Used to winning

Black circles on a white sheet

No room for the sleepless cheat

Soft scribbles of graphite racing against time

Tom, Dick and Harry want to be in an IIM

Done with all the apti-tests

Wowed the profs with gyaan and jests

All three were living the great Indian dream

Just when it looked life could get no more gleam

They say free lunches don’t exist

The lavish dinners had to have a twist

Tom liked neither the consult jargon nor bankers’ show off

Harry had no clue anyway; At Dick they did all short of scoff

Dick wanted nought but grades

While Tom was a jack of all trades

Child in a toy shop, put fight, the mentors told Harry

Markets are freezing, they expounded, be wary

‘Twas time to buy jacket and sweatshirt

TDH wanted to, with fachchis, flirt

Pre placement offers were cause for celebration

In times of sinking banks, frauds and inflation

Alas, fate had different plans

Tom threw out the beer cans

It was September; Dick Fuld had spoiled his party

Sans grades, would they still think him a smarty?

Dick did all the studying

Projects, contacts, string pulling

Luck seemed evasive, but he said he’ll defy providence

We’re used to winning, we’ll make some sense

And Harry, he had some clues now

For banks and advisors he had no respect

The Duke song told him to be a brander

Unilever, P&G, There were none any grander

Recessions are bad; firms don’t hire

People speak of joblessness; Placecom is on fire

Harry is a consultant; Dick’s back to a bank

Tom’s dreaming of getting killed driving an army tank

Dark circles no longer on a sheet

They’re on our faces, having been browbeat

Losses hard to digest, all the purses thinning

Hoping against hope we’ll be okay, ‘coz we’re used to winning.