Students Corner- Opinions, Experiences and Expressions

Start-up: A Rebellion is Brewing!

“Am I doing the right thing?”, asked a little voice inside my head, as my hands were busy in the process of tearing my Placement I-card.

It was not that easy thing to do, considering the position that I was in.

It meant that I would no longer be eligible to seek a placement from my college’s placement process. It meant that I would walk as a jobless person at the end of my postgrad.

It meant that I would be living on my parent’s expenses for at least one more year. And don’t know, for how many more years to come.

But, to a person with a modest financial background and an orthodox family, it meant a lot more than that.

For me, it meant a rebellion. A battle-cry, signalling the impending, uncertain war ahead.

Scars were inevitable, both before and after the impeachment of this sacrosanct placement process.

“Your friends will earn in lacs. They will own good bikes, even cars (and shall have their girlfriends to sit on/in them). Achha ghar hoga, society me prestige hoga (they will own a good house, will have some reputation in the society), And you will do nothing? What will you have exactly?”

The typical Deewar dialogue was on a repeat in my head. But the irony was that I wouldn’t even have the support of my mom. Rather, my mom would be asking similar questions to me. Damn you, Shashi Kapoor, why did you have to say “Mere paas Maa hai?” Couldn’t you have said dreams, or passion or something else? (which I had my heart filled with).

“So, I’ll have to pay around 50K as a fine for opting out of the placement process at such a late stage. Plus, I can’t even opt for deferrals now and will have to write an apology letter as well. The bashing I’ll get from the placecomm, well that’s going to be a different thing altogether.”

My calculative mind was tormenting me, as I was throwing my torn I-card (and perhaps, shackles of slavery) into the waters of my favourite lake. A lake that gave me hope all the time, and was swallowing my possible, probable and predictable future too, as I stood there, shaking in fear, unaware of what I had just done.

“You will fail. You don’t have any experience. You need to get experience to start something of your own” My mind kept bugging me, as I walked on that red clay path, which appeared even redder that day.

“Red signifies danger. Red is bad. Red is asking you to stop this utter nonsense” Stupid mind of mine.

Perhaps, he had forgotten, red is also the color of a rebellion.

A rebellion, that was taking its shape inside of me.

A rebellion against “the usual”.

I started my bike and decided, this day will be written in the history of the entrepreneurship. That too in the golden words. On a silver paper. With a diamond pen. So, I thought.

So wrong was I! Stupid me.


After almost a year now, I still remember that day.

As my co-founder puts in his papers and jumps the boat in the most extravagant way possible, I still remember that day quite vividly. Just like it had happened yesterday.

As I decide to shut the shop, with shaking arms and reddened, I remembered that red clay road. Yes, perhaps, I mistook red for rebellion. Red means danger. DANGER.

As I pack my bags and say my final vows with the choked voice, I remember that torn paper. Did I end up tearing my future with that paper? It seems like I did!

As I let tears flow down my eyes and embrace my pain, without giving a single fuck (Note to editors: you can replace the F-word with ‘thought’) to the typical Bachchan dialogue “Mard ko dard nahi hota!”, I remember the water of that lake. It hadn’t looked convincing that day. Probably it was also shaking with fear, something I had mistaken as an effect of wind!

And as I leave the city where it all had started, I remember that day!

The one that should have been written in the history of entrepreneurship. In golden words. On a silver paper. With a diamond pen.

Perhaps the battle-cry wasn’t strong enough and should be dissolved in the wind.

Perhaps the impeachment was a mistake, and it should be forgotten.

Perhaps the scars were unnecessary and should be hidden.

Perhaps this is just a failed rebellion and should be buried, somewhere deep inside my heart.

Only, it shouldn’t be.

Because it’s not over, yet.

As I embark on a new journey, the dream, the rebellion is taking a breather.

It’s getting bolder, and more ambitious with every passing moment.

One day, it will come back again, with a bigger battle-cry, with a bigger impeachment, will demand bigger sacrifices and award me with bigger scars. The rebellion will be bigger, and so shall the size of courage that will embrace it again.

One day, it will all come back again, and that day, I’ll be better equipped to deal with the monstrosity of my dreams.

And when that day will come, it will be written in the history of the entrepreneurship.

That too in the golden words.

On a silver paper.

With a diamond pen.

Abhishek Kshirsagar, PGP 2017-19


Case for the Mornings

I am a morning person, so it has never been easy to work late nights. But that’s what I have been doing for two weeks now. The day ends at 5 am. And then the lectures start at 10 am. And to deal with every day, “Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.”

But then that’s what you’re supposed to do when you are working with five night-owls who have mastered the art of nyctophilia, isn’t it?

As it turns out, it depends. More precisely, it depends on how I adjust the clock. If I avoid daylight and move the clock to follow the time zone in Newfoundland, I can follow my preferred schedule. And more importantly, not miss out on any of the marathon project meetings. After all, that’s what life is all about, right?

– Arun Nayan Singh, PGP 2018-20



Words for Thought – How much is too much?

I used to wonder, what is it like, to have everything that you ever wanted in life. To live a moment free from desires, free from ambitions, free from the need to do anything for the day. The perfect moment of content. Is it even worthy to be content to saturate for a moment? Is there peace in it? Is there happiness, or is it just nothingness?

As I contemplate beside my window trying to find the meaning of success, I realise that this is the moment when I have all I can ask for, and it’s one of those sporadic times, when you feel free, free from everything. I suddenly realise that gaining all the materialistic pleasures that I craved or having all the time I want in my life just made things mundane.

Ever had a moment when you have all that you want and need in your life. Believe me in my experience that is overrated. If you ever had that moment, you’ll realise that it’s just the imperfections that lend excitement to life, or else it’s just empty. Even with the person, you are blessed to have, even with the goals you wanted to achieve and with all the possessions you needed, and you realise that having everything and nothingness isn’t that different.

Then you start to introspect of a storm, something that’s soon to come as you always know that there’s dark before Dawn and after too. Or is it that you have attained a level of freedom to look at the bright spots in life and concentrate on them to push darkness at its bay. So, the question of success is somewhat related to what you don’t have as well as when you do have things. The irony is, even in that moment of content, you may find the fear of loss lurking nearby.

Aninda Halder, PGP 2017-19


Falling in Love!

15th June 2018

A notification from my Google calendar appears on the laptop. It is 8:30 in the morning. A minute later I close my laptop, switch off the lights in my room and then walk towards the mess. I am not yet habitual to the path from my room to the mess. I am cautious. I don’t want to be lost.

I walk slowly, looking for the clues to remember. There is a water purifier as I enter the corridor connecting four old blocks to the mess. Luckily there is only one of its kind on my way. One of its tabs does not work properly, however it serves its purpose for me. The corridor runs in a zig-zag fashion with high stone walls running alongside. I have not been to the top floors, except on the very first day, when the washrooms in the ground floor were locked. I wish I will never have to go up there again. Precisely, I don’t want to stay anywhere other than my room on the ground floor. My room is pretty good. There is a whiteboard in my room. I know how I am going to use it. There are many beautiful plants outside my window. I look at them for a minute or two every day. They make me smile. In just a few days, I have embraced this place as my home.

The corridor is long. A likeable place to play serendipity. The stones in the wall are bigger than the ones I saw in Jodhpur. Unfamiliar faces cross me on the way. Some never seen faces, and some cute ones! This place is astoundingly beautiful. Next to every block there is a garden or a playground. I can’t see a way to walk into the garden. Maybe it’s too dark. Block playgrounds are better lit comparatively. Two poles in black and white, as I see them from bottom to top, stand aloof to each other. The net between them is dead, lost in the soil. Safe in a place where it came from. Perhaps that is life. After another hostel block, there is L- square. There is nothing like L about it though. I don’t think much, now that I have come to the mess, only food should concern me.

I know the food will be good. In the last two days I have been served delicious food. Unlike my boarding school where some days food was so bad that I preferred not eating, this place has not disappointed me. I hope it will never.

Sagar Anand, PGP 2018-20




Knocking the window

Are two tired eyes

Asking for help,

Frustrated; yet tries.


The need is desperate,

And the effort persistent,

But I could not stand beside.

But I could not say no.

Where do I stand?

Should I extend my hand?

But just standing besides,

makes the person try even more.


I could not stand beside.

I could not say no.

The dilemma makes me indifferent.

But deep down, I am torn.

I wanted to stand besides,

I wanted to calm the eyes.

But the traffic signal turned green.

And the hand, full of goodies, shied away.


Pallabi Chakraborty, PGP 2018-20