The Whitechapel College for Pyscopaths

A lot of debate often happens over the value and worth of higher education or as they are solely known in India ‘MBA colleges’.  While they claim to teach everything from networking, to business skills and so on and so forth, how to become a best selling author as soon as you graduate is still lesson 101. But I say keep that aside for a minute, and here’s why you should not hesitate to spend the amount of money equivalent to buying that vacation flat you’ve always wanted in Panvel. Higher education despite the caveat of bonded slavery for the next ten years of your life is still worth it. Youth what youth? but I digress, the reason why higher education is so important, has actually nothing to do with academics,  nothing to do with badge value or institute prestige or the fact that most of your faculty come from the interiors of Africa where they teach management to the child guerrillas. I hear economics and operations research are their favorite topics, most of them end up doing their final thesis on optimizing reload times for second hand AK 47s. So why should you blindly jump into higher learning you ask? Even though it costs you the next best ten years of your life, though it will never live up to your expectations basis the hype your coaching class teacher created for you and why the academic value of role playing conflict resolution “with a smile” will forever be lost to you. After MBAs are the ideal choice for hostage negotiation and negotiating terms of peace with a Somali pirate, oh they love that smile there.

The reason is the largest advantage of higher education is psychological it isn’t academic, higher education simply put is the largest provider of the one of the most fundamental human experiences and satisfies one of the most primal needs, that of ‘belonging’. If the justification or measurement of existence is the act of someone witnessing it, then the idea of being alive is therefore compartmentalized and given credence to by the group to which you belong. It is only a higher education institute that unifies the nerds, the jocks, the introverts, the players, the socially awkward into one unifying group to which they belong. I’m not even touching upon the issue of self esteem and pride that is associated with belonging to certain institutes because that’s irrelevant here. Just the notion of finally having found a place for yourself gives direction to the wayward lost souls who as school kids were defined only by their activities. There is a reason why the things you miss the most after having finished with your MBA program of whatever have you aren’t the things that were listed in their enrollment brochure.

As to why this belonging is so necessary you ask, why does this belonging warrant such a long narrative you inquire, because simply put the lack of it generally leads to terrifying consequences. Those that do not find a place, generally create a place aka the birth of a cult, or are found browsing the sections of making friends for dummies. The cohesiveness forced upon students under the umbrella of an institution of learning I feel is imperative for social identity, most of which is relative. There exists an unwritten code among the fraternity of that institute no matter at which stage of life you might be, it is for admission into that code I feel is higher education non negotiable.

Having said all of that why is this article titled, “The Whitechapel College for Psychopaths?” I bet if Jack the Ripper had found some social acceptance he’d be blowing the froth of his beer pint, chilling with his buds rather than be alone on the streets looking for bargains on fillet knives. The idea of not belonging is the first step towards creating your own belonging. No cult leader ever said, lets blend right in, do your thing and we’ll have progress meetings every once a week to see how your killing schedule is progressing. The notion of creating your own following stems from the insecurity of never being shunned from one. 

Hence pay those MBA / atrocious Medical college fees, postpone the second twin turbo engine speed boat you were planning to buy, for someday when you see a tired face in the multitudes you know you can trust him because you have a shared identity. Do it so you don’t have to recruit people under the false pretenses of providing a heaven with a glorified personal agenda and then arm them, because the safety catches on those things can be tricky and if you do end up there and meet my old buddy Jack, give him a pat tell him he did just fine and then kill the bloody bugger, cause you know, why risk it…

Gengis Khan’s Existential Crises

Working for 12-14 hours a day turns everybody into a philosopher of sorts, while most of them debase it by the incessant and incorrigible habit of sending stupid forwards and “shayaaris” lewd to the extent of nauseating and as bland as the canteen food in a government college there are some who ask the right questions, the existential crises soon hits all of us, most term it as their ‘mid life crises’ for they have sufficiently high levels of tolerance for bull shit. For me it hit within the first 6 months of my taking up “normal” employment. Which brings us to the beginning of my story, an existential rant on why I don’t want to do, what I do and yet want to do it, simply because I like bitching about it, the common conundrum of an average MBA pass-out who masquerades as a corporate employee while he secretly harbors and believes he possesses the talent to be the next big movie director or photographer for sure. I believe buying an SLR is the first symptom of ‘I am a creative person trapped within this temple of logic, that I rely on to earn me big bucks which will soon finance my Oh so amazing movies and photography exhibitions!” to all this I say but one thing, “yeah right”

Doing an MBA in India is sort of like preparing to be Gengis Khan, you are made to believe the world stretched ahead awaits your grand assault upon your so-called valiant steed of a degree. You follow in the footsteps of a man who literally created an occupation, for before him conqueror, pillager, philanderer, ruler and serial baby maker were all separate paths in life. Post your heroic invasion of Eurasia in other words the great placement week and some hyper reproductive work ensuring the continuance of your progeny on all continents i.e. the week before farewell and the day of your college farewell, what hits you is Gengis Khan’s existentialist dilemma.

Having gathered an army that could take over the world, hiring management trainees and “networking” over water cooler jokes, Gengis Khan one day did realize on one of his non bathing days, a ritual that sadly has not been continued, that his life was purposeless. He was no longer out there fighting, slaying heads and well without that who wanted to be a conqueror anyway. He now munched on bread baked by one of his several wives, while watching his generals slash, gash, slice and chop their way to victory with all the bloodiness of a Tarantino movie, a heroic victory score worth of Hans Zimmer and a cinematic ending of a Michael Bay movie shot in slow motion as the lifeless head of the enemy leader, lolled and rolled halting at the feet of his valiant general. While he teary eyed and giddy from victory applauded, with all the enthusiasm of a first time mother, watching her son win the first prize in a fancy dressed competition dressed as Bo Peep.

His fornication had now become routine and held as little interest for him as that of the script, for a Yash Chopra movie fan (yes, there I said it). Since Viagra and Prozac were far from being invented he was confined to the limitations of an aging body and a rapidly deteriorating stamina. For him the pillaging was done all that jazz of burning villages and terrorizing locals was behind him (frat parties, impromptu road trips and boozing sessions) the life worth looting for was done.

His existence now was a responsibility, a promise to his subjects read over-anxious parents hoping to be grandparents, an over compensated for group of friends where each meeting is followed by healthy bouts of nostalgia and receding hair line competitions. No wonder he sought an unmarked grave.

Yes you’ve conquered the world, but have you found your place in it ?