Last week a new course on operations started. This course has an acronym which can be easily turned to sound like 'doomed'. Everyone thinks that doomed is what their fate is in grappling with it. In fact, there is a little law that says you are bound to be doomed with it.
The culmination of a week in which a movie played a significant part in-class (did I forget to mention that in the class we saw a short movie on cheetah?), is quite aptly watching a blockbuster at the cinemas. Better still if about seventy adults and children land up at the same hall at the same time. Even better if the movie starts with a C&H comic strip 'What are you doing here? Don't you have homework to do?" Thanks to TJ, our cultural rep, all this was possible last Saturday.
Not having left the campus thresholds for over a week, I was glad I was doing something normal. I am not sure if it was circumstantial, but I thoroughly enjoyed the Iron Man. I thought it would be nice to buy a flying suit, if I could afford one. Impossible is nothing, you know...see the real stuff here.
Coming back to doom, the course requires immense amount of patience and focus (can the two co-exist? We are getting there...) to get through a case. Don't get me wrong. I am not talking about cracking the cases, only about getting through them. So, by Wednesday evening when we were faced with a rather simple doom case that we could solve in an hour, we thought we could hit the bed a couple of hours earlier (say, 2 AM). We saw light at the end of the tunnel. Little did we know that the other asignment with statistics reading was a wolf in dog's clothing. We had to just keep on reading hor hours. By the time we were down to implications of our statistically significant observations, it was tea time in the Chicago.
How do they say that... the light at the end of the tunnel turned out to be a fast moving train? Yeah, and we walked walked right in to it.
2008-05-19
2008-05-13
Life is fun(ny)
Things long forgotten have a way of coming back to haunt you. You might even say it is a conspiracy by higher powers and I am at the center of it.
Why else would I need to fret over needing to literally pen down more than half a dozen pages at my age. I am no 'writer'. My profession and office technology have turned me into a "key-er", as I cannot claim to be a typist either. But industry did teach me the value of expectation management. With a handwriting like mine, growing more illegible by the year, I need to set the right expectations. This is what I did before the exam when I asked Dr.SS, TA for our, 'Customer Value' course, about the role of aesthetics of one's handwriting in a b-school exam. I found it comforting to know that 'she has seen all kinds of handwriting'.
It's not like I have not tried to get into the mode of writing more. I have made considerable number of pages of study notes for my course subjects. But how much of a damage of nine years can you reverse in a few weeks; assuming you even let me be the judge of my own handwriting?
I did pull through the three hour case-based exam this afternoon. I was not sure if I could sit that long. One of the reasons I had dreaded GMAT practice tests was their painfully long durations. Initially, after I landed here, I had to fight the urge to get up from my study table and walk around every twenty minutes. On one hand being a manager allows you to have some amount of exemption in having a low attention span. On the other hand multi-tasking required by a manager's role turns that into an asset of sorts. Anyway,another of those things that come back to haunt you are long duration exams.
I think I am developing, subconsciously, a way of creating fun if I do not find some around me. Would you believe I walked out with my answer paper after the open-book exam? I must have inadvertently (no such thing in Freud's world) packed it with my rather tall-and-broad text book. Once the TA found out that one paper was missing, I walked back into the hall to help them sort the confusion out. I am not sure who was laughing and who was relieved on finding out that it was I who had not turned in the answer paper. Since I had been within earshot and eyeshot of Dr.SS and maybe had demonstrated my integrity (now, how do you like that?) in the past that I did not need to sign an 'undertaking' (I did not know such a thing existed).
Like I said, I am finding that the repertoire of stories is steadily growing. Mr.Freud, would you say I am building one? I am not sure, but I do not think, anymore, that many thing will impossibly not happen to me.
A kind of X-files effect? No, let's say it's the PGPX-files effect!
PS: What the online-statuses are looking like today: LC- "Koi lauta de mere beete hue din"; RR-"toommatooeess...."; AA-"Selling Grade "A" tomatoes";
Yours truly- "No Strategy => POD (point of despair-ity)"
Why else would I need to fret over needing to literally pen down more than half a dozen pages at my age. I am no 'writer'. My profession and office technology have turned me into a "key-er", as I cannot claim to be a typist either. But industry did teach me the value of expectation management. With a handwriting like mine, growing more illegible by the year, I need to set the right expectations. This is what I did before the exam when I asked Dr.SS, TA for our, 'Customer Value' course, about the role of aesthetics of one's handwriting in a b-school exam. I found it comforting to know that 'she has seen all kinds of handwriting'.
It's not like I have not tried to get into the mode of writing more. I have made considerable number of pages of study notes for my course subjects. But how much of a damage of nine years can you reverse in a few weeks; assuming you even let me be the judge of my own handwriting?
I did pull through the three hour case-based exam this afternoon. I was not sure if I could sit that long. One of the reasons I had dreaded GMAT practice tests was their painfully long durations. Initially, after I landed here, I had to fight the urge to get up from my study table and walk around every twenty minutes. On one hand being a manager allows you to have some amount of exemption in having a low attention span. On the other hand multi-tasking required by a manager's role turns that into an asset of sorts. Anyway,another of those things that come back to haunt you are long duration exams.
I think I am developing, subconsciously, a way of creating fun if I do not find some around me. Would you believe I walked out with my answer paper after the open-book exam? I must have inadvertently (no such thing in Freud's world) packed it with my rather tall-and-broad text book. Once the TA found out that one paper was missing, I walked back into the hall to help them sort the confusion out. I am not sure who was laughing and who was relieved on finding out that it was I who had not turned in the answer paper. Since I had been within earshot and eyeshot of Dr.SS and maybe had demonstrated my integrity (now, how do you like that?) in the past that I did not need to sign an 'undertaking' (I did not know such a thing existed).
Like I said, I am finding that the repertoire of stories is steadily growing. Mr.Freud, would you say I am building one? I am not sure, but I do not think, anymore, that many thing will impossibly not happen to me.
A kind of X-files effect? No, let's say it's the PGPX-files effect!
PS: What the online-statuses are looking like today: LC- "Koi lauta de mere beete hue din"; RR-"toommatooeess...."; AA-"Selling Grade "A" tomatoes";
Yours truly- "No Strategy => POD (point of despair-ity)"
2008-05-09
On the wings of time
We gave three standing ovations to three professors who have either triggered a changed in the way we think or will be instrumental in changing the way we act. The caveat, of course, is that we follow the messages they delivered. As our OB professor concluded in the last session of her course, 'It depends on your choice!". It was touching to bid adieu to the great minds who made cherished our first encounter with the pressure cooker that WIMWI's pedagogy is.
Tuesday marked the end of the first month of PGPX. In this time, we have completed three courses and started three new ones (while a few others will get replaced soon), and woken up to the fact that the first final exam is on the day after tomorrow. But the fun doesn't end.
We started a course with a given name of 'Modeling for Decision'. 'Decision Modeling' would have worked just fine. The given name is causing me to interchange the order of words. Interchanging words can be disastrous as I realized over a post session conversation. Our professor, NR, thirty years at WIMWI and a doctorate in mathematics, has a very sharp mind. Unless we chase his ideas at the speed of his thought, we see that the multi-dimensional ideas he is spewing out are lost on us. He approaches things with cold logic, is famous for being strict in dealing with 'inferior logic' and merciless in repartee; some have been hopelessly embarrassed in class (to be later cajoled).
Over the post-session tea, I thought I was making sense to the prof. until I heard him say 'Have you considered it, seriously?'. Only then did I realise I had referred to his subject as 'Decision for Modeling' (notice that mislaid 'for'?). I quickly recovered thinking about how bad this could get. I conceded to my error and replied that given my un-toned structure, decide that it would be 'illogical' to proceed with modeling.Thankfully the Prof accepted it with a nod and a smile that told me that he was letting me go easy! I am glad I did not speak on the topic in the class.Class participation can wait!
Like "One, Two, three, times a lady", is there 'one-twelfth an MBA'? You wish!
Tuesday marked the end of the first month of PGPX. In this time, we have completed three courses and started three new ones (while a few others will get replaced soon), and woken up to the fact that the first final exam is on the day after tomorrow. But the fun doesn't end.
We started a course with a given name of 'Modeling for Decision'. 'Decision Modeling' would have worked just fine. The given name is causing me to interchange the order of words. Interchanging words can be disastrous as I realized over a post session conversation. Our professor, NR, thirty years at WIMWI and a doctorate in mathematics, has a very sharp mind. Unless we chase his ideas at the speed of his thought, we see that the multi-dimensional ideas he is spewing out are lost on us. He approaches things with cold logic, is famous for being strict in dealing with 'inferior logic' and merciless in repartee; some have been hopelessly embarrassed in class (to be later cajoled).
Over the post-session tea, I thought I was making sense to the prof. until I heard him say 'Have you considered it, seriously?'. Only then did I realise I had referred to his subject as 'Decision for Modeling' (notice that mislaid 'for'?). I quickly recovered thinking about how bad this could get. I conceded to my error and replied that given my un-toned structure, decide that it would be 'illogical' to proceed with modeling.Thankfully the Prof accepted it with a nod and a smile that told me that he was letting me go easy! I am glad I did not speak on the topic in the class.Class participation can wait!
Like "One, Two, three, times a lady", is there 'one-twelfth an MBA'? You wish!
2008-05-01
The Big Bang Theory
Like many of my friends, I was a day scholar at engineering school.I have been told that there had been a part of engineering school (not people, but life) that was not known to me, or for practical reasons out of bounds to me. I am talking about the world of "hostel-ites", as they were called.
Confined, OK, let me add 'by choice', to the palisades of Vastrapur New Campus, I am now a part of a camaraderie of hostelers.I had been variously told that I had missed out one some part of growing up by not living in a hostel. I was not so sure at the time. OK, sour grapes. I now think that the fact that we sit together and debate over 'business decisions' into wee hours of the evening and rub (all) our noses to the ground over frustratingly ambiguous case studies, weaves around us an invisible thread of fellow feeling.Slowly but surely we are building up a repertoire of stories that we will recall in future.
An unforgettable would be that of the Midnight Blast.
Post dinner, bogged down by an 'Analysis of Data' assignment, we were in the abyss of confusedness when, suddenly, there was a "Bang!". In day time, we've heard rare air-gunshots fired to scare away the hundreds of pigeon that think it is their right to deface, with natural elements, the ornate facade and modernistic walls of The Institute. But an air-gunshot in the middle of the night? There was a perplexed expression on several faces that were peering out of different syndicate rooms. On the hallway were PK and SP who had no idea what had hit them. The others were wondering what had come upon these two. It took the duo a few seconds to understand what had transpired. We thought it was excusable for them to be perplexed, since it was as real as it was unbelievable.
Turns out that PK had asked SP for a match and SP threw a butane lighter in PK's direction. PK missed the catch and the projectile exploded on contact with ground causing the big bang. What PK and SP were looking for, not realising all this had happened, was the missing blue plastic lighter. Obviously, neither of them had any background in using ammunition of this kind. So, it took a golden few seconds to understand that the heavy odour was that of sublime butane and the blue pieces of plastic were remnants of SP's cigarette lighter.
A wave of comic relief spread over the present crowd as dawned on them an unpleasant side-effect of playing catch with a lighter. Lighter as SP was of a lighter, our minds were lighter from the monotony of the post-dinner discussion. Somewhat like during the aftermath of the big bang, our ideas started crystalising (read as some progress on the case) all the while shaking our heads at the un-impossibility of what has just happened.
For the record, no one was hurt!
Confined, OK, let me add 'by choice', to the palisades of Vastrapur New Campus, I am now a part of a camaraderie of hostelers.I had been variously told that I had missed out one some part of growing up by not living in a hostel. I was not so sure at the time. OK, sour grapes. I now think that the fact that we sit together and debate over 'business decisions' into wee hours of the evening and rub (all) our noses to the ground over frustratingly ambiguous case studies, weaves around us an invisible thread of fellow feeling.Slowly but surely we are building up a repertoire of stories that we will recall in future.
An unforgettable would be that of the Midnight Blast.
Post dinner, bogged down by an 'Analysis of Data' assignment, we were in the abyss of confusedness when, suddenly, there was a "Bang!". In day time, we've heard rare air-gunshots fired to scare away the hundreds of pigeon that think it is their right to deface, with natural elements, the ornate facade and modernistic walls of The Institute. But an air-gunshot in the middle of the night? There was a perplexed expression on several faces that were peering out of different syndicate rooms. On the hallway were PK and SP who had no idea what had hit them. The others were wondering what had come upon these two. It took the duo a few seconds to understand what had transpired. We thought it was excusable for them to be perplexed, since it was as real as it was unbelievable.
Turns out that PK had asked SP for a match and SP threw a butane lighter in PK's direction. PK missed the catch and the projectile exploded on contact with ground causing the big bang. What PK and SP were looking for, not realising all this had happened, was the missing blue plastic lighter. Obviously, neither of them had any background in using ammunition of this kind. So, it took a golden few seconds to understand that the heavy odour was that of sublime butane and the blue pieces of plastic were remnants of SP's cigarette lighter.
A wave of comic relief spread over the present crowd as dawned on them an unpleasant side-effect of playing catch with a lighter. Lighter as SP was of a lighter, our minds were lighter from the monotony of the post-dinner discussion. Somewhat like during the aftermath of the big bang, our ideas started crystalising (read as some progress on the case) all the while shaking our heads at the un-impossibility of what has just happened.
For the record, no one was hurt!
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