Discovering The "Brand Equity" Of My Butt!

Being an MBA student, my affection for jargon has been carefully engineered into me...the term "Brand Equity" is among the sexiest that I've come across. It's like the "Marlon Brando" of marketing jargon. Despite all this, I always struggled to convey to the un-initiated it's true meaning.

Midnight yesterday/today I had "material proof" of BRAND EQUITY. It was all over my...errr...ASS!

See...traditionally, birthday is meant to be the day to enjoy and feel good about the consequence of an "accident" that took place years ago. 25 yrs to be precise in my case! The way it starts is amazing actually. Around 11:30 PM your close friends start asking for your whereabouts to make sure that you are somewhere close to your room. I was strolling about in the campus so I was summoned to the room. Immidiately! I complied. I had no choice. Then all my friends...whoever passed me gave me "the look", the kinds 2 guys did way back in the wild wild west give to each other before a draw. It's something between a sneer and a nod. By now I am wondering if I should call my friend doing law to make a will for me. But I decide against it as all someone can inherit from me is my education loan! The bike would of course be "sati" with me!

So I reach my room. Like an efficient butler, my roomie takes my jacket and politely asks me to change into "expendable" clothes. I comply. Again. Its 11:50 PM now and there is quite a crowd outside my room. Everyone trying hard not to look into my eye...lest they see the fear in them and take pity. I look down at their choice of footwear and I start feeling for my butt already. There was wide assortment of Nike / Adidas / Gum Boots / CAT / Floaters / Kohlapuris / Osho Chappals / Hawai Chappal... They were well armed allright!

11:58 PM. I am gently asked to come into the corridor and then as the clock hits 12:00 a faint voice from behind shouts..."Maaaaro saale ko". And my closest friends forget that even something as seemingly dumb as a butt has nerve endings and it bloody does hurt! Like HELL! For the next 5-10mts it rains kicks. Suddenly there is a hush. People give way to 3-4 guys charging with buckets full of chilled cold water. SPLASH! SPLASH! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkks! SPLASH! And I am left looking a poodle after a bath. Though in my case that was a rather well fed poodle. There is a again some activity in the background with frantic instructions being exchanged. What's next?

It didn't take that long to find out. My dear friends now had "stuff" in their palms. Any and everything from ketchup / toothpaste / Dabur Lal Dant Manjan (they esp. bought it for me) / etc. was meticulously applied on me. I was warned not to move or it might go in my eyes. How very considerate my friends were! I was left smelling like a damn burp! By now I was living by the age old saying, "When rape is inevitable...might as well enjoy it"! As they say in North India..."Aaan do..." (bring it on)!

I could now hear footsteps going away from me punctuated with "Happy Birthday Shishir". I couldn't see anything through the layers of toothpaste and ketchup on my face. I was glad they still remembered their main motive of coming to my room. My 25th birthday. I was wondering if it was over?!?!

There is God. It was over. My dear roomie guided me to the bathroom and shut the door on me. I turned on the shower and stood there for what seemed like an hour. I swear I had never felt so clean as I did last night. I had to feel that way...just look at the ingridients that went into my cleansing!

I dried myself and crashed on the bed. It took me a while to get into a position that wouldn't hurt my "multi-branded" butt. Then I began remembering something. Faces. Voices. Names. The perpetrators. The rest 364 days are mine! All I can say is to them is...R.I.P.

In the words of George W. Bush Jr. "We shall hunt 'em down and smoke 'em..."

Hostel-ity: Case - I "Late Night Vada-Pao"

Inmates...or those living or have ever lived in a hostel would appriciate the "complex" concepts presented in this piece. If the course you took (MBA in my case) required you to be up when rest of your timezone slept...even better!

After much research on the subject I have come to the conclusion that ISI is funding a secret project in our country & the objective is to reduce the efficiency of our country's brightest minds. Their modus-operandi seems simple. All the hostel cooks, Engineering / MBA / Medicine / Graduation etc. are trained to cook food in a manner that no matter what they make (or what the menu reads)...it tastes the same. ALWAYS!

If its a gravy preperation, the "stuff" is somewhere at the bottom of the utensil. If you wait in the line a bit longer to fish for it...the lady behind you will make the most disgusted look ever with an accompanying "chhik" sound to drive the point home harder. MOVE YOUR BUTT! The chapatis are made stale. Please pay attention. They are NOT stale coz' of being kept for a long time. They are MADE stale. Fresh hot STALE chapatis. Something like Ashok Kumar. He was born old. Dal is identified by its colour. "Tadka" is something you think about while having it. Taste is a function of your imagination. Hence, my dal always tastes like "keema-matar".

The result is that when you go to the mess. The visit is so short that you meet yourself on the way out! People like me become elgible for the PDS after 12-15th of the month because of our financial condition so going out for food is a fantasy. Birthdays treats are God's way of saying...He exists. But otherwise, you nibble something here and there and head to your room convincing yourself that you won't feel hungry tonight. Then it happens...

11:00 PM "I'm cool...not a bit of hunger anywhere in sight!"
11:45 PM "...What was that sound? Seemed to come from somewhere inside?!?!"
12:30 AM "...Again that sound...I knew it! It's my tummy!"
01:15 AM "...Pandey...Yar kuch khaane ko hai kya?" (He NEVER has anything!)
01:50 AM "...My parents don't love me...They never send anything to eat...that lasts!"
01:55 AM "...Just gulped down half a bottle of water. Still hungry."
02:00 AM "...Time to go for plan-B"

By this time you can do anything for that Rs. 3/- vada-pao! I mean anything! So you call up the all-night vada-pao guy. Yessir! There is one. Long live the call centres! What more? He takes telephonic orders! Now one thing that can get you killed in a hostel is to order food late at night and NOT tell your floor-mates...Especially if one of them a perpetually hungry Jat from Hissar! So you do the round and collect money and the order details from all those awake. You better write it all down coz' you really don't want to leave anyone hungry once you've taken the money for it. Another thing that can re-define your anatomy in a hostel!

So finally...the order is placed and what began as an order for 2 vada-paos ends up being something like this..... 21: Vada Pao 2: Maggi 4: Omlette Pao 2: Anda Bhurji + 4 Pao

Then the "stare-at-the-watch" game starts. Waiting for food is still the hardest thing for me in the world. But I still wait. Another Airtel ad in the making...the "mundu" or the man-friday of the vada pao guy gives me a missed call when he reaches the hostel gate and I rush down to collect the stuff. Trust is important in life. But here...it is a given. There is no way you're gonna sit and verify the order. You just give the delivey guy a "you know what I'll do if you mess with me" look and rush back with the consignment.

Many things in the hostel are defacto. One of them is the venue for the late night hogging. Since I ordered it. It's my room...just like that. Suddenly there is a "baraat" in my room. The Jat makes sure there are no free loaders. There is one. A quick vote is done if we can spare some grub for the guy and depending on the verdict he is either politely thrown out or allowed to stay and join in.

Cleaning the aftermath. They all promise to do so but no one does. Another defacto...I clean the room after the feast. Its 4:30 AM now. Time to sleep. Burrrrp.....Zzzzzzzz....

It will be time for breakfast in 4 hrs. Prepared by the same bloody ISI trained cooks!

Me, Myself & My Bike...

Bottom of The Pyramid...is something much more than mere a term coined by Prahlad and Hamel to me. I am literally there 12th or 15th onwards of every month. Now, this may seem an anomaly considering that I have worked for a good 2 yrs before taking the MBA plunge and I should have "logically" saved some dough for my stay here. This is a good time to bring to light a minor point that "saving" as a desirable act still is something I only speak/write tonnes about but am a total failure as far as practising it is concerned. Now lets see...there has to be something I can refer to as my savings from the couple of years I was part of the much celebrated Indian IT "cheap labour" brigade? Hmmmm?...still thinking...hmmmm...ok I give up. Nothing. Zilch! I blew it all!

Wait a minute! There is something. My bike. My sleek n sexy Pulsar-150! Yup...now that's what you call "real" investment! Man...I love that thing! How much? Well for one...It reached Pune 20 days before I did when I joined last year. It was here already...waiting for me! There were some restrictions about having vehicles at hostel but lets just say that I am not that nice a guy! How could I even dare to dream of leaving it behind? There are times when you want to just blank your mind. No thoughts. No dreams. No worries. No ambition. No gals....ok just a select few! I had those moments...still do...when I am riding my bike. And I love them! It's a different zone all together. Even Deepak Chopra and Robin Sharma can't encapsulate that feeling in their so-called "recipies to a good life" books!

Today was Dussera. Being an off day at college I decided to wash and wax my bike. Something I religiously did till I joined MBA. Good water supply and free classes never quite came together for me since then. Today I thought of taking my chances and took my bike to Gupta Ji. Gupta Ji is the caretaker of a popular lodge close by and we both being from the same region...the "cow belt" of India, I decided to try some PR on him and get him to spare a couple of buckets of water. Sadly, he was on leave! So I kick-started my trusted ride, looking for a garage to get it washed. Though I admit I love to do the cleaning myslef. Been 2 & 1/2 yrs but this is something I have always enjoyed doing. Kinda gives me a "feel good". Something like what the clebrities call..."giving back..." or "doing my bit..." Kinda "I owe it to my bike" thing.

Unfortunately all the garages I rode by either had too long queues or no water. Then as I was passing a line of rickety houses near a place called Wakad on the outskirts of Pune, I came across a small house where 4 labourers were busy washing a Tata 407 truck. They had the only resource I needed. Water. So I decided to give it a try. Of course, it meant doing it by myself and that too in not exactly "familiar territories". Anyway, I asked the one who was directing the others if I could just put my bike on stand next to his truck and all his men had to do was direct the water hose on it once in a while. He gave me an enquiring look and then with a "what the hell" look...nodded. Thank God!

So there I was. With the sun on my back. Taking off from my books, case studies, submissions, presentations...all the jazz that comes with an MBA, and doing something I truly enjoyed. Getting my bike to shine like a mirror! So now there were 4 labourers and one jeans and T-shirt clad guy (that would be me!) sharing the water hose and washing a truck and a bike. After cleaning all the dirt from the extended Pune rains, I took out the sachet of bike shampoo & wax polish mix I generally use and poured it over the fuel tank and the mudguard. My co-washer (sounds...foolishly cool na? ) were quite amused by the "ingridients" of my bike-wash. After about 30mts or so my bike was all cleaned up and gleaming in the afternoon sun. I had a proud look on my face and I would like to believe that the other fellas were impressed by my efforts too. Once I wiped it dry and gave that wax coat a nice shine, I thanked them and rode off to the nearest fuel station. Then I went on a long...30km drive on the highway. Something akin to Alonso's victory lap!

Just me, myself and my bike!