Bax to school

there is a lot of chatter these days about “back to school” in those economies where schools and other institutions of learning function normally. the august-september period usually sees the advanced economies starting the academic season. other economies start the season with the onset of the monsoon.

today (3^rd september) is a particularly significant day for me. for it was on this day a few years back that i went back to school. business school, to be precise. in one of the most storied cities of the planet. whose name originates from the old roman word for swamp (how ungodly!). called lutetia at one time, and lately, well, since the 9^th or the 10^th century ad -…paris.

this day is also the anniversary of the day when the world was plunged into the deadliest conflict it had witnessed till then. but that’s for the historians.

my descent into france was not entirely planned. though, like most indian children of my vintage, i had harboured the desire of studying and living abroad, the question was “where?” let’s face it – it’s a big planet, there are over 200 countries on it (ok, not every country welcomes foreign students, or is suitable for such an endeavour), and it wasn’t easy for a lad with limited means, fiscal and intellectual, to just pack a bag and go west. besides, my interest in marketing and communications was no guarantee of untold riches in the future; unlike finance, law, tech, or astrology.

like most good things that have happened in my life, the decision to go to france was crystallised in quite an unexpected manner. over a cup of tea with a french rugby player in mumbai (formerly known as bombay), if you must know. this gent was the regional representative of a french bank in the dear city, and i was a lowly wage slave in his office. learning the ropes of commerce as a trainee something-or-the-other (any similarities to mike and psmith are the result of a fevered imagination).

this gentleman was the product of one of the best grandes écoles de commerce (business school for the anglo-saxons) in france. he suggested i try for one of those schools. so i did a bit of research (a task in the pre chat days i can assure you), and zeroed in on ESCP Business School. which offered the Master’s I wanted.

this school is the world’s oldest business school. not an easy place to get admitted to. surprisingly for such a venerable institution, and french to boot, it processed my admission at a speed one did not usually associate with that country. i was processed and pronounced ready for admission in six weeks. in comparison, my admission to the undergraduate programme in the home town took twice as long.

be that as it may, i flew northwest (ever geographically challenged, west was not my direction) and landed in france via germany (well an airport there) on the 1st day of september. and entered the portals of the school on 3^rd september after what is politely called jet lag.

now, france was not really on the radar of indian students at that time for business studies - the flow was more for language, literature and theoretical science streams. in fact, i was the first indian to be admitted to ESCP. so when i entered the classroom on the first day, i was about as familiar to my classmates as a mango in a baguette.

but there was a "social ecosystem" in place for indian students in the city - housing in the maison de l'inde, the occasional cricket in the bois de boulogne, plenty of friends and fellow countrymen – which took care of the leisure hours.

the academic system was an altogether different story. for a lad used to leisurely readings of economic theory and french poetry, the weekly surprise tests, live case studies with real brands after a 2-hour lunch with a charming bordeaux, and the realisation that although i had spent nearly 10 years soaking up the language, its literature and way of life, i couldn’t understand a word of french for the first week, made me doubt the wisdom of my decision for a few days.

but one thought kept me going. the memory of my parents at the airport seeing me off.

the silent pride on their faces that their offspring was taking steps into the big, wide world. the trip to the airport was a subtle signal to the world that the child was off to do the family proud. my father was not known for expressing emotion of any kind, and he probably produced a grimace-trying-to-be-a-smile under a force-majeure clause (he was a lawyer...). but it was brighter than the lights of the eiffel tower for me. my mother was content to bask in the knowledge that the boy was out of her hair for the foreseeable future.

though my expression in the photo does indicate a slight FOTU (fear of the unknown), the warmth and camaraderie of my classmates, professors, and every person i met in paris helped me overcome this in a matter of days. i also finally understood french as she is spoken.