Plans and plot twists: One MBA Journey from the experimental batch

“Life and its strange ways of working out.” On a random day in 2023, I decided to put this as my WhatsApp about. Because, if there are no twists and turns, the plot goes for a toss (right, right?). So, here are some of the plot twists from my MBA journey at SPJIMR, as one from the experimental batch (aka PGDM 2024-26).

The room

Before joining SPJIMR, you are handed a menu card for the hostel room. To add to it, it’s fastest-finger-first, which, in the politest way possible, ensures that the room you wanted to pick might be entirely different from the one you end up with. I picked the double-executive (the fanciest), yet ended up in a triple common room (supposedly the worst). And the reason I think that is because the little sleep cycle that you have in your MBA is further ruined by not syncing with at least one of your two roommates.

My room was no different. One of them would study for quizzes until 4 am, keeping the lights on, only for the other one to wake up at 5 am after five alarms, having snored the entire night, and turning the light back on. The two of them would keep squabbling about it. Of course, in the middle of it was me, who would sleep through both of their sleep cycles, not caring about light, snoring, or the nth new thing that could trouble someone’s sleep.

With time, however, their tolerance improved too, and I ended up with two friendships that would propel me to say ‘No, thank you’ to the many room-changing windows that opened afterwards.

The summer placements

One of the biggest experiments with our batch was the transition from Autumn to Summer internship. There was a lot of figuring out and also some friction on how schedules can be managed as placements knocked on our doors right after joining,

Before we even knew it, we were already at Day 0. As the name suggests, it is the buffet of creme-la-de-creme versions of companies, only that the dish gets to choose which MBA student is capable enough to savour it. And there’s a lot of running around, happy moments, heartbreaks and crying involved.

​Obviously, none of this matters in case you don’t even have a shortlist for that day. And I convinced myself that it didn’t matter anyway. My heart was set on one particular company (which would come in later and end up not even shortlisting me), so I was peacefully eating dinner in my hostel room, wondering whether I should also order gulab jamuns.

​But then, the phone buzzed. One company had extended its shortlist (no names, cause PLACOM rules apply). My name was one of them. I parked that gulab jamun thought, and raced in my business formals, holding an umbrella in one hand and browsing through their website with the other. Within a few minutes, I was sitting in the interview room, opposite two investment bankers, sitting as sternly as you would expect bankers to be. In my mind, the interview was my little Slumdog Millionaire moment. Yet, I was never called in for Round Two.

​In some time, the results came. They had selected me. I didn’t know what to feel, beyond a sense of relief. The company I wanted to go to would come in later and take someone who didn’t want to be there either. The thing would exist like a glitch in the matrix. But the MBA life would go on.

The ADMAP

One of the many things that distinguishes SPJIMR is that each student is allocated an ADMAP, a committee responsible for overseeing a specific vertical of non-classroom learning.

However, that was not something applicable to the experimental batch (surprise, surprise!). While I was not a part of the latter, I again got an ADMAP that was very far from the one I wanted to be in. My ADMAP DoCC and Sustainability Committee (or DoSU) was the ADMAP that was supposed to work with varied NGOs and SHGs across the country and conduct events to empower them. And I just didn’t know how well I would fit in with the scheme of things.

​However, in the midst of organising one such event, I got a call from a local women-run SHG that was supposed to sell authentic Marathi dishes, saying that they wouldn’t come because they cannot sell 100-200 dishes a day. Something that was a selling point for all other food stalls stood as a hindrance in their mind. Yet, with some nudging, motivation, and waking up at 3 am, they would outsell almost all other stalls, and I would forever carry with me the cognisance of why a platform like this is empowering to sections of society in a way that any amount of money isn’t.

​Or Aasra, an inclusive sports and cultural festival for kids, the world would politely call different. I can forget a lot of things, but I cannot forget the look on the face of a kid who would take a few steps back and would then run and try to kick the football with everything he has, and then smile ear-to-ear after having beaten me with the sheer pace. And if all that was not enough for me to feel inspiration and muster all the empathy I had, a kid who cannot keep his body from falling would grab my finger with his entire hand. Maybe I would never be as important in life as I was at that moment.

The summer that was (somewhat) pretty

One competition we were introduced to during our induction was the St. Gallen Symposium. To put it bluntly, you write an essay that, if deemed worthy, gets you a call to attend a one-week event in Switzerland. It was every person’s dream plan, including mine. And somehow, this time, I got an email which basically said, “Congratulations, your plan worked. Contrary to your general personality, you may dance a little (and I did).”

​But the plot did intervene. That week would, for the first time, fall right in the middle of the summer internship. So, we were asked not to go altogether, or a one-week leave was bound to have an impact on our PPOs (pre-placement offers, which is kind of the whole point of doing an internship)​

Both sides were adamant, and both had valid rationales. Gradually, we landed on a common ground about going for the internship, spending a few weeks, and then taking a call. In my first week of the internship, my manager (known for being blunt) told me that if he were in my place, he would work just enough to justify the internship during final placements. In hindsight, that was really good advice. But I didn’t feel the same way back then. The rest of the interns had similar stories, all with the same moral: there was no PPO on the table. We all had our coping mechanisms. Mine was to fight the battle, even though it was a losing one, because I had once read that not all battles were fought for victory. Some were fought simply to tell the world that there was someone on the battlefield.​

The ability to think of such quotes is maybe the reason I got into St. Gallen anyway! I eventually did get to attend, as the company was kind enough to extend the leave. And the one week was absolutely surreal. Travelling internationally for the first time, I was flabbergasted by how far people can reach, irrespective of where they start. I would take home several conversations, sceneries, duty-free alcohol, chocolates, and an unsaid promise of coming again and again until all of this feels natural and common.

And the internship battle went on, having stayed static, if not moved backwards. Over the next three weeks, I found out how many hours of work my body could actually pull through, and after a few all-nighters, I was honestly surprised. I kind of also enjoyed the work and appreciated how sharp the people were. Towards the end, the VP who would not make eye contact started smiling at me. Another VP appreciated some of the work I had done. The director who had hired us, and was like a silent cheerleader, couldn’t help but smile through all this. After an end review that went better than I expected, my internship ended without a PPO. This summer of my life had seen more ups and downs than all the other summers combined.

The in-betweens

Some things in life, you plan. The other things just happen to you. And by that, I mean the absolutely fantastic, sometimes irritable, always waggish people SPJIMR would admit, only for those people becoming home. There are just so many stories you have because a few people existed on the campus at the same time as you did. Through hostel parties (with no alcohol), innumerable festivities, restaurant-hopping, or simply completing projects or case comps in the GWR — Group Work Room, you create moments that bring a smile to your face long after. We, as a group, had this tradition of dancing to item songs (after not drinking) and playing Top-5 this, Top-5 that. I will just note here that every time I hear those songs at random, I am automatically transported back to that hostel room. And, if someone were to ask for the Top-5 moments of my entire life, a lot of it would come from the time I spent with these very people.

SPelled Ink

SPelled Ink was the literary club of SPJIMR, and I had my heart set on becoming a member and talking about literature. When the club induction forms opened, I somehow still ticked the option which said: “Do you want to be considered for one of the Head positions?” When asked during the interview, I mentioned a co-head position that fit me well. But somehow, I was handed the responsibility of heading the club. And my MBA journey is just incomplete without a small section on the club, its members, and the literary love we tried to nurture. Towards the end, with some help from a kind professor (who also nudged me to write this blog), we could create a magazine filled with stories and poetry, all born within the purple walls of SPJIMR. It felt only fitting to call it Journeys and Destinations.

The last dance (final placements)

This time, I knew better than to have my heart set on one company. So, I had my heart set on one industry. With a knowledge base that was sharper and business formals that were tighter, I felt ready. Again rolled in Day Zero. Somehow, I did have shortlists this time. We started with Company One. It checked all the boxes I had in mind. My first round was Slumdog Millionaire, Part 2, and I felt a wave of confidence. Only, this time, there was Round Two. The final boss sat there, and somewhere between my explaining my sister’s profession and the deal sizes and run rates of company one and the company where I had interned, he took offence. So much so that he told me, ‘You will give more interviews, so let me give you feedback.” I thought that was not a bad idea; he’s the final boss after all. I turn to the blank side of my resume, with a pen in hand, only to hear your tie is like that of Hrithik Roshan. Or that you need a particular skillset (what, particularly, not sure), which you already have some of, but try to get more of it.

The interview ended, and I was exhausted, not even sure what exactly I should have done differently. Then came Company Three (how romantic!), which didn’t tick many of those imaginary boxes. And they would make me wait, wait for being called for the first round, while other people in the shortlist had already gone through all their rounds. Or wait while they started calling people from the waitlist for subsequent rounds. But the wait for the first round did end, only for me to get no time to wait for subsequent rounds. After giving three rounds on the trot, I was hopeful. The results came. Negative. I again didn’t know what I did wrong, except for questioning my ability to get placed after giving more than one round.​

But then, destiny intervened in the plot. Two days later, I got a call. Company Three had changed its mind. I was placed. I again didn’t know what to feel, beyond a sense of relief, mostly for not having to wear business formals for a while.

The getting in

It is late August of 2023. I am sitting in a local train, trying to pass the time during a 45-min Andheri-Churchgate commute. A time I had used for the past few months to study for CFA L1. I think of a plan. TAS-in-house, an internal route for becoming a TAS officer as an existing Tata employee. I spent the next 2 and a half months of commute, studying for CAT, a prerequisite for the programme. SPJIMR is the only other form I fill out, somewhat hoping for a profile-based call, because getting a good score seemed far-fetched.

​The profile-based calls come in. I don’t get one. I do get a better score than expected. The score-based calls come in. I have an interview. TAS-in-house calls come in; I have a shortlist there too. The plan doesn’t work; I’ve been rejected by TAS-in-house. SPJIMR? They have selected me…

A form I filled out for a call I didn’t get because I took the CAT for a programme that didn’t take me. Because of boredom during a commute. Which hit after giving CFA L1, an exam I again didn’t plan to give, but still did because I got a scholarship. The scholarship, which I didn’t plan to apply for, but did because I saw some other colleagues do it too. In a job I didn’t plan to pursue, to instead freelance as a content writer, but did because I wanted to see what it would be like to live in a different city.

If all of it had worked according to my plan, I wouldn’t be sitting here with a blog to write about, stories to relive, and a destination I couldn’t even have imagined five years ago.

Now I can write takeaways here like trust the universe’s plan, destiny is waiting with its nudge, and whatnot, and it will all be true. But instead, I will borrow from Hemingway and say that it is okay, at times, to feel broken during this entire journey. And perhaps, in Cohen’s words, that is how the light gets in.

Of course, it might have little to do with your roommates keeping it on through the entire night!