CP: The root of all MBA evils.
Pasting a snippet I had written for our ISB magazine. CP means Class Participation, which in simple English translates to bringing up mostly useless, air-filled questions/points in class to earn brownie points with the Professor. Section C was my section, of course. For MBA grads, CP during class hours is a major source of debate and occasional headache, hence the topicality of this subject.
The venue: AC 8, Section C.
The time: Around 3 pm.
The mood: SLEEPY.
A lecture session is on in its usual, dreary monotone. Suddenly, there’s an explosion! Well, not quite, someone has just uttered the word ‘PROFFESSSORRR’ at the top of his lungs. The whole class is shaken out of its peaceful reverie. The professor in question is stupefied and stares at the questioner with completely uncomprehending eyes, and for once, is at a loss for words.
The entire class turns around with an expectant, knowing smile. Mr.X fires on: “Well, if I calculated the prediction interval for the number of paedophiles in $%^&*( island in Northern Timbuctoo against the number of transvestites in Guatemala, this hypothesis would not hold true”, his helpless hands gesticulating frantically like those of an accomplished Bharat Natyam dancer and being in grave danger of being pulled out of their sockets. The professor, being worldly wise, knows how to handle this, thankfully, and gives one of those answers that leave one with the feeling that life is fuzzy and there’s no absolute right or wrong in the matter. The questioner (Let’s call him the True CP God (ref: Sachdeva)) looks around the class for the next two minutes with an enigmatic smile, with a tinge of pride and accomplishment thrown in for diversity. The class rolls on at its usual snail’s pace and poor, unfortunate souls go back to their daily chores such as daydreaming, bird-watching, stargazing and the like, hoping for and at the same time, dreading the next interlude.
The venue: AC 8, Section C.
The time: Around 3 pm.
The mood: SLEEPY.
A lecture session is on in its usual, dreary monotone. Suddenly, there’s an explosion! Well, not quite, someone has just uttered the word ‘PROFFESSSORRR’ at the top of his lungs. The whole class is shaken out of its peaceful reverie. The professor in question is stupefied and stares at the questioner with completely uncomprehending eyes, and for once, is at a loss for words.
The entire class turns around with an expectant, knowing smile. Mr.X fires on: “Well, if I calculated the prediction interval for the number of paedophiles in $%^&*( island in Northern Timbuctoo against the number of transvestites in Guatemala, this hypothesis would not hold true”, his helpless hands gesticulating frantically like those of an accomplished Bharat Natyam dancer and being in grave danger of being pulled out of their sockets. The professor, being worldly wise, knows how to handle this, thankfully, and gives one of those answers that leave one with the feeling that life is fuzzy and there’s no absolute right or wrong in the matter. The questioner (Let’s call him the True CP God (ref: Sachdeva)) looks around the class for the next two minutes with an enigmatic smile, with a tinge of pride and accomplishment thrown in for diversity. The class rolls on at its usual snail’s pace and poor, unfortunate souls go back to their daily chores such as daydreaming, bird-watching, stargazing and the like, hoping for and at the same time, dreading the next interlude.