My IIT and the IIM

The other day the MD of my desk introduced me as a graduate of IIT and not as an IIM student. I was vaguely pleased. Since then, I have confirmed my hypothesis that there is more awareness about the IITs than about the IIMs. ( This one gentleman on the trading floor, upon being informed that I am from an IIT commented "The one that is better than the MIT!!" Anyway, as I said, I am vaguely and childishly pleased whenever the superiority of the IIT brand over the IIM brand is affirmed. And this has made me wonder why ? Perhaps, because IIT was the result of a youthful dream of "being someone" and not of the mercenary motivation of "being rich" , perhaps because IIT gave me my first identity, perhaps because IIT is where I met some of the most intelligent kids I have met (and I cannot say the same of the IIM). I do not know why but IIT has become a part of me while I look at IIMB from the outside as a detached observer. Perhaps, IIT has the lifelong charm that one's first love has for one. Or, perhaps, I resent the hype that the coverage that the IIMs attract becaus of their placements . It is like IIT Kharagpur is my poor, unsung family and IIM Bangalore the rich family that "I have adopted".I sincerely hope that by the time I pass out I start loving IIM Bangalore more. For I sincerely believe that It has give me much - as much, if not more, than IIT Kharagpur.

What have I been doing in London

In the last post I tried to list some of the things that I have learned from the internship in Citigroup. Let me list out in this post what I have been doing outside work in this period.

• took an open bus tour of London ---> a great concept; you can hop on and off the bus and visit many places in a day; had a ball with Arjun; our first day out in London and I was smitten by the city and its heritage
• visited National Gallery ---> one of the best art galleries in the world featuring works of all the great painters; given my lack of interest in and appreciation of the nuances of a painting as well as the Biblical associations of the painitngs which I could not relate to, this visit is just a point on the "resume"
• Imperial War Museum ---> High point; amazing, cannot be covered in a day
• Natural History Museum, Science Museum, Victoria and Albert Museum ---> London is a city of museums and they cannot be missed
• London zoo ---> a disappointment, the ones back home are much better
• Watched "The Phantom of the Opera" in Her Majesty's Theatre---> My first musical play performance and an unforgettable experience, highest point of the stay
• Saw Trafalgar Square and Leicester Square at night ---> London at night is extremely different from the one in the day; it's lively, it's joyous, it's vibrant
• London Eye --> Disappointing

I have bought a very nice Samsung Digimax A 7 camera and an Ipod Nano.

I have had various things and

--> the Crispy Creme Doughnuts are amazing

--> I hate the cold sandwiches

--> the wraps here are delicious; my favourites being spicy tuna, cajun chicken and paaprika chicken

--> I have had more coffee here than in my lifetime and they, unlike me, like their coffee strong and sugarless here

--> Portuguese food is spicy and delicious

--> tha Thai and Chinese food we have at home are quite different from the ones you find here

Steep Learning Curve

In the last six weeks (of the internship at Citigroup, London) I have

• learned that Investment Banking is very different from what I thought it was
• learned that the trading floor ( the Fixed Income trading floor commonly called the 2nd floor in Citigroup) has more than 2000 people of more than 100 nationalities
• learned that the Black-Scholes model of valuing options is the most important model in Investment banking sales and trading
• learned that Black-Scholes is not good enough but the best
• become conversant with the Greek letters and know that you must know the alpha, amma, theta and vega of your derivatives
• learned that there are the vanilla options and then there are the exotics - barrier, chooser, asian, rainbow, quantos, best of n, knock-in, knock-out
• learned swaps, swaptions, caps, floors, collars
• learned asset swaps, securitization, repackaging, credit default swaps, collateralized debt/loan/bong/mortgage obligations, single tranche portfolios, first to default baskets
• learned you try and trade all kinds of risks - interest rate, forex, volatility, credit
• come to know there is delta hedging, there is gamma hedging
• learned that there is static hedging, there is dynamic hedging
• learned constant portfolio protection insurance, option based portfolio protection insurance
• learned what hedge funds are and what their strategies are to generate alpha

And I have been paid 960 pounds per week to learn all that and more that I am sure I have missed out and many that cannot be put in black and white.

Amazing, aint it?

Thank You Songs

These have been my friends - true friends through thick and thin. With me in the darkest days of my life. I have lain in bed, lights switched off, eyes closed, listening to these, transported away from my worries and problems. In a world where sadness is sweet and lovely. But then when is sadness not sweet and lovely. Some songs (in Jagjit Singh's pristine voice) that have never failed to touch me. The songs I have lived.

Dhuaan uthaa thaa divaane ke jalate ghar se saarii raat

lekin vo khaamosh rahe duniyaa ke dar se saarii raat

(When I fought and lost)

Kaanton ki chubhan paayi

phoolon ka maza bhi

Dil dard ke mausam me

roya bhi hasan bhi

(Last year's romance with Kolkata, my season of pain and sweet memories)

Tere vaade par jiye hum

to ye jaan jhoot jaana

ki khushi se mar na jate

agar aitbaar hota

Ye na thi hamari kismat

ki bisaale yaar hota

(The promise of truth and purpose that is yet to be and perhaps never to be realized)

Unke dekhe se jo chehre pe aa jati hai raunak

wo samajhte hain ki beemar ka haal accha hai

Humko maaloom hai jannat ki haqueequat lekin

dil ke khush rakhne ko Ghaalib ye khayaal accha hai

(Ghalib's poetry, Jagjit's voice and my feelings better than I can put them)

Thank you songs!!

About London

I have been remarkably silent about London on this blog....well may be not because I am mostly silent here and remarkable are the few times I decide to write something. Not that I dont have things towrite about, they are plenty. Its just that they are disjointed, random thoughts that I find very difficult to synthesise into a well structured, coherent essay. There have been so many occasions in the recent past when I have started apost and then crapped it midway. On most of those occasions, I felt midway that the posts were coming out contrived and not nearly as natural and fluent as when they were thoughts in my mind. Anyway this is another feeble attemp at describing my experiences in London.

Let me start by saying that what I attempt to do below is not a description of the city. It is beyond my limited abilities as a writer. What follow are my feelings about London and my experiences.

London, cliched as it may sound, is a complex organism. I sit on a trading floor where I have met more Indians and French than the British. And that is London for you. Travel in the tube, walk down the streets, enter the various shops and the one thing that strikes you between the eye is the mind-boggling diversity. It is as if the city assimilates everything. When I go to shop for food in the the department stores, I find packaged food catering to many nationalities. I could not believe it when I first saw rotis, papads, pulao and various other Indian food available in plenty. And this sort of variety is true for other cuisines too - Chinese, Thai, Moroccan - you name it.

Another thing I have noticed here is how well dressed most people here are. May be that is because I live in one of the most expensive areas of the city what will all thebanks around. However in my various forays outside Canary Wharf (the splendidly prosperous and therefore mind-numbingly drab locality where I am put up), I have observed that people here are very careful about there dresses and keep themselves very nattily attired. And they are very well mannered too.So, you keep getting surprised by these "thank you"s and "sorry" directed at you from out of the blue for no apparent reason. And while it is pleasing, it makes you wonder how people can be so polite all the times. Compare that with Kolkata where people manage to be rude most of the times without any reason. (May be it is the weather in Kolkata!). This manners are ingrained in people here. What it also implies is that these words soon become meaningless out of being used to death. And people just grunt out these false expressions of gratitude and regret mechanically. I have been advised by a few to take the praise from the English (rather the Europeans as a whole) with a pinch of salt for very often they are just platitudes; and be alert for crticisms for they will be expressed rather subtly and will more often than not be cloaked.

There is not the great divide that one finds in my country India. While there are very rich people, and the not-so-rich people, I haven't really seen a very poor guy around. I mean even the beggars here seem quite well fed and dressed with dignity. You will normally find beggars in the tube-station subways and they would usually be playing some musical instrument. Most people here have got the right to live with dignity unlike India where many live and indeed die in wretched animal conditions.

There are other things about London that may be worthwhile mentioning. However, I am feeling sleepyand its always a long day here. So, I'd better go to sleep. (Also i am bored of writing this.)

Good night!!

Daadi Ma aur Gaon aur Bihar aur bahut kuch…..Jadheen

(Please ignore the mistakes – grammatical or otherwise. The following will remain unedited)

LONDON, 12:00 A.M

I have been trying to sleep but cannot. Faded, dusty images keep forming and reforming themselves, reminding me of a past not too distant yet very far – history disowning me, taunting me with amorphous, hazy images that wring my heart with nostalgia so deep it hurts. An old woman, very weak, drained of all life looks at me with strange eyes. I can’t make out that look on her ancient face criss-crossed with creases -signs of the passage of time. Is it pleading or surprised? It is lonely for sure. Are those betrayed promises in her eyes? Or is it fear of the night that is soon to come and then never go away – no more dawns, just the eternal night with its all enveloping darkness where she will not be seen nor heard. Perhaps it is just sadness – deep, profound sadness; perhaps she too is thinking of the past like me – of a long gone youth. Of a young 14 year girl, married into a large family…….

Chacha Ji called today. “Do you remember me ?” “what!! Ofcou…” My voice sounding strange to me. A very fair, handsome man. Doting Chacha Ji. Bhaiya is crying, clamoring for attention – the eldest child – had after many mannats. “Somebody, look at gelha also”. I stare at him with the mute gratitude of a two-year old. Gelha – Kabootar ka baccha – the young one of a pigeon.

Really dusty village – Mangwaar. I faintly remember a pucca house – one of the very few in the village. And the mango orchard with machaans where ghosts resided. Anchu bua – What was I then, seven ? I had a huge crush on her. She is no longer that beautiful and I have never had any crush since.

We would come to Mangwaar in Holis and Dussehras. In Papa’s government jeep. And urchins would start running behind as the jeep neared the village, trying to touch the jeep. Mummy would drive them away and I would look at them receding with wonder – not, as I do now, with sympathy at their barely clad emaciated bodies.

“Daadi shapath?” We could not swear on Daadi and lie. Or she would die. “Who do you love more ? Mummy or Daadi?” “Daadi!!” three voices in unison. And a pair of flashing eyes, somebody got up and walked away. Sounds of laughter all around. When there were fights between Daadi Ma and Mummy, the three of us would form a ring around Daadi – to protect her and she would hug us.

Mangwaar has electricity now. Four hours every day. And our pucca makaan has a toilet. I am relieved to see that. I don’t have to take a lota and go to the fields to defecate. Though, I am told the toilet is chiefly for the ladies. The men still use the open spaces.

The mango machaans are no longer there. The ghosts have been evicted. I wonder where they reside now.

The woods are thinner. And there he is – I hate him. We call him Kutil Baba. All children dislike him – he has a habit of showering affection by tweaking the ears sharply – very painful. He is bent now and walks with a stick.

Its been 4 years since I saw Daadi Ma. The accident has rendered her immobile. Now she just sits in a corner, staring at the kitchen with vacant eyes. The kitchen used to be her domain. She had worked all her life and now..

“Can I bring you some khaini Daadi?” She nods her head pleased.

St. Xaviers – roundabout the time Mummy took ill. And Daadi left to live with Chaacha Ji. All her life she had lived with us and now…

St. Xaviers has a huge library. Agatha Christie’s novels and those afternoons…Mummy would seat us in chairs in the sun in winters. I and “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd” – 8 A.M to 4 P.M….the book is about to finish and my pace has increased to the point where I am barely reading the sentences – just registering the story. Can’t wait to get involved with lengthy sentences, I can smell the murderer – should I just look at the last page.

The Father’s quarters is very peaceful and serene. When I come early, I can catch Father Horan pacing in front of his quarter with a book in his hand – he has a habit of walking and reading. “I want to become a Jesuit Father”, I had confided to Harsha.

You know how I landed in a hostel in standard three? I and Bhaiya. It was all his fault. Or the cap’s fault – the fateful Mr. India cap that we bought after watching the show from stolen money during school hours or “what went for a school” hours. Two or three huts, open sky – to get enrolled, you could come and start attending classes under the sky. And we met Papa on the way back – our topis nicely tilted and Papa looking incredulously at them. Off we were – bag and baggage.

So, there she is. Looking at me and I cant bear her scrutiny. She isn’t the loving old Daadi Ma. She is demanding answers now. Or may be I am just imagining like Macbeth.

Mangwaar –> Madhupur –> Birpur –> Hazaribag –> Patna –> IIT Kharagpur –> Kolkata –> IIM Bangalore –> London.

Where are you from?

Guilty as charged – rootless.
No Chacha Ji….You are right – I don’t remember you.

My first year at IIT Kharagpur – a Bihari, proud to be one and passionate about it. Very unsophisticated – a guy who had learned English by reading a lot of books. Very few people had read as much time. He had had time what with Mummy’s illness. Couldn’t speak properly, but wouldn’t take time to learn.

Very sophisticated. From the best of colleges in India. IIT, IIM. A potential Investment Banker. “Pseude” –yes the right word for me. Sometimes the worst of places throw the best of words. Now, can’t speak English nor write. Am in the country of English and find myself woefully inadequate. Can’t speak Hindi either. All those creative writing prizes in Hindi a souvenir or the days gone by when I was a Bihari. Now, I am no longer a Bihari. When is the last time I visited Bihar or thought about it? Can’t speak Bihari or act like one.

No, not a Bihari, nor a Bengali nor a Kannadiga – A creature of the metropolis. Everyone speaks their own language here. I have my own – a curious mixed accent – A mixture of Bihari and English and Lucknowi and IIT KGP lingo and….

I am not rootless because I am in London. I am rootless in Bangalore too.

And whose is that weathered old face peering at me through squinted eyes from the depths of my dream – Daadi Ma of course. But why does she not recognize me? She is calling out in Maithili. Now, how do you respond in Maithili?

The other day, the French guy on my desk, asked me – “How do you bid good bye in Hindi?” I am blank. What the heck..of course we say something…”we say good bye”. “But, that is English”. “No, that is what we speak…it’s a mixture of languages”. Is it Alvida. That is Urdu I suppose.

No, I can’t visit Jogbani. It is a small town and very far. No flights there, not even trains..well there are trains but only local trains..and I hate local trains. Infact nowadays I can’t even travel in an A.C compartment. Its got to be flight or the place is inaccessible. No, I know Daadi – you are immobile. Too bad, for I am too. I need to be carried in plane.

Don’t look at me like that. I don’t recognize you.

I will close all the gates. Who left the doors open? I always shut then when I go to sleep for it is then that I am most vulnerable. No, I will shove them all in their respective compartments, banish them to the inner recesses where they were for so long. I need a stronger lock. Or May be I need to change houses. Lock them all up.

Its useless. Its too late.

Guilty as charged. Rootless