Caution : What you could come across in the process.

Insignificant references to my life, an abstract and distracted thought sequel, monotony, inconsistency, vague vague perception, whorish intellectualism, feminist bullshit, armchair activism, causes I try to relate to, sharp sarcasm, even sharper criticism, frivolous details.

Nonetheless Happy Reading.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Am I the product of tragedy?

Note : This wasn't written to sound uncanny. This was written with a purpose to shrug off my MBAness for awhile.

One of the foremost things that MBA has taught me was to not care when nobody else cares. A very straightforward and material fact, but skim the surface to dig out the underlying emotion and write them off like underlying assets or worse hedge them.
Yes Miss Austen, as if literature wasn't polluted enough.
The second being the law of ten and the theory of never doing enough ie if you think you've slogged your arse off for five fucking hours straight I bet you I can find you over thirty people who've worked ten times harder than you, in short what you'd do would never be enough. So even 'trying' is a breakneck decision.

And pardon me for sounding very un MBA like but I just can't stop giggling when I hear the words 'cash cow'
In short if it hadn't been for the money, we wouldn't even have been doing it. Except for those bloodsuckers, ego ruminants, bland jays and crap a doodle doo's.

But beat this. I've met plastic faced 23 year olds who tell me that its just something they have to do before getting married. A degree equals bride evaluation criteria and not job evaluation criteria, I am surprised you didn't know.Its like they decided to mortgage their ambitions to nothingness. Well quite frankly my dear, they and not I qualify to be products of tragedy.

The last of my learning's (and I'd try not to be bitter about this one) was to never ever ever ever underestimate bad luck and never ever ever underestimate a terrible opportunity.

With that said and done, its time for me to sing a different tune. She is called the Crack fiction whore. Art whore. Period.
And I need an idea to start flirting with.

I'm off to Kala Ghoda on the 5th.

 And if you wanted to, you could check out this fabulous site.


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