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Posts Tagged ‘P G Wodehouse’

Ladies and Gentlemen of the world,

Allow me to lodge a protest.

The derogatory manner in which I am generally referred to by the Homo sapiens is a matter of sincere regret. I wish to ass-everate that I have sterling qualities of head and heart. Even though a vast majority of you copy me ass-iduously in your day-to-day lives, you hold the member of my species in a low esteem. This is patently unfair. Permit me to set the record straight and ass-ert myself.

Members of your species have always given me a raw deal. You wilfully neglect some of my great contributions in diverse fields of life. Prohibition, literature, health, discipline, education, free speech, human values, law and order, science, politics, management, architecture, adventure and logistics are some of the fields where I have enabled your civilization to scale great heights.

Here is a quick recapitulation of some of my contributions to your so-called civilized society.

The fine art of advocating prohibition  

When I use my vocal chords to articulate my feelings, you make fun of me. You hold me to be mentally deficient. You do not realize that those of you who have had an excess dose of tissue restoratives sound much similar in their mindless laughter. When I bray, I merely advocate prohibition. Mahatma Gandhi would have been so very proud of me.

On the literary high table

Frequent references to me in the kind of literature many of you devour and admire goes on to establish my superiority in more ways than one.

In ‘Oliver Twist’, penned by Charles Dickens, law is held to be an ass. You may disagree with the proposition, but you cannot deny the honour conferred on me thus.

In ‘The Mating Season’, dished out by P. G. Wodehouse, even such an illustrious figure as Marcus Aurelius is alluded to as an ass.

“I wonder if I might call your attention to an observation of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius. He said: ‘Does aught befall you? It is good. It is part of the destiny of the Universe ordained for you from the beginning. All that befalls you is part of the great web’.”
I breathed a bit stertorously.
“He said that, did he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, you can tell him from me he’s an ass.”

When I find a place at the literary high table, I do not see any reason for you to refer to me in a condescending manner.

Promoting good health

A part of your anatomy (that you mistakenly hold to be superior to that of me) is known after me. You use it to sit comfortably, thereby warming up the chair endlessly and missing your daily set of exercises.

The smart ones amongst you never remain seated for long and follow a physical fitness regime. They use this very part of their body in quite a few postures and thereby maintain good health.

Discipline and Education

While recollecting his late night encounters with the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, Bertie Wooster, in his delectable memoirs, often shudders to think of the juicy ones he used to get on the soft spots. He obviously alludes to the very part of your anatomy referred to above. This shows the important role I play in shaping the character of your coming generations.

Hapless students try to ass-imilate the heaps of knowledge that gets dumped on to them by means of listless lectures delivered in dinghy classrooms. Even kids ass-ume the role of beasts of burden while lugging their extra-heavy school bags under the adoring eyes of their indulgent parents.

Free speech

When an ass-emblage of a group of students chagrined with crude attempts of authority figures to curb their right to free speech, they often make me an icon of their peaceful protests. Candlelight vigils do not deliver the kind of strong message that my presence, with a poster shaming the authority looped around my slender neck, does.

Some protestors learn the tricks of the trade from such non-profit groups as the ASS – Advisory Services for Squatters, based in London, UK.

Law and order, human values

Ask any rozzer. When not in the presence of a human rights enthusiast, he is likely to confess the utility of the part of your anatomy named after me to make even a law-abiding citizen admit to a crime he never committed.

I confess that, when provoked, I am wont to deliver strong punches, using my hind legs. Despite the training you receive in martial arts, you can never really copy me on that account. The criminally inclined amongst you keep ass-aulting innocent citizens without any care in the world. My punches are designed to deliver a message of respecting human values and civic sense which many amongst you do not follow.

Science

Those of you who win a Nobel Prize in Chemistry keep ass-aying metals at periodic intervals, never ass-igning any credit to me in their much-applauded research papers.

Chemists can be forgiven to refer to me as AsS, a formula for Arsenic Sulfide. Likewise, I do not mind mathematicians referring to me as an ass-ociated collection of prime numbers of module M, Ass (M).

When a student of geometry conveys the lack of congruence of triangles by using the term ‘Angle-Side-Side’, I do not object. When a genetic expert tries to describe a human gene which encodes the enzyme Arginino-Succinate-Synthetase, I feel flattered.

When it comes to advancements in science or technology, I follow the Jeeves dictum – of never raising a bushy eyebrow even for the smallest fraction of an inch, except when I am sad at being summarily ignored in all such references.

Politics

Unwittingly, whenever there are elections around, I get dragged into political controversies. If there are malpractices in the conduct of academic examinations, the top politician of the region runs the risk of his name being paraded on a member of my species. When a region showcases the wilder ones amongst us in a tourism promotional video, we get dragged into an unseemly political controversy.

Such ass-ociations merely reveal the shallow intellectual abilities of the Homo Sapiens. The hard work put in by me in any endeavour thrust onto me does not get due recognition. The simplicity with which I handle the burdens so very gleefully heaped on to me gets neglected. The soulful eyes with which I view my human masters never get appreciated.

Many politicians who happen to be ass-ociated with dynastically run outfits shamelessly copy me in their subservience to their political masters, but fail to acknowledge my contribution.

The manner in which your elected representatives often behave in your ass-emblies leaves me deeply disappointed in your race. When a favoured legislation has no chance of making it through the normal process, your politicians know how to rush it through as an ordinance and seek the ass-ent of the First Citizen of your country

Management

Excellent traits of followership that I possess could provide invaluable clues to leaders of all hues, sizes and shapes who aspire to achieve loftier goals in their chosen profession. Leading management institutes ought to be doing a detailed study on this aspect of my behaviour. Alas, they keep churning out inane stuff on leadership traits alone.

Unimaginative incentive schemes get launched, killing productivity and proving my superiority over some of your over-zealous but short-sighted production chiefs.

Finance honchos amongst you keep twiddling their thumbs to project the correct ass-ets of their companies in their books of accounts. Whenever a catastrophe strikes a business, insurance surveyors are called in to ass-ess the extent of damage.

When a manager has goofed up on a critical ass-ignment, he is referred to as a Jackass, thereby establishing my supremacy in all matters managerial.

Top bosses cannot function in the absence of their Executive Ass-istants.

In an annual ritual called Appraisals, human resources honchos routinely ass-uage the feelings of those who are left out in the latest round of promotions or increments. They are routinely ass-ured of a brighter future in the days to come, and advised to follow the path espoused by Bhagavad Gita – that of performing their duty without any expectation of rewards.

When a new boss ass-umes charge after a much-delayed promotion, the Yes-Men in his team quickly change their affiliations and try to ass-ert their importance in the scheme of things.

Architecture

Well-designed civil structures cannot come up unless I have carried some of the building materials on my sturdy back. While carrying heavy loads, I am invariably obedient and docile. No member of my species has ever entertained the idea of floating a trade union to ass-ert its labour rights.

Adventure and logistics

When it comes to your adventures in a rough terrain, there is no better provider of logistics services than yours truly. World over, for millennia, my services have been there at the man-not-so-kind’s disposal. Alas, these get taken for granted. I am yet to be nominated for a Nobel Prize in logistics.

Accord me the respect I deserve

I hereby urge upon you to look deep within and start treating me with the respect I deserve.

I might be perceived as being stubborn at times. But I am also companionable. My bite might be worse than my bray, but I am a friendly creature. You may find it difficult to frighten me. But you know that I am a dependable chap.

While almost all of you are still trying to conquer your ego, as advocated by some of your scriptures, I have already achieved that feat millennia ago. You are still trying to eliminate racial and gender discrimination. By following the principle of peaceful co-existence amongst all other species, I have been promoting racial harmony for centuries already. When it comes to chivalry, I am way ahead of many of you. Bertie Wooster would surely approve.

You think the members of the species of Equus africanus asinus possess a poor Intelligence Quotient. I beg to differ. As you can see for yourself, even our Spiritual Quotient is higher than that of the Homo sapiens.

Thank you for your time and attention.

An ass-ertive ass

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PGWodehouseWodehouse keeps touching the lives of residents of Plumsville in more ways than one. In success, as well as in failure. In pleasure, as also in pain. In joy, as also in remorse.

Here is a blog post from Plumtopia which is a sterling example of the manner in which Plum helps us to face harsh slings and arrows of Fate.

Plumtopia

Bertie Wooster once said:

I’m not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it’s Shakespeare who says that it’s always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.

Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest

So it was in February; I was sitting happily at my keyboard, brow furrowed with concentration as I worked on a delightful series of blog pieces on the theme of Wodehouse and love, in anticipation of Valentine’s day – the anniversary of Wodehouse’s death. The first three chapters of my first novel had received a nod of approval from a well-established author, and Winter was drawing to a close. Life was filled with the promise of Spring larks and snails; God was in His heaven and all was right in the world of Honoria Plum. But, as Wodehouse so…

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Residents of Plumsville admire Psmith for more reasons than one. Eve Halliday is another character which deserves better attention than it normally gets.

What happens when the two run into each other? How does their romance progress?

Here is a delightful post which celebrates the gradual evolution of their relationship. Cupid, were he to come across it, would surely approve.

Plumtopia

32-23This February’s Great Wodehouse romances series continues with another guest author, K.V.K. Murthy, known to Facebook friends as James Joyce.  His piece takes us on a walk through romantic literary history with Psmith and Eve Halliday (Leave it to Psmith).

A note on the Psmith-Halliday romance

by K.V.K. Murthy

The question of favourites is mostly subjective, and Wodehouse’s vast canvas of miniature romances doubtless provides for each taste. The Gussie-Bassett, Tuppy-Angela, Bingo-Banks and others too numerous to mention are all miniatures :a concatenation (to use Jeeves’ word) of comical situation, Edwardian silly-assness and a bit of fat-headedness thrown in for seasoning. They are the staple of drawing-room one-act plays of a certain generation, given occasional revivals in schools to round off the Annual Day shindig. Barring minor changes in detail, they are all more or less cast from the same block. Wodehouse’s success with that block – or formula –…

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Residents of Plumsville are aware of such couples as Piggy-Maudie and Joe-Julia. To lovebirds that are young at heart and have matured over time, lining of the stomach plays an important role. At times, the prospect of an alliance between their respective children reunites them. PGW RingForJeeves

In ‘Ring for Jeeves’, we get to meet Mrs. Spottsworth and Captain Biggar. They are also young at heart but not as advanced in age as to merit consideration either to bodily afflictions or to children’s marriage prospects.

The two get introduced to each other while on a hunting spree in Kenya. Much later, they run into each other in the coffee room of the Goose and Gherkin, one of the wayside inns in England. A day later, they happen to be staying together at Rowcester Abbey, a property Mrs. Spottsworth is considering buying.

Of chance meetings which are ‘meant’

Mrs. Spottsworth exudes an aura of wealth. She is as rich as she looks. At the mere mention of her name, the blood-sucking leeches of the Internal revenue Department ‘raise their filthy hats with a reverent intake of the breath.’

Her first husband, Cliffton Bessemer, died in a road mishap, leaving behind sackfuls of the green stuff, which got further supplemented when her second husband, A. B. Spottsworth, made the obituary column, when, while hunting in Kenya, ‘thought a lion to be dead, whereas the lion thought it wasn’t.’

Colonel Cuthbert Gervase Brabazon-Biggar had the privilege then of picking up the mortal remains of her second husband and of getting those shipped out to Nairobi.

She remains in touch with both her husbands through a Ouija board. Broadminded and considerate, they keep egging her on to marry yet again. They assert that a woman, irrespective of her bank balance, needs a mate by her side.

She is intensely interested in psychical research and looks forward to enthralling spiritual manifestations, that too with a dash of impatience. She does not believe in chance. She believes that even chance meetings are ‘meant’.

Of cavemen and clubs

Mrs. Spottsworth is a romantic at heart. When ‘a night complete with moonlight, singing nightingales, gentle breezes and the scent of stock and tobacco plant’ brings the two lovers together, she tries her best to kindle the passion which happens to be dormant in the bosom of Captain Biggar.

The latter even gets persuaded to put on a pendant around her shapely neck, driving knives into his trembling frame.

Do you remember the day we met in Kenya?’

‘Oh, rather,’ said Captain Biggar.

‘I had the strangest feeling, when I saw you that day, that we had met before in some previous existence.’

‘A bit unlikely, what?’

Mrs. Spottsworth closed her eyes.

‘I seemed to see us in some dim, prehistoric age. We were clad in skins. You hit me over the head with your club and dragged me by my hair to your cave.’

‘Oh, no, dash it, I wouldn’t do a thing like that.

Mrs. Spottsworth opened her eyes, and enlarging them to their fullest extent allowed them to play on his like searchlights.

‘You did it because you loved me,’ she said in a low, vibrant whisper.

Kind words and melting looks

Despite being cold shouldered, her female instincts do not lead her astray. She knows that when a man chokes up and looks like an embarrassed beetroot every time he catches her eye, he is bound to be passionate about her. To bring that passion to a boil, few kind words and a melting look or two would be quite sufficient.

When an opportunity presents for her to dance the Chesterton with the ninth Earl of Rowcester and rousing the fiend that slept in Captain Biggar, she exploits it. The latter walks out in a dark mood, giving the frogs on the open lawns an impression that ‘it was raining number eleven boots.’

When her diamond pendant gets purloined, she merely expects justice, not vengeance. When Captain Biggar is held to be the prime suspect, she starts losing her faith in human nature.

When a woman loves a man with every fibre of a generous nature, it can never be pleasant for her to hear this man alluded to as a red-faced thug and as a scoundrel who can’t possibly get away but must inevitably ere long be caught and slapped into the jug.

The Biggar Code

On his part, Captain Biggar has loved her from the very moment when she, a combination of Cleopetra and Helen of Troy, had briefly popped up in his life. But his code was rigid on such matters. A pauper like him could not go mixing with wealthy widows. Tubby Frobisher and the Subahdar in the old Anglo-Malay Club at Kuala Lampur would not approve.

The Biggar code not only forbids poor persons proposing to rich widows. It also encourages a white man to shield young and innocent women from the seamy side of life. When it comes to alerting poor Jill about her affianced, Bill, cooing to Mrs. Spottsworth like a turtle-dove, Captain loses no time. The code also enjoins one to be honest in one’s dealings – whether by way of chasing defaulting bookies or by returning stolen pendants. If one values money, it is only to ensure that one can feel in a position to express one’s love for a woman with a magnificent bank balance.

He has a penchant for expressing himself in Swahili as also in some languages of the East. When craving clarity of mind, he is wont to do yogic breathing exercises and practice ‘communion with the Jivatma or soul.’

Breaking the code jinx

The code jinx is broken by Mrs. Spottsworth by confirming to Captain Biggar that one of the code’s main proponents, Augustus Frobisher, has already gone ahead and married a woman who has much more money than herself.

Captain’s plans of wandering out into the sunset alone get scratched. Jeeves’ services get relied upon for announcing the banns in The Times, the Telegraph and Mail and Express.

Unlike the narratives which capture the characters of Piggy-Maudie and Joe-Julia, the main protagonists in this case do not get united owing to one of the juicy schemes of Jeeves.

(Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2014/02/04/piggy-maudie-and-a-seasoned-romance

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2015/02/13/joe-julia-and-a-seasoned-romance)

 

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For those who are new to the world of P G Wodehouse, here is a post which offers interesting tips on where to start devouring his sunlit works.

To those who already reside in Plumsville, this post offers a new perspective on the order in which his works may be savoured.

Plumtopia

world-of-jeevesThis piece is the second in a series of guides for readers wanting to discover the joys of Jeeves and Wooster, Blandings, and the wider world of Wodehouse ‘hidden gems’. The previous post provided reading suggestions for new Wodehouse readers.

Today’s piece offers a suggested reading order for the Jeeves and Wooster stories, followed by some general notes and guidance for readers.

If you particularly dislike short stories and want to skip straight to the novels, I suggest starting your reading from Right Ho, Jeeves.

Jeeves and Wooster Reading List

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Most authors happen to be sensitive souls. The kind of cruelty they get subjected to in their routine lives makes one wonder as to how they keep dishing out juicy narratives day after day, despite facing mighty challenges.

For those who specialize in spinning fictional yarns, the basic challenge is that of cranking up a plot and etching out characters which fit into the overall scheme of things. For those who dish out a non-fiction piece of work, the challenge is that of coming up with a novel subject which would provide some satisfaction to their target audience.

Cruelty in the Creative Phase

When their creative juices are in full flow, distractions abound. Social commitments often impede the pace of work. Spouses pop up with some mundane queries just when the proceedings happen to be perking up. Maid servants and postmen come in just at the time when the heroine is about to swoon and fall into the hero’s out-stretched arms. An all too important marriage comes up in the spouse’s family just when the manuscript is being given the finishing touches.

Distractions of this kind interrupt the flow of creative juices. The author develops a ‘block’. To claw her way out of a block, a muse has to come to the aid of the party of the first part. Sanity is restored on its throne. Creative juices resume their flow.

Cruelty in the Publishing Phase authors-n-publishers

Once the creative foray in the imaginary mind space is over, a wannabe author lands on the hard terrain of real life. Publishers of all hues get contacted. The agonizing wait for a firm but polite rejection note, if any, begins. Quite a few publishers believe in the dictum that ‘Silence itself signifies rejection’. Heart-broken, the hapless author starts examining other options. Self-publishing pundits get consulted.

Leads given by friends who are blissfully ignorant of the current challenges being faced by traditional publishers keep getting followed up. The fact that they face an existential crisis these days, what with the barrage of e-books available at the click of a button, gets neglected. Their survival instincts lead them to woo well-established authors even while being wooed by newbie authors.

Surviving in the Publishing Jungle

Keen to share her work with the world, the author finally relents and settles down to a mode of publishing which meets her ambition, her purse strings and the content of the work to be peddled.

The interaction with a publisher – whether of the traditional, the print-on-demand, or the vanity kind – saps the energy of the author no end. Reserves of patience get called upon to answer all the queries raised and the permissions asked for. A realization dawns that nerves of chilled steel are a prerequisite for publishing a work. Exasperation sets in.

Reaching out to potential readers

The mood of despondency gets somewhat lifted when the first copy of the book comes into the author’s hands. But this is no time to sit back and relax. Marketing plans need to be acted upon. Social media updates have to be fed to the virtual world in a relentless manner. Myriad queries keep the poor soul in a perennial state of torment.

Harsh critics pan either the contents or the approach of the book. Dreams of being on the To-Be-Read list of the target audience evaporate. Visions of one being on the Best Seller list in some part of the world get clouded. The art of competing with millions of other wannabe authors to attract the eye-balls of unsuspecting readers gets learnt the hard way.

A Plummy initiativePGWodehouse

Some of you would be delighted to know that Rosie M Banks, the Chair-person of the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Authors (SPCA), is recently said to have invited nominations for some of the annual awards conferred by the society in the following categories:

  1. Bingo Little Award: For spouses who provide flexible me-only distraction-free time to wannabe authors and ensure that their afternoon cup of tea is invariably served piping hot.
  2. Aunt Dahlia Award: For family members who keep inviting authors to devour the lavish spreads of Anatole, thereby keeping them in a positive frame of mind and ensuring a free flow of their creative juices.
  3. Bertie Wooster Award for Milk of Human Kindness: Meant for pals who are present only when they are needed, and are part of the cheering squad, specifically when the chips are down and tissue restoratives need to be served.
  4. Lord Tilbury Award: For publishers who display their kindness by responding to unsolicited manuscripts within two weeks, and, when rejecting one, are gracious enough to suggest alternate publishing houses who might be interested in the material submitted.
  5. Florence Craye Award: For intellectual critics who realize the kind of hard work that goes into whipping up a book like ‘Spindrift’ and provide constructive criticism of any work referred to them for a review.
  6. Daphne Dolores MoreheadAward: For bulk buyers who pick up more than 25% of the total first print order of an upcoming book.

Do you wish to nominate someone for any of these coveted awards? Further details can be had at www.plumspca.com. The entry fee is a modest tenner, to be remitted to the bank account of Bingo Junior.

The 19 rejections of Plum

A word to cheer up wannabe authors would be in order.

As reported by the late Norman Murphy in the September 2016 issue of ‘By The Way’, published by the P G Wodehouse Society (UK), during the month of June, 1901, a twenty year old Plum was down with mumps and was at Stableford for three weeks.  During this period, he wrote 19 short stories. All were rejected!

If this is what could happen to a Master Wordsmith of our times, there is much hope yet for first time authors of all sizes and shapes.

Having a chin up attitude, recalling one’s bulldog spirit, and facing the harsh slings and arrows of cruelty with aplomb would surely help!

(Related Posts:  

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2015/10/23/of-writers-and-their-blocks

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2013/09/30/the-confessions-of-an-armchair-blogger)

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panjab-university-ubs

An academic course in management obviously does not offer lessons in managing the affairs of the heart. But the Class of 1977 broke through the academic shackles, with some of its members walking out of the campus with a clear strategy as to who their future soul mate shall be.

The stiff-upper-lip approach

Management education is all about the stiff-upper-lip approach of the mind. Analytical skills rule supreme, leading to rummy situations where analysis often leads to paralysis. Linear programming models get worked upon. Statistical techniques get dished out by stern looking professors who might have been hotter in their jobs more as police officers or as judges.

Hapless students are made to understand exponential smoothening techniques so as to be able to forecast business parameters in an uncertain business environment. Those with an engineering background struggle to match their debits and credits. The lucky ones who have had a background in commerce twiddle their fingers trying to grasp the complexities of quantitative techniques in decision-making.

The neglected need to boost our EQs

The behavioural sciences do provide a little bit of cheer to the tormented souls undergoing a typical MBA course. But to understand the psychology of an individual is no mean task. Mere case studies and management tips for handling an industrial strife do not improve one’s EQ substantially. Handling a tough boss eventually gets learnt only in the corporate world outside. The real world also teaches us to handle errant subordinates whose emotional blackmail upon reporting for work after a spell of French leave needs deft handling. The harsh realities of business world provide a high quality learning which can surely not be replicated within the stifling confines of a classroom.

The dashers and the rabbits

In fact, for some of those who formed the batch of 1977, the beautifully laid out campus outside provided a far better laboratory to test their hypotheses on the softer matters of the heart. These were the chosen ones who were smitten by the tender arrows of a smart Cupid.

The snag in the business of falling in love is much like that of mixed up career choices. Take an introvert and put him in a marketing assignment and the results could be disastrous. Take an extrovert used to making tall claims and put him in charge of manufacturing. The customers could soon melt away, leaving the company grappling with a credibility gap.

Bertie image

Same is the case in matters of love. As per the Bertie Wooster doctrine:

“….parties of the first part so often get mixed up with the wrong parties of the second part, robbed of their cooler judgment by the parties of the second part’s glamour. Put it like this. The male sex is divided into rabbits and non-rabbits and the female sex into dashers and dormice, and the trouble is that the male rabbit has a way of getting attracted by a female dasher (who would be fine for the male non-rabbit) and realizing too late that he ought to have been concentrating on some mild, gentle dormouse with whom he could settle down peacefully and nibble lettuce.”

The USP of the Class of 1977

The batch of 1977 had as many as five members of the tribe of the delicately nurtured. Since the previous one, the Class of 1976, had none, they were the cynosure of all eyes. They were invariably the prime focus of attention for many of us in the batch of 1976. All we seniors required was an inane excuse to pop up and try to grab the attention of at least one out of the five pairs of eyes we could feast on. The faculty members simply loved them – not necessarily for their academic proficiency, but merely for ensuring some discipline amongst the men folk loitering around.

Some of the members of our tribe of the so-called sterner sex were the shy and silent kind. Some were busy chasing their academic pursuits and kept their hormones under check. Others were benignly interested but limited their interactions to admiring gazes alone. Very few were the dashing types who, their puny chests all puffed up, attempted to indicate a more than passing interest in the parties of the other part.

Managed walks down the aisle

Those were traditional times when the distinction between an ‘arranged marriage’, a ‘love marriage’ and a ‘love marriage which had to be managed’ was pretty clear. Live-in relationships were not heard of.

The majority amongst us believed in the straight and narrow path that life offered then – the comfort of an ‘arranged marriage’ where the parents take the flak for subsequent problems, if any, and where love blossomed, albeit hesitatingly in some cases, much after the walk down the aisle took place. The time on the campus was, therefore, used by the members of this tribe merely to exchange furtive glances, suffer the pangs of transient infatuations and a silent admiration for the physical profile of the party of the other part.

pu-student-center

Then there were the dashing types, the risk takers who could use their time on the campus to firm up their affection for each other and concoct some dreamy plans for their future together. To avoid inquisitive and prying eyes, they would often vanish in thin air, possibly to land in such distant locales as the Sukhna Lake or the Rose Garden.

Management knowledge put to loving use

These were indeed the souls which put most of their management knowledge to actual use. No manual has been published till now, but it is clear that strategic decisions were taken by them with due diligence. Flawless planning and execution followed. Regression Analysis was applied to ensure that respective parents fell in line with the wishes of their wards. Soft-nosed commerce was used to draw up joint P&L Accounts and Balance Sheet, so the planned merger would face little financial turbulence. Principals of Materials Management were applied to ensure that the eventual stock transfer of one party to the abode of the party of the other part was carried out in a smooth and cordial fashion. Inspiration was drawn from a random sample of other couples who had successfully handled their affairs in an exemplary fashion.

Managing the Affairs of the Heart

cupidCupid, when it chooses to strike, is pretty democratic in nature. If one of the Class of 1977 decided to hitch her lot with a classmate of hers, yet another signed and sealed a merger deal with a senior of the Class of 1976. Both lived happily thereafter!

Close to forty years down the road, looking at the success of these mergers and alliances, it is highly regrettable that management academics still continue to adopt the stiff-upper-lip approach which focuses on analytical skills alone.

A day should surely dawn when ‘Managing the Affairs of the Heart’ gets introduced as a compulsory full semester subject across all management institutes; a time when doctoral theses on such subjects shall be encouraged.

After all, there are as many management lessons to be drawn from the works of Shakespeare, Thomas Hardy, P G Wodehouse, O Henry and Jane Austen as can be gleaned from the tomes dished out by such luminaries as Peter F Drucker, McGregor and Philip Kotler.

(Related Posts:

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2016/10/01/the-class-of-1976-how-it-managed-to-get-suspended-for-a-week

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2016/12/25/the-class-of-1990-how-ubs-prompted-sandeep-mann-to-learn-management-from-movies)

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