More additions coming soon.
This is something I wrote for IBA newsletter. A must read for all the IBAIANs 
The music seemed marvelous. She looked gorgeous as ever. Her dress was outstanding, not too glamorous, and not too sober. Her makeup was perfect, not too dark, and not too light. She held my hands very gently, not too tight, and not too loose. As we gazed into each other’s eyes, I felt it to be the best moment of my life.
Suddenly I heard a voice. A familiar voice. A screaming distasteful voice. Yes it was my mom’s! What was she doing there? Has she seen her? My mind boggled up with these questions as my whole body shook with fear. The intensity reached its peak and suddenly my eyes popped open only to find my mother standing right above my head, still screaming. My next glance was at the clock and within fraction of a second I leapt out towards the bathroom door. The next second I was flying down the stairs with a pair of jeans on my shoulder, a wallet clutched between my teeth, a cellphone balanced between an ear and a shoulder and an unzipped school bag in hands.
Luck revealed its first signs of support with me as I found the car keys at the correct spot. Gaining confidence with this, I reached out to the car. After dumping my belongings at the passenger seat I started the engine and raced off. The clock in the dashboard flashed the time at me, as if it was teasing me and setting up a challenge for me. Little did that naïve know about my expert driving capabilities and my ambidextrous skills during driving.
The target of fourteen minutes was Difficult, yet Achievable. Perhaps this is what successful Mangers do throughout their Careers. Strive to Achieve Goals. With a confidence of a Business School student and a going-to-be Manager in life, I speeded away. Reaching upon the first traffic signal, I grabbed the jeans and pulled it over my legs. That was the only objective behind stopping at the signal and I raced past the red light on my way to save the day.
It was the middle of the semester and I had comfortably consumed all of my four absences. Not that I had wasted them uselessly, but at each time there had been a serious lethargic mishap. I was always the victim and it had never been my fault. There are several people I could blame for it; the first in the list is my darling girlfriend. I believe very few people in this world are blessed with more demanding and attention-seeking partners who hold the power to talk nonstop for hours at night and still have things remaining to talk about. Perhaps it wasn’t her fault too. How would an Indus Valley artist understand how things work at business schools, and especially how ruthless and anti-love the IBA policies are?
The next entity responsible for all my misfortunes is the cellular companies of today. Gone are the times when you could make the excuse of ‘running out of credit’ to hang up a call. All the cellular companies offer the (girl)-Friend(s) and (going-to-be)-Family packages at night which keep cutting down on hourly call rates day-by-day. In case the credit does finish or the phone runs out of battery, there is always broadband internet connection which acts as makeshift substitute for deprived lovers. Perhaps, experts are right when they claim that technological advancement is not favorable for everyone.
My list of people to blame does not end here. For my mishaps, I hold my parents as being equally responsible. They had put in no significant effort in selecting a name for me. Had they thought from the future perspective of the child, especially someone who was going to go to IBA, they would have never kept a name which started from the alphabet ‘A’. On several occasions I had entered the class moments after my name had been called out and was greeted with the sly, winning smile of the teacher. In a class of forty-eight students, I would have comfortably got the attendance had my name started with T or Z. I envy all the Zahids and Zaras in this world. Last semester, I had chalked out a plan to add Mohammed as a prefix to my name. Based on my calculation, this would give me an additional bonus of up to two minutes and twenty seconds in each class. And of course, I shall have all the religious blessings which come from having such a blessed name before your own. With this day’s incident, I was more determined to implement this plan.
As soon as I screeched my car inside the parking, the class bell rung. Luckily I had managed to zip up my pants and stuff my belongings inside the pockets at a signal where I was forced to stop. With the bell still ringing, I ran up the flight of stairs. Two floors above, a Hitler was waiting with a pen and attendance sheet in his hands. Waiting for the bell to end so he could announce my name and look around, and failing to get any response he could put a big fifth A next to my name. And then flash his typical winning smile to the class. But, I was determined this time. It was the last chance and a question of life and death for me. An ‘F’ in this course would have been a disaster for me. With the zeal of a Martyr, the strength of a Wrestler and commitment of a Manager I stormed up the stairs. The bell had stopped ringing. I rushed towards the class door and as soon as I pushed it open, my feet slipped back and I fell on the floor. The door came back on me with a thud and squashed my body. My legs were out of the class and only my face inside the class. I was numb but I heard my name and had enough strength in me to respond back “present” in a weak yet victorious voice. I had done it. I had won this time.
So i have a blog and i m not writing anything. This is just not fair. But no one can make me write. I can only write well when i have the mood to. And when the creative spirit is not there, i dont wanna write anything mundane.
So, being a perfectionist, that’s the problem. Hopefully I ll master my creative spirit someday and be able to use it at my will and not it’s.
So I have another post now and my blog doesn’t look neglected. Well it wasnt neglected, i did visit it regularly with serious plans to post but just wasnt able to keep the track.
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