Zindagi migzara.

Transcription

Zindagi migzara.

Editors’ Globe
A Peep in
Rub al Khali
..3
My Angel
..6
Two Moons & the Darkness
..7
When Romance & Resumes Mix
..8
Me
..9
Ahmad
.10
The Lady in the Bar
..11
The Blue Slippers
..16
Will You Ever Be Mine
.17
Gaming: An Industry in Flux?
.22
Campus News
..23
Xpressions is back! And, in an entirely new avatar.
We bring you some exceptional creative works by our
talented IIMB junta. It’s truly a blend of agony, ecstasy
and the most sublime of human emotions, love.
Zindagi migzara. Life goes on, unmindful of the past. Yet it
is the events that pepper each day that give life its unique
flavour. And it is this unique flavour to the journey that
we enjoy, appreciate and enhance with our creativity.
As the first years prepare for their summer placements,
we bring this issue to pepper their journey and ease their
minds with a lively blend of articles from some of the
most creative minds on our campus. This issue of Xpressions even goes out to an international audience as our
exchange friends revel in this unique Indian experience.
Team Expressions extends them a warm hearty welcome!
Together with this issue comes our blog – http://urexpressions.blogspot.com which is already a runaway hit!
We’ll publish regularly and satisfy your hunger for stories, poems and pure creative entertainment.
Well, enough globe! Let’s get reading!
EXPRESSIONS, ISSUE 07, OCTOBER 2011
2
Rub al Khali
Heed the songs of the sands...
ll things sing. All things have music around
over scraps of survival. Here, sand rules. In swathes and
their edges and in their core. The hidden parts
waves, in ripples and marches, in swirls and eddies and
of the sum. The sea sings, of yearning and vasttwisting, twirling patterns they live and grow and move
ness and depth, of its borders of horizon and
and breed and die.
shore. Of the great endless motions of its body, and the
But it was not always such. Not at that time, in that city.
unthinkable stillness of its heart. The forests sing, of life
In Ubar, the citadel of gardens, of the scented streets.
and growth and death, of entanglements and strife and
Where Sheba herself had cast her lovely shadow, and
struggle and joy. The hills sing of freedom and bliss,
anointed the hallways with her breathy sighs. And where,
they sing with the simplicity of stone, and their songs
in our story, the king sat on silk cushions and caressed
are light and make you skip. You would have seen it.
three of his concubines with a peacock feather, as they lay
Even the cows in the hills seem to wish to dance. And
draped over each other. Copper skin gleamed, soft flesh
the lambs do. For songs, like stories touch each othmassaged with fragrant oils. Dark hair cascaded over
er, and shape each other.
their faces and shoulders
Songs give birth to songs,
and breasts. Their long
as stories do to stories. And
lashes fluttered and their
you can see the shape of the
thick lips parted in moans
great songs from the little
as the king poured over
ones, from the songs of the
them potions of frankpeople and their lives. The
incense. In Ubar, it was
earthy songs of forest dwellequal to bathing in gold.
ers, the lonesome songs of
And they thanked him in
sailors, and the lilting tunes
sensuous undulations and
of the mountain folk. But
husky words of adorathis story is not about those
tion, and they pressed the
songs. This story is about
oils and incense into their
the songs of the nomads,
flesh and into each others
of the children of sand, of
and into his. And in Ubar,
the desert. The songs which
in the gardens and palaces
are often almost wails, the
protected by walls and
songs which seem to have
wealth from the desert’s
a deep mystery to them,
song, all was beauty and
whose notes haunt and
all was bliss.
Aditya Mukherjee
deceive and remind you of harshness and pain
PGP 2010-12
and heat and sand.
But soon the king’s slumber was broken
by a polite yet urgent knocking on the door. He awoke,
This is a story of the songs of the empty quarter, of Rub
dazed, not knowing what time or day it was, for he slept
al Khali. Of the endless stretches of nothingness. Nothwhen he wanted to, when he was tired, and woke up at
ing except winds which would tear into your skin and
his leisure. He untangled himself from the heap of shapeleave behind leather. And the sun, which chooses to
ly limbs, smiled to himself, and stumbled to the door. It
show its cruelty most on this kingdom. Where its rays
opened to reveal the captain of his guard, unsurprised to
whip down mercilessly on earth and man and beast and
see his liege naked and drowsy, for these were still times
shrivels up kindness and generosity and all the pleasant
of freedom. And he said “There is a man, from outside,
fancies we would make up. But mostly this is a story
from the desert. He says he has been lost there for three
of sand. For this is the realm of sand. Men here are no
weeks. He wishes an audience, Ruler of Paradise.”
more than rats in cities. Scurrying, hiding, fighting
A
3
The king tilted his head. He looked back at the bed, where find your way to a path or city if you were thus lost. But
one of the women was awakening, her torso rising, abdo- if it could be done, if it had been done, the man looked
men taut, hair spilling over half opened eyes and still asleep like he had done it. Sand. Sand covered him, it clung
enough to be charmingly unconscious of
to his skin and his hair and his brow and
her beauty. “That is impossible” he told The king looked at him and his teeth. His flesh seemed impossibly dry,
the guard. “No one can survive that long. frowned. “Why have you not tough and hard like a sapless date. Sooty
Not without camels, and water.”
dusty trails ran down his cheeks, pathsent him away?”
The guard said nothing. The king looked
ways cleared by his tears, and his eyes were
at him and frowned. “Why have you not
gaunt and hollow and wide as if all mois“You
should
see
him,
Protecsent him away?”
ture from them had dried or flowed away.
tor of Grace.” said the Cap- His clothes were torn, little more than rags
“You should see him, Protector of Grace.” tain quietly.
and patches, and his lips a spider’s web of
said the Captain quietly.
cruel, deep cuts. The kings eyes widened.
“Water.” He yelled. “Water for the man.
The king sighed, and bade the concubine, now awake, to Now.” And the man was given thick sweetened water, as
fetch his robes and dress him.
much as he could drink, and he was then splashed with
the same, again and again, as he sank to his knees and his
Then the great king of Uber, the protector of grace in midst skin seethed and sizzled like burning meat. And under
of the sea of sand, the ruler of walled paradise attended the order and benevolence of the king, his doctors rushed
to his throne. Three women stood on each side, beautiful to the man, and made to take him away and adminisenough to be princesses and queens of any of the lands, and ter to his tortured flesh soothing ointments. But at that
they gently fanned him with exquisite movements, slender, point the man pushed them away and looked at the king
smooth arms tense with effort, and backs and shoulders and spoke. And his voice was strange, as if reverberatshowing light lines of feminine musculature. He gazed at ing, booming though soft, hissing like the winds though
them each and then finally tearing his eyes away looked at stretches of shifting sands. He said “Oh king. Defender
the man who was cause for breaking his slumber. And he of Uber. This I have to tell you.”
understood why the guard had wanted him to see this.
Slowly, painfully he stood, swaying slightly, like a young
It was impossible to survive the desert for three weeks if palm in the sea breeze. And with a voice which grated like
you were lost without supplies. It was almost impossible to a sandstorm, and eyes unblinking and constant he said.
4
“Three weeks have I been in the desert alone. Lost without
hope. Lost without salvation. With the caravan lost, and
the dromedaries dead. Three weeks since the storm hit us,
and cruel winds ripped us apart, and grains of sand tore
into our skin and bodies and eyes, and strayed us from
the path and from each other. For three weeks I have been
alone, sometimes wandering, sometimes when my legs gave
out lying in the dunes as sand covered and uncovered me.
Sometimes just waiting for the darkness. There is nothing
outside, no rocks, no earth, no plants, no beasts. Just sand.
Howling through my ears, singing strange songs, rustling
through my clothes, into my body, into my dreams.”
do not say all this for my own pleasure. I am warning, and
I warn you. Leave now.”
But the king had turned away, and had left the court. “Mad”
he told himself, and did not notice that he was shivering.
Man’s memory is short however, and kings’ often shorter.
And as days went by, and nights swam by, the king lost
himself once more in his life. Once more he oversaw the
flow of the frankincense caravans through his city. And
everyday he delivered his justice to his people. And every
night, he forgot himself in the arms of his many luscious
women. And he did not notice how the wind seemed to be
hotter. Or how even in his high palace,
“Take him outside the city.” in the middle of the garden city of Uber,
he said turning, though he cleaned fourteen times a day, there seemed
knew not why. “Outside the to be sand piling up in the corners. How
his concubines’ hair and clothes seemed
walls. Into the sand.”
to be dustier, and their skin less soft.
And his voice rose as he continued, though
he seemed unaware of it, resounding
through the hall, ringing across the high
arched ceiling and lavish, lascivious tapestries. The king sat frozen, and the courtiers
and concubines cringed. “Into my dreams”
said the man. “Can you imagining dreaming the dreams of the dunes. Can you imag- But the man just smiled, a And one night, as he stood in the balcony
ine feeling them burrowing into your mind? ghastly smile, with dead eyes. looking out to a calm full moon, and a
Great, strange, old dreams. Dreams no
sky empty of all obstruction to a billion
more than strains of song. Ohhhhh…but
glittering stars, the wind rose. And sudwhat song. Not mortal music, not the melodies played in denly, he remembered. And his eyes turned to the horizon,
your court and harem, in the streets and houses of insolent where he saw a great mountain. No, not a mountain. A
Uber. Songs sung by a million million particles at once. wall, a march, a wave. For a moment he thought it might
Each the same, each different. Songs no more than desire, be an approaching army. A charge of a hundred thousand
and feeling. No more than the taste of heat on their bodies, horses. But he knew it wasn’t. He knew, as he looked back
or the caress and dance of the wind as it shatters them and to his room, at the facades from Babylon, and the gems
makes love to them, and makes them rise and swirl and fly. from India which anointed his quarters. At the silks from
The desert lives, the sand sings, and the dunes rule, oh De- distant China, and the hides of African animals, and soft
fender. And as they sang to me, they told me of distance, cottons from mighty Egypt. At all the beauty which man
and sweeps and stretches. They told me of themselves and could create, all the crafts and arts of his hand, the finest
of their borders, set by ancient pacts before the first crea- of which were present there. He knew that what was apture’s father was born. This is theirs, oh king, and they told proaching from the horizon, was no work of man. And he
me to tell you this. Thus they showed me the way, and kept could hear its song.
my life intact. The sands rise, oh king. They rise because
man has broken the pacts. Pacts which the earth and wind It was later said, that the people of Ubar offended the One.
and clouds themselves signed. Uber stands in their realm. That their ways of orgy and pleasure and vice incurred on
Insolent, arrogant Uber, walls in gardens in their domin- them the Wrath and His breath blew them away, and swept
ion. The sands rise, defender and guardian. And they send away all traces of them. That it tore down their towers and
me as warning, for they are fair kings. “
minarets, shattered their walls, and drowned their streets
and markets and people. That Ubar was washed away.
There was silence in the hall after he finished, and the kings
lips moved wordlessly. “You are mad” he said finally, his That is what men say, but then men say such things, and
voice sounding broken and small. He shifted in his seat make every thing about their own selves. But even now,
and looked away. “Take him away.” He said to the guards. those who are lost in that emptiness from time to time, and
“He is mad” he repeated as if to convince himself. He rose those who survive it, will tell you that they can feel only the
from his throne and started walking away. “Take him out- ghost of man there. That all they can see and feel is sand.
side the city..” he said turning, though he knew not why. And that they can not remember the stories on men, or
“Outside the walls. Into the sand.”
their gods in that place. All that they can hear is the song
of the emptiness. For in rub al khali, the sands still sing.
But the man just smiled, a ghastly smile, with dead eyes. And they still rule.
“Soon, oh defender, all will be sand. The walls, the city. I
5
My Angel
I opened my eyes and tilted my head towards the sound and there...
That day I was walking by a park, when I saw the sun going down, creating all the colours in the sky that would
make even a stone turn into a romantic. I realized that it
had been a long time since I enjoyed a beautiful evening
and went into the park and saw a rusty old bench sitting
on the gravel on its thin bent legs. The green paint on
it was peeling off and that made it look like a shriveled
old man with scabs on his body. It looked as if the bench
was complaining that it had a lot of wisdom to give, only
there were very few who actually wanted to listen to it.
A butterfly was sitting on it and flapping its two wings
in slow periodic motion, as if it was very slowly gathering everything the park had to offer and taking all of it
inside its tiny body. I somehow felt drawn to the bench;
there was nothing that I could get from it but somehow I
needed to sit on it.
As I sat on the bench, I looked around at what the park
had to offer. There was the lush green grass on which, if
you sit you would feel each of the tiny grass blades touching you, as if telling that it was there only to make you
feel comfortable. There was the small lake not far away
from the bench, on which a pair of geese were swimming
together like a couple in love. As they swam, the waves
that they produced disturbed the sun’s reflection making
the sun look like a happy person dancing.
I relaxed on the bench and breathed deep taking in all the smells of the park. I closed my
eyes and stretched my legs. I felt that everything in that small place - the old bench, each
blade of grass, the ripples in the lake, the geese
and the dancing sun, had accepted me for who
I am and were glad about it. I don’t remember
for how long I sat like that. Maybe a minute..
Maybe an hour.. It didn’t matter because I felt
like I was in heaven.
Varun Sharma
PGP 2010-12
I heard a small rustle of a dry twig near the
bench and unwillingly opened my eyes to see
who was causing the disturbance in my heaven. I opened
my eyes and tilted my head towards the sound and there,
in my heaven I saw an angel. What else would one expect in a heaven, I wondered. I now realized what poets
meant when they said beautiful. Her skin was the colour of a hazelnut and her hair was so black, it absorbed
all the colours of the universe into it. Everything about
her face -the curves her cheekbones made, the way her
eyes looked at the world, and her smile, could only be
described as soft. She was standing near the bench and
looking at the impending sunset and smiling; smiling as
if she had discovered the answer to all the difficult questions of life. When she walked, her legs touched the hem
of her skirt and caused them to twirl, making it seem as
if the skirt was dancing a love dance. She approached the
bench, slowly turned around and sat at the other end of
the bench. I sat there looking at the angel; afraid to talk,
afraid to breathe, afraid that anything I do would make
her disappear. She looked like a beautiful rose, just after
the morning dew had settled on it. She looked at a small
wild flower growing near the bench, softly picked it up
and looked at it with such fascination that I have seen only
in a child. She handled the flower delicately and I knew
the flower was very happy. She sat there looking at my
heaven and it seemed like the whole of the park belonged
to her; as if with every breath of hers she was breathing
life into it. I don’t know for how long we sat there, just
like that; she, the queen of the world and I, a man who
had seen God. Suddenly, she turned her soft face and
looked at me. I saw a pair of beautiful black eyes, looking
at me, taking me completely in them. It seemed like they
had a purpose and I was sitting there, playing my part in
helping that purpose. Her lips parted and a voice as sweet
as honey told me, “Thanks for sharing this
beautiful evening with me.” Before I could
speak a word, she stood up, turned around
and started walking. I was too shocked to
run behind her and beg her to talk more, to
tell about herself and if not anything, just to
share that old bench with me for some time
more. But she was gone. I resolved to come
back to this place every day, to make sure
that I would meet her, my angel, again. I
started dreaming. I started hoping.
The next morning I woke up like a man in
love, like a man haunted and like a man addicted. As I went about my morning chores
there was nothing else I could do, but think, think like a
mad man. I dressed up, and sat to have my breakfast, and
opened the newspaper. There in the second page I saw
her. Those same pair of eyes looking at me, as if taking me
completely in them. The heading read, “Girl Commits
Suicide”. I threw up. My angel had reached her heaven.
6
Two Moons and the Darkness
Her dark hair was open, cascading down her burnished copper skin, curtaining the arch of her neck
and her bare shoulders. Her lips parted, though she did not smile...
Never in her life had she looked so beautiful.
Her dark hair was open, cascading down her burnished copper skin, curtaining the arch of her neck and
her bare shoulders. Her lips
parted, though she did not
smile. And her eyes sparkled,
though she did not cry. Golden shadows of the dancing,
flickering flame caressed her
naked breasts and limbs. The
smell of oil and spices and
perfume covered her. Never
in her life had she looked so
beautiful. I could not get myself to believe that she would
not live to see another night.
The waters of the Nile lapped
at the barge. It was a full moon and the tide was
strong. Adorning the horizon, an ode to the hand
of man, was the silhouette of the pyramid. Like an
impossibly perfect mountain, its mass dark and unyielding, the pyramid rose against the night sky, a
black swathe cutting across Nephthys’s realm, unlit by the moon. It was complete. And she was a
maid of the palace. She would die the next day.
Under a sky carved of the deepest gems of lapis and
against the breeze which sang of lost songs and forgotten loves, he looked at her. It was their last night.
And he did not know how to make love to her on her
last night. So he took the roll of papyrus and the quill
of reed. He would draw her – he would draw her eyes
that did not cry, and her lips that did not smile. And she
would take it with her when she died; there it would
lie, with the pharaoh and those who died for him… in
the pyramid… till the sands ran out. And though she
may die tomorrow, but she would never be forgotten.
*
She was dead. And he was here, by the swollen waters
of the Nile, in the shifting grey sands, as they brought
in the relics one by one. The pyramid’s door had been
opened and its secrets were free. The scent of the
7
tomb was in the air – the scent of many centuries. Soon
the world would know what lay in the heart of the stone.
It was the greatest moment of his life. But she was dead.
He had tried to forget her. He had
locked away her things; everything
that she had used or owned; everything that had her fragrance or
memory. He had put away all pictures of her. It had worked, in a way.
No longer did he remember her
laughter, or her tears, or how her
hair looked when she woke up in
the morning. But he could not forget
the loss, try as he would, of all the
things that were, and never again
would be, because she was dead.
They brought him one of the lesser
sarcophagi. Unmarked, undecorated. They opened it for him. And in the glow of the
moon, full and swollen, he saw the woman. Placed over
her mummified face, immortal by hand and will. It was
not like other paintings from the time. It was real, alive.
The dark eyes gazed into his own. Lush lips spoke of the
deepest sadness and greatest joy. No regret was on her
face, or in the hand that captured it. And words were
drawn beside, in the language of the ancients. But he
knew what they meant. “Never forget her”, they said.
And he stared at them and at her memory. Two thousand years. Two thousand years had the message survived. And so had her pretty face. Two thousand years
and a lifetime. “Never forget her”. And in that moment,
with the cold light on his face, and the old river in his
breath, he knew that it was
true. The key was not in
forgetting, but in remembrance. Things that had
been would not again be
so. But they still had been.
And that night, when he
slept, he dreamt of her
once more; of her laughter and her tears, and
her messy hair in the
morning.
Aditya Mukherjee,
PGP 2010-12
When Romance & Resumes Mix !
“It’s PlaceCom buddy! Serious stuff.” someone responded sagely ...
“Damn! Another GBM!” I remarked irritably. “It’s PlaceCom buddy! Serious stuff.” someone responded sagely as
we trudged along towards the Auditorium at a brisk pace. After all, folks at IIM B took punctuality to the level of
atomic clocks. After about a minute, a guy climbed on stage and started speaking into the mike held much too close
to his mouth for auditory comfort of the audience. After the usual scolding about the first years being irresponsible
louts, which was the standard fare for all GBMs, he told us that the benevolent seniors had arranged to have each
of the first years assigned resume mentors who would play Florence Nightingale to the ignorant first years. The lists
would be put up the following day.
I prayed all night that my resume mentor would be the beautiful second year girl, Aruna Balakrishnan, whom I had
fallen in love with at first sight. Man proposes God disposes. Following day I found I had been assigned 3 guys to
mentor me. I chose one random name to meet that night.
I set off early and located the room number at
last. The door was closed. I knocked respectfully. After about a minute the door opened
slowly and a short demure looking guy ushered
me in. He spoke softly and asked me about my
achievements. I rattled off my highly countable number of achievements one after the
other. He listened to me patiently. Then he
scratched his head with one finger and replied,
“You didn’t mention any numbers.” I stared at
him perplexed. “I mentioned my rank at school
right?” “That is not enough. How do I know that
you were not the only student at your school?”
“What??!” I blurted out. “You see you need to
quantify your relative performance.” “GLOBE” I
said under my breath but nodded in agreement.
Over the next few days I visited him several times and always came back with more review comments. My resume
had little resemblance to the person carrying it. It looked like a frightful ant scrawl. Finally the day of submission
arrived. I prayed to God that PlaceCom accepted mine without further ado. Man proposes God disposes. The
PlaceCom member looked at my resume coldly and said, “You need to work on your resume more. Keep meeting
your mentor. Take his advice.”
That night I met my mentor again. “What’s wrong with this resume?” I asked an edge
to my voice. He scratched his head and replied “Oh my! It’s not your resume!” As I
looked at him angrily, the realization dawned on me. I had forgotten to change the
name on the sample format that we were provided. “It’s good they rejected it. It can
improve. I have arranged for Aruna Balakrishnan to mentor you. Her profile is similar
to yours. ” He said. Her name! My love! I looked at him dazed and managed to stammer “Thank you.”
God is great!
Moinak Chatterjee,
PGP 2010-12
8
Me
...there isn’t a place which they can call home more than this one.
The bell rang loudly, letting all the prisoners know they had twenty minutes to groom themselves. Even the guards
knew most wouldn’t bother cleaning up, being the trash they are. I have of course been awake for three hours
already, introspecting, since apart from sleeping and thinking, there isn’t a whole lot you can do in prison.
I look around at all the familiar faces yawning. The inmates are in for a variety of crimes – there are dacoits, rapists and street muggers in here. There is even one person who killed a cow. Most of them have been delinquents
growing up, and there isn’t a place which they can call home more than this one.
I clearly don’t belong here. I was respected in my village – my family had been known for being the most devout
for generations, and the villagers loved them for it. I was the first person from the village to attend an engineering college in the big city, and when I came back to the pure environs of the village and setup my own fertilizer
dealership, I was adored like few had been. My family was so proud of me – my father had thrown all the priests
a feast when I first got selected for college. My sister was the happiest I had ever seen her, and tied a rakhi to me
when I was leaving. Sitting alone in my bunk, I miss her terribly and can picture her laughter even now. Although
sometimes I do get angry at her, seeing that I wouldn’t have been here if it had not been for her recklessness.
If only she hadn’t decided to run off with that Dalit Boy.
Saurabh Sinha,
PGP 2011-13
9
Ahmad
I don’t know why it bothered me when I saw him coughing..
Ahmad. All that was reminiscent as far as his identity was concerned. He used to run errands in our house even
before I was born. He would have been hardly 4 to 5 years elder to me. Once I had ventured to ask him about his
childhood. He laughed and mocked at me saying that a scum isn’t born, it grows
in the gutter. So many times I had told him to give up that bad habit of chewing tobacco. He grinned harder each time baring his almost black teeth. I don’t
know why it bothered me when I saw him coughing. But the concern for him
had grown with age. Sometimes I was afraid of my own feelings. Was it affection?
Papa had told me that he had taken him from the street when he was about 3
years old. He had almost come under papa’s car. From that day he used to stay
at our house most of the times. But his useless friends from the neighbourhood
spoiled him. How much I hated those buffoons! I had talked to papa to advise
him to stay away from them. He had said to me, “You are a good girl Reena.
Your upbringing gives you the ability to distinguish between good and bad. Unfortunately everyone in this world does not have that privilege.” Recently I had
caught him smoking something. And he behaved weird that evening too. Was
he taking drugs? Poor Ahmad! How good he could have been if only he listened
to me.
That evening suddenly Ahmad’s picture flashed in all the news channels. There
had been a blast at the airport by a suicide bomber. “No my Ahmad can’t do
this.” My heart felt like a lifeless boulder. A tear voluntarily rolled down my
cheek. Love is blind they say. Really?
Ashish Kumar,
PGP 2011-13
10
The Lady in the Bar
Smoke filled and crazy
Midst a boisterous crowd
Moved smartly dressed bartenders
As the smell of wine hung loosely in the
air.
At the corner and away from the crowd
Sat a lady dressed in elfin white
As white as a dead man’s shroud.
Sitting all alone
Her fingers played on the wineglass.
Went up and asked her
If she’d like my company.
“I don’t like men”, she said
“They are dogs that walk the earth on
two feet.
They crave for love and they go.
Love they know not ,its just lust that they
know.”
Something struck my head
It wasn’t her perfume though.
As I sat by her side and ordered some whisky.
“Women are devils” I retorted
“Devils personified
They think they are angels
Enchantresses they are,
Who eat into our soul.
They know not themselves and they say love
is their only goal.”
Her eyes shone
As moon in the dark mascara sky
False eyelashes
And a wicked smile lit up her face
As she parted her blood red lips to speak
“You seem to be heart broken “ she said
“And so you think of us as a curse to your
race.”
We fell silent hence.
Five pegs later and ‘tween the sixth
11
As I felt my body giving in to the heat
And as my feet grew light, craving for flight.
She spoke again.
Drunk she was to the hilt
And it was not she who was speaking,
‘twas her pain.
“Do you see not we are of the same kind”
Heart broken and blind
We seem to run with the flow
We think not ,we just go
Along the path our wicked hearts show
And we lose control and we lose sight
Allow someone to break our hearts
And end up in a bar like this
Like you and me tonight.
Deep
Sinha,
PGP 201113
The Origin Keeps Shifting ...
Who cares as to why I live,
Unless there is a reason to believe,
Day after day slogging my way through the
quagmire,
Not realizing that I am going deeper and
deeper,
Wishing I would get out of it before you tire,
Only to realize that I haven’t yet started.
Oh Boy!! The origin keeps shifting…
Everyone has his day,
Or so I believed until today,
After years and years of soporific stoic,
I finally decided to become terrific,
So that was the day I started to run,
Instead of just walking like i always did,
As the saying goes...
Failures are the stepping stones to success,
I too believed that failing is just a brief and
temporary recess,
Hoped that every failure took me closer to my
goal,
And thought I was moving forward after each
failure,
But fate has its final say and when I look back,
I realize that I am where I had started.
Every morning I wake up with a feeling of
dope,
A rare feeling that I can deceive fate with
hope,
Only to be brought back to senses later,
When fate unleashes its strength and I seem
to falter,
Until I fall to get up once again with a reason,
That giving up on life is a terrible treason,
Oh Boy!! The origin keeps shifting...
I have never known what its like to win,
So the incessant failing was never a sin,
I laugh when I fail only because I don’t cry,
Thinking next time I’ll give it a better try,
Learnt from my failures and treated them as a
joke,
Only to realize that they weren’t funny and my
dreams ended up in smoke...
I should have known better,
How hard i try and wherever I stand,
Its just that the origin keeps shifting!
Oh Boy!! The origin keeps shifting,
Wherever I go, fate keeps on haunting,
How many miles I run, the land I stand on always,
Becomes the origin whenever I feel its the end,
No matter how hard i fight fate,
its just a deja vu with a change in date
Oh Boy!! The origin keeps shifting…Oh Boy!!
The origin keeps shifting…
by Pavan Jayanti,
PGP 2010-12
12
Oh what is this life,
If full of strife?
At school, we used to say,
Till we found a brighter day…
Into university we entered,
No longer were we perturbed:
Being, the first taste of joy.
Not anymore were we coy,
With experiences galore,
We couldn’t ask for more!
With the freedom of a dove…
Or was it even above?
When life without cells,
Or colorful apparels,
Movies, picnics, thates,
Or classmates,
Would be a desert indeed!
Also, this is where we pull out the weed:
Hard and soft skills we sow,
And watch them grow…
Finally, it’s the questions debating,
With corporates anticipating,
To absorb us into their world…
While it’s time to tearfully bid farewell,
As we roll the dice,
To this LAND OF PARADISE!
by Priya Mouli, PGP 2010-12
Shut in the corners of my darkness
….is fear,angst and pain
The land of my heart is all dry
It is thirsting…and waiting for rain
My world comes crumbling down
….each time I face my plight
There has to be a way somewhere
It is struggling….and waiting for light
There are situations difficult to handle
….life indeed is a rollercoaster ride
The path has been travelled by many
It is lost…and waiting for a guide
There are facades behind those faces
…..genuinity is found seldom and rare
Some feelings remain untouched
They are pure….and waiting for care
Everytime I lose my faith
….and left with no courage or resistance
The voice of the `CREATOR` is heard
It is fighting…and waiting for `re-existence`
by Arohi Parakh, PGP 2011-13
13
14
15
The Blue Slippers ...
T
he first thing I noticed as I opened the gate of that house, were the blue slippers on the lawn. She made a pretty picture, warming her bare feet in the mild
sun of the early morning. Later, as I pedalled back home on my bicycle that was all
I could think about. At our first dance, I spent the whole time trying (in vain) not to
step on her feet in those dainty
blue slippers. We married four
months later at the rustic village chapel.
After a whirl of France and a
breath of Venice, we were both
back at our universities. Everyday I would come home to see
her blue slippers already waiting for me. And we would sit
talking till the sun set. I missed
those evenings once she decided to start working. She would
come back, tired and frustrated, kicking off her blue slippers and sending them flying in the air. Or sometimes
she would be so late that I would already be in bed. Much later I would hear her
slippers on the hollow wooden stairs, trying to climb up as soundlessly as possible.
Years passed by. We did not have children, but we were blissfully happy together.
We moved into a cosy secluded house in a small beach town. We loved standing
on the beach, letting the waves wet our feet and those old blue slippers. It was
just the two of us.
I look down at my coffee that has gone cold hours ago. I hadn’t realized that the
sun had set. There is no one sitting with me anymore. For five years all I have had
are just the blue slippers. But they have meant so much more than just being blue
slippers - ever since that beautiful spring morning on the lawn.
Vaishnavi Gopal,
PGP 2011-13
16
Will you ever be mine?
I don’t know what, but something in this world attracts me to you.
I still vividly remember the first time I saw you.
I stared at you for minutes, like a small dumbstruck kid.
I was so intoxicated by your charm, without actually being drunk.
Was it your lips breaking into a gorgeous smile that took my breath away? I don’t think so.
There is more to you than just your smile which makes my heart beat to and fro.
Is it your eyes which compel me to look deep into them?
The eyes which make me lose all senses, the eyes just like gem .
Or is it the Harry Potter-like scar on your forehead I love to see,
It makes me believe that may be your are the one for me.
Just listening to your voice makes me go all “oh-my-god-what- do- I-say-next? ”
And I barely manage to utter few words, trying desperately to keep the conversation going.
Believe me, I never had to try this hard with others, you are somehow different.
But I still can’t fathom what is it in you that drives me so crazy,
I still don’t know what in you makes my world go hazy.
I am aware that you have a past, you still love that guy.
There are days when in moments of weakness, you cry the whole night.
He left you for someone else. Why don’t you move on?
Just look around, may be you will find love again, someone waiting for you.
But you keep on discussing him and your time together; it just writhes my heart in pain.
Do give me a chance to make things right, just once break free of that tethering chain.
I may never be able to confess my love for you as you consider me just a friend.
I wish things would change one day and my feelings for you, you would comprehend.
As a friend, I’ll always be there with you in thick and thin and I’ll stand by this promise.
But I somehow can’t stop thinking whether you would ever love me , whether you will ever be
mine .
Ameya Warty,
PGP 2011-13
17
Vasco’s Ring
”Watching in slow motion
As you turn to me and say...
My Love... take my breath away” – Take my breath away, Berlin
“Legend has it, or rather an old bearded
man at a beach shack has it, that the great
Portuguese sailor Vasco Da Gama once fell
in love. So strong was his love for this woman that on learning that she was in love
with another he promptly had her ring finger, adorned with the priceless ring he had
presented her, chopped off and thrown into
the sea in a fit of rage. Such an act would
have hardly attracted attention, given his
notoriety for barbaric acts, had the story
ended there. But it did not.”, I narrated.
She already looked bored. “Should I continue?”, I asked. She politely replied, “Yeah
do go on. Maybe I could hear a little more.”
I knew she didn’t want to hear a word more
but alas! I am one of those vain mariners*
who just can’t stop themselves from telling
their story to others. So I continued.
“Well, there was this parallel legend which said that
Vasco had amassed a huge fortune from his exploits in
the subcontinent which he had hidden somewhere near
the coast of modern Goa. And the only ‘treasure map’
was this very ring. Obviously, there was a centuries long
hunt for the lost ring. Whether it was ever found no one
knows but the...”. ‘Koi Roko Na...Deewane Ko..’ - Her
mobile phone was ringing. She answered it and sure
enough her supervisor wanted to know what she was
up to since it had been more than an hour that she had
gone for lunch. Her face grew angry and when the call
ended she looked at me with the ‘Sorry pal. Really gotta
go now!’ look. Poor old mariner!
I had met her a month ago. Lively and fun to be with, I
had become addicted to her company. She already had
a boyfriend. So we were to be ‘just friends’. I had heard
this for the umpteenth time. So I had hardly batted an
eyelid.
One day, all of a sudden she told me, “I’m going to meet
Rakesh!” with a big smile on her face. I simply replied,
“That’s great!” Rakesh was her boyfriend and lived in
Pune. She had been really missing him since they had
last met nearly six months ago. So she had planned a
trip to Pune and from there they would go for a short
vacation to Goa. “Have you told your parents about this
plan of yours?”, I asked her. “Are you mad!?”, she exclaimed. “Dad hates him and mom believes that he
should come and visit me if at all we are to meet! I just
told them I’m going for a company sponsored trek.” A
pause. “And don’t you dare tell anyone about this!”. I
agreed to keep it to myself (as if I had any other option! She was the type of person who never took no
for an answer). Then she asked me whether I had been
to Goa and when I replied in the affirmative she immediately asked me to tell her all about the places of
tourist attraction and the best spots for couples. I, of
course, pleaded complete ignorance of the latter since
I had gone there with two other guys and had no idea
about couple hangouts. However, I did give her a lot of
information about the most frequented destinations
there. I promised her I would get a printout of the map
of Goa and point out the locations to her. I kept my
promise and we sat the following day pondering over
the map.
The conversation grew long and I went into interesting
legends related to Goa, as well. It of course ended with
the part I have related above. Several days passed and
I managed to meet her again only the day before she
was to leave for Pune. She seemed visibly excited and
nervous. The first question she shot at me was, “What
will happen if my flight gets hijacked?” I was in a rather
naughty mood so I replied, “Don’t give yourself airs,
you aren’t that important!” But she persisted, “What
18
will my parents think if I don’t come
back?” The conversation was getting to be
fun. I rubbed my chin with my index finger and thumb, screwed up my face and
replied after a moment’s thought, “Well,
see. First you won’t reach home and won’t
be able to call I presume. So your parents
will get worried. They will call up office to
find out if you have turned up since according to your plan you will report there
on the same day you return. Your project
lead will inform them that you are absent
and haven’t applied for leave. Eventually
they will panic and report the matter to
the police...”. “Ok… enough.” she said. She
looked upset. I softened my tone and told
her gently, “Why$ don’t you simply give
me your dad’s phone number so that just
in case you disappear I could let him know
where you might be.” “No chance. Suppose you tell on
me! I’m just being stupid... nothing will happen!”, she
said stoutly. We talked for a while about other things
and then I wished her ‘Bon Voyage’ and we parted. It
was winter. It was foggy. I felt unusually cold as I watched
her shapely tall figure disappear through the entrance
of the building. Something just didn’t seem right. After
another moment, I shrugged and walked away.
the buzz in my head was nothing compared to the throb
which replaced it.
Around 2 pm I received a call on my mobile number. A
gruff voice at the other end of the line introduced himself as Colonel Singh. He asked me to come downstairs
and meet him at the office reception. Singh. Her title.
Damn! What now?
I rushed downstairs to find a tall well built man and a
She was expected back on the morning of Wednesday. I
dignified woman waiting for me. The woman’s eyes
had no idea why but I was anxiously waiting for a meswere swollen and reddish. Had she been crying? The
sage from her that she had returned safely. No mesColonel greeted me coldly. I sat down on the sofa opposage came. I tried calling her but her mobile phone was
site them. He reached into his pocket and handed me a
switched off. I tried reasoning with myself. Don’t worry.
slip of paper. Scrawled on it was the following message:
She’s probably enjoying herself. Too busy to receive a
call. Or maybe she is just plain tired and sleeping at
Moinak C, SCT, 9835674564, Vasco’s Ring
home. Everything is going to be back to normal tomorrow. I had a troubled sleep that night.
Scrawled on it was the following My blood froze as I saw my own name.
Before I could use my IQ any further the
The following day my mobile phone message:
Colonel leaned forward and with a menrefused to display her name for all the Moinak C, SCT, 9835674564,
acing look asked me, “How do you know
looking I gave it. Her phone was still
my daughter?”
Vasco’s Ring
switched off. Maybe she had grown tired
of me. My anxiety morphed into anger.
I tried hard to keep my expression
Why couldn’t she just let me know if she had decided
straight and from betraying the fear that was welling
to stay there longer? I spent another night tossing and
inside me. I explained that I was just a friend and I had
turning.
hardly known her for over a month. Seemingly unconvinced, the Colonel went straight to the point. They
The first thing I did next morning on reaching office was
had informed the police about her disappearance. The
to contact her project team to know if they had any inmessage I had just seen had been received by him sent
formation. But I was told that they had already been
from her mobile phone about an hour earlier. My name
receiving similar calls from her parents since yesterday
was clearly mentioned and without mincing any words,
and they had not received any information whatsoever.
I was prime suspect.
I bit my lip trying to think hard. The matter was getting
serious. What could I do? I didn’t even have her home
I thought hard. I plainly admitted that I knew nothing
number. It was only that afternoon that I realized that
and understood nothing of the message. Even in my des19
peration I didn’t immediately want to betray the trust she
had placed in me and inform them that she was actually
in Goa with her boyfriend. I finally said, “Uncle I will try
to figure out what she is trying to say”. “Well, you better
hurry up unless you want to spend time with the police”.
I pursed my lips. He went on, “Look son, I think it’s better
for you to tell us what you know.” “On the face of it, all I
can say is that she must be in Goa, since Vasco’s ring refers
to a legend from there.” Uncle looked hard into my face
trying to read something which I of course knew wasn’t
there. “You will go there and find her. We and the police
will accompany you.” My jaw dropped. “I can’t...”, I began.
Uncle cut me short and said, “Have you been through a
police interrogation before?” I replied, “No”.
Never laugh at people when they tell you that they suffer
from insomnia. I stared up at the dark ceiling all night. I
was hammering out every possible scenario in my head.
The only thing common to all of them was that I was a
dead man. Despite the cool wintry night I was perspiring
from the tension. God! What had I done to deserve this!
I was more afraid of daybreak than I had ever been in my
life. I had bought tickets to Dabolim at an exorbitant rate.
I had requested a hurried leave from office from my Project Lead. I had explained to my parents that I was going
for a company sponsored trek. I was following exactly in
her footsteps. My mother was extremely suspicious. Why
hadn’t I told her earlier? Just slipped my mind I had replied.
***
I met her parents at the airport. They were with 2 others evidently policemen or detectives in plainclothes.
I licked my parched lips and said a hello with a strained
smile. They just nodded. I sat down on the aircraft seat.
What on earth was wrong with me!? Why on earth did I
listen to them? I am a software engineer. This is life! Not
a movie! I was so tired that once the seat belt signs were
switched off I opened my dinner tray and lay
my head on it. An airhostess soon came and
offered the complimentary lunch. I took it. I
had blown a pretty penny on all this! After
about an hour into the flight I stopped ranting in my mind and opened the map of Goa I
had brought with me. Vasco’s ring. What did
the legend say?
read about the legend. There was something about the
wife’s ghost being spotted on the beach searching endlessly for its missing finger. But I had read about it a
long time ago and couldn’t recall it correctly. I needed
Google and badly!
No sooner had we landed than I found myself surrounded by my elite company again. After we had picked up
our bags from the conveyor belt, I informed them of my
hunch. We were supposed to go straight to Panjim first
and check into a hotel. But since Vasco Da Gama was
closer to the airport than to Panjim I suggested we go
there first. Reluctantly they agreed and we were soon
on our way there in a hired cab. Uncle asked what we
were supposed to do once we got there. I looked at the
two plainclothes men and said, “That’s your job right?”
They simply nodded. Maybe they were the kind of people who never spoke. Dumb!
The two detectives had asked for about 2 hours to interrogate the people in the neighborhood as well as
use some of their ‘normal operating procedures’, whatever that meant. They would also probably request
help from the local police. I kept getting the feeling that
I was being cornered that too on a wild goose chase.
Meanwhile, we waited at a restaurant. I tried to strike
up a conversation with Uncle. Hate for me was so strong
in his tone and dread so evident from his speech that
we soon fell silent. After a silence, Aunty broke down
beseeching me to just end this game! I swallowed hard
and tried to show that I was in dead earnest as I replied
that if I knew where to find her I would do so immediately as I had no pleasure in this game.
After an agonizing 2 hours they returned. Empty handed. No one had seen a person of her description. My
head throbbed again. I was once again clueless as to
what we could do. Goa wasn’t a small town. It was a
Vasco’s ring was never found. But some of
Vasco’s artifacts were found buried off the
coast at Vasco Da Gama. They could hardly
be said to constitute a treasure, in the common sense of the term, though they were of
historical importance. So all I could figure out
was that her clue could only point to Vasco Da
Gama. We would have to go there first from
Dabolim. I tried to think of anything else I had
20
state! They all turned to me. I looked up at them and replied with great effort, “I need some time. I need the internet. Let’s go to Panjim and I’ll think of the next move.”
I sat at John Fernandes’ Cyber Cafe. Google! That absolutely mandatory part of a software engineer’s life was open
before me. I searched for hours. Read some hundred different legends. I was tired. I needed rest but the 2 detectives beside me constantly reminded me of my impending
doom. At length I stared deliriously at the map of Goa. A lot
of the legends referred to places and their locations. There
was something in the map I was missing. I finally got up,
shrugged and said I needed to spend sometime alone in
the hotel room pondering. The faces of the detectives darkened. I had produced nothing concrete so far. They agreed
but once I had shut the door to my room I knew they were
still keeping a watch outside.
the visitors about the church. Some of the letters were
missing. I was about to curse Indians and their poor
maintenance of the Church when on a second look I
found that someone had actually used chalk to whiten a few letters here and there. I was disgusted. How
could someone possibly deface a United Nations declared heritage site like that, although the informative
stone was not technically a part of the monument? I
again turned away. But something again caught my attention. Why just those letters? It didn’t make sense.
Maybe a kid. I moved a few steps back and then the
words just toppled out of my mouth before I could
stop them, “Oh my God!” The detectives had heard
my exclamation and immediately demanded explanation. I swallowed hard and replied, “Orion”. “What?”
they asked. They clearly looked as though I needed a
shrink. “Her favorite constellation. She told me she al-
I cudgeled my brains. As per Google the ring was shaped
like the mouth of a fish. Scholars believed that the original burial place may have been a fishing village. However,
since the original designer of the ring had bequeathed his
secret to others, before Vasco had him quartered, Vasco
had removed the treasure to Vasco Da Gama, where the artifacts were discovered. But there were hundreds of fishing
villages along the coast in Goa! Think hard. I kept repeating to myself. I was tired, sleepy and my eyelids drooped. I
brought the jug and glass and poured out a glass of water
in order to focus again. I gulped the water down and spilled
some on the map. I cursed under my breath! I was losing it.
I stared groggily! A loud banging sound. The door. Someone
was banging on the door. I looked around dazed. I had fallen asleep with my head on the table. I adjusted my spectacles and gradually I returned to reality. I got up and opened
the door. The detectives were staring at me angrily. “So?”,
they had spoken at last. I slowly replied, “I have an idea.”
They showed plainly on their faces that they knew I was
trying to buy time. Still, they played along for the time being and asked me to get ready. I returned to the table. The
map was still lying there. The water droplet on it had dried
leaving the paper wrinkled at the spot. Then suddenly like
a flash of light it hit me. God had helped me!! The circle of
the water droplet together with the coastline was unmistakably a fish’s head. Where would one hide treasure in a
fish’s head? The eye? I hazarded a guess and looked at the
spot which could possibly form the ‘eye’. Old Goa Church
Complex. The Basilica of Bom Jesus. Wow! The coincidence
was too strong. It was worth a try!
I informed my elite escort of my latest ‘bright idea’ and we
sped off towards Old Goa in a hired cab post a very very
cursory breakfast. The complex again evoked in me the
same reverence that I had felt the first time I saw it. Its immediate effect on people was a respectful silence. I once
again looked at the information on the white stone telling
21
ways has a lucky day after she sees the constellation
in the night sky. She has been here. Let’s look in the
church.”
We entered the church in silence. Once inside no one
spoke. People sat there looking up at the bronze sculptures, some in awe others in deep reverence. I looked
around. She was nowhere to be seen. We searched
hard for over two hours. There were lots of tourists.
Many people admitted to having seen people of her
description. It was difficult. Foreign tourists were tall
and beautiful as well. She would hardly stand out in this
crowd. Finally, tired out, I lost hope. Something about
the sculptures made me feel like sitting down and praying. I motioned to the others to leave me alone for a few
moments. I went and sat down on the first bench.
I closed my eyes. Involuntarily I put my head on my
palms and bent down. I ran my fingers slowly through
my hair in despair. I prayed hard. I reflected on all that
had happened in the past few hours. I couldn’t help it.
Boys don’t cry but a few hot tears trickled down my fingers. I wiped them with a handkerchief. It was a small
ladies handkerchief. What!? As the realization dawned
on me I turned my head in one swift motion and saw her
sitting smiling at me. Before I could say a word, she put
a finger on my lips and said, “I love you.”
***
“What if I hadn’t figured out your stupid Vasco’s puzzle?”
I asked her angrily. I was happy. I was angry. We were sit-
ting on the concrete platform, back in office, chatting.
“Simple. I had planned on going to Goa with my friend,
Trisha, in any case. Mom wouldn’t agree. I knew that.
I wanted her to come too. I decided that I would any
way let you people in on the secret once you had tried
hard enough. I was following you ever since you came.
Had Trisha call up your home and mine to find out. I also
needed to know if you loved me. You came all the way
to Goa to find me - a damsel in supposed distress. I’m
proud of you.” I tilted my head to one side, hardened my
expression and replied, “Like I had a choice.” “You know
what? I think your problem is that you are too scared to
let people know how sweet you are!”
Moinak Chatterjee,
PGP 2010-12
22
Gaming: An industry in flux?
Every one of us at some point of time in our lives would have played some kind of video game,
be it a simple snake on your mobile phone or the latest release in the Assassin’s creed series on
your gaming PC or Xbox. The interesting piece of information for all the “noobs” as well as the
“pros” is that the Gaming industry is going to grow at a much faster rate in the years to come.
PWC in its latest report has predicted that the size of Gaming industry will be about 68 billion
dollars by 2012 with a CAGR of over
10%. And this is despite all the problems confronting the global economy.
For those who are not much familiar with the industry as a whole, the gaming world today is
chiefly divided between the PC gamers and the Console diehards. Although electronic computer
gaming started as early as the 1950s, console gaming gradually emerged as a tough competitor
to the PC. The gamer started relating to PlayStations, Xboxes and Nintendo more endearingly
than the erstwhile PC. In fact such has been the growth and demand for faster and better consoles that presently the consoles are in their seventh generation.
This had led some industry pundits to predict a gradual decline and eventual death of the PC
gaming. But with the advent of high speed internet (even in third world countries), mushrooming of new generation online matchmaking platforms and most importantly the thrill of a virtual
online existence has brought back the PC game into the game of the electronic games. While the
console conglomerate has tried to answer this threat, the quality of online gaming on PC is “Godlike” in comparison to that through a console which can at best be termed as “adequate”. The
most popular MMORPGs (Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games) support only the PC
platforms. Besides with increasing professionalism in the e-sports arena and more and highly rewarding gaming tournaments, the pros lies with the mouse and keyboard rather than a joystick.
Notwithstanding the internal competition, the present as well as the future of the gaming industry as a whole is exciting. Numerous tournaments (online as well as LAN), gaming conclaves and
exclusive trade fairs for, by and of gamers, are happening all over the world at enhanced frequencies. Besides cutting edge technology such as HTML5 or Xbox-Kinect are destined to revolutionize
the gaming experience. So whether you are a game developer, enthusiast or even a diehard end
user, there is lot and lot to look forward to.
23
Campus News
The forbidden week, they call it! A fresh batch had
just entered the hallowed gates of IIMB when it
dawned upon them that its serious business from
here on. The PGP2s gave a good taste of the new
way of life, how deadlines are sacrosanct and that
nothing is a joke around this place. A series of cases from top institutes, physical fitness workshops
and ‘personality development’ sessions marked the
highlight of the introductory week.
A cultural extravaganza, Aarambh, was put up by
the new batch in the first month. Highly appreciated, the students performed a number of musical,
dance and theatre performances. It gave the new
batch a chance to break ice between themselves and
the PGP2s.
A host of cultural events and patriotic themes
were the order of the Independence Day at IIMB.
It included musical performances by the faculty
and a cultural shows by the student community.
The highlight of the event was a street play ‘Aham
Brahmasmi’. It brought back a sense of patriotism
within us and our responsibilities towards nation
building.
We’ve all danced to the thumping beats of David
Guetta and Flo Rida through the night at the L^2
parties. Little do we know how much of hard work
goes into it! The culcom organized two parites for
the students in campus with everyone leaving behind the inhibition and swaying their bodies to the
tunes of the DJ.
A range of marketing activities organized by the
MASH attracted the students for the inter section
wars. The event was won by Section D (they prefer
D-Company) after gruelling rounds of quizzes, ad
making and branding games.
An intersection war on performing arts, Umang,
was organized by the Culcom for the PGP1 students. A host of mind blowing acts stole the show
with the students cheering their lungs out for their
respective sections.
Anveshan, the adventure club of IIMB, gave us a
taste of life on the wild-side (quite literally!) with
four trips this term- Cave Exploration at Antargange, Trip to Shivanasamudram Waterfalls & Talakadu Temples, day trek to Savandurga and Ramnagar (read Sholay) and a night trek to Makalidurga.
September witnessed an influx of students from
different countries on foreign exchange in IIMB.
Although most of the locals felt lost amongst the
host of people from other lands, some worked
(too?) hard to mingle with them.
Students of Business, Government and Society got
the rare opportunity to witness the master in action- Ramachandra Guha waxing eloquent on his
books India After Gandhi and Makers of Modern
India, while he interacted with students on various
issues linked to the country.
Eximius 2011 became the biggest entrepreneurship fest ever hosted by IIM Bangalore drawing
huge crowds from colleges all over India. All the
clubs joined in the 2 day extravaganza and Eximius
became an event for one and all. The media covered the event exhaustively, with CNBC TV, Yourstory.in and the Times of India running multiple
news reports both on television and print media.
The event saw participation from some renowned
entrepreneurs like Mr. Badri Seshadri the founder
of Cricinfo.com and Magsasay award winner Mr.
Harish Hande. The event won acclaim from alumni for the huge progress made for an event only in
its 5th edition.
24
Obituary
Malini Murmu, passed away on September 19, 2011 in her hostel room. Her final days
were spent among her new friends at IIMB that she had touched in some small way in her
short, yet very memorable life.
Malini’s life would seem too short to many, but those who were touched by her understood that the quality of existence far exceeds the quantity of time in which one lives.
Her gentle smile and carefree attitude brought so much joy to her family and friends.
She was a graceful dancer and a good singer. She had a cheerful character and lived
life on her terms. She took an active part in every cultural event that took place in the
campus with dedication and enthusiasm.
Malini was brought up in Jamshedpur with her family and graduated from Rajendra
Vidyalaya. She earned her degree in engineering from KIIT, Bhubaneswar. Thereafter,
she worked for Infosys for a few months before joining IIMB.
The sudden demise of Malini leaves us with a thought that friends and family are so
important in our lives. They give us strength to face the difficult times and also share our
happiness. She is no more with us today but has made us realise how coveted our loved
ones are.
May the lord bring strength to her family and friends and may her soul rest in peace.
25
Spic Macay Event
The students of IIMB were witness to an exquisite Bharatnatyam performance by renowned exponent Ms. Kirti Ramgopal on Sept. 7 at the IIMB Auditorium, in collaboration
with the IIMB chapter of Spic Macay. Ms.Kirti Ramgopal is reknowned for her nimbleness
and grace and is undoubtedly one of the brightest talents of her generation. Her dancing
has often been described as vibrant, expressive and that which extends a spirit of joy.
Fascinated by Bharatanatyam from a tender age, Ms. Ramgopal trained in the dance form
under celebrated gurus Smt. Padmini Ramachandran, Smt. Priyadarshini Govind, Sri. A. Lakshman and Smt. Bragha Bessell. She has travelled extensively across India and the world,
performing before discerning audiences in the United States, Canada, UK, Europe and the
Middle East and winning acclaim from connoisseurs and critics.
Ms. Ramgopal enthralled the audience with her performance of Pradosha Samayadi Para
Shiva Tandava, a Shiva Stuti composed by Padmacharan, in Purvikalyani raaga & Adi tala
followed by Rusli Radha-Misra Yemen-Adi Ranganeshwar and Krishna nee begane, a composition of Vyasaraya Tirtha, in Yamuna Kalyan raaga. The evening concluded with a splendid display of the Brindavani Thillana composed by M. Balamuralikrishna in Adi Tala. The
audience actively participated when the artiste showed them the Hasta Viniyogas (hand
gestures) of the Dashavatara. The event was highly appreciated by the foreign exchange
students who turned up in large numbers to make it a gala success.
26
Editorial Team
Moinak Chatterjee,
Mythili Rajkumar,
Abhay Mishra,
PGP 2010-12
PGP 2010-12
PGP 2010-12
Kamala Ramya,
Aswathy Honeylal,
Karthik Yeleswaram,
PGP 2010-12
PGP 2010-12
PGP 2011-13
Ankit Khirwal,
Priyanka Jha,
Ashish Kumar,
PGP 2011-13
PGP 2011-13
PGP 2011-13
Photo courtesy: Soumil Srivastava, Dhruv Shah, Parul Mudgal, Tanvi
Goenka, Trinadh Narayana, Prakhar Sharma, Sashank Rao - Vista
Photo Competition
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Send in your articles to [email protected]

Zindagi migzara.

Transcription

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