Part III: An MBA’s profit maximization coupling strategy.
Two years after my expulsion, I finally managed to get a fake BE Graduation certificate from Charminar locality at Hyderabad. Priya never answered any of my e-mails and e-greeting cards during the past two years, so I created a fake account under her name at orkut.com and filled up her album with pictures of Pamela Anderson and Paris Hilton. That would serve her right not to mess with my heart. Yeah!
I decided to go for an MBA. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew a guy who knew a guy who had a cousin whose girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s sister had an MBA degree, and that was a reason good enough for me to study for MBA.
Life at the MBA College was much more interesting than at the Engineer College. For starters, the ratio of male to female was 5-1 compared to 50-1 in Engineering. And then, there’s the case of the gullible females. The chicks at the MBA College were much more liberal and easy going than in Engineering. For example, to take out one of my classmates (female) to CCD for a cup of coffee, all I had to do was write her assignment, design her presentation, wash her dirty laundry, run errands for her at the library, loan her boyfriend a couple of dough, sweep her room, wash her boyfriend’s car and occasionally delivery food from the hostel canteen to her room. Simple as that! In other words, they are such sluts. But still, I guess I can handle them.
There was one particular girl who caught my eye in class. Her name was Sarah. Even though she never admitted it, I knew at once that she was completely crazy over me. After all, how can you explain the fact that she wore light blue jeans to class whenever I wore my light blue jeans, and that whenever she had to speak to me, she always called me by my name first. At first I was a bit creeped out, but then, I guess that’s what love is all about.
So I told my friends that we were a couple. They all just laughed at me. Even when news of her engagement with another guy (a senior) became a cause of celebration within our campus, I never went for the party. After all, I knew she was just doing all that to make me jealous. Hah. Me, jealous? Never. That night I went over to her room to set things right. Her room was locked from the inside and I could hear some strange kind of screams coming from within. I guessed she was watching a movie. I went back to my room.
Sarah and I were like the Market Equilibrium in a Demand and Supply curve. I demand, and she supply. There might be an infinite elasticity in the demand during the long-run, but for the short-run I don’t care if Eb = Qb/Pm. I love her. Even if the Marginal Revenue Costs added up in my Budget Line do not equate to my Income, I could still make things work out for the two of us.
If only she could become an asset of mine, the shareholder’s equity of my fragile heart would always have a share premium at the end of every Quarter. My Balance Sheet would never display any Liabilities, yet our love would balance all that, never mind the Profit & Loss account. Such would be the power of our love!
We made such a perfect Synergy. It was as if she was Segmented, Targeted and Positioned just for me alone. My Consumer Behavior was pretty obvious: love love and more love. She didn’t have to spend anything on Advertising or Sales Promotion; she had already set up a Brand Loyalty within me. In a 2x2 chart of love and care, I would occupy all 4 Quadrants.
Then one day, we had another celebration in the hostel campus. It was a big party. There was free beer and cigarettes distributed everywhere, and music blasting from the hostel party grounds. Sarah and Joseph were getting married in the middle of the Semester. I packed my bags that night and left the Institute, never looking back even once.
Part IV: UPSC competitive love affair.
Medical was a flop. Engineering was a flop. MBA was a flop. I now turn to my last resort: preparing for the All India Civil Service Exams, also known as the UPSC exams. Studying political science and a whole bunch of new subjects was much more interesting than I thought.
Plus, there was Zuali, a cute chick from Mizoram in the same UPSC coaching class. She was an epitome of grace and beauty. Even though she never scored high marks in the tests, I knew that she wanted me, badly. She always used to smile at me in class. Which girl of a sane mind does that? She was completely smitten by my alluring UPSC charm. Seriously, no girl can resist a guy with vast knowledge in geography, history and political science. They get turned on by conversational topics such as the Amendments to the Constitution, structure of the Government & Economic policies of British Empire in India, the effects of the Radhaswami movement on the Bramo Samaj, and the Areas of Kharif & Rabi crop cultivation at the Deltaic alluvium soil etc etc.
Those are the topics that drive any women crazy with lust and desire. Add a couple of topics on Habeas Corpus, DPSP, budget report and SEZ’s, and they are like putty in your hands. That’s what my mentor here at the UPSC coaching center used to tell me. He’s 45 years old, and still single. I guess he’s single by choice, taking into consideration his extreme smoothness when it comes to the opposite sex.
That was the same case with Zuali. I knew she couldn’t resist such a charm. My classmates tell me the only reason she smiles at me is because we are from the same place. They’re just jealous. Every time before attempting a particular question, she would close her eyes… I knew she was thinking of me right then. So I too started closing my eyes and thinking of her before every question. It felt… kinda nice and at the same time weird. Nice because her face was in my mind, and weird because I’ve been sitting in the exam center for nearly an hour and I haven’t attempted anything yet.
Anyway, I decided to write a love letter to her. And to make sure history does not repeat itself (Read Part 1), this time I made sure I did not threaten to kill her if she rejects my love proposal. I didn’t mention anything about throwing acid at her face either. My cousin told me those are wrong things to mention in a love letter.
So during class one day, I wrote her a letter. I tried to be as romantic as possible, because not only was UPSC my last resort, Zuali could very well be my last resort girlfriend. I told her that if I had the qualification, with more than 2/3 majority in both the Lok Sabha and the Rajya Sabha, and ratification by more than 14 of the State Legislatures of the Indian Union, then I would introduce a Constitutional Amendment Bill at either House of the Parliament, to add a new provision in the Fundamental Rights, namely, the Right to love Zuali only by Kima.
She read the letter. She laughed. She showed it to her friends. They all laughed. One of them published it on the internet. Everybody who visited her blog site laughed. Later I even received an email forward from one of my friends with the subject: CHECK THIS DOOFUS OUT! In it, was my letter to Zuali. In spite of all the laughter, I still fail to see the humor in it. This World does not understand romance any more. Romance is dead. Screw them all.
Two days later, I threw acid on Zuali’s face. I am now in cell number 56 at Tihar Jail, New Delhi. My ass hurts like hell. Still, I will not give up on love. There is this inmate who has been giving me the eye since I came here. His name is Rajesh. Tomorrow I will approach him during recreation time, but that will be another story to fill…
The End.
Two years after my expulsion, I finally managed to get a fake BE Graduation certificate from Charminar locality at Hyderabad. Priya never answered any of my e-mails and e-greeting cards during the past two years, so I created a fake account under her name at orkut.com and filled up her album with pictures of Pamela Anderson and Paris Hilton. That would serve her right not to mess with my heart. Yeah!
I decided to go for an MBA. I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew a guy who knew a guy who had a cousin whose girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s sister had an MBA degree, and that was a reason good enough for me to study for MBA.
Life at the MBA College was much more interesting than at the Engineer College. For starters, the ratio of male to female was 5-1 compared to 50-1 in Engineering. And then, there’s the case of the gullible females. The chicks at the MBA College were much more liberal and easy going than in Engineering. For example, to take out one of my classmates (female) to CCD for a cup of coffee, all I had to do was write her assignment, design her presentation, wash her dirty laundry, run errands for her at the library, loan her boyfriend a couple of dough, sweep her room, wash her boyfriend’s car and occasionally delivery food from the hostel canteen to her room. Simple as that! In other words, they are such sluts. But still, I guess I can handle them.
There was one particular girl who caught my eye in class. Her name was Sarah. Even though she never admitted it, I knew at once that she was completely crazy over me. After all, how can you explain the fact that she wore light blue jeans to class whenever I wore my light blue jeans, and that whenever she had to speak to me, she always called me by my name first. At first I was a bit creeped out, but then, I guess that’s what love is all about.
So I told my friends that we were a couple. They all just laughed at me. Even when news of her engagement with another guy (a senior) became a cause of celebration within our campus, I never went for the party. After all, I knew she was just doing all that to make me jealous. Hah. Me, jealous? Never. That night I went over to her room to set things right. Her room was locked from the inside and I could hear some strange kind of screams coming from within. I guessed she was watching a movie. I went back to my room.
Sarah and I were like the Market Equilibrium in a Demand and Supply curve. I demand, and she supply. There might be an infinite elasticity in the demand during the long-run, but for the short-run I don’t care if Eb = Qb/Pm. I love her. Even if the Marginal Revenue Costs added up in my Budget Line do not equate to my Income, I could still make things work out for the two of us.
If only she could become an asset of mine, the shareholder’s equity of my fragile heart would always have a share premium at the end of every Quarter. My Balance Sheet would never display any Liabilities, yet our love would balance all that, never mind the Profit & Loss account. Such would be the power of our love!
We made such a perfect Synergy. It was as if she was Segmented, Targeted and Positioned just for me alone. My Consumer Behavior was pretty obvious: love love and more love. She didn’t have to spend anything on Advertising or Sales Promotion; she had already set up a Brand Loyalty within me. In a 2x2 chart of love and care, I would occupy all 4 Quadrants.
Then one day, we had another celebration in the hostel campus. It was a big party. There was free beer and cigarettes distributed everywhere, and music blasting from the hostel party grounds. Sarah and Joseph were getting married in the middle of the Semester. I packed my bags that night and left the Institute, never looking back even once.
Part IV: UPSC competitive love affair.
Medical was a flop. Engineering was a flop. MBA was a flop. I now turn to my last resort: preparing for the All India Civil Service Exams, also known as the UPSC exams. Studying political science and a whole bunch of new subjects was much more interesting than I thought.
Plus, there was Zuali, a cute chick from Mizoram in the same UPSC coaching class. She was an epitome of grace and beauty. Even though she never scored high marks in the tests, I knew that she wanted me, badly. She always used to smile at me in class. Which girl of a sane mind does that? She was completely smitten by my alluring UPSC charm. Seriously, no girl can resist a guy with vast knowledge in geography, history and political science. They get turned on by conversational topics such as the Amendments to the Constitution, structure of the Government & Economic policies of British Empire in India, the effects of the Radhaswami movement on the Bramo Samaj, and the Areas of Kharif & Rabi crop cultivation at the Deltaic alluvium soil etc etc.
Those are the topics that drive any women crazy with lust and desire. Add a couple of topics on Habeas Corpus, DPSP, budget report and SEZ’s, and they are like putty in your hands. That’s what my mentor here at the UPSC coaching center used to tell me. He’s 45 years old, and still single. I guess he’s single by choice, taking into consideration his extreme smoothness when it comes to the opposite sex.
That was the same case with Zuali. I knew she couldn’t resist such a charm. My classmates tell me the only reason she smiles at me is because we are from the same place. They’re just jealous. Every time before attempting a particular question, she would close her eyes… I knew she was thinking of me right then. So I too started closing my eyes and thinking of her before every question. It felt… kinda nice and at the same time weird. Nice because her face was in my mind, and weird because I’ve been sitting in the exam center for nearly an hour and I haven’t attempted anything yet.
Anyway, I decided to write a love letter to her. And to make sure history does not repeat itself (Read Part 1), this time I made sure I did not threaten to kill her if she rejects my love proposal. I didn’t mention anything about throwing acid at her face either. My cousin told me those are wrong things to mention in a love letter.
So during class one day, I wrote her a letter. I tried to be as romantic as possible, because not only was UPSC my last resort, Zuali could very well be my last resort girlfriend. I told her that if I had the qualification, with more than 2/3 majority in both the Lok Sabha and the Rajya Sabha, and ratification by more than 14 of the State Legislatures of the Indian Union, then I would introduce a Constitutional Amendment Bill at either House of the Parliament, to add a new provision in the Fundamental Rights, namely, the Right to love Zuali only by Kima.
She read the letter. She laughed. She showed it to her friends. They all laughed. One of them published it on the internet. Everybody who visited her blog site laughed. Later I even received an email forward from one of my friends with the subject: CHECK THIS DOOFUS OUT! In it, was my letter to Zuali. In spite of all the laughter, I still fail to see the humor in it. This World does not understand romance any more. Romance is dead. Screw them all.
Two days later, I threw acid on Zuali’s face. I am now in cell number 56 at Tihar Jail, New Delhi. My ass hurts like hell. Still, I will not give up on love. There is this inmate who has been giving me the eye since I came here. His name is Rajesh. Tomorrow I will approach him during recreation time, but that will be another story to fill…
The End.
