14
One year and three months later
'So tell us why you’re here,’ said a thirty-year-old man. He wore a
red tie and a crisp white shirt.
I was at HSBC’s placement interview, facing a panel of three
bankers. Each wore a pained and bored expression. They had heard
over forty Stephanians talk nonsense about their greatness. Each
candidate had solved all the problems India faced, redesigned the
bank’s strategy and promised to work harder than apartheid-era slaves.
Why do companies bother with such interviews? Perhaps it makes
them feel better to talk about the problems of the world, even though
the actual job involves sitting at a desk and punching formulas into
spreadsheets.
I had no answer for my panel. I didn’t know why I had applied to
them, or for any job at all. I hated Delhi. I flashbacked to my college
life. Yes, I’d loved it when I had first joined college. The first year had
gone by so quickly it had felt like a vacation. The second year was
painful, with Riya breaking up with me. However, she was at Itast
around. I could steal a glance at her every now and then, be rejected
every couple of months and still remember the good times. I had
something then that keeps people going during the worst times—hope.
I dreamt Riya would come around one day. She would realize I
was her perfect partner—in terms of height, basketball, mental
connect, how hours felt like minutes when we were together and how
l