Prying it Open

I grew up in Salem, a small town in South India. Back then, information about the broader world wasn’t easy to come by - nothing like today, when everything is a ‘search’ away. I didn’t have older siblings to learn from, and I didn’t have access to anyone who had gone out and built a career beyond Salem. What I wanted was a door -someone who’d seen the world, who could take me under their wing and say, “Here’s how it works. Come on.”

If no one was going to open a door for me, I figured I’d have to pry it open myself. So, I did exactly this, relentlessly, and more than a little shamelessly. I’d spot a quote from some executive in the newspaper and cold email them out of the blue. I sent hundreds of these. Once I wrote to a businessman caught in a legal mess back home (was then living in the UK) and he was so intrigued that he sent intermediaries to track me down. It’s like this - a few hundred cold emails that eventually helped me break into the sports industry with zero connections, and limited experience.

That scrappiness became my whole style. My path was unusual for an Indian kid with MBA dreams: sports, media, sales, not the well-worn engineering track. And business school applications were brutal: six GMAT attempts and nine rejections before a “yes” finally came, from Kellogg. I remember every “no.” Nobody handed me the way through, which is exactly why I now look for that same fight in others.

So, for years now, I’ve tried to be the person I didn’t have. I help people (and mostly the underdog with something to prove) get into business school, not by polishing essays, but by making them think harder about who they are, what they truly want from their lives and careers, and how to tell that story honestly. The thank-yous still catch me off guard: parents weeping saying I put their kids’ career on track; someone emailing years later, now at BCG, to say how our interactions changed how they saw themselves - and then quietly sending me their younger sibling to work with. That’s when I know it’s real.

A room full of me

Last week, a group of undergrads from Mesa School of Business, here for a semester at Berkeley, came by my office (it happened the way good things do: Mesa co-founder, Varun Limaye, is a friend and fellow Kellogg grad.) These kids were hungry, eager-eyed, hitting every event and hackathon in the Bay, completely unafraid to knock on strangers’ doors. I saw myself in them instantly. They weren’t waiting for permission to begin - they’re already building: D2C brands, AI/tech products, shipping real things into the world before most people their age have even picked a major.

They presented their work to me. It was raw - but bursting with curiosity, and it was that attitude, not the polish, that mattered. The energy was electric, and you could feel how badly they wanted to make an impression, far from home, trying to prove something. I knew that feeling in my bones. It was me, fifteen years ago - hungry, a little lost, sure that if I just tried hard enough, someone would finally notice. They were playful with it too - all smiles, waiting to poke fun or catch me off guard.

So, I did the opposite of what these sessions usually are: uptight, formal, forgettable. I put them to work, then made it feel like home: swag, food, a little mischief. We connected on social media, and I got curious about how they actually make their content, and just like that, I was the one taking notes. I threw out ideas for what to explore in SF and even tried (and sadly failed) to pull off a World Cup watch party for them. Somewhere in there, it hit me: I wasn’t the kid looking for a door anymore… I’d become one. And it filled me with a quiet kind of pride, the sense that I could be, for these kids, the open door I had once longed for.

A better teacher than a student

And I want to keep doing this. A while back I gave a talk to Berkeley Haas MBA students on breaking into strategy roles at tech companies - the real, been-there (failed first, then eventually got there) version: the actual roles and work, what strategy looks like at different companies, and how to get in. A student told me it was the best guest session they’d seen. I don’t think that was luck. It’s a pattern, really - two people I managed early in my career have become founders: one had a successful exit, another’s work recently took him to Cannes. Both are more successful than I’ve ever been, and both still tell me how much they took from those years, half-teasing that I’ve sold myself short. Through all of it, maybe I was always meant to be a better teacher than I was a student.

The bottom line: we don’t always get the mentor we need. But if we’re lucky, we get to become one. And I think that kid in Salem, firing cold emails into the void, just hoping someone would write back, would be quietly thrilled at how it all came full circle. And honestly, there’s little I cherish more. Some doors, it turns out, you become… and I have a feeling this is just the start.

I'd wanted to bring meditation into my life for years but never made the time. Between jobs, with a real window on my hands, I went all in - and signed up for Vipassana, a ten-day silent meditation retreat built on the practice of Noble Silence: no talking, no eye contact, no gesturing. Tucked away in the hills of Northern California, I was surrounded by serious practitioners - all meditating for eleven hours a day, with nothing to distract from the practice: no phones, no books, no pen or paper. This was going to be a challenge for someone like me. I'm expressive, emotive, and enjoy being around people. Friends joked that surviving a weekend without talking would be a stretch - let alone ten full days!

The first three days were brutal, and time passed unbelievably slowly. The practice itself is called Anapana - just observing your breath at the nostrils all day, nothing more! The mind has nowhere to go but inward. There was a small walking trail at the retreat, and I'd set off thinking the loop would take twenty minutes. I'd come back, look at the clock, and it moved six. I started looking forward to the smallest, most predictable things - my daily shower because it was fixed time I could count on.

Not holding on to the past

When you sit with yourself for that long, things come up. For some people, that's heavy. I watched fellow meditators cry, weep, wail. Some got up mid-session and walked out, trying to leave the center altogether. The technique surfaces what you've buried, and for many, that's trauma - once it's out, there's no escape from it.

I felt the weight too. Plenty came up - childhood memories, old stories, moments I hadn't thought about in years. But none of it landed heavily. I wasn't carrying old grudges, unresolved regrets, or buried negative emotions - I'd let them go somewhere along the way. I sat with that for a while, even questioning whether I just hadn't gone deep enough, but I don't believe that's the case. What was giving me pause was forward-looking - career, relationships, family far away, immigration. The past wasn't pulling me down. The future, with all its uncertainty, was creating real noise in my head - and those were the sensations I needed to learn to sit with and let pass.

Equanimity, which I'd been practicing all along

The second thing that stayed with me was the principle the whole practice is built on: equanimity. Don't crave pleasant sensations. Don't push away the unpleasant ones! Just observe them and let them be. This too shall pass - applied to highs as much as lows. The first time I heard it framed that way, I had a strange moment of recognition, because I'd been practicing this for over a decade - on a tennis court.

Tennis teaches you the same thing, almost word for word. After a bad shot, the temptation to sulk, to slam the racket and to replay the mistake in your head is real. And so is the temptation to celebrate and ride the high after a winner. But you can't do either. You have to refocus, and fast, or you'll likely lose the next one. My coach drilled the same message for years: the match is long, no single point defines it, and the one who resets fastest and manages emotions best holds the advantage.

I'd internalized this through years of playing, without ever calling it equanimity. The retreat made me see that this principle wasn't new to me; I'd just been trying to apply it only inside the contained world of a tennis court, and I hadn't been extending it as deliberately to the rest of my life.

Getting to the Other Side

It took a while to get used to sitting with myself, and the key was fully giving in - to silence, to discipline, to the technique. Day five was when I got over the hump and the weight started to come off. I felt lighter, physically and mentally, in a way I hadn't in a long time. Everything around me began to feel richer - the moonlight through the sunroof at night, the trail through the trees, even vegetarian food I hadn't expected to enjoy. The clearest sign of the shift was in how I tracked time. The first few days, I'd been ticking off the days - one day done, two days down, seven more to go. By the last few, I was counting down, quietly hoping it would slow. The same person who'd struggled to imagine a weekend of silence was now thinking about asking if he could stay on.

Now, I find myself looking forward to the next long break; a chance to go back for a refresher on what I've already let slip.

A few terms used above:

• Vipassana: literally "to see things as they really are"; an ancient Indian meditation technique centered on scanning bodily sensations without reaction.

• Noble Silence: the foundational discipline of the retreat — no talking, eye contact, or gestures, for the full ten days.

• Anapana: the breath-observation practice taught in the first three days, focusing on the natural breath at the nostrils.

People often ask me how I made the call to move 2,500 kilometers from Salem to Delhi for college. It's an unusual move - most people from Salem don't head that far north, and honestly, Delhi wasn't even part of the plan. It just happened. And once I was there, I never really stopped to think about why the adjustment came so easily.

The question came up again recently at an SRCC alumni meet in the US, and this time I actually sat with it. The move was less complex than people assume, and two things made it that way: the environment I landed in, and my upbringing.

Common Ground

SRCC (and Delhi University at large) is one of the most diverse rooms you can walk into. People come from every corner of the country — North, South, East, West, every state, every kind of upbringing. And on day one, almost no one is on home turf. There are a lot of us, too - 19 colleges in a five-mile radius, all brimming with the same wide-eyed curiosity of trying to find our feet in a new city.

My first day, I was standing in a queue to fill out some form, and the guy in front of me asked where I was from. I said Salem, Tamil Nadu. "I'm from Bokaro. We're both from steel cities. We should be friends." I hadn't thought of myself as a steel-city kid until that moment, but the logic was hard to argue with. As it turned out, that was the pattern - a home state, a sport, even just a shared sense of being far from home was usually enough to start a conversation.

My accommodation in the first year had people from Lucknow, Chandigarh, Himachal, and Calcutta. Different food, different languages, different humor - but everyone was 17 or 18, leaving home for the first time, juggling academics, social life, relationships, food, money. I was figuring it out; so was everyone else. No one was the odd one out.

The Long Runway

The other half is on me - or, more accurately, on how I was raised.

My parents had a particular approach. You want to do something? Come with a plan. Make your case. They'd pressure-test it: How will you get there? What if X happens? And once they were convinced you'd thought it through, they'd back you. The decision was yours. The accountability too!

I wanted to switch tennis coaches once. I'd hit a ceiling with my existing one, and the better players in Salem trained somewhere further out. I made the case; they asked the questions I hadn't fully answered, including how I'd commute. Once we worked that out, they were in. Same pattern when I wanted to change schools after 13 years in the same place - initial surprise, clear rationale from me, and support followed. And the same pattern, years later, when I told them I wanted to move to Delhi for my degree at SRCC instead of somewhere closer to home. I'd done my homework on this one – I set up a meeting between them and another parent who'd sent their child to Delhi. This level of diligence impressed them, and half the case was already made.

The compounding effect showed up everywhere. I traveled for tennis tournaments and quizzing from a young age, often figuring out travel, stay, and finances on my own. Tennis tournaments in particular only ever needed a one-way ticket - you don't know when you're losing, so return plans get made on the fly. Landing somewhere new, with people I'd just met, on a plan stitched together that morning - that was just the default.

The clearest example: I was in Bangalore for a tournament, playing well, when a few players mentioned there were two upcoming tournaments in Bhopal - a chance to pick up ranking points if I kept the run going. I'd never been to Bhopal. Never been anywhere near Bhopal. On a Thursday evening, I decided I was going on Sunday. I called my parents; "What? How are you getting there?" I told them I'd figure it out with the others. I stayed two extra days in Bangalore at a local player's home, did my laundry there, and headed to Bhopal, planning, traveling, and crashing with folks I'd just met. By the time I was packing for Delhi at seventeen, that kind of leap wasn't unfamiliar - it was just a longer one!

So, when people ask, I joke that the food made the adjustment seamless, but in reality, the answer is less 'appetizing' - the DU environment and being trusted with the wheel early.

I've been thinking a lot about how values shape the leaders we admire, the careers we build, and the institutions we stay loyal to. When those values hold, loyalty feels natural. When they quietly fade, even long-standing attachment begins to change. I'm writing this now not because of a single loss or decision, but because over the last few years, a gradual erosion of values has become impossible to ignore.

I started supporting Manchester United in 2001, during the era of Sir Alex Ferguson. I stayed through highs and lows, rebuilding phases, and periods where the club wasn't the best team in the league. Not because United were always winning, but because the club stood for things I believed in: resilience under pressure, strong leadership, patience with people, and belief in long-term thinking. Those values are why I didn't just start supporting the club - they're why my loyalty endured for over two decades. There was always a sense of underlying belief that the club would find its way back because the foundations still held. More recently, though, that belief has begun to dim, not suddenly but gradually, as the values that sustained it have eroded year by year.

Resilience and mental fortitude were foundational to that loyalty.

Manchester United never accepted collapse as normal. Going behind didn't trigger panic. Tough seasons didn't erode belief. Pressure was something the team absorbed and responded to.

That mattered to me personally. Like most people, I've had setbacks and false starts in my own life and career. Watching this club navigate difficult phases often imperfectly but persistently, reinforced a belief I still hold - resilience isn't about avoiding failure; it's about not being defined by it, and finding a way to respond positively. That lesson applies just as much to careers as it does in sport.

In recent years, that mentality feels absent. Pressure now exposes fragility. Goals are conceded at the worst moments. It's about mindset, not tactics. Focus and belief drops far too quickly and often. And once belief goes, everything else follows.

Leadership, grounded in standards & accountability – another value that kept me invested.

At its best, Manchester United didn't rely on symbolic leadership. Standards were enforced. Figures like Roy Keane demanded accountability, and even young players such as Wayne Rooney carried responsibility early. Issues were corrected quietly, reflecting a leadership culture that prioritized standards over spectacle.

That model shaped how I think about leadership at work as well. The strongest teams don't rely on personality alone; they rely on shared standards that hold under pressure.

Today, at Manchester United leadership feels unclear. On the pitch, it often looks reactive; visible frustration, rather than calming or corrective presence. Off the pitch, accountability feels diffuse. When leaders don't absorb pressure, it spills outward, and standards soften.

This also shows in how the club's past interacts with its present. Former greats (and exceptional players) often speak with certainty rooted in a version of United, and of football, that no longer exists. Legacy should create space for evolution, not prevent it. When it becomes anchored to the past, it unintentionally holds the present back.

Patience grounded in long-term thinking gave me reason to keep coming back

Manchester United once believed in long arcs. Managers were backed through imperfect periods. Young players were allowed to grow into responsibility. Systems were given time to mature. Even Sir Alex Ferguson's early years would struggle to survive today.

That philosophy mirrors how real progress works in careers. Sometimes things don't click immediately. Sometimes a difficult six months precedes a breakthrough. Patience isn't passive; it's a deliberate commitment to direction when results lag effort.

Today, the club feels stuck in constant resets. Managers are hired for specific philosophies and discarded before those ideas can compound. Players are signed for one vision and stranded in another. The handling of Rúben Amorim among other decisions, feels less like isolated failure and more like an institution that no longer commits to direction long enough to see it through.

This isn't me closing my chapter on Manchester United. I don't think you ever fully stop caring about something that shaped you for decades. But it is a recalibration - a shift in how I engage with the club when the values that drew me in are no longer being consistently lived.

That lesson extends far beyond football. In careers and organizations, staying committed only makes sense when the principles that inspired you in the first place still hold. Otherwise, loyalty slowly turns into habit rather than choice.

It's easy to get caught up in the grind—endless meetings, deadlines, and the constant pressure to perform. Some of the most valuable skills—creativity, adaptability, and perspective—aren't just built at work, but also through what we pursue outside of it. For me specifically, 3 areas outside of work have contributed to my growth:

1. Playing a role in Manchester United's SF/Bay Area Fan Club

As a lifelong football fan, this keeps me connected to my passion. Beyond just watching games, I've helped organize events, fundraise, and build a tight-knit community. Unlike my day-to-day in a large company, this is a more unstructured environment and requires being scrappy, making things happen with limited resources and rallying a community around a shared passion.

2. Helping Future MBAs Get In

Mentoring MBA applicants has been incredibly fulfilling. Seeing someone crack a dream school they thought was out of reach is unmatched. I've had people tell me, "Sharan, I never thought I'd make it—but you helped me believe in myself." Moments like that remind me how impactful guidance can be. It's also made me more grateful for my own journey while sharpening my ability to frame stories, think from different perspectives, and communicate with clarity—skills that are just as valuable in business as in admissions.

3. Improv: Thinking on My Feet

Improv has been an unexpected but invaluable skill-builder. It's helped me think faster, present more confidently, and navigate ambiguity—critical in a strategy role. But what I love most is the diversity of people I meet. In San Francisco, most conversations revolve around tech; in improv, work rarely comes up. I'm surrounded by teachers, airport security, artists—people from all walks of life. That shift in perspective is refreshing and a great reminder that creativity and adaptability matter everywhere.

The bottom line? What you do outside of work doesn't just make you more interesting—it makes you better at what you do. Whether it's sports, volunteering, music, or something entirely different, stepping away brings fresh perspectives, new skills, and renewed energy. Growth isn't just about work—it's also about the experiences we choose. Find something that excites you, and you might be surprised how much it shapes you, both personally and professionally.

I was in my final year at undergrad, at Shri Ram College of Commerce (SRCC) in Delhi. SRCC was one of the top undergrad universities in India for the commerce field and attracted great recruiters including banks, audit and consulting firms.

While I had secured a few good on-campus job offers, the disappointed from not being selected by the A-tier firms made me a bit of a rebel. I wondered if any of these boring 'desk jobs' were worth it; why anyone would work 50-60 hours a week on jobs or industries they weren't interested in. Moreover, I had learned from seniors that the first few years out, the kind of work they were doing was also very average - very mechanical work with little or no client interaction at all. So, I was stubborn that I didn't want to be just one of the 1000's working in these organizations, doing work I didn't care for.

I had always been passionate about sports and even played a number of them growing up. I had also been fascinated with what happened 'behind the scenes' at sporting events. The logistics of organizing large events, the way events attracted large sponsors and the business of getting a sporting event on TV/ media were things that actually kept me up at night. I had played many sporting events growing up and even attended few big ones as a fan. I had attended Cricket matches including the Indian Premier League (IPL) which was in its nascent stages, ATP tennis events, where I had even volunteered once. All these events had a lot of people working for them behind the scenes and I was super excited to learn more about what these people did and how it was 'work' when you were actually a part of these great sporting events and among athletes that you admired.

So - the rebel in me wanted to give up all my on-campus job offers and work in sports. Mind you the offers I got were from some big names - Google, HSBC, S&P Capital IQ etc. When I told people I wanted to work in sports, it was met with shrugs and some called me silly, saying I had to be pragmatic and shouldn't just chose a field because I was passionate about it. Would these sports organizations even pay, What was the future, I was often asked. To be honest, I didn't really have an answer. I just knew that if I enjoyed doing something, I would be good at it and if I was good at my work, more doors would open and I backed myself to take these opportunities.

There was no structured recruiting into the sports industry. They did not have campus recruiting and most of the organizations did not even have a formal HR and job posts. It was all networking and referrals. I needed to break into an industry where I knew nobody; none of my seniors from SRCC worked in sports too. Seemed an uphill battle. My only strategy was to reach out to as many people as possible. Maybe I am not giving myself enough credit, my strategy was as follows (3P's)

Pipeline: Reach out to as many people as possible and build a huge pipeline. On average I wrote to 10-15 people a day on LinkedIn for 30 days in a row. I actually had an excel of 400 names on it. These were all professionals in the industry who worked for a variety of organizations - teams/ franchisees of the different leagues; agencies - from the tiniest 3 person organization to giants like IMG; sports media organizations and federations/ leagues. I covered the entire gamut of industry.

Persistence: Just writing to them once isn't enough. You need to relentlessly follow up; follow up to an extent where you 'almost' become annoying. I say almost here because there is a fine line and I'm sure I crossed it many a time but I tried to be professional at all time and requested for a quick call, some advice etc. I would even share an interesting article I read or share something that was happening globally and ask them how it could be replicated in India.

Passion: Lastly, passion. I needed to show people that I was really passionate about the industry and their organization. Passion doesn't mean just following sport and knowing results of matches. I had to research every last bit about the organization, speak their language and ask intelligent questions. When I got the opportunity to speak to them, I did speak from the heart about my interest but it wouldn't have had the same impact had I not prepared well.

So, eventually, I heard back from around 40 of the 400 people I had written to. Only half of them agreed to get on a call with me. The others told me not to waste their time or that they were only interested in hiring experienced professionals. Out of the 20, 5 agreed to meet me in person. Some of them gave me valuable advice and few connected me to more people. I ended up interviewing for 3 roles and landed them all. Not fancy, high paying jobs but an opportunity to get a foot in the door in this industry.

My major point from the above is the conversion ratio, had I not done any of the above P's, I would've failed. I needed that pipeline of 400 people and I wouldn't have heard back had I not been persistent enough and lastly, if I didn't have the passion for this, it would've shown and I would've failed the interviews.

Also, you do not stop once you get a job. There is no downside to meeting more people and learning something new from them. I continued reaching out to people (maybe not at the same rate) and can safely say, I made some great relationships in the industry. I even got my subsequent job interviews through these connections/ relationships I had built. Till date, I continue to be in touch with a lot of the people I had reached out to in my early days. Some remain mentors and many great friends!

So - was this process easy! No, it wasn't! Nothing good ever is easy. For days, I wouldn't get a response but I had to keep at it. Keeping at it is the ONLY way you get things done and this was a lesson I'm glad I learned early and was so transferable to many things I ended up doing.

Last month, I graduated from the Kellogg School of Management, Northwestern University. It marked the end of my final 2 years of formal in-class education - 2 great years, where I met some fantastic people, learned tons and leave with some great memories. I can safely say there has been some tremendous personal growth over the last 2 years. The MBA curriculum (and especially at Kellogg) is designed to make you introspect, learn more about what drives you, what your blind spots are, and then lean in to work on them. You constantly give and receive feedback and one of the things I was made aware of was that I don't celebrate my highs. People who have been rooting for me get disappointed when I take wins in my stride and do not even acknowledge that something good has happened. It makes them not want to root for me the next time over - because, anyway, I am going to play it down. Hence, this post is about celebrating some small wins at Kellogg, not the big jobs or graduation.

These small wins have special meaning and something I need to cherish. Let's start with:

1. The Early Bird Award: This is a silly yet cute award that I received for my role in the Student's Admissions Committee (STAC) at Kellogg. As part of STAC, I interview prospective students and the interview report goes a long way in deciding if the applicant gets into Kellogg (a lot of factors other than the interview as well). I had the habit of writing detailed reports with examples and quotes from the interview. I also liked to work on the report on the same day of the interview, so things were fresh in memory. When you do 3-4 interviews in a day, it is tough to complete all the reports (each can be over 1000 words + a survey) the same day. I took this responsibility seriously and would often work late into the night and submit reports by 2/3 AM. Most others would use the entire 3-week window to submit the reports (I don't remember a conversation from the day before, wonder what kind of job I would've done had I waited 3 weeks). So, the 'early bird' was to signify that I was one of the earliest to complete these reports.

While not a big achievement so to speak (see me playing it down again), it correlates nicely with one of my life philosophies - 'the early lead'. The early lead forces me to get a head-start on my work i.e. not delay a task and once I am ahead on timelines, it becomes easy to finish. Michael Schumacher inspired me to get the 'early lead'. I've seen him many times, take an early lead in races and once he is ahead, continues to build on his lead and becomes impossible to catch. Most of these wins can be attributed to the effort he put in at the start to get this early lead.

I am often guilty of procrastinating and not going for the early lead but the award was a reminder of the merits of this philosophy.

2. Best Story-Teller: I was awarded the 'Best Story-Teller' as part of the Negotiations course at Kellogg. The course is very sought after and taught by Prof. Victoria Medvec, who is a superstar. In the last session, she hands out awards basis student's performances in the various in-class negotiation exercises. She watches recordings of these exercises and gives weightage to peer nominations. It is a special award for me for 2 reasons: 1. Coming from a sales background, I've always had to adapt my pitch and each pitch is a story in its own way. Getting recognized as a good story-teller is vindication of my selling abilities. And 2. When members of my extended family saw that I had received this award, they all said 'like mother, like son'. My mom runs a chain of pre-schools and is a great story-teller. She would voice modulate, be very animated and get into the character as a story-telling, wowing her school kids. Glad I inherited this trait from her - nowhere close to her level but hopefully on the right track.

3. Dean's Distinguished Service Award:

The Dean's Distinguished Service Award is given to Kellogg students who have made significant and lasting contributions to the Kellogg community (excerpt from the University). I have always enjoyed doing stuff outside of the classroom and was actively involved in clubs and student governance initiatives back in undergrad. Back then, I had over-committed myself across multiple clubs and I was keen not to repeat the same. Hence, at Kellogg I stuck to a leadership role in one club - the media and entertainment club. In addition, as I mentioned above, I was involved in student admissions.

My biggest contribution came as part of the Kellogg Student Association (KSA), where I co-led the clubs and finance ecosystem at Kellogg. It is an interesting role that required me to liaise with a lot of club leaders, understand their pain points, and ensure an equitable distribution of funds among 80+ clubs (way way too many clubs!). Lastly, recruiting is a big part of the MBA experience and I've conducted 100+ mock cases/ mock interviews for students preparing for roles in Consulting, tech, and media/ entertainment.

The biggest difference between my involvement back in undergrad and at Kellogg was the motive behind my involvement. Back in undergrad, we are all naive and wanted to be over involved thinking it would help our resumes, thinking it would make us popular, etc. At Kellogg, I got involved because I felt I could make a difference and was keen to help people around me. I had the media and entertainment industry experience to support the community recruiting in the space. I got involved in admissions because I felt it would help shape Kellogg culture going forward. On the KSA front, I got to work with great people including a close buddy of mine who I had an election pact with (we would help the other if any of us won the election mandate). Recruiting wise, I was keen to give back (received a lot of support in my first year). I took it upon myself to give the best feedback I could and equip my juniors to put their best selves forward in interviews. Learning of the job offers they received brought me a lot of joy.

I enjoyed writing this piece - these small wins have meant a lot, yet I haven't cherished them enough or played them up. More importantly, there is a way to celebrate a win without bragging about it. Lastly, we have long way to go in our personal growth journeys and while we continue to learn more about ourselves, it is important to stop, reflect and celebrate/ course-correct from time to time.

Hot take - Will Smith and the makers of Bay Boys read this 2-part series and decide to remake the entire Bad Boys franchise. The original ones were pretty crappy after all. On a serious note though, I think I've come a long way from the idiot I was (still am – hopefully much lesser) back in Salem and my early days in Delhi.

Enjoy reading!

After Class 10, I decided to change schools. I was really tired of the only school I had ever attended (pre-KG to Class 10, a total of 13 years). It wasn't a bad school (still one of the best in Salem) - produced some of the brightest kids in the town, had good sports and debate teams etc., but I was tired on being picked on. Picked on for being my mom's son. Yes – you heard it right. My mom used to be the junior school principal at the same school and then left to achieve way more success by starting her own chain of Pre Schools (pre-kindergarten). No fault of hers ofcourse, she was doing well and as a result, we as a family were doing very well too.

As I grew up and went up grades in school, most of my teachers had been colleagues of my mom used to know her well. They weren't happy that one among them had left and was doing very well outside. So, I was constantly picked on – 'Kavitha's son this' and 'Kavitha's son that' I would constantly hear. I didn't have my own identity and I always got special treatment – not the good kinds. Anything I said and everything I did was subject to extra scrutiny. I was very young (early teens), happy-go-lucky and was trying to balance academics, tennis, quizzing and having to watch my every move was talking a toll on me. I was waiting to complete Class 10 to change schools.

I got my scores – 5% higher than what my teachers projected but in line with my expectation. After all, they didn't realize that the neutral paper checkers wouldn't be as partial as they were. I was so done with the school - the day my results came out, I filed the application for a school transfer. It came as a surprise to a lot of people – after all I had been with the school for 13 years! Teachers made an attempt to convince me to stay but I stood firm. The only people that matter were my parents and I got them on board. Dad agreed that a few years in an all-boys school would do me good – rough me up perhaps. So, I completed formalities to join a rival school in Salem, the Holy Cross Boys School. This Catholic all-boys school was going to be such a different experience from my first school, a protected co-ed environment. Holy Cross was a rowdier atmosphere where you were on your own; professors would just do the bear minimum - no spoon feeding.

The first few months at Holy Cross were difficult. I had to find 'my people' in a much larger setting (4x number of students). Everything was new – professors, style of teaching and the overall atmosphere. Eventually, I settled in – found a group to play football with (yes, soccer!), a much larger and more competitive quiz and debate team, a group of friends in my school bus and generally became popular. I also became a core part of another key group at school – guys, I would grow to become very close to. More on them later! I'm sure we had a name for our 'group'/'gang'. Don't remember it now. Let's call us the 'Social Beasts' (a term I coined for my group of friends at Kellogg).

Holy Cross had a unique system where House Captains would choose newcomers into respective houses. The Green and the Red houses (had more interesting names ofcourse) fought hard for me. I'd generally been a red guy all along and was hoping I'd be chosen into the Red house, but the greens wanted me more. Traded 3 students for me and made me feel quite special. I repaid their faith by winning several points during 'Kalothsav', the annual cultural festival of the school and probably the biggest school event in Salem. It's funny, how one becomes a big fish faster in a bigger pond!

So – now to the social beasts (again, just a placeholder name – we were probably beasts but didn't have it in us to be social). It was a bunch of 8 guys. A few of them were friends from before Class 10 and continued to stick together. I had bonded with one of them during the house selection process and the other during a conference were we the only 2 from our school. We spent a long weekend with 100 other people we didn't know, and I learned a lot about the school and the gang of friends from him. As a group, we had a lot in common – mainly our love for food. Everyone was surprised by my appetite for… No, just my appetite. How did this scrawny North Indian kid eat and know so much about their South Indian food? What surprised them even more was I took them to local/ authentic, tiny restaurants they had never heard of before. I remember this one time I bit into a huge chicken leg bone to suck the marrow out and I saw them beaming with pride. I was one of them now!

I added Deepak to this group of ours. Deepak was in my section, lived close to my place and we would often hang. His mom used to feed me the most delicious Mutton Biryani and Chicken and Fish fry. This became a weekly routine and sometimes even more than once a week under the pretext of studying together. The others loved Deepak too and they soon started showing up at his place. Every weekend we would show up around 11, have a massive meal, play cards and then eat more. His mom enjoyed cooking for us but my God I must have been a task feeding 8 gluttonous boys and a family. Like Deepak's place was the 'adda' (the location or nest of a group or community) for gluttony, my place became the spot for all the groups' dance practices. No – I am not a dancer but many in the group were great dancers and used to be a part of the school dance team. My mom used to run a pre-school and our house was one of the branches for the school. So, there was a big hall and plenty of open space. So, it became the default dance practice center. My friends would show up announced and start practicing dance. There were many times they came home and started practice when I wasn't around – they use the computer to record songs, use my speakers etc. and maybe even cook themselves a meal for all I know. At one time, they probably had keys to my house!

Such was the close bond we shared. Very informal and very comfortable. Funny thing was we all came from different backgrounds and wanted to do different things. One was a top lawyer's son and was forced to follow in his father's footsteps; another was a top politician's son and he wanted to follow in father's footsteps. One wanted to become a Computer engineer, one wanted to take over his father's construction business, and then a bunch of us randos :P. Unfortunately, academics wasn't our forte (I think I did quite well, though). They would all meet quite frequently for detention. Our school had a mandatory extra class from 3-5pm and an additional one from 5-7pm for weaker students. I found the mandatory extra class a waste of time and managed to get out them citing practice for Tennis tournaments. Teachers fumed that I was given special treatment but every time they brought it up, the sports master and my parents fully supported me. I had decent grades to back me up too. My friends were not this fortunate. The only way out for them was to blatantly bunk and I often had them join me in my 3pm bus back home. Such a good life, going home at 3, they exclaimed! When caught in the bus they would face additional detention on Saturdays where they would have to either show up to school or a professor's home...yes, A PROFESSOR'S HOME! (clearly profs don't care about their privacy!). I felt bad I wasn't there for them during this period but atleast they had each other.

One of their outlets for this frustration was biking (think: motorbikes). Most of them had fancy, remodeled bikes and would often take them for a spin late at night. One of them would pick me up ofcourse. They would often zoom over 100kmps (that is very fast for Indian urban roads) and I was scared when I was a pillion. Not following speed limits, running red lights, risky overtaking and some death-defying maneuvering – I had my heart in my mouth many a time and was just glad that we didn't meet with an accident. A lot of close calls! Somehow, they got a thrill out of racing and cutting in between buses. After a point, I just didn't want to be a part of it but to be honest, on a bad day, zooming through the streets with the wind blowing into your hair can give you a mad rush!

Bad driving wasn't our only flaw. In a boy's school there are often issues between different factions. Let's call this gang wars. Yes – gang wars were a big thing. You'd have groups of 10-50 (yes, wide range) try to fight each other. This would normally occur late evening in a parking lot or in an empty plot. Imagine guys in bikes, arriving together, sometimes with sticks, ready for a fight. Yup – it was exactly this. Funnily, most times the actual 'fight' would not happen – no violence/ no broken bones. It would be just trash talking with an appointed mediator from each side trying to resolve issues. These mediators weren't one of us students. The mediators were generally the popular 'gundas' (hired thugs) of the city. They were big names people didn't want opposite them in a fight.

The mediation was a form of income for the thugs. In the build-up, they would be taken out to meals and the fancier the meal, the more involved they would back us. Winning a mediation would involve getting an apology from the other side and sometimes even a monetary settlement (small one – enough for a couple of dinners, bike servicing etc.). So, thugs had some work to do. I was involved in the build-up phase many a time where I wined and dined thugs. It is always important to show you care about them – never talk about the issue; first always start with wanting to get dinner/ drinks. They love being taken care of (invested in) and once they softened, they get emotional. When you hear 'you are my brother, ill do anything for you', that's when you know you are close to sealing the deal. Often, I got the bigger thugs (more credibility in the city) on our side and we'd win the mediation. A few times things haven't gone our way, yes, it wasn't pleasant, but we survived. Credit to my boys (i.e. the gang); they always stood up for each other and were never scared to take a beating.

All of this stopped closer to exams ofcourse – everyone was grounded at home busy trying to study. Most of them ranked in the bottom 10% of the class and I was nervous. The day the board exam results came out, we all showed up at the center where we file for a re-evaluation/ re-counting of papers. They weren't their usual jovial selves. Turns out, of the 8 of us – 4 failed atleast 1 exam, 1 didn't give a couple of exams because of a bike accident he met with, 2 had just about passed and me – I was there because I was unhappy scoring a 93% in Business Studies. They made sure I did not submit my application and I stayed away from their homes for a couple of weeks until things subsided.

Yes – once upon a time I was probably 'too cool' or rather 'too stupid' for school. The amount I've bunked school to chill with my friends, go on drives, I cannot count. It's funny I was scared I wouldn't settle in the new school, but I loved the experience of the other extreme. Felt like a fish in water on the dark side.

Let's hope my parents don't read this!

You know how they tell you, India is a land of diversity. Every state has its own language, food, customs etc. Everything changes every few hundred miles - so culturally diverse!

I've lived and traveled to most parts of India. I was born down south, moved north when I was 17 and then changed states once again. Work has taken me to almost every part of the country. I have visited golf courses in 19 states in the country and stayed atleast a night in 25 of the 29 states and all union territories baring one. Like I said, a lot of things are different in different parts of the country and it takes time getting used to. I want to share a story of how even my name changed when I moved from Salem to Delhi. No, not a nickname but my ACTUAL, OFFICIAL name!

Down south in India it is pretty common not to have a surname (last name). People go by their first name and have an initial before or after their name (in most cases, before); for eg - R Srinivasan, where 'R' the initial would be the first letter of their dad's name. It is also common to have multiple initials, for eg - PR Srinivasan, where the 'P' here stands for the village/city your ancestors belonged to. However, I was a North Indian born in South India; I had a last name and used the first letter of my dad's name as an initial, so I was V Sharan Godya. I always pushed to keep the V in the middle but it just confused people in the south as they were used to seeing the initial up front, so I was V Sharan Godya for the first 17 years of my life. More about South Indian naming conventions in this interesting article I found.

Now, fast-forward moving to Delhi. I'm submitting my paperwork to get admitted in University. They have a problem with my name. 'V' cannot be my first name and I agree; so they enter 'Sharan' as my first name and 'Godya' as my last name. Not knowing what to do with the 'V', they stick it next to the Godya and so my name with a slight revision reads Sharan Godya V. I live with it, no big deal! My bank account, rental agreements, telephone number use my college ID and use this name. Few places eliminated the initial but in general I was Sharan Godya V. No trouble till I had to get my passport made. Back in the day getting a passport made in India was a nightmare. A long-ass form, tons of documents, waiting in a series of queues, security checks, more waiting etc. The most critical part in this was the in-home verification, where someone from the passport department would come home, verify your address, documents and even get 2 neighbors to sign as witnesses. Freaking complicated! Even if one used an agent to get the passport made, this part is something you couldn't excuse yourself from (btw things have now changed and become very very seamless - more info here).

The day came when I finally got the call from the local police station saying they were going to come for the verification soon. And boom, it was holiday season and I was back home in Salem - 2400 kms away. I promised the person on the phone that I would be back the following week and he could send someone then. He was super annoyed, mentioned a number of times that I was causing him a 'HUGE' inconvenience and that he better be compensated ("khyaal rakhoge na jab hum ayenge" was the language he used) when he visited in person (read: he wants a bribe). I was desperate and mumbled that whoever came would be taken care of.

So I was back in Delhi and was expecting someone to come over for the verification any day. I had already scouted neighbors I would ask for the witness signature. One was my landlord's wife who lived next door and the other was an uncle on the first floor, he seemed to like me because I went to a good school and I would often help his son with Math homework. I instructed my cook that once the guy came for verification, he should offer him tea. Done - I felt everything was in control and nothing could go wrong.

The day finally arrives - my doorbell rings at 7 in the evening. A Sardarji enters, we exchange pleasantries, asks to see some documents etc. He is offered tea, everything seems to be going to plan. He now wants to get the witness signatures. We first go to the landlord's place. The landlord opens the door, in his usual grumpy state he says that his wife isn't there and that he wouldn't help us. Awful human being he was - Mr. Ramesh Sharma - in Hindi we call these kind of people 'Khadoos' (rude/ snobbish). I kept insisting that aunty said she would help us. I knew that there was a possibility that she was inside and she just might hear me. The door was slammed in my face. Dejected, I told the verification officer that I would figure it out and took him to the uncle's place on the second floor. Their door was locked - clearly the family wasn't at home; it was dinner time, they could've gone out for a family meal. I was cursing my luck...

Luckily, I heard some noise on the third floor and saw someone going upstairs. So, I knew that the residents on the third floor were there. I told the officer that we could ask the third floor residents to sign as witness. We rang their doorbell while they were in the midst of their meal. Luckily uncle opened the door and he recognizes me. What luck - he is a Sardar too and immediately hits it off with my verification officer. He agrees to help me and washes his hands midway through his dinner. He and his wife are so sweet that they bring us tea. I am in a not so pleasant mood; things weren't going according to plan but my verification officer was having a good time. He was sipping his second 'chai' in 30 mins, talking in Punjabi, making fun of this younger generation etc. We finished formalities and I was hoping that we could be on our way soon, however they kept talking for over 20 mins. Me - I just pretended to smile.

I was persistent and went back to the landlord's place and rang their doorbell. This time as uncle gave me a talking to and shoo'ed me away, I saw aunty in the background. I really hoped she saw me too. I took the verification officer back to my place and gave him his 3rd Chai in an hour. He was enjoying it, mentioned to me that if he had to wait any longer, he expected dinner. Luckily, aunty knocked on our door then. She apologized saying she was busy and just heard that I was looking for her. She completed her formalities in a jiffy. I was thrilled - finally relieved! Seeing me happy put off my verification officer. He asked me for more documents and then asked me the MOST important question - the reason for this entire post... What is the V in my name? He didn't like the V 'dangling' ("yeh 'V' udd kyun raha hai", he said) and the end of my last name and insisted it be expanded. Said, in the north, they didn't go by initials! V stood for Vashudev, my dad's name. He corrected my name there and I saw my name get changed right in front of me and I couldn't do anything. Sharan Godya Vashudev it read, with 'Godya Vashudev' being my last name - he was beaming as though he'd saved the world or caught a criminal. Imagine my plight explaining why I have a double-pronged last name to visa officers, the IRS etc. - go figure!

My social security number and all my official documents in the US go by this long-ass last name which I probably have to live with for the rest of my life. So - coming back. India is an interesting country. What works in one part of the country, doesn't in another. You just got to adapt. My name had to freaking adapt! Maybe I could have pushed back, maybe I could've found another way out but the truth is.... I had run out of tea powder!

THE END.