My Great American Dream

“Fiqrana ho ke hum jeeye, Khamakha hum jeeye na kyun

Beparwah ho ke hum jeeye, Khamakha hum jeeye na kyun”

Don’t worry. It’s not that I’ve taken a fascination for Akshay Kumar’s latest dud at the box office. It is just that I have no better words to sum up the ethos of the past three and a half months of my life in the capital of the world - a phase of meaninglessness, purposelessness, leisure and well, LIFE.

I still remember the day Mayur and I were having a discussion about my exchange program. While we had spent hours at length diagnosing the pros and cons of my escapade from IIM Bangalore for a good part of the 2^nd year of MBA, the bottom-line was surely not up for debate. This was going to be paradigm changing experience of my life. Has it been that way? Sure, and in ways more than one.

On my birthday on this 17^th of December, here are what I would like to call the 17 punctuation marks of my American story:

Bada hai to behtar hai (Big is better): In this country, size does matter. The very first sight I noticed as our British Airways flight was landing at the JFK on the 2^nd of September, was that of giant sized cars and goliathan trucks. Over the course of the next few days, I wintnessed “mini” cars that could have been called “sedans” by Indian standards, coffee mugs whose “Small” version was twice as large as their “Large” counterpart in India, burgers which had more stories than the BSE, and chips packets that were large enough to feed a family of four for a month. It seemed that the very definition of what human proportions are, was different. Don’t blame me if I ask for generous refills at my next restaurant visit.

Chalna hi zindagi hai (Walking is life): I never knew something as mundane and basic as the act of letting your feet hit the turf, could bring alive the joy of life. It sure helps when you see the world walking around you. Chinese, Japanese, Indians, Hispanics, Australians, Blacks – all resonating in lockstep with the pulse of the city, carrying a Dunkin’ Donuts or a Starbucks in their hand, an I-Pod plugged into their ears, and a thrall in their step – it is a sight that has framed itself in my memory.

Subway is not just a healthy sandwich store: This city survives on public transit. A staggering 55 percent of New Yorkers (around 5 million) commute to work everyday using the city’s subway system, which is not only the city’s lifeline but also one of the marvels of urban planning and management. Grapevine has it that they have enough underground capacity built in, into the initial plan (made in the 19^th century) that can serve the city for another century. With a subway map in hand, you are literally the king of Gotham – commuting to any place is just a card swipe away.

“Somebody went shopping”: These were the rhetorically twisted words that came out of Professor Murphy’s mouth as he saw me walk into his classroom with a “Toys R Us” bag. Such levels of informality with the professor are only remotely imaginable back home, where the power distance translates itself into making the teacher-student relationship a transactional one. Here, you may eat in class, sleep in class, leave when you so desire and still none of your actions would be seen as an insult on the person standing on the dais. Capitalism gives you the liberty to choose what you wish to do with your time. And surprisingly, after a few weeks of hangover from IIMB, I found myself sleep-immune in class. The ease with which our exams got preponed to accommodate our schedules, the friendliness of professors, but most of all, their humility despite all their knowhow – all this was pretty amazing for someone who has lived in a system that by its very imposing doctrine, drives you into mocking your professors, and forced attendance in classes.

Cynicism is a virtue: If I had to come up with a clever phrase, a “constructively destructive view of the world” is what this stint at Stern has endowed me with. A good teacher must necessarily be a cynic for he would not be able to challenge the minds of those being taught into questioning the status quo, if he himself were at peace with the way things are. Every professor here was a cynic, and the scathing sarcasm the likes of Yermack, Murphy and Damodaran let loose on corporate America, was stuff Russel Peters’ shows are made of.

Private Equity is a parallel universe: Till September, PE for me was this high-fangled world where strategy and finance apparently converged; it was a wondrous world where you could mint money faster than the reserve bank; it was stuff Chusli (Ankit) spoke about with his open arms. The notions of PE being a parallel universe, have been partially reinforced, and partially shattered. But it sure was the center of attention in two of the most electrifying courses here – Investment Banking and Restructuring Firms.

Damodaran is God: What’s that? It’s a bird. No, it’s a spaceship. No, it’s superman. Cut it out guys, its Aswath Damodaran. I had heard his name and its equity in the world of valuation before coming here. More often than not, things aren’t worth their hype. But studying valuation under the undisputed world authority in the subject, was an experience that far surpassed anything I had expected. When the Prince of Kolkata used to bisect the narrow gap between gully and backward point, they used to say – “On the off side, there’s God, and then there’s Ganguly”. Well, in valuation, there is no God, there’s only Damodaran.

Nights are for sleeping, so are floors: Nocturnal habits have long been a penchant of IITians. IIMites seem to be taking the art to a new level now, where 4 AM is the new 1 AM. But while New York never sleeps, I did, and in generous amounts. 10 hours was the norm, naps and subway sleepaways not included. The lack of a comfy mattress below me couldn’t stop me for pursuing the activity that is Mother Nature’s gift to mankind.

Cumin seeds are better than cumin powder: My biggest concern as I left Indian waters for such a long period was the one posed by my “sinful stomach” (translate that into Hindi). Vegetarianism will be a problem, they had said. They weren’t wrong. In a place where McDonalds’ only vegetarian offering is Coca Cola and a $10 vegetable roll in the US open tastes like the mangled remains of an MRF tyre, eating out is more pain than pleasure. But, necessity is the mother of invention, and also, experimentation. What began as a struggle to keep the rice from burning and the omelettes from turning into scrambled eggs, ended up as a series of culinary experiments where the guinea pig didn’t mind being fed food that was much more appetizing than anything the messes of IIT Roorkee or IIM Bangalore have offered me in the last 6 years. Call me a narcissist, but I’m a fan of my cooking now. And yes, cumin powder in daal is never as good as cumin seeds.

Social networking kills time faster than sleeping: When I had left for the US, my Facebook account had a barely three digit number in my friend list, ‘Twitter’ meant the activity that birds did, my blog had 9 posts in as many months of 2009 and I used to check my Orkut account once every 3-4 days. As I leave, my Facebook has 700 odd people in the friend list, I know how to use the ‘Notification’ tab and change settings for my account, Barkha Dutt regularly pollutes my Twitter page with her mind numbing frequency of tweets, my blog post per month average has quadrupled and I would have surely forgotten the password to my Orkut account, had it not been linked with Gmail.

East is always better than West: No, I’m not a spokesperson advocating for the supremacy of the culture and rituals of the East over the inhuman capitalism and imperialism of the West. I’m talking about the two coasts of America – one that I lived on, and the other was the venue of my longest and most enjoyable trip during these 4 months. LA was good, but the public transit system sucked. Too bad San Francisco could not be a part of our itinerary. But the most surprising element was how “being back to home” it felt as I returned to New York after that week long trip. Maybe the fact that I now know this city more than my hometown Lucknow has something to do with it. All said and done, East is better than the West, no double meanings intended.

Kuch hosh nahi rehta, Kuch dhyaan nahi rehta, Insaan Las Vegas mein, Insaan nahi rehta: For the benefit of those who do not know Hindi, the phrase means - You have neither consciousness nor memory, Human beings don’t remain human beings in Vegas. The crown jewel in this 4 month fiesta was the trip to a city that has no parallel in the world – the glittering oasis in the midst of the desert of Nevada. You see it in movies, you hear about it, but there is nothing like being in Vegas. The place will get to you. Troves of shining lights lined up one after another, the intermittent sounds of the counter stopping on a slot machine, the exulting cry of someone who just tripled his booty on the night and the despair of someone who lost a fortune in a drunken soiree – it all happens right here. And as they say – What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

The Mandrake hat called Internet: From repairing my laptop bugs to recipes for bhindi, from unlocking an I-Phone to purchasing a digital camera, from watching Sehwag take Lanka to the cleaners to seeing “Ajab Prem ki Ghazab Kahani” ten hours after its theatrical release – on this trip, the internet was my port of first resort, last resort, every resort. A new city became tractable, courtesy Google maps, friends didn’t stay distant and for once, my laptop didn’t turn off for weeks at length. God bless the US army for their miraculous invention.

Passions can be rediscovered, among other things: Running on a conveyor belt can often lead you into forgetting why you had set foot on the belt in the first place. This trip helped me get off the mindless flurry and take stock of where I stood. An empty mind may be a devil’s workshop, but it still is a workshop – a place for creativity. Old interests returned and old passions were reignited. Putting a night out to watch a Test innings may be considered blasphemy by IIMB standards, but watching cricket was never as much fun since the IPL-1 showdowns in the Ravindra Bhawan TV room at IIT Roorkee. Story writing proliferated, and some of you might have been victimized by my ramblings. New interests like cooking were engendered. And life came a full circle.

No booze, No party: Being a teetotaler in a land where booze is considered as normal as water, yet as mandatory as wearing clothes, is a hard task. My vow of teetotaling, taken a few months prior to leaving India was hence done away with, though the exorbitantly priced spirits meant that my enormous appetite for them was not unleashed. But it was interesting to notice that when I stood with a cranberry juice, people tended to behave as if I was a repulsive stinking street dog while the same people gravitated towards those that seemed to be out of their senses with amber liquids in their hands. Not quite unexpected in a nation where wine is a normal lunch time drink and where when a person says “Lets hang out”, it inevitably means the venue would be a bar.

Weekdays are weekdays, weekends are Weekends: Americans take their holidays seriously, and so did we. While weekdays are reserved strictly for work (Yes, it is not considered blasphemous if you are studying your notes in the lunch break), weekends is a time when people shun all work as if they were born to party. Just as festivals in India are synonymous with rituals, in the US it is synonymous with shopping. Stores post massive sales and discounts in the holiday season and people shop till they drop, literally. As I waited outside the world’s largest departmental store – the 34^th Street Macy’s, in the 4 AM freezing cold on Black Friday, I could barely see signs of recession among the enormous crowd surrounding me, waiting to get in, with huge bags in their hands. I was fortunate to be in the US for the onset of the festive season with Halloween, followed by Thanksgiving. Too bad I won’t be here for Christmas or New Year’s.

Swades and Pardes: As the time to depart came, I finally decided to pay heed to Mayur’s repeated exhortations of watching Swades, so that I get sentimental and start whining about returning to India. I did have a false start a couple of times but did not experience any irresistible urge to return to the homeland, as I was having way too much fun. Until today. On my way back after the last exam, I was, as customary, listening to music on my phone, while riding the subway. And the playlist serendipitously decided to shuffle the title song of the movie to the beginning of the list. Contrary to my usual reflex action of forwarding to the next song when I heard the beginning notes, I let it play. And a full five minutes later, I was overcome by an urge, though not a very strong one, to return home; to eat good Indian food that I don’t have to cook; to see my newborn niece; to talk in Hindi in public; to blow my 4.1 speakers in all their glory; to be able to call friends and family without incurring ISD charges; to be where the heart is.

This episode is coming to a close in the next few hours. A spate of challenges is awaiting me in that special place called IIMB, where human existence defies laws of humanity.

Looking back, I have no doubts about the fact that coming for this exchange program was one of the best decisions I made in my life. Given a choice, I would not want to relive the last three and a half months any differently, or in any other city for that matter. Gotham is what Gotham is – the capital of the world, and rightly so. I am still searching for a single word that can sum up my experience, but the closest I can say is that this sojourn has made me more “human”, if anything. I have started reliving my passions, pursuing my interests, talking to the people that matter, and have finally found a purpose in my life, which seemed to have been lost on me since the internship last summer. And all this after 4 months that can be safely termed as a haven of purposelessness.

These 100 odd days scripted an unforgettable chapter of my life, making the great American dream a reality for me. As I look at the ticking clock counting down my hours in this place, I am reminded of Don McLean’s words – “Bye Bye Miss American Pie…”