Chronicle- MBA 2006-08 -II

Where do I start? May be when for the first time I see three people talking, Mubashir, Roof and Sheen, damn you guys, they were meeting for the first time and planning a picnic for the class which was yet to meet. It very well describes where it takes us for the next two years.

First class- Ajaz Mattoo comes in with the faculty, for the first and last time I see class as silent as that. Everyone seemed to be keen on ‘INTERNALISING’ each and every word spoken there and then. Silence was killing, I wanted to fracture the empty chair next to me on one of the professor’s skull, his old hair style is so ugly. Stillness broke with the knock on the door, a simple but pretty girl comes in, roughly nervous. I latter came to know, her name is Makhmoora.

I assure that every student in class felt like he was part of KIM-Hazratbal, some thing as strong an institution as IIM-Ahmadabad. And we had every reason to believe it. Prof.Shabir elated us more by talking about MIT and Harvard’s method of teaching. That till date remains to be the most motivating class; I sat in, in DMS. Iflah khan latter confessed of being scared of that untrue and full of lies lecture. Where the hell did he think he would fetch us jobs worth 10 Million Dollar? If nothing but every student learned how to fake his accent and some people proved far better in “FAKING”.

First break and all of us walk like the flock of sheep to Naseem Bagh, sit adjacent to little green shed, under the shade of a mighty chinar. We introduce ourselves, so many names, hush, information overload. I just do not listen to every name and make sure whichever I listen to I remember. Midway through the conversation, Insha, Deeba and Aasima get some tea and snacks, and I comically comment, “That’s what I would like for next two years”. And fortunately that’s what follows. What was not included was Kicks, new Pinches and Punches. Something I will miss “Fortunately”. Through next few days I remember every name.

Next day early morning, I see Fawzaan. He was in the same college I was in. We just knew each other and were much less than friends. But for the coming months, we started knowing each other better and somewhere we hit the right chord in each other.

Prof Shabir, complimented us by dedicating a theory in his class. “Like Irtif and Fawzaan, who got into trouble together, and are found on the same bench”. Some way these troubles got us much closer. (Perfectly under normal human norms).

Even before Insha and I were friends, one day she whacked me with the scale, I justifiably run after her and she broke last bench of our first class. Damn, I thought she broke her limbs as well but she proved to be hard for the wood used in furniture. Latter I got to know, even steel is used. But then that was just the start.

Iflah and I started writing on copies of unknown guys and girls in class. Signing pages just to make them unusable, filling the information, which we couldn’t even guess. Silly and absurd things which are endearing and not irritating at all. Amir’s scolding lesson’s started right that day, when we filled his J&K Bank Diary; he still uses the dairy this day. I am still unsure if he washes that dairy after every sem.

Somewhere in the first semester, when I was scheduled to go to Delhi for conference, I read my rough which was inscribed with:

Jewellery for Rouf; Sandals for Sheen; Clothes for Saba.

Damn, these kinds of silly things brought us together only to part away one day, in the longer run of life. Something which we cannot escape or run away from, something all of us morally and ethically are bound to do. But in this longer run for life we shall make it sure, Insha Allah, that we don’t enslave ourselves to the blind dream.

First picnic -Pahalgam. Boys empty handed and girls falling sides with heavy hot cases. One thing I am sure of, we always enjoyed the travel, more then the picnic spot. Waseem, Tabish and Faizan singing in full swing, Raat Ko Baara Bajay, Department ma Hulad Macha, Maina Suna, Kya Suna? And then a song for every one, followed. Where do I get friends to sing songs for me now? It’s hard to believe that no pranks are to follow. It’s hard to believe, Life won’t be same again. No class picnics, No friends to serve food, no friends to click you in disgusting acts.

Guys I appreciate your appetite, after having the feast girls had bought along, where did that packed food brought by Nazima’s Dad go? Waseem you must be still hungry? Zahoor we digested it all, I remember they made us wash the dishes. I still have the pic with me. But then that won’t count to any expirence in corporate sector.