MBA – The Rat Race


1. Familiarity with basic C/C++
2. Appetite for sarcasm
3. Low self-esteem



The situation:

The despicable third year awakens you out of your deep slumber namely the past 2 years in college. You feel that you were hungover all this time and suddenly life came up with lemons. You are struck down with the life-defining questions of which career to choose, which coaching institutes to join and whether to text that douchebag boyfriend of yours.

for(int i=0; i<=Summer break before 3rd year; i++)


You think. You take frequent breaks. You eat. You continue eating. You salivate while watching Masterchef. You try to think again but decide to trouble your dog by hiding his food. You are engaged in a dogfight (pun intended). You think again.


Enter friend:

Your friend has achieved worldly wisdom. He has completed his thought process and zeroed in on the things he wishes to accomplish. You blame the dog who distracted you. Legit enough.

The talk:

Stop giggling. It’s the different talk. *the kids these days* Let me rephrase:

The MBA talk:

The omnipresent word is enunciated. Your friend has decided to do an MBA. He has weighed the pros and cons and counted the number of hot girls in his dream college. He strokes his beard, shows unabashed confidence and lives in blissful ignorance that now his life is sorted out. *Poor fella*

Thinking Phase part 2:

You plug in Kesha vociferous music and try to figure out what you might want to do for the rest of your life. Well, you hear a small voice in your head saying ‘MBA’ but it is overshadowed by the protuberant voice saying ‘FOOD’. You shuffle the songs while balancing your midnight snack.

Days…… :

Your neighbour. Your ‘supposedly’ best friend. The guy you stole food from. The girl wearing neon shoes. The social pariah. Your aunt’s second cousin’s sister’s brother’s son. All enrolled in MBA coaching institutes. On a completely unrelated topic, Ravindra Jadeja is bowling the last over while Rohit Sharma is cheering him. You shout profanities and write a Facebook status that Dhoni is a promiscuous bitch. Then you decide to check out coaching institutes. On Facebook.

You do the Maths:  You need a 1.7 crore package. Highest package of IIM-A is 2.5 crores.

Defining statement 1: 2.5>1.7

Defining Statement 2: 

79.24% of your batch has been allured by the glamour of the MBA coaching institutes. (The rest 37% you cant stalk on facebook) (yes, you are bad at maths too)

That satisfaction:

You have unwittingly stumbled upon the greatest truth – You want to do an MBA and that North Campus has the best shawarmas in Delhi. (The vegetarians can scoff but then again, I am not really a fan of salads.)

The excitement:

You want to join a coaching institute to pursue your lifelong dream of doing an MBA. You plan excursions with your little friends and with the intent of visiting and critically analyzing each coaching institute. You end up groggy and drunk after indulging in big-time retail therapy. You join the institute where your friends are holed up. The institute boasts of Maximum Facebook likes and the funniest trolls. You are satisfied with life.

The relief:

You figure out that you have done your part and then re-enter into the assuring world of daydreams bordering lunacy. You are accepted in your group as you have trodden the frequented path. Damn that Rober Frost. Stupid jackass with lots of time up his sleeves. Well, then again he didn’t have MBA coaching. *you give out an audible yet superior sigh* You being a magnanimous soul shed fake concerns for those who didn’t join any coaching institute. You look with pity and share your burger as an attempt to cheer them up. You try to help the disillusioned chaps who still believe in dreams by listing out the noticeable advantages of MBA coaching.

You list out rule:

Join MBA coaching institute ∞ being successful in life *neglecting effect of passion, dreams and other unmentionables*

They try to argue with reasonable and scientific explanations but you brush them aside and brand them as irrationals fools.

The grind:

You are handed study material which can make environmentalists shout in horror on viewing the brazen callousness of paper abuse. You try to work out the problems, pay attention, maintain separate registers, read the moronic Hindu while still eyeing the chick sitting next to you. You come to terms with the fact that a man can’t multitask. You decide to ask the chick whether she knows the answer to question 6. For those who still are unfamiliar with love manoeuvres, there is no question 6.

The story continues:

You see people obsessing about Investment Banking. You google the terms. Highest package = 6 crore 6>2.5>1.7

} while ( you discover your fallacies || you get laid)


1. Thou shall not quote/abuse/mock/jeer the desultory author and her rambling ways when you encounter her running frantically to her merciless class on the 3rd floor.

2. Thou shall shower compassion as she herself hasn’t joined anything and naïvely believes in dreams and passion bullshit.

3. Thou are welcome to offer free food to the pitiable soul.