"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," they say. Ashutosh, as he sits in the serene environs of the picturesque amphitheatre at IMI, is seen as an exception to this effect. From bearing the brunt of ragging sessions to expertly administering them, from gyaan-baanto to general chit-chatting, from seniors to batchmates to juniors, from class to canteen, he is unquestionably the undisputed king on campus.

Ashutosh is a perfect exemplar of what I call the "royalty syndrome" - a strong unflinching belief in one's self-assumed regal status in a section of society. And he's not wrong, I must say. His awe-inspiring (?) presence, according to him, can put many a monarch to shame. Add to that his unrelenting devotion towards the fairer sex, and we have the colloquial "complete man". Or do we?

Ashutosh is the self-proclaimed guru here - a guru with a word on anything and everything under the sun. Need I add all of that may not be wanted, or even correct? Nevertheless, he has something to say for everything and everyone. This habit of his, though definitely commendable (not everyone can speak on everything), does land him into trouble at times. ("Grrrrrr...," say his listeners.) But the scion that he is, he knows for sure how to ease (not wriggle, mind you) his way out of such tangled webs.

More often than not, his extra-cool below-freezing-point demeanour, though speaking volumes about his calm and composed mindset, tends to be a bit unnerving for his friends. He takes everything - sarcasm, criticism, nasty comments, snide remarks - with a pinch of salt. Now that is certainly commendable. But it is also somewhat discomforting to his friends because it can, sooner or later, face him as an adversary in the big bad world out there.

A word of caution for all those who think they can mess with him. Nobody - and I really mean nobody - does that and walks away intact (I didn't want to say 'alive'; it would have sounded too horrifying). Try, and Ashutosh will deal with you in the best of ways only a true Bihari can manage. He has contributed immensely to enriching (!!) the daily lingo of boys at our otherwise peaceful hostel. Why, did I not mention he is one of the most apt representatives of his state - Jharkhand, incidentally - you'll find walking the winding lanes and by-lanes of IMI. And by no stretch of imagination can one not identify him with Bihar - he brings the sights and sounds and smells and feel of the place with him. And he is most proud of being a Bihari.

All said and done, those who have seen only the rough-and-tough side of Ashutosh, give me a break. Below that image of a toughie lies a heart that typifies friendship. This heart of 24-carat gold cries, laughs, sings, dances with a friend. And trust me, all you non-believers, in times of adversity this heart can give you the sanest and most practical advice possible, albeit in the softest and warmest manner.

Last heard, Ashutosh was quoted as saying, "I am the King of IMI; I get whatever I want whenever I want it. No one argues with me or denies me what I want from them." Amen to that, I must say.

And before our king starts to seriously wonder whether I've been eulogising or sarcastic, there's one last thing I want to say to him. Ashutosh, you've been a true friend these two years. Thank you. I do and always will wish the very best for you. Go ahead, seize what you may.

Carpe diem, Regìs!! (This literally translates to "Sieze the day, King!!")

Hmmm... Long time since I wrote, really long time. Now, you cannot really blame me for this. It just so happened that I've been tied up with a plethora of responsibilities - right from the HR Club to PlaceComm to AlComm to Kritva '06, not to mention the scores of classes I must attend and the several cases/papers/analyses/articles I am writing for various events at b-schools across the nation. And yeah, I forgot to mention the oh-so-exciting-I-could-hardly-contain-my-elation end-term exams we had in the last week of September. Okay, I know I'm turning into a cynic, but who cares?

Summers at IMI are scorching the verdant campus like never before, and one thing's for certain - IMI rocks more than ever this year. Its all so nostalgic, so reminiscent of last year - all the frenzy, all the excitement, all the anticipation. The roller coaster of emotions that summer placements are, the jubilation and dejection are both so strongly reminiscent of my own stint with summer placements. The very air tingles and seems to show how life, sooner or later, turns a full circle.

However, the Class of 2006 has other matters to attend to. I, for one, am looking forward to the gala event on the 5th of November - the Annual Alumni Meet. That will be a party of its kind where the present students shall meet their seniors and their seniors and their seniors and so on. It is a night of tears and mirth alike - albeit the tears that flow embody the joy of being back to where one belongs. It is a journey down memory lane that evokes a myriad emotions and memoirs of the two precious years spent in the environs of IMI. One more year to go before I visit the campus as a proud alumnus. And what a strange feeling that is, a day so distant yet so near, a dream so wanted yet so undescribable. But then, such is life.

Another passionately awaited event that would follow is Kritva - the annual management extravaganza at IMI. Oh, I can hardly wait for that one!! The Class of 2007 seems to be all revved up and raring to go, having started all preparations with unrivalled fervour and zest. Kritva this year promises to rock the nation like never before. But more on that later. Shhhh... for now.

The past several days have been extremely hectic, but now is the time to pursue all that I wanted to. Starting from participation in as many events and contest as I can, to resuming long-lost hobbies and interests, to reigniting my old passion for writing, I will do it all. As of now, I shall revel in the honeyed notes of the lilting Rabindra Sangeet. I'm also looking forward to heightened indulgence in classical regional cinema - mostly Bengali. One new thing I plan to do henceforth is learn Latin. My fascination for the language has now turned into some sort of an obsession. Guess I always have been one wierdo, then - no denying the fact.

In the fall of 1687, Job Charnock, an agent of the East India Company secured official permission from the Mughals to found a base at Sutanati. In 1696, Old Fort William was established and this was the naissance of the city of Kolkata. The Ganga (referred to as the Hooghly in Kolkata) is still the inspiration, as it was to Job Charnok who touched her shores in August 1690 to shape the city. The name Kolkata is derived from the word 'Kalikshetra', meaning 'the land of the Goddess Kali'.

Kolkata is a conurbation where theatre and cinema reign and commercial success takes a back seat to academics and cultural pursuits. People are volatile and articulate; the adda is the meeting point where topics from Marxism to the price of fish are discussed threadbare over steaming cups of tea. Truly the City of Joy, she is – more than anything else – a city with strong cultural, literary and religious flavours. Revel in the dulcet strains and honeyed notes of Rabindra Sangeet. Explore the sheer allure of taant and baluchari sarees along the winding bylanes of Boubazaar and Gariahaat. Indulge in the divine sweetness of the delectable roshogolla and sandesh. Savour the heady tang and piquancy of the appetising phuchka. Just lose yourself in the myriad hues and flavours of Kolkata.

The city exemplifies creativity and elitism, vibrance and verve. Her citizens exhibit a great joie de vivre – firmly entrenched in a proclivity for art and culture, the intensity of intellectual vitality and unrivalled political perspicacity. No other Indian city can draw the kinds of crowds that throng to Kolkata's book fairs, art exhibitions, concerts. The city's vivacity infuses into the meanest and poorest of slums. Kolkata remains an enigma. She continues to mystify novices and to rouse lasting nostalgia in the minds of those who have lived there.

Kolkata not only openly shows all aspects of life, she also demands to act continually. She expects one and all to stretch their street wisdom to the extreme. Compare her to a fantasy park in which the theme is not a fable but all that life is and necessitates. For those who want life itself to be an adventure, Kolkata is the fantasyland to visit. Simply walking her streets has the pleasure of being in a place that is the consequence of continual human activity. And because life there demands perpetual activity, the city streets change all the time – constant reflections of human understanding, perception, talents and limits. Where the city demands too much of her inhabitants, or her inhabitants demand too much of the city, it shows in clear consequences. Her appeal is that she openly shows not only how we fail, but also how we cope and how proud we can be in doing so. While in other cities it is common to cover up the dark side and emphasize the great and good with much glitter, Kolkata balances herself between the dark and the bright, the wrong and right. If that is not attractive, I am yet to witness what is.

Kolkata is a proud city and her pride is rooted in the totality of aspects she so clearly presents. Pride lies in the Kolkatans feeling that, in the end, showing it all will be the basis of a sustainable city, rather that emphasizing one side of what city life is. Pride lies in the fact that Kolkata needs to be made each day; a lot does not work, but another lot does. At night her streets have that sleepy quietness that is so different from the frightful emptiness many other cities have. It is because life goes on in its entire miscellany. On Park Street, there are not just the nouveau riche leaving classy bistros and heading for their posh homes, but also families on their cots who in soft voices discuss the day or share simple joys with friends. A restful night after a hard day’s work is what all seem to want. Trouble is kept far away; Kolkata believes trouble itself is trouble enough.

Pride is most deeply rooted in her culture and history. Kolkata is the city of Rabindranath Tagore – and therefore of poets, of artists, of musicians, of thespians. Tagore being their soul, it is very hard for Kolkatans not to be either poets or artists or both. His work is as immediate, honest and seductive as his city is. It is in this where Tagore and Kolkata meet; both seem compelled to do all and be all. Tagore had his Nobel Prize. Kolkata awaits her award, convinced of the talent she possesses.

It is not necessary to assess the objective truth fundamental to all the reasons for Kolkata’s pride. Urban pride cannot only be grounded in facts. Myth, legend and lore form the foundation. It perhaps is the great annual festival of Maa Durga, the Mother Goddess, which acts as a generator of common belief. Magnificent pandals are made for Durga and her offspring. Afterwards the pandals are dismantled and the majestic statues of the deity taken to the river and set afloat. It is incessant – the building and the breaking, the festivity and the elation. The city seems to be gyrating and conjuring the seasons it needs to keep on going.

The spell cast upon me by the City of Joy is impossible to express in words. You must live her – intuit her, caress her, savour her, sense her – in her entirety. Only then shall you begin to comprehend her beauty, her appeal, her charisma, her charm.

I can say that, for Kolkata lives in me, and I in her.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be,
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have winced but not cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloodied but unbowed.   

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the horror of the shade.
And yet the menace of the years,
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

A raindrop, dripping from a cloud,
Was ashamed when it saw the sea.
'Who am I where there is a sea?' it said.
When it saw itself with the eye of an Invictus,
A shell nurtured it in its embrace.

-- William Earnest Henley, 1849-1903

Whoever said the second year is easier must have been joking, and that is certainly a bad joke. Come to think of it, my main concern regards the subject of International Finance. Yes, folks, when I had thought I had seen the last of the F-word (finance, that is), along comes this frightful subject.

The effect IF (as it is most lovingly referred to) has had on me is astounding. I have started to lose sleep, and it is just a month into the trimester. I implore to the authorities at IMI to bestow some mercy on us mere mortals. My wretched soul cannot carry the Herculean burden of this blessed course. Tell me, why would someone specialising in the noble (and thankfully!!) discipline of Human Resource Management be concerned about futures and forwards and options. Don't even try asking me what these are and where they figure in the big bad world of business. Just leave us poor beings alone.

Whether I am hedging the foreign exchange risk for my investment venture, or whether I am taking into account the feasibiltiy of my currency swap, or whether I am speculating an appreciation (or is it depreciation) of the Indian rupee versus the American dollar - this is of absolutely no interest to me. For heavens sake, tell me about the economic environment and its governing factors, and I'll be more than eager to lap it up. I need to comprehend the basic economic structure and working, not the terrifying things we are taught.

All said and done, with due apologies to my professor, the course on International Finance is to me the proverbial albatross around the neck. It is a spectre that haunts me, howling and wailing, as it tells the impending disaster called the mid-term, followed by the eventual catastrophe known as the end-term. It would require a definite miracle to save me from the fate that ultimately shall be mine (I can see it written in the stars).

Help!!