Excited as a kid on his first date, I made my way up the slow airport escalators. Within minutes, I was abound the dinghy Ryanair plane bound for Frankfurt. I tried sleeping but the combination of anxiety and anticipation was uncontrollably intense. As the staff bawled out their usual announcements, I felt like I was watching the TV and ruing the fact that the remote wasn't working. Wish I could just fast forward through it all! The two hours seemed unending.
In true cheap-airline spirit, we had a not-very-subtle landing. A ruder shock was to follow- Frankfurt- Hahn airport was a misnomer, someone's idea of a joke- it was 2 hrs away from central Frankfurt and the Frankfurt airport where I was headed. The bus journey cutting through suburban lanes made me feel even more nostalgic.
My heart raced as if on an auto-bahn as I made my way to terminal 2 arrivals. And after a few minutes of hectic running around, I saw him, standing with 2 pieces of luggage, looking all harrowed. The fact that I'd met him only a week back in India didn't seem to make a difference- here was my Dad, moi Pa, in his first trip abroad, all by himself, except for his dutiful son who had come to help him. The joy and pride of that moment was unforgettable.
He was wearing a tee handpicked by my Mom, and his luggage was very heavy, stuffed with Indian food by my Mom, I presumed. I smiled at the thought of how my Mom's packing could be construed as a denial of the existence of food stores abroad. We made our way via cab to the hotel I'd painstakingly chosen and booked for him. I wished he would like it, but he immediately disposed any such notions- his acquaintances travelling for the same purpose had chided him for staying in an expensive hotel "Mehta, you are spending too much money on acco, yar!", he repeated their words bitterly. I swallowed my disappointment hurriedly, his Marwari-ness making me chuckle.
He was going to be there for a week, attending a conference on plastics (or smth like that). It had been his dream for years, and it felt good to be able to help fulfil it for him. I could see the happiness in his eyes- I'd never seen him so excited. He took in the surroundings like a blind man who's suddenly been given back his vision, but I could see there was only one thing on his mind- the conference. He rattled off some attendance statistics that portrayed the scale of the event- I just hmmm'ed away. Inside though, I marvelled at his passion for his work, for his field. I was looking at a man, all of 60 years, who was more passionate about his work than his 24-yr young audience.
He had always been that way. He ran his small-scale factory on pure adrenalin, putting in 12 hrs of work daily, punctuated by all-nighters and travel. He never let adversities dull his resolve- perhaps that's why despite repeated occasions of hesitance, he always decided against selling the factory. As kids we always joked that the factory was more important than the home, but it was actually where his heart resided! Probably, we never understood how much it meant to him. And never will. But a first hand experience of the vagaries of entreprenuership was enough to keep us away from it when choosing our own careers.
It was Saturday, and I wanted to sightsee but he would have none. He wanted to reconnoitre the exhibition before it opened on Monday! He would start conversing to every random stranger who crossed our path- the receptionist, a security guard on the road, asking them their names even! We took the local transport, so that I could ensure that he knew the route he would take during the week after I left Sunday. His apprehension worried me. It was obviously a big ask of him to master that in a new place, where English was not the preferred language. We reached the venue, and he roamed around everywhere, fascinated. He spent the rest of the weekend in the hotel room poring through the member kit they had handed us there. Sunday dinner was at an Indian restaurant nearby, but he refused to eat much. I tried explaining to him that it didn't matter to me because I now earned in pounds, but he was stubborn. It was so frustating, me wanting to do everything for him but him not wanting any of it. He was very quiet too, surely missing Mom. In 30+ years of marriage, I can count on my fingertips the number of times they havent been together for more than a week.
He was up very early Monday morning, I think he probably did not even sleep. For a man who's dress sense could be described as accidental, his question of "Sumit, is the tie knot proper?" as he shook me awake astonished me and I was soon sitting up on the bed. I doubt if he had cared abt his tie on his wedding day. He left for the conference an hr before schedule, and I spent the rest of the day with a friend. I didnt ask him how it went when he was back- he told me, in fits and bursts of narration, boasting about all the new people he had met and the latest technologies he had witnessed. He had made quite a few plans for the strategic expansion of his business on the journey back, and he proceeded to explain to me his 5-yr plan. My heart filled with respect at the hope within him, at how bright he foresaw his own future. I thought, how many of my friends now have even 10% of his enthusiasm to life? But unbearably sad was his rare moment of regret, when he wished he had attended it a few years ago. I didn't know what to say, where to look.
Distance and time always give you a different perspective to the same old things. I was reminded of how as a kid I envied my friends' fancy toys and clothes and wished my Dad would do what their fathers did. On that Frankfurt evening, however, there was one emotion, that of unbrindled pride. Pride of being a son to someone who had lived with and imbibed in me such a refreshing attitude to life. Pride of finally having arrived as a son. :)
Showing posts with label Biography. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Biography. Show all posts
Monday, July 30, 2007
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
"I'm telling you, the guy is Rambo"*
Our first few weeks in IIMB represented the harvest season for the campus grapevine. As we unsuspecting lads groped around the vast campus finding our footing, know-it-all seniors passed down all the legendary stories that had been passed down the years. Facchas sat awe-struck in the L-square, hearing tales of exemplary students and terrifying staff members who had left their mark on the institute’s history. But no one was as discussed as one particular professor- little did we know he was soon going to ensure that a third of the batch would discuss him even more fervently, day and night, over the next three months. “Rambo” was the name we heard from every senior’s mouth in hushed tones. Real name S. Ramesh Kumar, professor in marketing.
Seniors spoke about his strictness and how he insulted, nay ripped apart students in his class. His chief weapon was the term project which he called the Apex (short for Application Exercise), a component that actually accounted for 30% to the course score, and yet required 40% of the total effort for all courses put together. We heard with amazement that his current behaviour was a lenient version of his earlier self. The hype Rambo had created about himsef was a classic case study in branding- a professor applying the concepts that he taught, to his own world.
For us Section A students, the enigma and curiosity was uncontrollable, because we never saw him around. Rambo seemed like the loch-ness monster- everyone talked about him but no one in our section had seen him. And having a bumbling story teller as our marketing professor only made us more interested in Rambo. Rambo’s class tests results were more eagerly awaited than ours- I waited with bated breath every week hoping my Section C friends would get off the mark. For his part, Rambo left no stone unturned in keeping up the hype. Having had to call off a class 15 min earlier than normal because of urgent work, he held a 15-min lecture that afternoon, attended by 100% of the class. (our prof’s lectures were also 15 minutes long, as far as content was concerned) But nothing was more initriguing than the sight of a group preparing for their Apex- they stayed days and night in the Computer Center, working frantically on it,skipping lunch and dinner and every social activity that transpired in the last week before their Apex. Tempers ran extremely high- heated discussions abounded in the group and friendships were broken over it. It was an intellectual reality show. The name was apt- it was the ultimate Apex of one’s survival in IIMB.
My blind curiosity ensured I wasnt going to lose another chance to meet the man- I took his elective Consumer Behavior (ConB) in the 2nd year. For a man with such personal influence, Rambo was a stocky man, and walked with a bent shoulder and a slow pair of legs. Rambo?!, I wondered. He spoke softly too, and resembled more a scientist past his prime. But it was not long before he lived up to his name- in the 1st class he mercilessly flayed an over-enthusiastic CP’er (class participation) for dubious content. This was going to be fun.
Rambo’s lectures were highly theory-oriented- and it was in the form of frameworks. He explained them using antique projector slides and a weird formation of his hands- both hands horizontal and at right angles to their normal state, pointing towards each other- that became the famous mimicry act on campus. Experts soon came to the conclusion that the distance between the two hands increased with the complexity of the funda he explained, a theory that could not be verified (Rambo could not be approached for comment). But his major power came from his words- they pierced through the ego of the hapless victim and proceeded to puncture the temporary sense of security that onlookers somehow mustered. In the 1st year’s last Apex, Ali's desperate answer was complimented by “You should have better concepts at this stage of the course.” In ConB, he once showed an advert to illustrate a concept. The moment he put it up on the projector, our man Dushyanth Jayanty immediately recognized the model as Deepti Naval and even blurted it out in a surge of excitement. As Rambo stood smiling at him with that look of amazement on his face, the silence turned to muffled peals of laughters. Then he said, with his hands in position, “I would really appreciate if you would rather concentrate on the concept that Im trying to explain.” Deepti Naval would have wished she wasn’t there.
Our Apex days are still vivid in my mind. We had one less member than the others and ours was the first one- so there were no mistakes to repeat. Seven days of sleepless nights and yet on the day of the Apex it was still a sinking feeling. Wierdly, the last hour before the Apex is when when we were most relaxed, because by then we had left it to Fate. I still remember the rare moment of glory as Rambo smiled. Our joy knew no bounds. His words of praise still linger as fond memories.
Clueless about the future and content to stagnate, Id settled into a vegetative existence in IIMB. The Apex revived me into action, and revive it did. Seven non-stop days of slogging away and surviving on countless coffees somehow proved to myself that I still had that dedication and commitment that I once prided myself on. For me, the Apex was the base of the mountain I was to climb.
Rambo was overacademic and his course lacked application, say some. But, isn’t that the role of academics? History has long rewarded those who created a science out of an art, and those who created an art out of a science. With his obsession with linkages, Rambo deserves his little bit of credit for providing us with a scientific perspective to the field of marketing- long considered an art. Thank you, Professor.
*The title of the blog is taken from the film Wall Street, in which two men in a bar when speaking about a 26-yr old executive who has made $650,000, refer to him in those words.
Seniors spoke about his strictness and how he insulted, nay ripped apart students in his class. His chief weapon was the term project which he called the Apex (short for Application Exercise), a component that actually accounted for 30% to the course score, and yet required 40% of the total effort for all courses put together. We heard with amazement that his current behaviour was a lenient version of his earlier self. The hype Rambo had created about himsef was a classic case study in branding- a professor applying the concepts that he taught, to his own world.
For us Section A students, the enigma and curiosity was uncontrollable, because we never saw him around. Rambo seemed like the loch-ness monster- everyone talked about him but no one in our section had seen him. And having a bumbling story teller as our marketing professor only made us more interested in Rambo. Rambo’s class tests results were more eagerly awaited than ours- I waited with bated breath every week hoping my Section C friends would get off the mark. For his part, Rambo left no stone unturned in keeping up the hype. Having had to call off a class 15 min earlier than normal because of urgent work, he held a 15-min lecture that afternoon, attended by 100% of the class. (our prof’s lectures were also 15 minutes long, as far as content was concerned) But nothing was more initriguing than the sight of a group preparing for their Apex- they stayed days and night in the Computer Center, working frantically on it,skipping lunch and dinner and every social activity that transpired in the last week before their Apex. Tempers ran extremely high- heated discussions abounded in the group and friendships were broken over it. It was an intellectual reality show. The name was apt- it was the ultimate Apex of one’s survival in IIMB.
My blind curiosity ensured I wasnt going to lose another chance to meet the man- I took his elective Consumer Behavior (ConB) in the 2nd year. For a man with such personal influence, Rambo was a stocky man, and walked with a bent shoulder and a slow pair of legs. Rambo?!, I wondered. He spoke softly too, and resembled more a scientist past his prime. But it was not long before he lived up to his name- in the 1st class he mercilessly flayed an over-enthusiastic CP’er (class participation) for dubious content. This was going to be fun.
Rambo’s lectures were highly theory-oriented- and it was in the form of frameworks. He explained them using antique projector slides and a weird formation of his hands- both hands horizontal and at right angles to their normal state, pointing towards each other- that became the famous mimicry act on campus. Experts soon came to the conclusion that the distance between the two hands increased with the complexity of the funda he explained, a theory that could not be verified (Rambo could not be approached for comment). But his major power came from his words- they pierced through the ego of the hapless victim and proceeded to puncture the temporary sense of security that onlookers somehow mustered. In the 1st year’s last Apex, Ali's desperate answer was complimented by “You should have better concepts at this stage of the course.” In ConB, he once showed an advert to illustrate a concept. The moment he put it up on the projector, our man Dushyanth Jayanty immediately recognized the model as Deepti Naval and even blurted it out in a surge of excitement. As Rambo stood smiling at him with that look of amazement on his face, the silence turned to muffled peals of laughters. Then he said, with his hands in position, “I would really appreciate if you would rather concentrate on the concept that Im trying to explain.” Deepti Naval would have wished she wasn’t there.
Our Apex days are still vivid in my mind. We had one less member than the others and ours was the first one- so there were no mistakes to repeat. Seven days of sleepless nights and yet on the day of the Apex it was still a sinking feeling. Wierdly, the last hour before the Apex is when when we were most relaxed, because by then we had left it to Fate. I still remember the rare moment of glory as Rambo smiled. Our joy knew no bounds. His words of praise still linger as fond memories.
Clueless about the future and content to stagnate, Id settled into a vegetative existence in IIMB. The Apex revived me into action, and revive it did. Seven non-stop days of slogging away and surviving on countless coffees somehow proved to myself that I still had that dedication and commitment that I once prided myself on. For me, the Apex was the base of the mountain I was to climb.
Rambo was overacademic and his course lacked application, say some. But, isn’t that the role of academics? History has long rewarded those who created a science out of an art, and those who created an art out of a science. With his obsession with linkages, Rambo deserves his little bit of credit for providing us with a scientific perspective to the field of marketing- long considered an art. Thank you, Professor.
*The title of the blog is taken from the film Wall Street, in which two men in a bar when speaking about a 26-yr old executive who has made $650,000, refer to him in those words.
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