Right on the Wrong Side!

OK, call me what you will (retrograde, racist, parochial etc), but I simply can’t understand what all the fuss is about being politically correct and all of that. I mean, if I don’t like someone, I now have to think before I let loose a verbal volley if I want to be ‘politically correct’! Hey, I might call him a ‘Paki’ or a ‘fag’! Whoa! Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass if someone thinks I am racist or anything like that! Whatever happened to ‘freedom of speech’?

Recently, I cracked one of my very typical parochial jokes and someone called me a racist. Now, that was just laughed off by people because hey, it was a joke cracked at a community that was Indian…just one of those typical jokes y’know. The next day, I called Thierry Henry ‘Monkeyface’ because he looks, acts and behaves like a simian. All of a sudden there were people on my back calling me ‘racist’. Uh? Of course, it did not strike these people as even remotely ironic that they called van Nistelrooy ‘Horseface’. After all, he’s white! Quite frankly, political correctness bewilders me.

It’s even funnier coming in India of course. What with Classifieds advertising for ‘fair, good-looking girls’ and fairness creams ruling the roost. Let’s face it, we Indians are as racist as it gets and let’s also admit that it doesn’t really make a jot of a difference to anything! I mean, just what do I get by being ‘politically correct’?

If I am racist, there’s no way you will make me change my mind by restricting the vocabulary that I am allowed to use in public. If I dislike somebody, my dislike will only be heightened if I am not allowed to speak of it in public. All that will happen is that we generate an entire world of civilized hypocrites. People who are just not allowed to speak about the way they feel.

Personally, I have nothing against someone who doesn’t like me. As a matter of fact, I’d much rather be aware of his feelings than be faced with simmering hatred garbed with a fake smile.

The OJ Simpson judgment was one of the most blatant exhibitions of racism if you ask me. The final line of the defence counsel made certain that the decision was made along racist lines and the defendant was released because of the colour of his skin.

Now, don’t give me all that trash about how certain races were oppressed for thousands of years and how there was so much injustice in the past and how it must be corrected. I for one - and I don’t care if I am alone in this - don’t think that placing censures on the use of certain words and phrases goes even a millimeter in that direction…

Fair enough, words like nigger are not in great taste and I, as much as anyone else, would hardly be inclined to look very kindly upon someone who uses the word, but that’s about all! Racism today has just become one of those catchphrases that has every public figure indulging in a race to look holier-than-thou. Everyone wants to be more anti-racism than the other and it’s all just hypocrisy as just about everybody is racist at the core.

In India alone, there are several laws that are discriminatory (and therefore 'racist') by their very nature, but which it is 'politically incorrect' to speak out against.

1. Reservation is caste-based. It therefore discriminates against those of particular castes as it favours those of other castes.
2. An educational institution run by a religious minority is FORCED to implement 50% reservation for members of that religion, so it discriminates against those of other religions.
3. There is a similar rule for institutions run by a ‘language minority’.
4. There are different Personal Laws for those of different religions.

The list is endless!

The next thing that amazes me is the selective nature of this ‘political correctness’. The rules, it would appear are as follows:

1. Racist jokes are ok if they are aimed at whites, but not at blacks…sorry, African-Americans or even Asians.
2. Jokes about men are alrite, but a joke about women is sexist and is plain trouble.
3. Jokes may easily be cracked at the expense of communities like the Amish, but not against communities that take offence in a violent way. The former are a harmless form of humour while the latter are racist to the extreme.
4. An African-American may crack any type of joke, an Asian may crack an ‘Asian’ joke or one aimed at the ‘whites’, but a ‘white’ may not crack any jokes other than ones aimed at his own community.
5. India-specific: Political leaders, activists and just about any runt on the street can crack a joke about the upper castes, but to even call a person of the lower castes by the name of his caste is a non-bailable offence as per Indian Law.

My question: If I claim to dislike and shun politics, do I get to ignore ‘political correctness’ and get away with being politically incorrect?

Oh and yeah, if you’re one of those that want to tear my guts out for this, here you go: I think you’re a faggot and a Paki and deserve to be consigned to the trash-cans behind a society of lower-caste sweepers! So sue me!

A Man's Journey Through HelL - VI

“See, in fact, depending on the method you use in fact, your calculation can give you different answers for the same numerical”, spewed the emaciated Wall Street wannabe. Strange though this would undoubtedly have sounded to him before he had entered the hallowed campus, by this time, he had been rendered immune to such hilarities and he barely paused in mid-snore as these words whizzed past his barely-conscious brain. It was the last class before the mid-terms and all he could think of was just what he would write in that endemic irrelevance of his campus, called the ‘Feedback Form’. Comments like “In Term1 he merely shredded my interest in Finance…in Term3, he truly massacred the remnants…” were rife in that, but everyone knew that it was merely more fodder for the shredder… Ah well, how the cynical had fallen…

The first lecture after the mid-terms was decidedly different though. It was, all of a sudden as if everyone had returned to that bright-eyed and wide-eyed attention of Term1 and then some. As the Hunchback of Notre Campus entered the class, so too, it seemed, did the Angel of Doom, for there descended upon the room a deathly silence and upon the faces of the students, a pallor that matched. Reputations, they say, precede one and for this Quasimodo, the reputation was that the deformities that mattered were hardly those that were apparent to the eye…

“Understanding? Or confusing?” he sneered from the elevated platform, gazing upon an offender who had dared to lower her eyes to her notebook for a second. “That’s an F for sure,” whispered someone. Not surprisingly, the lady in question happened to score a very respectable B, but the very fact that this happening was not surprising is the beginning of the mystery and enigma that is called Baba. Rumour of course was very inaccurate about him, citing reasons like mental instability and a deep-seated sadism coupled with a lack of understanding of basic statistical rules. The deep and dark truth was actually quite different. Hunchie, it was ultimately discovered, took all the uncorrected answer sheets and stood at the bottom of the staircase of the Faculty Block. Then, at the stroke of midnight of the first full-moon night in March, he took the name of Devi…oops, Satan (That was the beginning of Devil, you dim-dums, before you get any ideas), swigged a double scotch, slit a rooster’s neck and tossed all the answer sheets high up in the air. Then, depending on which stair the sheets landed on, he awarded grades… Marking was then completed by him to ensure that the results were fair…

This of course was all very fine with the mid-graders as suddenly a chappie with only a D and an F to show for his first two attempts at Statistics, landed up being the topper, while of course, J Pappoo ended up with a remarkable D…although the Math Olympic Gold Medalist topped him as well…with an F. 29 Fs, 17Ds and no A+s or As…now THAT’s what constituted a REAL normal curve… It was only now that the people of the class began to understand the true depth of that seemingly innocuous question that someone had asked in Term1 (“But why do we use the same normal curve for all the questions???”). Here, at long last, was evidence… They didn’t… Normal is as normal does, it would seem, eh?

All, of course, was not dark and morbid in these days. The college fest had been and gone and had been quite spectacular in terms of the spectacle it provided…depending of course on how much you cared for it… The inauguration had set the tone really, when the opening address began with the immortal quote, “I welcome you to IIML, the best B-school in Lucknow…” Thereafter of course, the fest followed this honest tone, with an introduction going, “I would like to welcome Mr. S Raha, the Chairman of IOCL”. “Psst…sir, that’s ONGC!!!” went an usher… “Yeah, yeah, same thing” announced the illustrious speaker. These two, quite sadly, formed the acmes of the fest…along with the amusing reality that the website that carried the fest’s name, seemed to be a gay porn site… Ah well, the effects of being late with registering an oh-so-creative name…

For the remainder of course, the term ‘drogged’ on and enthusiasm ‘dropped’ just like the ‘drog and drop’ that they were subjected to in the classroom… The bright spot of course was that the Fin Prof had changed after the mids and they now had a Bong who seemed at least, to be aware of what he taught. The fires in their Financial bellies now had a new vigour…until that fateful day… “Too-day, bhee will laarn the Oraan-gootaan thyo-raam. There was an experiment in bheech there was waan team of phinaancial ex-paarts and the aather team was sitting with an oraan-gootaan and a dart-board with stock names written on it. The phinancial ex-paarts made and aapdated their portfolio on phinancial principles and the aather team invested on the stocks that the oraan-gootaan’s darts were hitting. Aapter three years, there was a dipherence of .25% in the retaarns…”

It was fairly raining Bongs of course…what with their penchant for the Methodolgy of Research… “Iph a paarticular question is not quaaanteetative…” went this one, “than it eez saamthing aather than quaaanteetative.” It was just the orgasmic smile on his face that prevented the brighter sparks from perhaps pointing out to him that this may actually not be as big a revelation as he believed it to be. Not, of course, that it made any difference in the bigger scheme of things, but these brighter sparks always seem to be on the lookout for things to discuss with the professors after the lecture…

HR of course, was a totally different cuppa. The prof quite obviously shared the students’ view on what a classroom really was made for, but that was about where the similarities and the prof’s sympathies ended. Sleeping in class, when one is a prof, presents one with the slight, although easily surpassed, difficulty of just how to ensure that the class is not disrupted more than normal. The pre-mid guy had apparently perfected his strategy over the years though. It was simple and effective and ensured that any lack of sleep elsewhere did not in any way hamper his productivity professionally… The strategy was so surprisingly simple, that it’s a wonder that the others in the Faculty had not thought of it yet… Get the students to conduct the lecture, occupy the seat of one of those conducting the class and then do exactly what the student would have done, had the prof been the one talking. Smooth and simple…and vindictive of course, but hey, who’s complaining? Oh wait, nobody’s thought of it? Hmm… I think VG may have something to say about that…

Post-mids of course, things had stabilized with a guest lecturer who believed that he would rather see the students sleep than bother himself with the tedium of listening to them… But hey, he did reveal the questions before the paper, so one is probably safe in saying that he was one of the more popular figures on campus…till he reneged of course…

Quotes of the Term: (Taken from the written material handed out in the course regarding the Management of Materialistic ‘things’.

“Temperature is measured in ‘Celsius’. Earlier it used to be measured in Centigrade…”
“Simplification reduces the nature of parts of a product.”
“Parts and components can be defined as parts and components that are used.”

Perhaps the one real hallmark of the Institute though was that those in positions of authority did not seem to consider it at all necessary to believe in the importance or the necessity or indeed the veracity of the topics they taught. How else could one explain a Communist teaching Keynesian Economics or an MIS professor who believed that ERPs were the worst thing to happen to the corporate world or a Quant professor who did not, seemingly at least, know what a normal distribution was or, of course, a Marketing professor who spoke for an hour on the importance of listening? Ah well, summers were approaching and with them came the promise of a new experience…one of freedom, professionalism, learning, stipends, networking…and most importantly, beer…plus of course, the opportunity to meet, from a position of considerable advantage, all the girls that had gained admission into the new batch… Yes indeed, pride goes before a fall…

A Man's Journey Through HelL - V

Hmm... A few days ago, sombody asked me if I was in possession of a fifth installment. As it happens, I now am. I shall not, of course, for reasons of not wanting to be arrested for treason, divulge who exactly it was that authored these pieces, but suffice to say, that I know him well and he has not objected - thus far at least - to my using these on my blog. Should you care to read the previous ones of course, they are at the links below:

A Man's Journey Through HelL - I
A Man's Journey Through HelL - II
A Man's Journey Through HelL - III
A Man's Journey Through HelL - IV

“And in fact, in this in fact, we can use simple in fact, compound interest formula…” He rose, bleary eyed in a state bordering on disbelief as he heard the emaciated monstrosity on the classroom platform spew this as the response to how a certain case in Financial Management was to be solved. They had faced this commando trainer in the first term, yes, but surely this was beyond the realm of the slightly-more-than-mild insanity they had believed the clown to be suffering from!

It did not stop there of course, as there was more to come in the next class…and the next one… Yes indeed, if Term 2 could be called the Crowning Glory, this term was definitely making a case for itself to be christened Reclaiming Glory… There was incident aplenty to be found now, so much so that the oddity now was to have a sane moment…whether within class or without.

The Finance Professor of course headed the pack out of the blocks. With unforgettable gems like, “Of course we can use in fact this CAGR. In fact, can you tell me in fact what is this CAGR which you are talking about?” to “In fact the case says that interest is 5%, but in fact we will in fact assume it to be 14% so that in fact we can reach this solution which I have in fact solved in this Excel…” But the nadir of the nightmare session was perhaps endured by the then not-so-Express American who approached him to request a relook at a quiz paper.

AE: Sir, in this question, you have given me a 0…
SCB: In fact beta, what is this a/(a+b) and b/(a+b)???
AE: Sir, in a weighted average question, that is simple arithmetic!
SCB: Hmm…ok, come to see me tomorrow…leave this here with me…

The next day:

SCB: See beta, in fact I looked at your solution in fact and I saw that after the third decimal place in fact your answer is wrong… So, I think that you must have got this far by accident…

Ouch!!!

Oh yes, there was a lot of fun to be had in this term…if one could first wake up in time to reach class…and then stay awake through lectures! There was the fat, little geriatric cove that the administration had dug out of his grave to teach how Materialistic Management students had become and of course, there was the quintessential HR professor (Which term could be complete without one?) who was quite obviously leading a troubled life at home…

“Materials Management is about learning how to manage materialistic things…” said old Geriatrix (Sorry G&U, but I couldn’t resist lifting that one) as he kicked off his course; the same course in the course of which (sorry, but once again, I just couldn’t resist that one) he was to ensure that his resurrection - approximately four centuries after he was interred - was not in vain and that the authorities that had sanctioned his exhumation would never have cause to complain that he did not provide entertainment. While it would take more than a few volumes to encapsulate the wisdom of the ages that the old cove endeavoured to spread, a few samples would surely be in order as one attempts to eulogize the hallowed One.

“If I have to explain to you a supply chain, I can do it best with a comparison. Mere bachchon, imagine a cycle. A cycle uses a chain. Why does a cycle use a chain? We can use something else. Imagine a long short rod. If it pumps up and down, it will not move the whole thing efficiently. So, we use a chain. Now, a supply chain is like a cycle chain, because both are having links that make the chain move smoothly as if it was lubricated… So now, you know what is a supply chain. So remember that if you ever have to think of a supply chain, just first think of a cycle chain and your solution will be complete and obvious…” I swear by all that I hold sacred (like my Jennifer Aniston poster and my pink knickers) that he actually said this in these exact words…

“Mere bachchon, I want you to be like the Taj Mahal. After my classes, all of you should be like Taj Mahals. Lots of Taj Mahals…” Yeah rrrright! Like, housing dead souls, perhaps?

While all this and more transpired within the walls of the classroom, there was yet more entertainment to be had on the ‘other’ side. With their departure nearing fast, the senior batch seemed suddenly to have become acutely aware of the fact that the junior batch was blessed with more than thrice the number of girls than their own batch. This phenomenon of course, coupled with the knowledge that they hardly stood (ok, I don’t even know if there is a pun intended here!) a chance in an environment where women were not solely restricted to the specimens on campus, led to yet another round of the - by now – routine exposure of the depths that the male gender can plumb when faced with the hugely favourable odds of 1:500 rather than the 1:5 billion that would be faced outside campus. (The fact that the female gender may be willing to wait for more favourable odds for themselves, has never really struck the male gender. This is perhaps aided by the fact that Jerry Seinfeld summed up in the words, “We men seem to end up with women anyway!”)

DG: Wow maan! She’s hot. I think I shall propose to her before I leave campus.
DM (spilling coffee all over my jacket in my shock): Whaaa? Errr… as in…WHAT?
DG: Yeah! Can’t hurt… I mean, this is my only chance after all…
DM: OK, so you think you have a chance, but like, isn’t it true that you’ve never spoken to her?
DG: Yeah, but she must surely know who I am…

Then of course, there was the Students’ Council election that was coming up. That was brilliant of course, what with the fact that only the ones with the lowest absolute IQ seemed to deem it fit to ‘stand’ for election. Not that anyone was complaining of course, given the manifestos that were written and the deep and philosophical thoughts that the candidates revealed themselves to be in possession of. Like this candidate, who revealed that her top priority if elected would be “to ensure that there is student representation on the Faculty Council.” Of course, in her esteemed opinion, it was a completely different proposal to that of having Faculty members being on the Students’ Council, but hey, perhaps the rest of the campus was just not smart enough to see her point… That she still ended up second in the polling stands as testament to the fact that even IIM students have senses of humour…and compassion…and libido…

The Term was not even half-way through and already there was plenty to talk about…unless you were the HR prof of course. For want of any other evidence, it was never alleged too seriously, but there were serious doubts over his state of affairs (No, no idea if the pun is intended, but his appearance would suggest it isn’t anyway) at home, but he did seem to have a major point in common with the students… The opinion that classrooms were quite definitely contraptions that were invented by those that had a very good idea of what surrounds would stimulate the best sleep…

Till later then… The mid-terms are here and surely that merits a break… and no, not of a leg…