Nice girls like you...






It rains in Bombay like for 3 months on a trot,
1 hour of a break from the office is all you got,
It's raining, our umbrellas we forgot, I place over your shoulder my coat,
I see your uncomfort, your feminist movement...
No you are not weak, but you definitely transparent...
You could have returned me the coat, but you wouldnt...
Nice girls like you shouldnt...



And then maybe in a crowded place,
With a slow and an inconspicuous pace,
I put my hand across your waist,
You pull my hand off...
Exert a small, cute suggestive cough...
You could let my hands on, but you wouldnt...
Nice girls like you shouldnt....



It's your first payday, you ask me out,
I have done that so many times, but you doubt,
You are so nervous, you talk gibberish throughout,
We have a quite dinner, call for the cheque...
You take out the money place it in my hand and a peck...
You could have paid it yourself, but you wouldnt...
Nice girls like you shouldnt...



It's new years, I order a beer,
You roll your eyes mockingly, come on it's end of the year,
I wont get high, dont you fear,
You throw me off balance, u want a taste...
I push the glass in front of you, man I'm amazed...
You could take a sip, but you wouldnt...
Nice girls like you shouldnt....



You are sad and I am like a million miles away,
We thought was going to be easy, but its not okay,
A tear drops a light year away in Bombay,
Its my mistake but you say sorry...
Cajoling fake male glory...
You could have not understood me, but you wouldnt...
Nice girls like you shouldnt....



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Ich liebe Berlin...

I remember that sunny afternoon. He was in the 9th grade, reading his Science-II State board textbook. For the younger ones who are reading this post, we didnt have Physics, Chemistry and Biology separate those days. 'Those days', this sure sounds old!

So, on this sunny morning, there was this intelligent guy (with a thirst for knowledge) going through the periodic table... He was good. And he knew it. As he was going through the periodic table, something caught his eye.

Tungsten was represented with the letter 'W'. W? not T, not Tg, but W. Why? He got to the root of it...

Today, the same uber cool guy, today in an unknown land, on a very sleepy afternoon, was asked the same question

German Sir: I dont know the name of that metal... its called Wolfram in German...

Out of deep slumber woke our hero, our uber cool guy (UCG)...
UCG: Its Tungsten...
Sir: Tung.. what?
UCG: Tungsten...
Sir: How... what.. How do you know that? (true exclamation)
UCG: I dont know... I am just plain awesome...

Girls admired him with loving affection... Guys wanted to be like him...Yes, that plain awesome guy, that uber cool guy... is me... (obviously)

So now that I have established my utter supremacy over you mere mortals, let me continue with all the mundane stuff...

So, Its pretty awesome here in Berlin... The city is super systematic... Its kinda cold here, I expected better weather this time of the year... Everything is mostly on time. Even the buses have a time table to follow.

There are no traffic jams here. And potholes on the road are a matter of National crisis for the Germans.

Germany is great, no two ways about it... The roads, the cars, trains, buses (all in all the transport system) are awesome. Everything here is so damn systematic... I think thats all we Indians lack are systems. Ever since I have come here, I have never felt that something that can be done here, cant be done back home. Our people are good.. all we need are good systems to be put in place...

I have started liking Berlin's weather, which is quite different from the one at home. I have started making friends. Not just in class but also outside. Like the Falafel guy... (falafel is like a veg sandwich). This guy speaks only German, and I speak Chinese according to my Orkut profile.

But this guy is really nice, hes teaching me what to call vegetables in German. And the quick learner that I am, I am quite a joy to have as a student. But seriously, I am his most loyal customer, I eat 2 of my 3 meals in there. Sasta hai yaar...

Everything is so damn costly. Water is sometimes costlier than beer. (Believe it, its not a fable.) You dont get carry bags for free. Train and Bus tickets cost a bomb compared to Indian standards... So what if the doors of the train open and close automatically and the bus BENDS towards the footpath so that you can get down easily.. Yes.. it bends!!! like Sachin bends into his on-drive...

And yes, for all you German car fans at home, there are more BMWs here than we have marutis.. Buying a Chevy Matiz (Spark) must be a sign that you are really poor...

Till last week I was converting everything into rupees, so it sucked big time when you had to pay 80 rupees for a bottle of water.. Talking bout water, there is no system of water purifiers here. All water that comes through any tap is pure... My doctor mom is gonna be angry big time if she gets to know that I am drinking what is fondly called as "unfiltered" water in India.

I like my classmates. They come from like 20 nationalities. Most of them are pretty curious about India. There is this one guy who sings sanskrit mantras and stuff... Freaks me out I tell you.. sometimes I feel he knows more about my country than I do...

Then there guys who come to me and ask...
Curious foreign guy: Hey Aaarrrshat, how do you say 'Fuck' in Indian...
Uber cool Indian guy (me) : There is no language called - Indian...

The nice guy that I am, I almost always enlighten them... its fun I tell ya..

The best part is our calculation abilities... We solve calculations before you can say - Ich liebe Berlin...
There was this question, very simple question, and the professor was like, Have you brought your calculators, and I solved it in like 3 seconds... Between surprised chuckles and awe and respect, yours truly was surrounded...

Okay, now that I have made myself sound good (which is the whole point of this post and in greater sense, this blog) let me talk some (more) meaningful talks..


Germany and cool and everything, but the thought of staying here somehow doesnt come into my mind. Sometimes I dream about India, mostly about Mumbai, the warm humid weather, my friends and family, sometimes even Gurgaon and the college. I feel like I have left some part of me behind. Somehow, 100% Arshat isnt here.

They say - Home is where the Heart is...
They god damn right...

I wanna stay in Mumbai for most of my life... I have decided that... Cant stay anywhere but there. There is something bout the city I will never understand. You see it in the movies, you read about it, but you dont really know what is about that place that doesnt let you leave ever.

Or maybe everyone feels like that about their homeland. Maybe all of them leave behind a certain part of themselves which is so important that you always wanna come back to it... Ich liebe Berlin... But home is where the heart is...

Chalo, bahut senti maar liya... happens when you miss home...
Miss all you people back home (you know who you are)...
Will come back soon.. Till then..
Auf Weidersehen...

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My name is Chaudhary...

"So hows the German dream coming along?" One of my friends asked...

It was difficult to answer her. How was it coming along?

It all started with an ad which I saw when I was in the 7th standard.
The difference is- German Engineering. Opel.

Opel didnt work. But the ad did. That line somewhere stayed in my mind. The respect for Germany grew as I came to know more about them. The Engineering dream realised and I set my heart on doing my masters in Mechanical Engineering in Germany.

I got disillusioned during my engineering. 4 hours of travelling, overload of assignments, stupidity all over didnt help my case. The German dream died and I set my eyes on an MBA. In between happened Siemens, the respect for Germany increased and the dream was reborn.

I left Siemens, prepared for CAT to get into MDI's International Management course. One leg of the course was to be completed in ESCP, Berlin. The German dream kept coming back to me. It was destined or something.

This monday, I landed in Germany. It was not easy. Not at all. First the German Embassy acted like they didnt want us to come here. Then Deutsche Bank did their best to keep us out. German efficiency was thrown out of the window for inefficiency and stupidity. It was our luck that we finally got our Visas one day before leaving.

What followed next was a journey of a life time. I took the Air India flight from Mumbai to Frankfurt in the night at 2. I was so damn tired with all the running around, meeting friends and stuff. The flight was overbooked and I probably got the worst seats. Couldnt sleep a wink on the flight. I had an Air Berlin flight from Frankfurt to Berlin in the evening. That gave me around 12 hours to go around Frankfurt.


I landed at Fraport, was overwhelmed by the size of the airport. It was freaking cold outside. If Delhi cold was a bitch, Frankfurt cold was son of a bitch (does that make it worse or not?). Fraport is lovely, though I still feel mumbai airport is not too behind when it comes to management. (You can take me out of Mumbai, but u cant take Mumbai outta me.)

I had like 4 bags, one out of which was cabin baggage. I wanted to go around Frankfurt, so I deposited the bags at the Air Berlin counter for my flight in the evening. I had more baggage than the alloted 20 kgs. The girl at the counter (who I thought was spanish) however turned in 4 kgs more than alloted, which I thought was kinda sweet. I thanked her profusely, to which she said - You are Indian, I am Indian...
I felt so damn proud. No one every did anything special for me just coz I was Indian.

I went around the city. German Engineering everywhere. Footpaths which sloped at the edges so that you might not have a problem to get down and cross the road. Zebra crossings everywhere. Cars stopping for you even if there was no red signal. Grey skies. Biting cold. Costly food. But that didnt stop me from going on a 50 min cruise on the river Main.

In the evening I returned back to the airport or Fraport as they call it. I waited for the evening flight. After running around the Airport, I realised that the flight had been delayed. I waited. The flight was cancelled. I was stranded on the Airport. I contacted Air Berlin. German rules suggest that you stand in the line and wait for your turn, which incidentally took me around 1 hour. It was 9 in the night local time (1.30 night India) It was 40 hours since I had slept. Standing in line sucked.

"We will arrange your stay in a hotel and also arrange for pick up and drop" said the lady at the task.
They arranged for the hotel, but forgot the pick-up. Good for me though, I got to take a taxi (which means my dream of travelling my a Merc was fulfilled.) I was amazed to see my Hotel room (an Executive room at The Kongress Sheraton). One word - Awesome! I slept for 5 hours. The next flight was in the morning.


At the airport, I confirmed if my baggage was on the flight (since the last flight was cancelled.)
On reaching the Berlin airport after a rough flight which was more like a roller coaster than anything else, I found that one of my bags was missing. In spite of my confirming at Fraport that they were loaded on the very same flight that I was travelling by... How do you misplace baggage ON the Way? All my clothes were in that bag, and I was already late for the first class. Which meant I was gonna skip class. Not much of a problem that. With the jet lag, I might have slept in the class anyway.

It was damn difficult to find the place where the hostel was. It was 4 degrees outside, and if you know me, I hate cold. I come from a land of Warm sunny beaches, anything colder than 16 degrees is clearly unacceptable. This is one of the reasons Delhi is no longer a contender for me working there.

I reached the hostel with great difficulty and finally dropped dead on the bed. I dreamt.

I had a dream, the German dream... It took long to realize it. It was difficult. What a journey! I didnt wanna meet the President of the US or stuff like SRK wanted in "My name is Khan", but this journey was pretty difficult too.

For the record: My name is Chaudhary...

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Plan and effect!

I am sitting here at the Delhi Airport, waiting for the next flight for Mumbai... I cant help but replay the 8 months that I have spent in MDI.

My work there is done. I have the MDI degree. Quite frankly, I didnt think I would be able to. I would be lying if I say that I didnt think about running off from Delhi into the cosy, humid confines of Mumbai everytime MDI pushed me into a corner and boxed the daylights out of me. It is BY FAR the TOUGHEST MBA course in the country. We read these posts about IIM guys trying to justify how tough their life is, and end up laughing... If this course had gone for another 8 months, (along with some basic physical training) we would have been ready to take down the entire Al Quaeda Army or something.

I remember what all I had planned before I cam here. Some plans:

-Will watch one movie everyday.
-Will watch lots of sitcoms
-Will learn to play tennis
-Will go running around the campus every morning (I later changed it to evening, who ll get up in the morning yaar?)
-Will try to learn, rather than score marks
-Will get to know more about the culture of Delhi
-Will learn more about people in Delhi
-Will be a better friend
-Will be the coolest guy I know (I have always been that)
-Will try out new things
-Will try local cuisine

Now lets see if the plans materialized or not. Some effects:
-Watch one movie everyday??! I would consider myself lucky if I could see one in a week. The schedule is killing. Sleep doesnt come easy even to someone like me who values it a lot!
-Well, I did manage to watch a few seasons of a couple of sitcoms.
Fell in love with 'That 70s show' and 'Seinfeld'. Saw a bit of Scrubs too.
- Learn to play tennis? Just got enough time for a game. Nailed a German friend of mine in that game. Okay, thats a lie. I am awesome, but not Rajnikanth.
-Hmm.. I did run around the campus, but to submit reports, assignments etc.
-I did a better job of learning than what I did in engineering. Infact, I am kinda proud of myself :)
-Got to know the culture of Delhi... loved it..
-Got to know the people, loved them even more.
-I think this time I was better friend than what I normally have. I will leave this one for the friends at MDI.
-I AM the coolest guy I know, so no surprises there.
-Tried out a lot of new things... lots..
-fell in love with the local cusine - rajma chawal, kadhi chawal, paneer kulcha, tandoori parathe, steamed sweet potates, veg momos, wai-wai, chole bature etc etc

So, some of my plans have been realized, others not. The ones requiring time, have been difficult to realize.

What is the point of this post? Abbe? Har time story hi chahiye kya? Sometimes hamari bhi sun liya karo!

Anyway, time for my flight.

Take care. Have fun.
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Captcha

Had to finally turn on the captcha settings on blogger...
There were way too many spam comments coming.. Which means I am damn popular... Not that you didnt know about it already...
So now that I have blown my own trumpet and played a jingle on the banjo... I need to work on this Branding project..
Just want you guys to know that commenting on this blog will require you guys to fill a captcha from now on... I am so sure comments on this blog are gonna reduce.. esp Hiren's and Aroop's comments... Lazyasses, I tell u..
Enjoy...
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Marigold : A short story

Firstly, sorry for my absence from the blogworld. It has been a hectic time for me. Sleep deprivation has been rampant. In this cold, going to take a bath has been like going to war. Times flies here, yet, at the end of the day if you ask me - aaj kya kiya? I would be at loss of words. These are my last days at MDI, before I leave for Germany so I want to enjoy these days fully. Will let you know more about these adventures.
Anyway, my friends have been wanting me to write a romantic story, so here goes. For all you people out there...

Note: I am deviating from the usual love stories and entering into a much serious domain. Hope I do justice to the story.

Short Story


It was quite a time to be born... India was being born, breaking the shackles of 150 years of British rule.

The year was 1945. I used to stay in Multan with my parents. I was 20 years old then, studying in the local Arts college. I was majoring in English. My father was of the opinion that the British are successful because they know English. My father was a zamindar, which is an euphemism for calling him a British puppet who took money from poor Indians and forwarded it to the Government, the English government that is, in the process getting a hefty commission...My grandfather gave up zamindari when he saw how exploitative the practice was.

I never wanted to study B.A. , in fact I didnt want to study at all... I wanted to be a painter.

The reason why I stayed in college was because of Tasleen. Tasleen was this girl who lived in the house next to my house. We didnt have a flat system then, every family owned a house, one with a courtyard, backyard and a terrace... Her terrace had a small garden in which grew lovely Marigolds.

In the winters, it would get very cold. In Delhi, winter is a lot less harsh compared to Multan. In the mornings, I would study on the terrace to soak in the sunlight... She would come on her terrace with a pitcher of water to water the plants.

Her beauty was unparalleled. I had never seen anything as beautiful as her... Her long hair, her slender frame, the way she gracefully bent to water the plants... Only the marigolds in her Garden could try to match her beauty... but would still fail...

I would hide behind the book I was reading/pretending to read and would catch a glimpse or two. Those days we could not leer at girls (though we wanted to). It was considered impolite.

She would never even look at me. She was 2 years younger to me, I had been to a boys school next to her school, I was now her senior in college, I had been her neighbour since ages now, but I had never got an opportunity to talk to her. Whenever I had to go to her house to get some curd or sugar, her mother would open the door and usher me into the house. She would treat me to samosas and jalebis but there would be no sign of Tasleen. Come to think of it, Tasleen's mother was beautiful too. You could see where Tasleen got her looks from...
And now here we were, just 50 meters away from each other, separated only by a terrace wall and she wouldn't even acknowledge my presence.

Those days these local goons would wait outside the college gates to tease girls. Most of us, that included me, were scared of them. One day, she was walking back home from college. She was probably the prettiest girl in college and quite naturally a target for the thugs to tease. I was walking behind her at a distance. At first, the teasing was only verbal. Then one of the guys touched her dupatta. I was furious. I ran towards her and held her hand and stood as a shield in front of her. I told them that the girl was my neighbor's daughter and it was my duty to escort her to her house. My voice was shaky, trembling... but the words and my intent were clear. They let us go.

All the time that we were walking, her eyes were transfixed on the ground. Mine were transfixed on her. I was walking withing three feet of Tasleen. It was a dream come true. She left without without even saying a thank you. Come to think of it, why should she, she was doing me a favour walking with me...

I kept thinking about her all day. Books, studies, groceries, bicycles... they all seemed so unimportant right now.. I went to the terrace to clear my thoughts and there she was, drying her long hair. There is something lovely about a girl's wet hair... I kept staring at her... She looked at me... and smiled...

I graduated in the summer of 1946. My father got me a job in a college in Amritsar. I didnt want to go. But his decision was final. At least that is what I had been told ever since I was a kid. Though he always wanted the best for me, then, I couldnt help think that he was any different from those thugs outside college who impose their will.

That hot afternoon, when everyone was asleep, she came to the door of my house and said,
"Are you going to leave for Amritsar?"
That was the first full sentence I had heard from her mouth. I kept looking at her.
"Are you?" She asked again.
"Yes." I answered.
"Don't."
I kept quiet. I didnt know what to say.
"Please don't leave." She said.
She had tears in her eyes. She didnt get an answer.



It was 45 degrees outside. I kept my suitcase on the cycle rickshaw. I was supposed to catch the train at the station to Amritsar. I looked at her terrace, she wasnt there... The cyclewala started to pedal the rickety rickshaw... I looked behind at her door, for the last time... The rickshaw set into motion.. Her door opened... She walked out.. barefoot, in that scorching heat... She kept looking at me, like she would never see me again...

It turned out to be true... I never did see her again.

Her family left Multan, which became a part of Pakistan after the partition of 1947. Someone told me that they sold off the house in Multan. Where did they go, nobody knew.

I knew, if I found marigolds in a garden, trying to be more beautiful than they actually are, as if competing with someone, that would be her garden...

That story...

In 1994, my Grandson, Surabh, completed his M.S. from the US. He found the love of his life there. They wanted to get married...

While raising up my son, I had been very liberal. I tried hard to be not like my father. My son became a scientist. He now heads the ISDRO for the Government of India. I think he got Sheila's brains.

I got married to Sheila in 1950. I searched for Tasleen in Delhi, Amritsar and Chandigarh for 3 years. Eventually I had to concede to the demands of my mother. She wanted me to get married.

Sheila was lovely. She was intelligent, elegant and kind. She was everything that a man would want in a woman. I lost her 5 years ago. A huge void was left in my heart.

I still couldnt help feeling that I had wronged Tasleen. Her "Please don't leave." would echo in my head. Maybe I didnt search for her right, or maybe I didnt give it enough time. I should have had searched more...

When Surabh came back from the US, I could see he was lovestruck.
"You really love her, huh?" I asked.
The frank and friendly relationship that I shared with him allowed me to be that intrusive.
"Yeah baba. I really do." He said.
"So wont you show your baba her photo?" I said jokingly.
But I forgot he was my grandson and equally jocular.

He pulled out an old photo of a small girl of 3 or 4 years old out of his wallet.
"See, this is my girl, her name is Pritha" he said pointing to her.
I removed my spects from my shirt pocket to see.
"And this, is her grandma." He pointed to a old lady who was playing with the girl in the photo.

I looked closely at the woman in the photo...

"Could I meet Pritha?"
"Ofcourse, we are going there on Sunday. Mom and Dad want to meet her too..."

On Sunday, I dressed in my best suit. Carried my best cane. The woman in the photo was none other than Tasleen. I couldnt believe I had finally found her.. and how! My grandson fell in love with her granddaughter! And that too half a world away...

I bet her grand daughter was as pretty as her. No wonder Surabh fell for her.

Our car parked outside their bungalow. We walked through the garden. The garden had the loveliest marigolds I had seen in a long long time. I knew they were competing. And this house had two pretty women they had to compete with...

We entered the living room. Surabh helped me sit on the sofa. I was excited for a 70 year old and I guess, it showed.

I waited for Tasleen to come out. Would she be happy to see me after so many years? What will I say to her?

A photo on the wall caught my eye. It was Tasleen's photo...she looked so beautiful... the photo had a garland of Marigolds around it.

I had found her... I had lost her... A tear rolled down my cheek...

That story...

Dedicated to Sulabh Kakkar, a friend, whose Grandfather had to leave their hometown in Multan in the partition of 1947.


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MDI Roundup

Hello to all the dudes. And love to all the girls who have been visiting this page everyday for the past 1 month. Well all your wishes have come true. I am here.

I am done with my exams... for now atleast. Within 4 weeks, they ll come back knocking on my door.. like those seniors knocking on our door in the induction week (read here), to wake us up at 4:30 for the yoga session.

After almost an age and a half, I slept for 10 straight hours. I woke up to a huge breakfast. Slept again. Took a bath, more than a record 25 minutes. Slept again. Woke up for a heavy lunch. And now I am here. Sitting outside my room facing the terrace, enjoying the warmth of the Sun and the chill of the evening air, and thanking God for inventing Wi-Fi.

The funny thing about this post is that I was supposed to write it last month, when my last exams got over. But I slept then, because I was sleep deprived. Once the weekend after the exams gets over, you never get time to do anything. Now this may seem to be a usual MBA cliche. But in this case, its not.

Heard MBA guys whine about scarcity of time and lack of sleep? Well, those guys have 14 lectures a week... We at International Management(IM) at MDI, have 26 lectures a week! More lectures also mean more assignments, more quizzes and more exams! And that is why we have exams every 4 weeks, but they get a good month and a half before every exam. Compared to my life, the normal life that MBA students live around the country live is Disneyland. And this crib is in line with my philosophy - What I do is more difficult than what you do! :P

So all those guys who are mad at me for not being able to comment on their blogposts, I rest my case.

But this isnt a crib post, this post is a feel good post... feel good for YOU that is! But seriously, MDI isnt all about hard work... umm.. it is actually.. But its majorly IM who has it so bad, but then they get to study and work abroad, proving Timberlake's age-old line of thought- "what goes around comes back around" :P

I have a stack of unread Economic times on my table that I plan to read. I have been collecting them since a week now. Last week, I didnt really get the time.
Today, after my bath, I cut my nails. It took me only 10 minutes. Believe me you, I had been planning when to cut them all week. After I was done, I wondered, why was I actually planning a thing this trivial?! Then I realised, its all about priorities.. Its always a tradeoff...

What do I do? Should I read that article I had been planning to or should I shave my 3 day old stubble? Should I sleep for another 20 minutes or research on that assignment. Should I read the newspaper or work on that ppt slide? Should I study over the weekend or join the folks over for a trip to Kasauli? Everything, you see, is a tradeoff..

But its not always bad. Sometimes I choose a trip to Kasauli(a hill station near Shimla) over studying. And its great fun... Come to think of it, even reading and studying and working on projects isnt too bad. Actually its kinda fun. You have to be creative and different from your peers. There isnt anything thats right or wrong, there are just different ways of doing it.

Now for example, this is something that I plan to work on - "The ratio in which the fairer sex checks itself out in the mirror, compared to the male, when presented with an opportunity"

You will be amazed by how nerdy I am gonna sound for the next para or so. I can already see the girls who used to hide behind trees to have a glimpse of me turning their laptops off. But dont. Listen to this.
The other day, in the 15 minute break that we get between serial lectures, I was having coffee, resting my already tired body, tired beacuse of attending 4 lectures on the trot, against the wall facing the door of the building. For the MDI guys who are reading this post, the building I am talking about is 'Lakshya', the building where all the International Management guys attend their lectures. This is a centrally AC building. It has reflective glass doors. The ones that allow the people inside the building to see the ones who are outside, but not vice-versa.

So I was standing opposite to the door. One door was open, the other was closed. As people entered the building I noted that they looked at the close door. Some just look, some touch their hair. But something was peculiar about this. The girls did this more. I was confused for like a minute. But then the coffee kicked in. I realised they are looking at their own reflection in the glass door.

I got half the class to stand with me and predicted who will look to the left(the girls) and who wont(the guys). Well, needless to say, it was a rage. I declared that only girls look at the mirror when presented an opportunity. Foreign girls go out of their way to look at their image. Some of them actually stop and pose and stuff! Well guys dont look at themsleves. But this notion was ruined by the French and the Italian guys who entered the building and not only looked at themselves but also fixed their hair. I am in the International relations committee of MDI and know these guys by their first names and nationalities. My next aim to find which part of what country they belong to. Btw, some Indian guys also looked at themselves as they entered. We now exercise caution against them. :P

Taking this research forward(yes, I am taking this very seriously) I conducted the same research in the break after the morning lecture. It turns out that lesser people looked at their reflection. So now I am very interested.

I want to conduct a full fledged research on this. Any corporate house interested in sponsoring this research(inclusive of the coffee bills) can contact me.

What good is this research gonna bring to the society you ask?

Well, due to the varied sample size - we can understand the impact of different cultural attributes on the behaviour of the masses of different regions of the world and the different ways in which this impact manifests itself.

I have learnt in my 4 months of MBA training that your answers to stupid questions must be more than 3 lines in length and equally stupid.

Anyway, I have solved the purpose of this post, which was to clean the webs hanging off its ceiling and treating you guys to some quality(?) blogging. Now that I saved the day, I should go off to my 3rd short nap of the day(I am making some kinda record here).

Thanks & Regards,(something I learnt here)
Arshat.
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