Chronicle- MBA 2006-08 -VII

Second and Third Semesters were slow and were filled with lots of classes, bunks, presentations and to add were role plays, picnics and a certificate course. That one role play by Roof and Tabish till date remains one of the hilarious role plays in our two years.

Visit to Islamic university for the lecture of gentle men who has been gracious enough to grant our department with number of foreign books which are never read for two reasons (i) they are not issued to students. (ii) faculty is not interested in reading.

That picnic to Doodpather, soon after Prof. Sahaf had taken as the Head, I believe was the only one where both Sems and faculty together went for a picnic. Our class was marked with a very low attendance. But food as usual was wonderful, thank you girls. I will really miss that. Water was too cold where as a ritual we submersed. I remember that day more because Zaib was relieved from his duties as CR, the only decision Sahaf took as the Head, and started loosing “Relevance”.

Our first industrial tour in the valley was organized by Ajaz sir with the help of few students particularly Mubashir. We went to Triesh and to their adjacent spices factory. That visit moreover proved to be a picnic; we had our lunch at Wazir Bagh, one of the many beautiful gardens in Islamabad. Class to me seemed broken this day, while I was still entering the garden I saw class broken into two circles and left with no options we had to form the third one. I believe that’s where people started parting away. Some thing many would have not even thought about, others as such were the part. I do not know how many observed it, but all realized in coming days.

Insha and Lubaid had for the first time accompanied class out of the university gates, and almost broke the swings and slides made for children in the park. Leaving away the parted thing, every one had wonderful time. That pic with ice cream on face never made to Lubaid’s Orkut profile.

Some day’s latter, when second semester exams finished of which I missed my two papers because of a conference in Finland. A Strategic Negotiation Certificate course, started in erstwhile DMS, something I considered to the best few hours of learning in the Department. That one role play which I had to do with Tom, Ughh that was too much. Somehow those classes gave me a feel of being a management student.

Then was turn for the controversial Farewell-Fresher’s Party, something where the “Gunda Group” got sticked out again. Where did we get that name? Sahaf once characterizing us to our juniors had coined the word “Gunda Group”, the Revolutionaries as I call it. Always the stand firsts. We were also called as boycott group by our friends in class. We were not a part the party for so many reasons, not to be described here. Lubaid, Fawzaan, Amir, Zaib, Insha, Sheen and Me.

Apart from that I was very much involved with university politics and happened to become the “Founding President of KUSU” during those very days.

And then, the last official picnic we had, no that was unofficial too. Drang, a good experience as well. We enjoyed the long walk to now extinct monuments. and then the food which was followed by some wonderful songs of Zahid made that trip wonderful aswell.

Third Sem exams finished and people started looking for Winter placements, a worse kind of an experience for every one. With around 18 students doing summer project with HDFC, 11 with Reliance and few others in Delhi. Some thing which made me sure, Placements were nothing but a hallucination, which would come down by the time we were in fourth Sem. No companies except from Insurance industry were to come for campus recruitments.

Chronicle- MBA 2006-08 -VIII

Fourth Sem started with Grand viva, and the start was moreover slow. Students were now less enthusiastic about classes and every other departmental activity. Few regular faces were missing, Zaib, Zahid, Mubashir, Roof, Sunila, Shahfat, Saba. Others like Waseem, Tabish, Toufeeq would be seen on rare occasions. Lubaid, I don’t remember if he gave any class in fourth Sem. Fawzaan, Amir, Insha, Sheen and Me kept on giving classes at regular intervals. During this Sem we also started discovering places such as Nursery where we would sit for hour’s together.

Fawzaan and me found few other places as well, where I would read my book and he would sleep or Orkut.

Final nail in the coffin was getting the Placement cell to answer our questions about placement, and making them accountable, but then they have hit us much harder, they have left us without placements.

One or the other way, because the batch was reduced to about 20 student’s people again began to feel the attachment which was shared in first and the half of second Sem.

Yes, Also MBA lost all the matches it played, whatever the sport. Irony is Faizan played every match. Better check your stars buddy. You aren’t lucky for the team.

The last picnic to Yusmarg, my hands quiver when I write the word “LAST”. I hate writing this word. Although it added few more memories that all of us share. Waseem staring at a couple to win a bet worth one hundred, and falling down the slope, almost drowned in mud. That brunch after a trek of 50 meters, yeah most of you were exhausted and wanted to sit after every 5 meters.

That walk to Doodh Ganga, and the final bath and may be the last one we had in open waters. Even though it was followed with small trip to Pari Mahal and Chesmashahi, where we almost ran into waters scaring every other person. But then some memories last longer.

Or the “Last Perfect Act” of Mubashir which froze every one, even the ones who were part of that scary prank. And then Waseem and I praising his act, with Eggs and Tomatoes. It just made his hair more silky.

Last week, it has been very emotional in the department with most of the girls crying over the, to be followed parting away. With Movies being made out the photo’s clicked through two years and emotional songs in back ground makes it all the more Nostalgic.

May be the life will never be same again, may be 3^rd September will be the last time I see all you guys together. May be I will never see many of you again. May be nothing will be same again. But then we still can promise some “RE-UNIONS.”

P.S. This is my story, the way I LIVED my two years in university. Much more than this happened, something which can’t be written but felt. I do not have a very strong memory but whatever I could remember and felt could be a part of this piece is here. Any mistakes and errors are mine and I love them as much as this piece itself. This piece has not been written to offend anyone. These are the beautiful memories. Some thing I will cherish all my life. Even though I wanted this to be written all together a different way but few compulsions kept me high on heels. Even though it could be improved upon, but I wanted it unedited. So that I don’t blow in some fake emotions or try to hide some.

Memoir of a CLASS!

I’m sure soon, VERY SOON, we’ll be on our last walk across the campus... Circumambulating The Business School.. Sitting on OUR stairs like beggars outside a mosque.. The watches ‘ll be crying TWENTY minutes past FIVE…With no signs of life in the campus and Insha refusing to get down the stairs, Gullu, Insha’s driver, ‘ll be vying for his last possible chance to revenge. Someone please tell him that unleashing his car won’t be a good idea!

Another ten steps into the “now-infrastructurally-sound” school (lol! Why do I still hate him!?), and there you are.. The classrooms aren’t open anymore.. Khursheed would’ve closed even the loo by then..! We’ll move to the first floor. With sunset around and breeze across the Hazratbal Mosque smelling of Pakistan and barbecues being roasted in Khayam, we would hopelessly wish the time to stop, needless to say, in vain...*sigh*.. With the First Semester lecture hall and the one opposite to it (Yeah, Yeah where Amir was once caught copy pasting the whole paper from his internet enabled cell phone!) locked, we would walk through the corridor leading us to our Final Semester room.. Yes, the usually unlocked lecture room.. We would open the door one last time..

‘ll wish I could ask the professor (Yeah, professor! Finally! Give it to them now!), "Allowed Sir?” But alas! There would be no Akram to say, " Bayta kya time aaya?? Ab kal aana, Inshaallah!” There’ll be no one in, except the few of us.. Just the empty desks engraved with quotes that our seniors wrote on them and our own Gazi Thhhhaufeeq’s names! Just the four or five of us.. Staring the weird empty walls. (Throughout the course I used to wonder how Jahanzaib once stared them for half an hour during Accounting internals forcing Darzi to ask him “Hey CR, aap deewar ki aur kya dekhrahe hain?” “Sir kuch nahi, mein sochraha tha kab koi paper deke nikle taaki mein bhi nikal saku!”, pat came the reply.) ..And the desks all empty. And the raised platform where the torture classes were held, and the last benches where we had fun , laughed, cried, hiding our cell phones from the professors, pleading for attendance…(Insha even broke one during her First Semester!)..*sigh*.. A million memories rooted like a hard disk in our heads. Everything as clear as the word clear itself. And there’ll be complete silence for a moment. We’ll smile, laugh and may be even cry..

Used to walk like war lords once, jumped over these very benches, ruckus, chaos, pandemonium! ‘ll certainly look for the benches where I used to sit ..Won’t really feel like the last day... Don’t really remember how we met... How we came to such a stage... How we bonded together.. How we screwed up together.. How even the girls of our group came to be known as GUNDAYS of the batch… It still feels like I know my friends since ages.. ‘ll feel as if we were born in this Uni.. ‘ll feel as if we were always there... Always there to protest killings by the Indian army.. Always there to confront the Chief Proctor.. Always there to paint the air GREEN..

..Won’t really feel like the last day... Don’t really remember how we met... How we came to such a stage... How we bonded together.. How we screwed up together.. The last benchers (Read Iflah Khan!)) asleep doesn’t matter who the professor is.. Saniya and Sunila chatting.. Nazima 123 fiddling with her flashy E60!.. Waseem trying to sleep on the bench.. Jim writing poetry.. Jahanzaib checking out BBC sport on his cell phone.. Amir online on Gtalk.. Deeba, Sameer, Ramiz attentive.. Qurat finding new ways to flatter! Aasima setting her scarf right! Sheen crying out PAANI MILEGA! Insha passing on chits to Irtif! Zubair checking out how much he lost in stocks since morning! Saba busy clicking my pics and making mirror cracking faces when I protest! Faizan seated like a king! Irfana using all colors in the crayon box to write notes! Wajahat doing don’t know what.. Owais engrossed in his inbox! Tabish asking for the furniture to be changed for he has a bad back! Yawar too uneasy! Mehmood Khan on tenterhooks to ‘safeguard’ the crease! Zahoor and Shafat discussing Tom Peters! Makhmoora busy reading something very academic! Shaista eager to leave the class..! Samoon looking for just ANYTHING that can be insured! Mubashir speaking Airtel! Mudasir lost! Parray, Shahid, Shabir all absent! Nazima doing what Qurat does best- Flattery! Rooful idle! Khalid least bothered! The professor teaching don’t know whom! Jim sitting beside me, cribbing about something, stocks may be.. Giggling over something or the other, Girls over Orkut this time! Me occasionally making random shapes on someone else’s notebook! Ahh… Irtif asking me to look outside, for some babes from English I guess!

Everything the same… And I, without even a word, look outside. It’s something unusual. Irtif nudges me and I look through the window with the same urge..But today there isn’t anyone there…Just the deserted lawn.. The bench under the Chinar which stands witness to our countless birthday parties and so much fun… I can see the fountain in front of the English department where I clicked Insha, Asima, Deeba together for the last time I guess.. I look back but there’re no Irtifs and Inshas passing chits this time.. Not laughing this time…Not speaking anything this time... Just sitting there speechless… and there’s Amir and there’s Sheen. And there’s Me.

Beenish searching her locker downstairs.. Akhtar and Khateeb dowloading VIRUS at the Iqbal Library.

No attendance.. The class has ended... So have the trips to Nunkun, Sheereen, Samsi, KD, Jan, Alka’s, Grand, Unicafe, and did I miss any? And yeah, our own Naseembagh; Chai, Bun Samosa, Juice, Chips, Paratha, AND GIRLS.. Everything, Just everything.

We sit there ... Sit there, oblivious of the funeral across... Our eyes shut, yet wide open.. The world beyond the two gates is calling us. I smell a conspiracy.. We were LIONS in. The world might just turn us into LAMBS outside..

Want to be in the class for real.. One more time.. Ask all those weird questions again.. But where’s Sahaf to answer or avoid them for that matter...? Want to lie about Hamels Innovation Lab again, but where’s Shabir to take that? Want to shout NAARA-e-TAKBEER again but in what faculty would the echo reverberate?

The door is open but who’s going to bunk? ...And this time around it won’t be the same.....Once again.. Just ONCE.. We’ll attend the class....With no one around but our souls.

Fvxan’s PS: Copyright NOT protected. This is an ‘influenced’ piece.. While browsing, I just happened to read something similar.. The way I designed the plot later might contain some TRACES from the subconscious. Moreover, it’s written in a sudden rush of blood, so STOP DOUBTING MY WRITING SKILLS.

My P.S: This is not my piece, this is Fvxan. The precious moments trapped inside are part of my life as they are his. We have shared and felt them together. Better and worse –can’t be penned down. We wanted this to be in my blog, a souvenir to remember. Its more than just a read, these are our two years. I had been provided with the rights of editing and adding, but emotions know no grammar.I just gave it the name. I will miss all you people. Love ya forever.

Mystification!

Not that I see my world in black and white, but I have the pleasure of defining ‘BOTH’. I am not talking about the darkness of night, its life. I do not want my questions to be answered or may be I want them to be answered unhurriedly. Just like as they say, inflow of ideas should be more than outflow, so that one doesn’t run out of stocks. Inventory management to be precise. ‘I’ do not revolve around anything. I am the centre, I am the hero. Don’t call it blasphemy, these thoughts are mine and am assured, God wants me to think this. I am life till the last breath and I am death everlasting. I don’t have to pull the veil down, I am just certain and assured by my senses. I do not regret the decision; I want to write but not with trembling hands. I want every alphabetical stroke to be gentle, cutting through the edges.

It seriously seems to revolve around “I”. That’s what I have been longing to tell you for so long. I am not the ultimate truth but am not deceptive as well. I am not a dagger in beauty. I am strange to myself. Exploring would be a good idea, but I need to find some good time. Then delve deep into the truth of self, know thy own self- thy soul like back of thy hand. Well, this is going to be a long discussion with no dimensions. Better, cut it short; cut it here.

Almost dark in the middle of Dal Lake, how would one feel? Silent waters infuse calmness to heart and mind. The rowing noise is soothing, and I call on to people. Not that I just want to make them hear what I say, but I want them to do the same. I want them to hear the silence, look into each others eyes without feeling embarrassed. No traitors among us, brothers in spirit. But I am still alone, I do not have anyone to look into eyes, I wont let it discourage me. It’s not a day and it’s not the dark, for me it’s a rendezvous with my own self. I do not need the mirror to talk to, my conscience is awake and my principles strong enough to answer my questions. Something I ran far to think about. I needed some outer peace to tie the broken chords inside. I know I am not alone in all this; there are people like me, made of same flesh and blood, who suffer more than I do. Pointlessly at the hands of destiny we succumb. Its comprehension is not easy neither is the way out painless.

I am part of the world filled with every imaginable beauty and evil. Rain doesn’t clean my sins, my tears wash me away. Should I jump into the silent waters to extract its calmness or drown to be a part of tranquility? Only if people would understand how they, in this world pay for the sins they commit, I would have had a long queue behind. The water levels would increase and kill rest of the population through contamination of rotting bodies.

My intuitions are not prophecies, but that’s not enough to prove them wrong. I do not follow the truth, I am my own follower. How good would it be, if I be the truth.