Small Victories

Small Victories

This is I: Thirty two and happily married, archetypical new age yuppie complete with demanding job, working wife and a penchant for chasing things I don’t really need or want. A step away from obesity and middle age, two steps from arthritis and aging disgracefully. Sometimes, I forget that I wasn’t always like this. Long ago and far away, things were different.

The early nineties was a great time to be equipped with an MBA in India. The economy was opening up and managers were in short supply. On the other hand, engineering, the traditional ticket to middle class heaven was fast losing its lustre and I, engineering degree from unknown college in hand, found myself unemployed, caught in what I would in the years to come learn to call a paradigm shift. Thus, inspired by newspaper reports of incredible pay packages and corporate fame, I along with thousands of other engineers found myself knocking on the doors of the hallowed management institutes of the country.

Having being sufficiently desperate, I prepared hard enough to qualify in the written test. However, this was only the first stage in the selection process and a 'group discussion' and 'personal interview' still stood between corporate glory and me. Thus it was on one hot sweaty May afternoon that I found myself making my way to the Madras Christian College for the 'group discussion' that would decide my fate.

In the corridor outside the staff room (which had been taken over for the selection process) sat a group of five to six people, who could easily be identified as interviewees by their formal attire and nervous looks. I smiled uneasily at the group and joined them at one end of the bench, adding one more to the population of new ties and apprehensive looks. It was hot and sweaty, like only a May afternoon in Madras can be and in no time, the sweat on my neck began to wilt my starched collar. The corridor where we sat was open and adjoining a football field, but there was absolutely no breeze that day. The college was closed for year-end vacations and the football field was empty. So too were the corridors and the classrooms. There is something horribly lonely and sad about an empty college. A college in our minds is always bustling with people, busy sounds and good cheer, and when it is not, the emptiness is more drastic; the silence overwhelming and unbearable. There was a faint noise of people talking in the room inside masked somewhat by the slightly louder sound of the slowly rotating fan. I tried to listen in, but without success. None of us spoke to break the silence and when a slight breeze finally blew, I was so drenched in sweat that I felt uncomfortably cold.

The stakes were high enough for me. I had spent the last one-year largely filling out job applications, attending job interviews and having my meager academic accomplishments laughed at by a wide variety of interviewers. Things looked bad from where I was. In the best case scenario, if I got lucky, in another year of interviews I would probably land a job with a small private firm that would allow me to earn a modest living. Not too much, but probably enough to get by and if I spend it carefully, then someday own a bike

On the other hand, success here would get me to the interview and a crack at getting a seat in what was arguably the best management institute in the country. Finding a job would never be an issue after that. Nor would buying a bike or satisfying any of the many larger materialistic desires I would most likely have by then.

I was probably not the only person finding the silence disconcerting, because soon the person sitting beside me broke the silence and introduced himself to me. His name was Shyam and he was an engineer working with a steel major at Jamshedpur. He had been immersed in a textbook on macroeconomics, which I found a little strange at that time. However, later I read somewhere that participants preparing for group discussions are advised to read up on economics, since there are a wide variety of topics on which one can sound knowledgeable by applying a few macro economic truisms. In any case, this kind of broke the ice and in some time we were all getting introduced to each other.

There was Sanjay and Manoj who were classmates in their final year at the best engineering college in the country. They spoke largely to each other, but made it a point to get introduced to everyone else in the group - a ploy, I later realized to use first names while addressing the others in the group during the discussion.

Neeraj, a studious looking chartered accountant lost no time telling me that he was a national rank holder for the Chartered Accountancy exam, that he had three job offers on hold, that he didn't really need to do an MBA but would do one anyway and no, he didn't see any issues to getting selected.

There was also a nervous looking chap who never spoke to any of the others - not even to introduce himself and whose name consequently I never came to know.At the far end of the bench from me, sat Smita - the only girl in our group. Like me, she was an engineer from a non-descript engineering college and consequently, like me she was quickly developing an expression akin to that of an ancient Greek hero, who having turned up for a fight equipped with a simple spear realizes that his opponent is a giant one eyed monster. The two of us were clearly out of our leagues and if her expression was any indication, she seemed, like me, to have realized that she stood virtually no chance of qualifying from such a group. At this unlikely juncture, I remember thinking that she looked cute.

A peon came out and informed us, that the panel would break for lunch and therefore our group would only be evaluated after an hour. Neeraj announced that he was going to have lunch at the college canteen and that any of us were free to join him if we wished to. I didn't feel hungry at all right then, but I didn't want to seem nervous - not in the face of such bravado by Neeraj. We all decided to go, except Mr. Jangled Nerves, who declined. In any case, he didn't look like he was right then capable of walking, let alone eating. We had to walk across the football field to get to the canteen and the walk in the hot sun served to dampen the last dry spots on my shirt. We broke up into groups as we walked across the field. Neeraj led the way followed by Sanjay and Manoj. Shyam, Smita and I brought up the rear. On reaching our destination, we found that the canteen, like the rest of the college was closed. Neeraj then suggested that we eat at a restaurant near the gate. This was more than I was willing to put up for by way of appearance and I pleaded lack of appetite and said that I was returning to the college building. Much to my amazement, most of the others were game to walk to the gate for lunch. Smita, however, said that she wasn't hungry enough to walk to the gate either and the two of us walked back together. We walked back to the building in silence, she too, doubtless pondering her fate. For some strange reason, I was relieved that the others were gone and that Smita wasn't. I told her a little about myself, and she listened in silence. I also told her that I didn't think I had any chance of qualifying from such a group of overachievers and she said that she felt the same about her chances too. We walked the rest of the distance in silence. I remember noticing that she was wearing red coral earrings.

Soon after, our group was called in. Arranged inside in the center of the room were seven chairs in a circle with nameplates for each of us already in place. At two corners were individual chairs occupied by the evaluators - two elderly men who looked distinctly like professors who took pleasure in failing their students. I have always shared a difficult relationship with most of my professors and so, on seeing the two of them; I promptly broke into a cold sweat. The sterner of the two 'professors' announced the topic for discussion - 'What Ails India's Defense Policy?' On hearing this, I felt a surge of excitement - of all the possible topics in the wide world, this was probably the only one on which I probably knew more than anyone else in the room. Having spent the larger part of my life listening to my father - an army officer - complain about how bad our defense policy is (despite my reassuring him that I was not in the least interested), I knew every relevant fact, figure and issue. Sensing my advantage and remembering parts of 'tips on surviving group discussions' that I had read earlier, as soon as we were told to begin, I started the discussion’along with three others. Neeraj, Shyam and Sanjay all had exactly the same idea and we all started talking at the same instant. Faced with this situation, I paused, but the other three continued unfazed. All three of them raised their voices, attempting to overpower the others by sheer decibel power. Mr. Jangled Nerves was moving his lips, but as far as I could discern, he was not making a sound. Neeraj was reeling out defense expenditure figures, Sanjay was making an impassioned plea to humanity to desist from indulging in an arms race and Shyam was making good his new found knowledge by expounding on the economic advantages of increased public sector expenditure. At this stage, Manoj decided to join the party by thumping on the table and castigating all of us for behaving in an unruly manner. He had a deeper and louder voice than the others and for a moment he held court. But Neeraj affected a comeback and for some time defense expenditure figures dominated the room. Matters continued in a similar vein for some time. I joined in too, though by now, I don't think the two professors could discern who was saying what. The professor's expression was getting progressively sour and soon one of them told us to stop.

He launched into a lecture on how this is no way for future managers to behave. He continued on how we did not seem to have any respect for other's views and that we even seem to lack basic decency - all with well-practiced disgust. And then he said that if we stuck to this, he would have no option, but to not consider anyone from the whole group. His threat touched off alarm bells in everyone's head and when we resumed, the group was suddenly much subdued and infinitely more civilized. In fact, for a while, we even had what approached an orderly discussion. I had an opportunity during this time to convey some of what I knew and it was clear to me that if I could keep this up for some more time, I was well on my way to making it to the next stage. As my confidence grew, I remembered another nugget from 'tips on surviving group discussions' that inviting another participant to speak may be construed as positive by the panel. I invited Smita (who hadn't spoken much until then) to tell the group what she thought about what I had just said. Smita picked it up quite nicely, talked for a while and then passed it right back to me. Things couldn't have been better and I was clearly rocking. I reeled off figures and facts, which nobody else in the group knew and if this didn't impress the professors, then I didn't know what else would.

Then it happened. Smita spoke about the war with China in '68 and Neeraj, pointedly told her, that there was no war with China in '68. For some reason, Smita persisted, saying that of course, there was a war with China in '68. Neeraj drew himself up to deliver his version of 'the brief history of Sino-India ties', but I cut him off, telling him that he should check his facts, because there was a war with China in '68 - not the full-blown war of '62, but there were hostilities and had been open fighting along the border for a few days. Having already established myself as an expert on our defense history, Neeraj became unsure and the discussion moved on to other topics. I glanced over my shoulder to check if I had got away with it, just in time to see the professors exchange a smirk. Clearly I hadn't.

After it was all over, I walked down to the bus stop with Smita. Strangely, I didn't feel sad at all, just relieved that the whole thing was over. I still had chances left with group discussions at a couple of other lesser management institutes, so all was not lost. In talking, we realized that we had a group discussion for another institute on the same day, later that month, so I figured we would meet again. We talked some more as we waited for the bus and then her bus came. She got a window seat and before the bus moved away, she asked me "was there really a war in '68? I didn't know, I was wrongly referring to the one in '62". "Of course there was", I said, "luckily for you, you referred to the right year even if you didn't know about that war".Then I smiled and I saw her smile that smile for the first time and then she was gone. It was evening now and it had grown pleasant, so I decided to give the bus a skip and walk back home. I remember, the sky was crimson red on the horizon and I whistled all the way home.

Some nights, I lie awake long and think about all the things life could have been, but is not. Then, I listen to Smita's soft breathing, as she sleeps beside me and am reminding of other things that might not have been, but, thankfully, are.