Business School: Is it time for you?

Most of us contemplate this question at some point in our careers - and as always, it is hard to make up ones mind on this one. I would like to write about my own experiences with this question, and hopefully help people make a better decision about this question.

So what was my situation, you would want to know. Undergraduate from a top school in India, Masters in Engineering from the US, three years of work experience. Now was the time to decide, too late and the game was over for most US schools. Most students who get to Harvard Business School are only 24, two years after undergrad is the sweet spot, no oldies with Masters degrees in irrelevant(to business) disciplines. So what was I thinking?

Some things that emerged out of this after some years of thinking were that one should know precisely what sort of careers the MBA feeds into. So I attempt to list them below:

1. Senior position in the same industry you are in
2. Management Consulting
3. Finance
4. Marketing

Again, these are broad categories and each of these has a wide variety of different jobs, for example, finance jobs can go from corporate finance (lets says Mergers and Acquisitions) to sales and trading, and warning: the nature of these are completely different.

Having said that, the first question to answer is, what if 1) is what you are looking for? My suggestion is if you are an electrical engineer or a software guy who wants to climb the ladder in your area, stay put at where you are. Maybe you can do an executive MBA 5 years down the line. Going for a MBA at this points means 2 years lost at the company you work for, and being in debt a minimum $150,000. In the meantime the guys in the next cubicle who decided to stay on would be senior manager in charge of 10 people in the two years you spend at business school.

On the other hand if you are feeling a little adventurous and would like to try your hand at consulting, or you think you got the Venture Capital spirit in you (find out what they actually do, I suggest one of those Vault guides to careers, its worth your time and money) then do check out the MBA programs. I will write further about the different kinds of jobs available to MBA's and I hope this is where this blog will go.

And I can assure you, don't waste you time on a tier 3 program. And to me, here is a ranking off the top of my head:

Tier 1: Stanford, Wharton, Harvard, Chicago, London

Tier 2: All other well known schools

So I leave it a little open, its for you to decide. On the other hand if you are looking to learn the concepts of business school training to advance in your career (i.e choice 1), a state school would also do.

My advice to my international friends who are looking to break into Europe or the United States is that make sure you know what you want to do after the MBA, placement services only help you so much. And unless you are from a top tier school, nobody want to hire an international with all the visa complications unless you bring in some pre-MBA experience that will help you clinch the job.

All in all, the MBA is worth it for a lot of people who undertake it. Big schools have good networks and that helps you find a dream job, but I have seen there are people who come to business school who regret their decision. Don't be that person!

More later.

Does Racism exist?

While talking to my father this weekend, he made a remark that will haunt me for a while. Flight XX075 was overbooked and I was trying to get on on with the legacy employee dependent ticket.
"There are about 25 people in the wait-list and you are the only Indian, the rest are all Americans and Europeans, so you will be last preference."
I was shaken. I couldn't say a word. Being an employee of a global corporation and having recently read Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond, I decided to investigate the matter further. Are we viewing the world through racist goggles? Or are the westerners genuinely unfair to us?

For starters, there's a lot to do with your background. It is about your experiences. How much the discrimination has affected you personally. I am sure the older generation with the likes of Max Mueller writing partially racist explanations of the 'ineffectiveness' of one part of the world as compared to other have achieved what they wanted to some extent. To make the Asians feel inferior to them by encouraging them to look at seemingly 'genetic' differences in the attitudes, physical characteristics and mental capabilities. How else would the older generation have explained the cleanliness and wonderful freeways of Germany and the while in India was a still battling poverty? So the times in the seventies when my father was hunting for vegetarian food in Europe, he heard an indifferent disregard to assist him with his deficiencies with the local language. "They don't want to help." is what he concluded.
That brings me to ask a question - what is racism? Discrimination on the basis of ethnicity, I would think. Which often leads to assumption about a person financial status, but then discrimination on the basis of financial status is obviously not racist. Example? Just now I tried using the restroom intended for first class and the air hostess was pointing me to the other direction. I was determined.
"Yeah, but there is a huge line there, and it's very urgent."

OK, it's not like I have never been treated differently because of my skin color. The last two thoughtless insulting remarks I heard about my dark skin were in a country where racism is still a big problem. I have heard from other Indians too that they have been discriminated here. Oh no, it's not Liechtenstein - It's called North India - a fairly large land mostly flat piece of land where the Indo-Europeans camped some thousand years ago.
"Oi blackie, walk in the shade, or you shall be darker!"
"Kaala Bhoot! Kaala Bhoot!" (Black Ghost! Black Ghost!)
Jeers and more jeers. Children rolling on the floor with laughter making fun of the Southie's color. This has happened, my friends, and the victim was you-know-who. I pity the Nigerians who come to India to study.

I have, also, been discriminated in Europe. Accused of carrying a bomb. Yes! I was walking towards the train station, and I asked a white brother where it actually was, he looked at my laptop bag.
"Is that a bomb?"
"Yes, should I detonate it right now?", I said. Another incident was when I was called 'Muhammed' by a drunk lady in a bar - albeit in a friendly way. Now lets not say that was an innocent poke, or assume she had mistaken me for a friend of hers.
OK fine, maybe it was a joke. Poor taste though. Both of them. As to America, I cant say I have been discriminated against in any way, but then, hey, I haven't been anywhere down south for longer than 5 days. To some extent America's history of not letting the Afro-American vote till the sixties (as appalling as it may sound, it's true) as made the country super aware of the rights for the minorities.

So let's face it. Humans always tend to discriminate people visibly, on their face value. The North Indians thought I was stupid because I was dark. The British thought I had a bomb because I had a stubble. Tomorrow they might shoot me in Texas for looking Hispanic (that would be extreme, I admit). What you can control is how you perceive the little acts of discrimination that other people get into. Before that, I must tell you that I have become fairly capitalistic in my views. Men are not born equal, or at least some are more equal than others. However, our discrimination can transcend from a visual one to an intellectual one. So I encourage everyone to adopt something called Counter-Racism. Here is the idea. Since being racist is an attitude, why don't we turn the tables on the visually-racist and discriminate intellectually against them. Something on the lines of:
"Poor chap, he is a bit racist."

Going back to the flight on which I was wait listed, when I got home my dad says:
"There were two seats empty on that flight, they still didn't take you on board."
"Must be stupidity dad, not racism." I said.

The Tradition

Rajam was feeling thrilled as he rushed out of his house into the dusty lanes of Georgetown. The temple nagaswaram player in the background, his thoughts were racing faster than ever. Begging and pleading had not worked with Amma ever! But this time she had no excuses, she was finally going to teach him that Dikshitar masterpiece today. That krti that had caught his attention as a child, which had created that mad desire in him to perform like her, thrill the audience with his rendition and imagination on stage. But she had always declined his requests - she had told him he was just not ready! And he must learn ten other krtis in the same raga before she would teach that one song to him.

‘Rajam, buy some milk on the way back from class. And dont stay there too long, come home and study. You have your engineering exams coming up soon!’ his mom yelled.
‘Uh, yes...I will be back soon.’
He was trying some swara kalpana in his mind, and he didn’t really listen to what his mother was saying. It didn’t matter to him, he had decided that he wanted to be a musician. There was no other way. He had the potential too, everybody knew he was one of best among the young. Then he also had the grace of Amma and her teaching.

Her’s was a great tradition. She had learnt from the blind genius Caminatha Aiyer till she was of age and then came back to her family to continue her learning. This gave her original compositions from all of the great composers of the past three centuries - given that the oral traditions were very strictly preserved in those times. The guru’s word was final, there was no challenging it. Even one doubting glance would be unacceptable. A sensitive ear to capture every minute detail, and a phenomenal memory had made her one of the biggest authorities in music in south India. No wonder Rajam wanted to learn only from her. Even at a young age he had the ability to distinguish the subtle from the crass, the knowledgable from the charlatans and the exceptional teachers from the oridinary.

Rajam was running now. If he wasn’t there at six with the tambura tuned and ready to go, she would not teach. He rushed into the courtyard and he could hear the drone in the background. That was another advantage of being at her place - other great musicians would visit now and then to hear her sing. After all, she knew of things in music that others hadn’t heard of. In fact, that day she had sung a concert where no one in the audience had heard any of those songs before! Even the mangalam! Rajam picked up his tambura and was tuning it as she came in:
‘Rajam, is it very hard for you to come on time?’ letting her glasses drop to her nose as she peered down on him.
‘No, amma. Homework is due tomorrow, took too much time. Wont happen again.’ he pleaded.
‘Ok. Sing me the varnam I taught you last, if you sing well I will teach you something new.’
That was it. He had practiced it, and this was the only way he could get that Saveri Krti from her today. Once he had finished, she seemed stoic. That was usually a sign of approval. He was in luck. Amma tuned her voice and sang a brief alapanai and then sang:

shri rAjagopAla bAla shRHNgAralila shritajanapAla

What! How could she sing that? Even Rajam knew that was wrong. He couldn’t believe she had sung a Kaisiki note in Saveri. In his surprise, he stared at her in disbelief. Before he could realise his mistake of doubting her, it was too late. She looked back at him with a steely glance, got up, and left! Rajam had to leave too, there was no arguing. As he walked back home, he was
brooding about the incident. He felt like beating himself up. What if she stops teaching him?

‘...and then she gave me an angry stare, and left the class unfinished!’, Rajam finished telling his
mother.
‘Did you get the milk?’, she asked, with no concern for his trauma.

Rajam didn’t sleep that night.

His day at school was the same. It reaffirmed his belief that music was the only way for him. But given that Amma had disowned him, he was seriously contemplating starting to listen to his Arithmetic teacher more intently. If he couldn’t learn from her, there was no point.
‘Rajam - I met Amma today, she asked you to come at six as usual’, his mother announced as he entered his house. Thank heavens! She was not angry with him anymore, and he ran to her house. As he entered, she was busy in the kitchen, but she noticed him come in.
‘Do you know how to read Telugu?’ she asked, without even turning towards him.
‘Yes amma.’
‘Go the music room, I have kept a book for you. Read it aloud, I should be able to hear you.’
As Rajam entered the room, there was a copy of a tattered book lying on the table - open, with some lines highlighted. The Sampradaya Pradarshini! That too the original text in Telugu. Rajam took the book carefully in his hand:
‘Saveri Ragam uses the Kaisiki note in some phrasings...’
‘Thats enough. Go tune your tambura’, she didnt let him finish!

Rajam sang well that day. Every phrase was repeated by him accurately, and his teacher was pleased. At the end of the class, Rajam couldn’t resist asking her.
‘Why, Amma, have we started to discard these older notes in our ancient rAgas? What is the way to decide between what is correct and what is wrong?’, Rajam was a stickler for perfection, it worried him that he had made an error in judgment.
‘rAgAs are changing all the time, kanna. We have to use our own judgment to decide what changes are for the good and which ones are a loss to our music. I have seen our music change in my time, so will it in yours. You have to learn to live with the times and preserve our tradition too. Look how people are using the melakarthas to explain the structure of the old rAgAs, these people are trying to mold an ancient culture to western ideas! I can only laugh at them!’
‘But what about the common people who listen to us? What will they think? Dont we have to sing for them?’
‘True, we have to worry about those too. But in the end, what do you think our music was meant for?!’

Twenty years went by. Rajam was now the most popular musician in the whole of Patnam. Who was there to equal him in niraval or swaram? And who knew more krtis than he did? The other day he performed outside the Parthasarathi temple. Thousands flocked to listen to his performance, some just standing in the crowds to get a glimse of him. The best accompanists - three percussionists, a morsing and a violin to go with him. It was a treat! There was a silent nod of contentment as he took up the famous Saveri Dikshitar Krti. Rajam noticed that Amma was there in the second row, trying to be inconspicuous! But how could he miss her?
Rajam rendered shri rAjagopAla without the kaisiki note that day. Not the way he learnt it. He couldn’t! There was too much reputation at stake. Too many people judging his performance, he didn’t want to risk it. After the concert, hundreds came to him to offer their respect and adoration, but he was looking for only one person. She had left.

The whole town was talking about his fantastic performance that night. But somehow, Rajam lay in bed twisting and turning, somehow, he just couldn't sleep.

Enlightenment in East Ham.

After a long and unsuccessful day in London, I decided that whatever it may require, I would hunt down that Saravana Bhavan in East Ham that my friend had talked about last time. That was my only salvation, having undergone the angst that comes from a refused french visa at the consulate. Visa rejected? Me? French? I had to drown my sorrow in the Quick Gun Murugan way - wone whisky, wone sambaar.
Took a long tube ride on the District Line and landed in East Ham. Needless to say, its a mini asia with tamils and 'other' communities living harmoniously together. Asked around for 'saravana' bhavan, and the hindi dude corrected me that it was correctly pronounced as 'shravan' bhavan. I think he was a budding poet or something, however, he did know the right ways to the all the eateries in town.
I walked by. There was a 'Chennai Dosa'. I walked past it. My feet were killing me, the british sun was burning my face. There came a 'Vasantha Bhavan' lunch buffet. I ignored it. Sweat was drenching me and hunger was overpowering me, but I couldn't have settled for any less. That vision of the Vada partially drenched in steamy sambaar just kept me going.
And there it was. Clad in glittering fake gold, I entered with pride and ordered two dishes:

1. Idli Vada sambaar
2. Vegetable Dosa


Mmmmm. What can I say? And great service too, the waiter kept coming up to me every three minutes to ask: "Saar, Chetny?" I would say no thanks. He had also started paying personal attention to my health, as when I ordered sweet after all this food he started telling me how it was really heavy and I wouldn't be able to finish it. I told him that he had no idea.
With a heavy heart, I walked back to the tube station. An epiphanic experience.
In case someone is wondering where that picture fits in, it doesn't. Its just a pretty picture I took in north wales.

News Flash!

Alps invaded by Mumbaikars
-Jungfraujoch, May 23, 2007

With the recent appearance of many John Abrahams and Aishwarya Rais
dancing by the streams and valleys of Switzerland (with the
Lamborghini by the side), our fellow Mumbaikars have decided to flock
to the Alps with unparalleled determination. I have seen such energy
and enthusiasm from Indians before only once - At my hostel
valedictory function when the food had run out and the ice-cream was
attacked by the hungry students, but more about that later. There is
Indian Buffet on the highest point in Europe, with our happy Indian
vegetarian people munching their share of paneer on top.

Jungfrau (German for Virgin) is the highest point in Europe accessible
by any form of public transport. And I don't know why they call it
'Top of Europe', as Mont Blanc seems to be the highest mountain in the
Alps. A train runs from the base villages of Lautebrunnen and
Grindenwald, packed with the same distribution of ethnic identities as
a train from VT to Kalyan, with the occasional lost 'foreigner' who
thought he was in Switzerland till he boarded the train. After two
hours you are ready for Indian Buffet. Some comic scenes on top:

1. Indian uncle drops camera. Batteries picked up by old white couple;
handed to UncleJi. A look of surprise on white couple as UncleJi walks
away without a word, pretending the batteries just came back to him.
2. Aunty with scarf, sari and glasses tries to maneuver (with amazing
dexterity) through the one way turn-stile that shouts "Do not Enter"
3. Chinese couple loses their seat on train because opportunistic
UncleJi-2 grabs seat as they get up to enjoy the view.

We are like this only. What to do?

Eureka! (Or was it Ahoy there?)

So I ended up going to the West Indies to see India lose pathetically to the Lankans – and no, girls and boys, this is not an a possible explanation of their incompetence (that seems to be the catch phrase for public sector companies in UK, but more about that later) or a blame-game to see if the coach, Tendulkar or Hanuman (for not completely destroying Lanka back then) is ultimately the reason for their fall. This is something of a travelogue to relive the discovery of the Indies by the Europeans back in the 1400’s.

Isabella was one with the vision, wasn’t she? She knew that she wasn’t satisfied with the warm winds of southern Spain; she knew there were some bluer waters waiting for the Spanish empire than the ones of the Mediterranean. Great move. Applause! What a place to discover, the Indies! The locals call the ‘discovery’ a joke, obviously. I wonder why our history textbooks in India still say that Columbus ‘discovered’ America. He just traveled there, didn’t he?

To give the uninitiated a primer the WI consists of X number of countries, I don’t know how many. However what I want to point out is that each country (usually a separate island, but sometimes nearby islands are grouped into a country) has a completely different accent of English and different looking people, cultures, colors and habits – practically different countries. I learnt that the tribes that came from Africa into Jamaica were more aggressive than the ones coming into Trinidad, and to date you see the difference in the people on that genetic basis. In fact countries like TrinBago (short version) are 2-3 hours by flight from Jamaica – sitting far away watching commentary we always thought that you can walk across the border from Jamaica to Barbados(at least I did).

Imagine Southern tip of India 200 years ago, lesser people and lower temperatures, a 20 minute ride to the beach wherever you are, laid back people so content with what they have that shops close at 5, and nothing moves on a Sunday - another interesting thing about all these countries is that people give you personalized attention and help when they know you are there to see their island. Maybe in a way they have realized that their economies depend on us tourists. We landed in Port of Spain (Trinidad and Tobago) and I spent one hour lying outside the airport in a t-shirt! Felt so good after spending the last three months in the UK.
Important discoveries about TT:

1. Two different islands, Trinidad is commercial, industrial center with a university etc and tons of Indian origin people who have a very cute sing song accent.
2. Easy to get pot in Trini(only 10 TT dollars a sachet, 2 USD) – Hey, Venezuela and Columbia are only so many miles away.
3. Don’t listen to Chutney music unless you are very high.(menta-physically, I mean)
4. Tobago is a tourist paradise with transparent turquoise waters and a big rainforest and no you can’t watch movies here as there are no movie theaters.

Didn’t get a chance to explore the nightlife much, but have heard its quite something in Trinidad. There’s always people ‘limin’ or ‘hanging out’ (in uncool American terms) whether or not the Windies lost the game yesterday.
Remember the imaginary island I talked about last time when I was crying about the UK? I think I ‘discovered’ it. Without Isabella’s help.

Wails from Wales.

Boys and Girls – I am back. Missing the motherland (I meant America, my dear fellow desis), its wide streets, junk food and large potato chips packets. Believe it or not, it is impossible to get the super size potato chips here, all you have is baby packs and a medium size one. Often the medium one has smaller packets in it, and this has been the cause of considerable angst for me lately. For I, being pseudo American, have been converted to a “large food” addict. Small cups of coffee have no mundane or metaphysical importance to me, as I am from the land where smallest is called ‘Tall’ and ‘Grande’ in starbucks means humongous. (Obviously, they didn’t want people to embarrass themselves when they said “One humongous caramel macchiato to go, please.”)

So, here in the UK, things are small. Streets, food, books (fine print). For my women readers, I do not know about other things, so don’t you dare ask me about that.

The left side drive thing is also fairly straightforward, since I did not drive much in India I was initially perturbed by the roundabouts but the rules are fairly easy, you just yield to the traffic in the roundabout. Fortunately, no frantic hand waving is required as in India – I remember my father used to ask me to stick my hand out and wave it slightly when negotiating the perilous Gol Dak-khana roundabout, this was an important step and missing out on this might cause considerable confusion on the road.

But I am digressing, as my initial intent was to denigrate Britain as compared to America, which I will proceed to do so. Continuing on the driving etc., you do not find streets crossing at right angles here – often times you can loop on one street to go in an acute angle away from the original direction, and worst case is of-course the roundabout that I mentioned earlier. Motorways are two or three lane at the most and you cannot be sure what direction you are going on it. Then you can pass only on the right lane, but hell I pass on every lane so who cares.

The UK itself is not one country really. It comprises of Wales, Scotland, Northern Ireland and England – who all the others passionately dislike. Other things apart, I think the hatred stems from the fact that English women might be better looking than their eastern counterparts. You know how petty people can be, sometimes. All these people speak different accents of the language. People are friendly, and by the way, marks and spencers gives out free hangers for clothes. (I can see some eyes lighting up, you cheapos!)

One thing is for sure – The UK has its own native culture that is rich and worthwhile. Southern Cal (I cant speak for other regions of America) is just a mish mash of international cultures and whatever was native there (was it the chumash or wumash indians) hundreds of years ago has been exterminated by Taco Bell and Footlocker. The UK still has its castles, there is a stone henge kind of monolith formation in a park close to my house which seems a million years old, undead people walking all around it past midnight(kidding).

Can we please start building a country that has everything people like me want? Let’s team up, I think we can target one of those islands in the pacific. Warm weather, south indian music, american freeways and english women. Wokay?