Trauma Transforms

Follwing is an essay I wrote for the year book ... Now that I have Trillian's permission to post it on my blog , I am (dont you just hate it when sentences end abruptly) ...
Thanks Trillian for giving me the freedom to bash Section B and their ghastly Tshirt... Which kinda reminds me that I havent yet been paid for it ...

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By the time I got over the sheer amazement of getting into ISB, I was already having doubts. My bank balance was less than my bike registration number and I was surrounded by seriously uptight folks who were trying so hard to impress each other, I was reminded of pheasant mating dances they show on the discovery channel. As if that wasn’t enough, a really loud dude bellowed at the top of his voice "We will subject you to so much Trauma that it will Transform you"
As a software engineer, I have had my share of trauma. I might not have fought wars, or disposed bombs, or handled emergencies on Oil tankers like some of my peers had, but I did a lot of code reviews and documentation. A little Trauma I could handle … I mean how bad could it be..All I needed to do was keep up with the class notes, submit my assignments on time and read through the bulk pack... As long as I had my 8 hours of sleep, I could handle that.
A week later, I had 8 hours of sleep in all, was hopelessly lost as the professors talked about supposedly basic accounting and hadn’t shaved in day’s coz I couldn’t muster the courage to pick up my Gillette razor without thinking about big bearded Indonesians with huge knives in their hands. The fact that I was perpetually hung over didn’t help either.
Of course I wasn’t alone in this agony. Battle hardened officers of the Indian Army, Ex captains of super oil tankers, seasoned bankers who traded Millions of dollars without breaking a sweat, they were all losing the plot. Endless nights fighting with group mates over Vodites and Sonites not to mention frustrated souls in SV1 spamming like there’s no tomorrow to salvage whatever was left in the aftermath of gross injustices meted to them. More pheasant dance I thought.
We kept deluding ourselves into believing that we had finally mastered the Trauma, so much so that one of the sections even came out with a T-Shirt boldly claiming to Transform Trauma. It’s a different matter altogether that the color scheme they chose was far more traumatic than any surprise quiz or presentation in the curriculum. We kept fighting and they kept hurling more at us. 1 Year, 8 terms, 32 credits can bring out sides of you never thought existed in you. All of us tried to maintain sanity in our ways. Some hit the gym in hope that the physical pain would help them get over the pain caused by their grades. Some of us hit the bottle trying to drown our sorrows and then there were the never say die types who had to be chased out of the LRC by security every night.
And the results are for all to see. Sufficiently Traumatized and Transformed, an army of MBA’s poised to accelerate the Indian GDP into double digit growth rates. I pity anyone who dare come in their way. They can talk about sustainable competitive advantages at the drop of a hat, sell hand grenades to housewives in Timbuktu and make any balance sheet look like Pamela Anderson..All assets no liabilities. At a price of course.
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