As we, the batch of 46/16 completed a job well done and hummed June mein hum… on our respective ways back to our alma mater, there was that palpable feeling of regret as the realization that many familiar, admired and even revered faces would no longer be there to greet us, finally sunk in. But the wheel of time is a juggernaut that even Joka bows to, and we did concede that the time had come to form new bonds, to foster new friendships and to shape bright new sparks to meet the ever-rising expectations of that wily, demanding yet lovable genius- the omnipresent spirit of Joka.

It is to you, the chosen 300-odd who can proudly claim to hold admission offers from IIM-C for the 2010-12 academic session that I speak now- you’ve done your world proud, let that be a sign of what you achieve in ours. The shoes left for you to fill are gargantuan; we expect Bigfoot’s hindquarters to pale in comparison as you outgrow them. Joka will give you the world, use it well to build your own empires. As the day of your arrival to this venerated 135 acre campus draws nearer, it is with a song on my lips, with love in my heart, with arms wide open, with my mask firmly intact and on behalf of my brethren here at Joka that I greet you. Welcome to the kingdom of 7 lakes, to the land of magnificent managers. Hostels where the Malli Mastan Babu’s of the world began their journey to the seven summits await you, classrooms where the Indra Nooyis once sat beckon. The BC Roy Library, which a certain Ramachandra Guha once occupied in person and now continues to do so in the form of embellished letters on paperbacks, lays its infinite resources at your disposal. Even the rain gods seem to have conspired to offer showers of blessings when you arrive.

The moment is solemn and my attempts to pen it in mere words can best be described as futile. Let me then just repeat the simple yet memorable greeting that the flamboyant young man, now in a corner office in some corner of a foreign field, gave to us on our own momentous early days in Joka- “Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to IIM Calcutta.”

And the thumping shall remain loud and clear forever.

-MM

I’m about to answer the n-th growl of my stomach when I find myself drawn like a moth towards the huge flex in front of the tennis courts. Magnificently lit up, placed very strategically right where the road curves and with a design that is reminiscent of classic Prison Break photography- it’s a wonder how I missed it in the morning. I’m bang in front of it now, staring the sponsors face to er… logo. The list is impressive, very impressive- one that most of my friends who’d organized fests during college days would have given my arm and leg for, and then some of their own too perhaps. Intaglio, thankfully, is different from those 3-day affairs. There are no posters of telecom service providers at every nook and cranny, so that you’re never in doubt whether you’re attending a fest or a brand promotion. There are no over-zealous freshers around to swear that the budget is not a cent below 1 crore and how this is so awesome because that rival sister institute fest’s budget was 80 lacs. More thankfully, there are no cynics either, ready to brush Intaglio off as a no-event, just like Life, the Universe and Everything. This is the Asia’s biggest after all, and thankfully, we’re treating it like premier B-school students should.

A rustle, pitter patter bird drops and I’ve taken to my heels. Olympus is just days away and while I look forward to hearing the views of the best in Asia regarding the many challenges that await us, I wonder if even they will be able to do something about this particular challenge. Maybe it’s a job for the Consulting Knights then. Another must-attend event.

Back at my room, I start checking out what else lies in store over the weekend. The online build-up, which was substantial in its own right, seems to be nothing when compared to the culmination. I see Joy Bhattacharya is going to be on campus very soon, Addict promises to be a fun event and if Corporate Catalyst wants to make me an I-banker, who am I to refuse? There’s something for the less frivolous of us too- Modulus for the would-be traders, Marketplace for the marketers, State of Affairs for the Ops folks and Curiosio for, well, me (Grinch-like grin goes here).

Intaglio- 8 letters that’ll be etched on our minds over the next 3 days. 8 letters that form a word that few of us would have heard prior to coming here, but will not forget for a long long time. Rumour has it that the very first Intaglio head was exceedingly fond of his underwear and hence chose to bequeath the fest with a name that was an anagram of Langotii. A more credible rumour has it that the writer of this article was by now, getting rid of ideas and filling up lines with a demented brand of creativity.

To get some answers in this uncertain world, I turned to my goddess Wiki. Imagine my unbound joy and the strong sense of pride, when after reading the inane definitions and variations of the word, I saw:

Intaglio may also be:

• Intaglio, the annual international business school meet of the Indian Institute of Management, Calcutta

Amen to that. Intaglio 2010 Aandozzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

-MM

It is therefore fitting (symbolic would be too symbolic a word here) that one of the most sacred ceremonies at IIM Cal takes place around this season. The word itself is just perfect. It is indeed time to reminiscence, not just for the returning heroes, but also for the welcoming hordes. To look back at the time that has been and look ahead at what lies in store, while doing what you can to define it. The last week has seen 60 of our revered Elders return and take centre stage once more. They, who had left the alma mater with eyes that shone of promise and a will to scale new heights, returned to the place which gave them the gifts to do exactly that and more. A simple look at the brief snapshot of each one of them is ample testimony to their more than impressive achievements. For one memorable weekend, we watched in awe as more and more of the newsmakers of those yellow pages that are delivered to our rooms every morning filled the familiar landscape. We witnessed in wonder, the curious case of all these Benjamin Buttons as time flew backwards, putting 20-something souls into 40-something bodies. And we observed in admiration, the 25-year old camaraderie, that once defined the soul of this place and forms of which continue to do so, take shape once more and become increasingly palpable.

As we made sure that Reminiscence 2009 was a reason to remember, the symbolic season entered our thought process and we tried to get a glimpse of the next chapter. As the new year, and with it the new decade, loomed tantalizingly in the distance, we wondered what our own homecoming would be like. 25 years after we leave the portals of the land with the 7 lakes, how much of what we have taken will we be able to give back? 25 years will see us establish ourselves into the transition that is about to begin soon. We will start ahead in the rat race that the real world is supposed to be, and battle to stay ahead of the pack. There will be 2 battle-lines firmly drawn within us as well- the expanding waistline and the receding hairline, and we wonder which battle will be easier. And then the ring of yet another Blackberry brought us back to the gala night and as we saw the owner pop it away to continue his precious discussion with another of his ilk, we realized that we had some enormous shoes to fill. And then we reached for another helping of the delicious fare.

25 years later, bonfires, bulbs and our own anticipation will light up this southern suburb of Calcutta once more. Amidst deafening thumps shall we walk again on the metaphorical red-carpet and go about separating the old comfortable familiar with the new and exciting unfamiliar. Climate change might have taken place, leaving environmentalists among us bemoaning while the more athletic of us firmly strap our ice-skates on. The promising new profs of today, bright sparks in the present’s vast floodlight, will by then have become the legends that constitute the yore of Joka- the wonders that the excited newbie calls to tell his friend about, scarcely believing his luck at being taught by such distinguished academics. New and more sophisticated hostels will dot these everyday grounds, but somehow, our own hostel shall remain the best. Footer-volley will kick off again, although the legs that do so will have lost considerable agility. 25 years later, as the age divide disappears, obeying its annual custom, and we, along with the then-students, make merry along the crackling bonfire; as the young and the old revel together as the Children of IIM-C and as all worries are forgotten for one brief, yet unforgettable winter evening, the spirit of Joka shall rise once more. And its silent joy shall be audibly shared by one and all.

-MM

So now that we know each other, let’s talk about the matter at hand. Getting into an IIM, they say, is difficult enough, but getting out is no cakewalk either. It was keeping this in mind perhaps, that the founding fathers of our soon-to-be alma mater decided to lay the foundation stone at a spot some million kilometers away from what was then a metropolis. But a wise man has been known to remark- if Mohammed cannot go to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammed. The managers decreed, the once-Metropolis agreed and Kolkata came to Joka to make the process of getting out both easy and enjoyable. Weekends amounted to double figures, Tantrics of old returned with venom and high spirits could be observed. It was somewhere along this point that we celebrated being in the City of Joy rather than a dry state. It was also somewhere along this point that the Masked Manager decided to leave low blows to the Joanie Laurers of this world.

I wish I could say that things were hunky dory, and they probably are, but being a self appointed guardian of the student community, the responsible voice of an elite fraternity etc, it becomes my duty to play the Devil’s Advocate and point out the clouds in the silver lining. Determined to take something away from the terrific nature of Joka, the powers that be conceived of a way to keep unbound celebration within imposed limits. Breaks between terms became a joke, true to the name of the place, and the entire process of beating off the exam blues, going crazy and getting the essential mental rest before the grind of the new term had to be accomplished within a week-end. Disappointed but unfazed, we managers shrug our shoulders, recall the words of the other (or was it the same) wise man who said that what cannot be cured, is not Raj Thackeray, and must be endured and hence made the most of those 48 hours.

On such a weekend, it becomes fairly impossible to tell any of the theatres in South City Mall from the lecture halls of nearly the same size. Park Street seems to become the diamond that we secretly harbour from the rest of the city. Unfortunate situations sometimes arise though, and even in the most red of states, there emerges a class difference between the blue-blooded or the haves, and the bourgeoisie. ‘Gents or Family?’ is the veiled question, ‘Are you a bunch of losers with the X and Y chromosomes equally divided or have you got substantial X-factor?’ is the undisguised one and haves stroll in, reminding us that even in this day and age, utopia is still far away. For the leftovers, things get a bit tricky. Peter’s Cat refuses to purr, Marco Polo is engrossed with King Khans and their Queens and Mocambo khush nahi hota.

Already deprived of the company of women, this particular lot turns to the only place which guarantees the best, well..’chick’en in Calcutta- KFC. Zingers, Hot and Crispy Buckets and Original Recipe helpings come to the rescue. Life, they say, is good. Finger licking good is what they forget to add.

And so begins term 3.

MM