A line on training

As part of my job, I am required to market an associate company that is the recruitment training arm. Under its aegis, we conduct sessions in various engineering and Master of Business Administration (MBA) colleges to prepare students for campus placement. Since the largest stakeholder of the company, after whom it is named, has been in the business for over 20 years, we enjoy a certain cachet in the MBA training market. But engineering? That's new and, well, exciting.

Mumbai's western line, which stretches from Borivali in the north to Churchgate in the south, has several engineering colleges, ranging from the run-down to the swanky. All of them, though, share one trait. They have been set up and are run by community-based trusts. So, St Francis in Borivali has Catholic roots; Rizvi in Bandra traces its beginning to a prominent Mumbai Muslim family; and DJ Shanghvi college of engineering, which looks less college and more commercial plaza given its to-die-for interiors, owes its existence to a mandal run by a band of Gujarati industrialists.

As I traversed the length of Mumbai visiting these colleges, several things became clear. In spite of the dearth of real estate, educational institutions in this megalopolis occupy acres of prime property. Apart from St Francis, which is in a secluded spot in Borivali, nearly every college I visited lies in the heart of the most desirable suburbs - from Rajiv Gandhi Institute of Technology in Andheri West to Thodomal Shahani Engineering College just off the posh Linking Road in Bandra.

How did these institutes manage to get prime property in Mumbai's heart? For one, they had time on their side. Most of these colleges were established in late 19th/early 20th century, when Mumbai was a shadow of its current self. Pre-Independence, the growing industrial character of Mumbai needed engineering colleges to churn out students of high calibre. Andheri, today a bustling suburb, was then a marshland. Chunks of uninhabited land have given way to apartments whose going rate is in excess of Rs 20,000 per sq ft.

As detailed in the excellent The Chawls of Mumbai: Galleries of Life edited by Neera Adarkar (ImprintOne, 2011), construction in Mumbai has traditionally taken place with no clear bye-laws since the city developed outward from the south as migrants occupied new land. Matunga was where the south Indians congregated. Sion was taken over by the Sikhs. Gujaratis spread everywhere. One result of this unplanned expansion is the absurd logic of Mumbai's road network. Streets take sharp turns, lanes suddenly lose their width, and massive complexes sit cheek by jowl with congested slums.

This anything-goes culture has affected the education scene too. Bang in the middle of residential areas, engineering campuses sit ill at ease on their vast acres, manicured lawns included. As I visited them one after the other, often the sudden onset of young students grabbing a bite at the roadside stall was the only indication of an educational setup in an otherwise residential ecosystem. Aunties in traditional Gujarati saris, maids on their way to work, vegetable sellers - the appurtenances of domesticity would disappear to showcase youthful bonhomie and studied cockiness.

As for the task at hand, I wish I could claim greater success. Recruitment training is big business today with most MBA prep institutes using it as a front to get new students for their programmes. Besides, information technology firms are also in the game. TCS, for instance, runs a detailed seven-day programme in which it covers everything from writing emails and designing resumes to dressing up appropriately for the interview.

Most training and placement officers (or TPOs, faculty members who double up as placement coordinators) expressed helplessness when I visited them. "We do it in-house," some said. "We already have a very successful programme with another agency," said a few others. "Thank you, but we don't see why this is needed. Most of our students go abroad to pursue MS," was a third reaction.

I had little option but to lure them with the promise of a free session during which, I assured them, they would be more than satisfied. "We offer personalised attention, never taking a batch of more than 25. This means we work with you over several months and not just a few days, like the others. And our rates are among the best in the business," I said.

A tiny minority relented: "Why don't you send us a proposal and we will see how we can work with you." It wasn't victory but a shoo-in is as good as it gets on the first cold call.

Maybe we won't get any business this year but at least we are on their radar. That by itself should be sufficient if even a few of them remember us when I make these rounds same time next year. By then, employing a mix of memory and sycophancy, I should be able to have then shell out much-needed cash. The only glitch: the very idea of staying at one place and doing the same thing one year on is dreary enough to kill my appetite.

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The author has switched too many jobs in the past and hopes he can hold down this one