Inside bleak walls,

When the drizzling noon

Calls you from outside.

What a paradox it is to hear

How to be a leader,

When the world beckons you,

With the chirping of birds,

With the murmuring of brooks.

When your days yearn to orchestrate

With your desires...

You realize,

You are in the wrong place.

The following is a poem which originated when the most used words in our campus were “placements”,

“Career”, “how to make us employable” etc

After my first interview I found that I am not myself before an interview panel, I have also turned in to a sculpture which our trainers have created. I have also learnt the deception, manipulation and exaggeration to be a perfect person before an interview panel.

I found out how to face an interview panel: They don’t want us to perspire; sweaty hands and increased heart bears being strictly forbidden to present you as a self confident person. You should smile in spite of all the normal bodily reactions of tension. Oops! I am sorry. We should not have normal body reactions in an interview. Nobody cares what you are. Just be good before them for half an hour. The more effective you wear a mask, the more the chances of getting selected.

Can you show me the person who said beauty is not in external appearance? I just want to slap that person. Pretty girls and handsome boys! You have the probability of getting selected more. Who cares what your ethics is, what the stuff is inside and the capacity of your grey matter. Ironically, they want a “committed, sincere and hardworking” person who dies to work in their organization.

HOW TO SELL YOURSELF

When you sell yourself,

There are no fireflies, there are no stars.

It means no dreams;

The desert wind blows on your face,

You have to face with a smile.

The sales letter you prepared,

You are dissected,

Intellectually...

You are a sphere,

Trying to be in a square box,

Fitting in to it...

And finally you turn shapeless,

Knowing not what to do,

But still you strive- you get a job.