IMT _ The Untold Story

Flashback: The lazy guy with ruffled hair is walking down the corridor that connects the IMT Ghaziabad Placement office to the domain of the mere mortals. He has just rejected (yes, he loves saying that) his PPO from a reputed media company. How does he feel? He would have felt nervous and confused had he not been high on marijuana, but Mother Nature made sure that his ability to brood was curtailed for the rest of the day. Still, when you’re nose deep, you can’t help but smell. So, there were thoughts going through his mind. No fear. Uncertainties abound, but uncertainty seldom daunts those who are used to being stretched thin between deadlines. The thought that kept looping in his mind through the rather leisurely saunter, was “God, pUllEze dOn’t SeND mE tO CheNnAi” (To remind you once again, he was high on dope). More of an under-the-table proposition to the almighty, than fear. As he inched closer to his room, he heard zeppelin’s war cry- “Valhalla, I’m coming”. It had always made more sense to him than the constant blabbering of his professors, so true to his faith; he geared up to have a walk down to Valhalla. But the road to Valhalla inevitably goes through the battlefield, and those who don’t take it, often end up in the neighborhood church graveyard. So go to the battlefield he should, and go the battlefield he did……… (But not before rolling another joint)


(….ahem! ahem!!) Flashback over…excuse my rather inartistic way to bring this to your notice, but you can blame this on the literary geniuses of times gone by, who never properly addressed such issues, conveniently assuming that the reader would figure it out on his own. (Corollary- all assumptions are wrong). Anyways, I can fill more pages than there are in Will Shakespeare’s entire works, with my soreness at the world, but my heartfelt respect for the bard forbids me from superceding him in anything what so ever (barring longevity).

So, getting back to our story….what became of the lazy guy with ruffled hair? (Henceforth referred to as exhibit-A). Well, his undying faith in Led Zeppelin’s music, along with God Almighty’s sense of humor, made sure that he did make it to Valhalla. Safe, though not very sound. If you haven’t guessed it so far, accept my complements on being an idiot. You can go back to sleep, as you will never have to bear the burden of the world and it’s ever fornicating residents who will not cease from adding to the 6 billion strong roster. Yes sirs (and madams), he did end up in Chennai, TN. He landed in an FMCG company, when he always thought that FMCG was the domain of skinny specky guys with poor grammatical knowledge in all languages, including those that are no longer spoken on this planet, and that he would never fit into it. But then, there are more forces operating in the immediate business environment than Michael E. Porter had professed. (I bet the ‘E’ stood for Einstein).

It’s kind of ironical. An FMCG company based in Chennai? Nothing moves fast in Chennai!! But what the hell, I always felt the Germans were weird people, so why should their choice of location be an exception? Anyways, our friend exhibit-A was stuck in Chennai, and he knew that there will be no respite for the next year or two…..so, what does he do about it? There was not much that he could do, to start with. But all was not lost. Well, he had always been a dreamer…It’s good to be a dreamer. I personally believe that we could always use another dreamer around us. They’re crazy, alright, but at least they’ll make you feel that there is still hope…there will be an end to the inane chaos. However, among dreamers, this one was a little different. If reality was not in sync with his rosy perceptions, he will shrug, and go back to sleep saying “it’s just a bad dream”. He refused to accept reality unless it was within 1.96% standard deviation from the mean [(with 95% confidence intervals). Artists have a queer perception of scientific concepts, don’t they?] But come a pleasant dream, he would take guard and battle on till he turned it into reality. So, where was the pleasantry amidst the heartbreak of losing out on a dream job, ending up in the grueling FMCG business, and a city where he never wanted to be? Did I mention that our friend was a die-hard 5.0 optimist?

Hope is most difficult to kill when it is frail. The faint ray of hope that was silhouetted against the dark horizon, like a graceful picture painted on a grim-black canvas, kept the spirits high. That, along with the presence of some friends unfortunate enough to end up in the southern metro (let’s just call them- “fellow damned souls”), made him see the silver lining. So, the boys were taken of IMT, but IMT could not be taken out of them. They answered the call of the busy streets with utmost fervor and buoyant zeal, and when the curtain fell on Friday evening, they went out to discover an upbeat soundtrack in the still-sad music of urban life. Exhibit-A and his friends chose not to crib and whine at this slight blemish on the ever shining bigger picture. Instead, they charged ahead, determined to beautify the bigger picture so much so, as to make the blemish fade away into insignificance.

Energized, positive and determined, exhibit-A went into the battlefield. He had to prove to the never-believers that he belonged at the big show. The high that this clarity of purpose gave him was much more intoxicating than that of marijuana and all the other funny things that he had tried, taken together. Taking pride in himself, the ever faithful soldier of fortune, the mercenary marched ahead. Excuse the cliché, but this ‘semi-charmed life’ thrilled him, and will continue to, as long as the beating of his heart urges him on.

In life, there are trade-offs. We ask God to bless us with so much, without even sparing a moment to think if we actually deserve it. There might be aberrations to this story, but none that exhibit-A knows of. None that he has ever felt in his life. He always won some, and lost some. But it was always victory that he celebrated, relegating losses to the deep-dark corners of his heart, from where they can’t appear, unless summoned. He had learnt to connect and share his joy with that of others around him. Even with those with whom he was unacquainted…. ”at least he/she is happy”. He would tell himself, and start weaving the next dream. That was life to him. It was….is it anymore? It’s somewhere in between. Heading at lightning speed to “not anymore”. People ask for kindness, for support and sympathy, and then conveniently assume that these are all synonymous for weakness. Exhibit-A always disagreed with this shamefully distorted perception. He always expressed this in words, now he plans to use his actions for that purpose. He has had enough. Enough compromises and trade-offs. You either pay your dues after you smell the roses, or you pay your dues before life shows you flying colors. His’ is the latter case. He knows he has paid his dues. He knows he has come back from the brink all too often, enjoying the two-way journey. ‘Go ahead, test me’ he’d say on his way to the edge of reason, and a quite, arrogant smile would flash on his face when he returned to stability. He can live this life forever. There’s far too much depth in him. He will “not wince nor cry aloud”. But how long can he let destiny dictate the terms. The momentum is there to be seized. He’ll seize it. There might not be a next time. There wasn’t a next time last time either.

So, there he is…a pinch of salt, the stuff dreams are made of, the company of good friends, and the warmth of his own heart. Not to forget, No Marijuana…he seems to have forgotten that he hates the city he’s living in. It’s a trivial issue. His ambition forbids him from dwelling too much upon it….This time, for the first time, he is very sure of what he wants, and he is determined not to let it go. It’s his. It always was, it always will be. He asks God to help him along. “You will not come down, so let me elevate” he says. He knows he’ll meet his destiny halfway this time. “Nothing can go wrong” tells him his heartbeat. But what if it does? Well then, another bad dream, another refusal of reality, another attempt to weave a dream…..not a new dream, though, not this time. It has to be the same perfect picture, the same dream…another start from the scratch…..he’s a die-hard optimist, remember? ….loser!!

“His honour rooted in dishonour stood,
and faith unfaithful kept him falsely true’

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Contributed By Suyash Parashar
(The author is an Assistant Brand Manager at Henkel India )