(Dedicated to the wonderful faculty members of the 9 IBS Business Schools spread across the length and breadth of India. Jai Hind!)
– Surjyabrat Buragohain; 26/02/2017
Elite and erudite commandos
Descended from the Hyderabad skies;
Divided by geographies
United by IBS,
So many colours merging into oneness!
From eight directions they came
With reputation and global fame!
Buses and car loads of candidates
Swarmed the lawns every morning.
‘Papa kehte hain bada naam karega,
Beta hamara IBS mein padhega;
Magar yeh toh koyi na jaane
GD aur PI mein hota hain kya…’
This IBS legacy
Has taken us to glory,
And will go down in history
For the unity in diversity!
Thus began our annual IBS mela
With thousands of footfalls,
Tons of hopes; 10,000 MW of smiles,
No one here is akela.
Truly represent the academia;
In good company we conduct
GD, PI and the paraphernalia!
Last year PI was the status symbol.
We prayed for it,
Longed and lusted for it;
Contagious was the PI fever.
But this season GD was the flavour.
To avoid PI, well before sunrise
Scholars recite sankatmochan
Wise men with grey hairs demand
Senior citizen’s quota;
Demonetization, bullet trains, cloning,
Advertising, and corporate ethics,
We prefer to sit through the day
Listening to these topics!
If you are air dropped sans a parachute,
You are in PI soup.
Your emotions would give away
While having your chai.
But some sessions of PI
Can give you a real high.
When Britain ‘departed from Europe’
It is known as BREXIT;
And it is their prerogative
Where they go…
US, Africa, or, Mexico!
Candidates not only take away your chocolates,
They also take account of your age,
Like Caribbean pirates!
As the evening sets in
And a billion stars shine,
Under the moonlit sky
Many a things we try;
Some go for a stroll like a rolling stone,
Some search for paranormal activities
Amidst the darkest cavities,
Some take the opportunity
To burn their calories.
Some try to spot the satellites,
Others take selfies under the street lights.
At 7pm sharp, under the floodlights
You will find a good professor
Who loves cricket;
But never finds the eleven
Around his wicket.
As others would rest to overcome ‘thakaan’
He would resort to ‘Lagaan’ –
‘Arre Tipu, yeh konu muskil khel nehi hain…
Gore din mein khelte hain
Aur hum GD, PI ke baad!’
Some prefer to sleep
Until the next daylight.
Some would plan for a night
Of gastronomical delight.
Some would have migraine to fight.
Others go for a shopping spree,
And this lonely, poor poet
Would sit under a mango tree
To pen down poetry…
Dreaming of paradise
And its plates full of ‘biryani!’
Thus for ten long days
Away from the loved ones and family,
But heart and soul firmly united,
With full might
We conduct the surgical strike!
And meticulously execute
So flawless and tight.
No need for six sigma or an ISO,
We all naturally shine
Like pearls in the land of ‘Charminar’.
With wonderful faculty, delightful staff
And the best of facility
Number will flow for sure…
But as time has come
To leave and go,
Like I have said before,
I say it once again…
Yeh dil maange more!
Last, but not the least,
If you liked my poetry,
Listen to my ‘mann ki baat’ –
Can I have GD instead of PI?