Revista MBA

All and sundry, let it be known that I, Jyotsna, an engineering student have done all that is expected of an engineering student, and have dutifully joined a CAT coaching class. Now this all very well, you will say. I don’t know, but as far as I can remember, ever since my tenth, I had wanted to pursue MBA, whatever degree I took. Engineering suited me fine, since it also complies with the 16 years education thingy.

I will not go into the gory details of CAT syllabus, there are many websites offering that very pleasant thing. But all of you will know that we have Quant, consisting of all the things we did in school (although pertaining only with the subject Mathematics). This Sunday, the teacher announced that we, being obedient studs of his class should put our hearts out and learn the tables 1 to 30 ‘by heart’. And in 2-3 days at the most (there was a suppressed groan at this).

I will not talk about Sunday. “Euro 2008″

DAY 1: The Monday after the Sunday-

There will be at the very least 2 weeks till we have to meet the teacher. No point doing them today and I might just forget them … better employ my faculties in reading a good book, it will improve my RC. (Never mind that it’s a re-read of the Yes Minister)

DAY 2: Tuesday-

There are some really nice paintings on exhibit at the Jehangir.  Now, I should not let my interests die out for studies, should I? Anyway, the teacher said that we have to grow as an individual. Might as well grow my creative side.

DAY 3: Wednesday-

Incidentally, it turns out that I had been thinking along the same lines as the upcoming artists, and used the same techniques. Now that I have got a wonderful idea for a painting, I really should give it a more substantial form and later end the day with Wimbledon…

DAY 4: Thursday-

Yes Minister is finished, and I am not feeling creative at the moment. Mom comes and wheedles me to sit at the table and do the tables. I reflect that it would be wiser to write them down myself rather than search for the old table book, which might be lost for all care. It comes as a welcome surprise that I know my tables quite well till 16, thereon a little grease is needed here and there. For e.g., I do know 20, 21, 22, 25 and 30 you know…

I turn to my dependable calcy, (a mere hour’s search finds it), and proceed. The day sees me accomplish pretty much of the task. By the end of it, I am proud to say that I had neatly written them all down. Now only the rote work remains. But just look at the clock!

I must really catch up on Wimbledon, anyway the little green man next to my ear won’t mind, I have put in so much hard work today…

DAY 5: Friday

11:00 am -

Friends have called to say that we should go out the next week, and I totally agree, I mean, we should really go out more often at this age. Mom thinks so too, and before she can re-re-tell me all the adventures of her youth I change the topic. But she is ‘Mom’ and like all motherly Moms, she reminds me that I have to do those tables today, because I won’t have time next week, and that today and tomorrow are the only available days. In hindsight, I think it would have been better to just listen to her reminiscences.

2:30 pm -

Two hours of staring at neatly written tables does not a tables-whiz make. A cool breeze was blowing through the window, and a hint of rain was in the air. It was so poetically cheesy, and then there were two cats playing about outside and I found myself floating towards them, and then they changed into little tiger cubs and somehow the road seemed to be too full of thick trees and suddenly one of the cubs whacked me with its paw. Splat! Hey! Get up, get up!

What? Oh, wassa time?

6:30 pm:

Presently I came to know that my forty winks had stretched a little, and that my sis was already home from the office. Anyway I really had to see Wimbledon now.

DAY 6: Saturday-

Two hours and I will take you up then.

Huh?

That’s right, just like old times.

I didn’t remind my mom that the old times were a good 12 years away.

17×3 = 51

17×4 = 68

Why does everything else seem to be so damn interesting than memorizing tables? (This feels exactly like old times, times when I had to read up PP). Now the view from my window is so delightful, and I thought of a really nice topic for my next post (which was not this by the way). And I had that painting to finish also. Of course, then I wanted to catch re-runs of two or three matches.

17×6 = 102

17×7 = 119

Mom comes in to check on me. And then settles her self in the room with the newspaper.

17×10 = 170

By the time I start 19 times 1, I can see that she is looking out the window (turns green).

Poor things! I want to cook them a proper meal for once. And some custard maybe and some of that ice-cream. Or maybe they will want Bhutta?

See, she is taking more interest in those street children.

They are all right. You can feed me up you know?

OK. Some arrow-root soup for you.

What about that custard and ice-cream et al?

Arrow- root’s good for growing children. (!) I am too stung too reply. One of the occupational hazards of being the youngest in la famille.  Then-

No thanks.

Anyway I will start taking up now.

No use of protesting.

I will not go into the harrowing details. Having one’s mom take up tables when you are19 years old is scary enough.

What is this; you haven’t been concentrating. (By now I was feeling like Swami and Friends). Watch me-

She rattled off all the tables and apart from 19×9 = 161 (its 171), got all the others right! (I mean till 20)

Wow, mom, you should give CAT you know…

No. You will sit with me and do them properly this time. And. No Wimbledon.

An ace up her sleeve or what!

P.S.: For all who care to know, there is a really easy way of knowing the 1 to 15 multiples of any two digit number, as I discovered that day; and you only have to know tables till 9. For e.g., 29

Write the multiples of 2 and 9

2          09        29        (2+0 = 2 and 9)

4          18        58        (4+1 = 5 and

6          27        87        (6+2 = 8 and 27)

And so on. You can even do 89x 8 (which is 712 btw)

Hope you got the hang of it. Bye!

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