Welcome to the Firm
“Welcome to the Firm”
"Summer internship placements at MBA campuses in India represent the first formal interaction between first-year students and the corporate world. Typically lasting two months after the first year, these internships provide students with a valuable opportunity to explore a specific sector or company. Many students aim to excel during this period, often striving to secure a pre-placement offer (PPO) for a full-time position. Obtaining a PPO not only provides a safety net for the final placements in the second year but also allows students to explore additional career options with greater confidence."
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Persistence turns a dream them into reality
08:30 AM | 31st October 2014 | Bengaluru, India | IIM Bangalore (IIMB) Summer Placements
The clock is ticking. The air is thick with anticipation. In just thirty minutes, the annual summer internship placement process at IIM Bangalore will begin—a process that is anything but ordinary. This isn’t just another day; it is the day. It is a high-stakes, intense ritual, capable of determining our futures long before the 400 of us step up to receive our diplomas. At 25 years old, standing on the cusp of this defining moment, I know this is my chance—a moment with the power to shape my career trajectory, and in many ways, the rest of my life.
The setting itself is a testament to the gravity of the occasion. The interviews are to be conducted in a grand, imposing building, every inch of it exuding a sense of importance. Inside, each room is occupied by representatives from India’s most prestigious companies, ready to scrutinise, challenge, and perhaps select the next wave of future leaders. Outside, in stark contrast to the solemn atmosphere of the building, a vast tent has been erected on the central lawn—a temporary haven for those of us awaiting our turn. Under its canopy, the tension is palpable, almost suffocating - The air buzzing with nervous energy as we all try to keep our emotions in check, our futures hanging in the balance.
I know I’m just one face in this crowd, but to me, this moment feels deeply personal. Dressed in a sharp black suit, crisp white shirt, polished black shoes, and a red tie—I had chosen every detail meticulously to project confidence and capability. Yet beneath this polished exterior, my heart is racing. This isn’t just about making a good impression; it is about fulfilling a dream that had taken root four years earlier- the dream of working at this company called Mckinsey & Co. - a dream that had driven me to this point, standing here amidst India’s brightest management students, with the weight of it all pressing down on my shoulders.
It’s impossible to stand on the edge of this moment without looking back to when and where the seeds of this ambition were first sown. As I stand there, waiting for my name to be called, my mind drifts back to my final year as a B.Tech civil engineering student at IIT Madras (IITM), one of India’s most prestigious engineering institutions. Back then, I had already secured a pre-placement offer (PPO) from ITC Ltd., a top Indian conglomerate, thanks to a successful internship. With that PPO in my pocket, I had the luxury of aiming for some of the “elite” companies during final placements.
It was around this time that I first heard about the consulting industry—a field that seemed to captivate almost everyone on campus. McKinsey & Co. and BCG were the crown jewels, the two top consulting firms coming to campus for final placements. They were the dream employers, the firms that guided the TATAs, the BIRLAs, and governments worldwide. Those who secured a position with these firms became legends, their names spoken with reverence by juniors who aspired to follow in their footsteps.
But back then, I knew nothing of consulting. I had no idea what it entailed, what life at McKinsey or BCG would really be like. I was simply swept up in the tide of peer pressure, the allure of those big names. So, like many others, I polished my resume, trying to make myself stand out in a crowd of exceptional talent. Despite my inexperience, my achievements—rising from the bottom to the top of my class at IITM, securing a PPO with ITC, and my passion for music as a drummer and guitarist—aided me in earning me a coveted spot on the shortlist. Out of countless applicants, I was one of just 21 students chosen to interview with both McKinsey and BCG.
It was December 2010, final placements commencing at IITM and the day was unusually pleasant, the kind that almost tricks you into believing that everything is going to be alright. The winter sun bathed the campus in a soft, golden light, and there was a gentle breeze in the air that seemed to whisper promises of success. I remember standing there, sharply dressed in my best suit, waiting for my turn to be called. I was a bundle of nerves and naive optimism.. I had done what I thought was enough preparation—skimmed through some materials, practised a few cases—and convinced myself that it would all work out. After all, how hard could it be?
The process began, and the first company to call my name was BCG. I walked into the interview room with a confidence that came more from youthful inexperience than from real readiness. The interviewer and I quickly found common ground over our shared love for drums and music. I could feel the connection, the rapport building with every word. I walked out of that room feeling like I had nailed it. In my mind, I was already picturing myself as part of BCG, imagining what life would be like working for such a prestigious firm.
But reality has a way of humbling you. I waited anxiously for the call to return for the next round, certain that it was just a matter of time. But the call never came. I was crushed. The disappointment hit me harder than I expected, the weight of it settling in my chest as I realised that my dreams of joining BCG were over before they had even begun.
Yet, amidst that crushing defeat, a flicker of hope remained. The first day of placements, known as “Day 0,” held a certain magic—landing a job on Day 0 was more than just an achievement; it was a badge of honour, a mark of prestige. At that age, my sense of self-worth was inextricably tied to these symbols of societal acceptance. To be placed on Day 0 was to be validated.
I already had a Day 0 job offer from ITC Ltd., a position that many would have been more than satisfied with. But for me, it wasn’t enough. There was still something more I was reaching for—something that felt like the ultimate prize - A Consulting Role at Mckinsey / BCG. The thought of walking away without claiming the crown jewel haunted me. If BCG was no longer within my grasp, then I would channel every ounce of energy, every shred of determination, into my final chance—McKinsey & Co. I wouldn’t say Mckinsey was a dream yet. It was more of an attempt to gain my position as one of the institute’s “legends”, if I may call it that.
Finally, I entered the Mckinsey interview room with full conviction. The first interviewer was the current CEO, Automotive Division at Mahindra Group. A big fish in a big pond. I cleared it and loved my connection with the interviewer. The second interviewer was the ex-CEO of Myntra/current founder of the unicorn Mensa Brands. As I walked out of that room with a nod of approval, my self-esteem reached new heights. I had made it to the final 10 candidates—a place where so many others had fallen short. But with this progress came a new wave of nerves. I overheard one of the other candidates stating that Mckinsey tests for creativity in the final rounds. I thought this would be an opportunity to shine with a more imaginative and outside the box approach. I approached the final interview with a Senior Partner with a non-traditional, outside-the-box strategy, believing that this would be the key to unlocking my new future.
But instead of unlocking the door, I found it slammed shut.
When the final decision came, four candidates were selected—and I was not one of them. Despite having a job offer from ITC Ltd., the disappointment hit hard. I had set my sights high, and falling short of cracking a more prestigious job felt like a punch to the gut.
As I sat there, slumped in a chair, feeling the weight of disappointment settle over me, I was about to leave the building when I heard someone call my name. It was my first McKinsey interviewer. He must have noticed the dejection written all over my face because instead of letting me walk away, he called me over and led me to a quiet room away from the buzz of the day.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. As we sat down, he looked at me with a seriousness that made me brace myself. But then, his tone softened. He told me that he wanted to give me some feedback—not just as an interviewer, but as someone who had been in my shoes once.
He started by saying that I had done well in his interview, that he saw the potential in me. My problem-solving skills, my analytical thinking—those were all there, he said. I felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly tempered by what came next. He told me that while I had the right skills for consulting, it was my soft skills that had let me down.
It stung to hear that, but there was something in his voice that made me listen closely. He wasn’t just critiquing me; he was offering me a path forward. He advised that I take a few years to gain more experience, maybe even pursue an MBA. He said that what I lacked wasn’t ability, but polish—something that only time and exposure could give me.
And then he said something that I would carry with me for years: “You should definitely reapply to McKinsey once you’ve got a bit more of the world under your belt.” It wasn’t a rejection; it was a challenge, a call to action.
At that point in my life, I didn’t have a clear understanding of how the world really worked or where I fit into it. So, when someone senior took the time to give me genuine advice, it felt like a lifeline. His words weren’t just feedback; they were a compass, offering me direction and purpose when I needed it most.
For the first time, I began to feel a true connection with McKinsey & Co., not just as a prestigious company, but as a place where I could belong. The seeds of my McKinsey dream were firmly planted in that moment, and they took root deep within me.
Looking back now, I realise I may have been romanticising the experience a bit, but at the time, it felt like something far more profound. In that moment, I felt the spark of determination reignite within me. I wasn’t done yet—not by a long shot.
“Gautam! Please move on to the first floor, interview room no: 102!” The call from one of the senior placement representatives snaps me back to the present, pulling me out of my thoughts and thrusting me back into the intense reality of the IIMB placement process. I watch as Gautam, seated right next to me, hurriedly gathers his certificates and rushes toward the designated interview room. My eyes flicker to my watch—it’s 9 AM.
As I look around the tent, I can feel the tension in the air. Second-year MBA students, orchestrating the summer placements with practised efficiency, are calling out names, directing my batchmates to their interview rooms. It’s a scene of controlled chaos—my peers scattering like startled birds at the sound of a gunshot, each one racing toward their moment of truth.
Any moment now, I expect to hear my name. I’ve done everything I possibly could to prepare—two solid months of group study sessions, endless hours of self-preparation, mock interviews with company officials, and the strength of my work experience. All of this should be enough to keep me grounded, to make me feel ready for what’s ahead. But still, I can’t stop fidgeting. My hands won’t stay still, and I can feel the pounding in my chest.
I know that a certain level of nervousness is normal, even healthy, in a situation like this. It’s that edge, that adrenaline, that pushes you to perform at your best. But what I’m feeling goes beyond that. My stress is much more intense than it should be. And I know exactly why.
Two days ago, I learned about the corrupt placement process that’s casting a shadow over everything. That knowledge, that awareness of something unfair lurking beneath the surface, is amplifying my anxiety - It’s the fear that all my preparation, all my hard work, might not be enough in the face of a rigged system. And that thought is almost unbearable.
The summer placement process at IIMB is a finely-tuned machine, operated with precision by the seniors. Their primary objective is to get our batch placed as quickly as possible. But it’s not just about efficiency—it’s about prestige. The faster IIMB can complete placements, the sooner they can boast to the media and the world that they outperform competitors like IIMA, IIMC and the other IIMs. It’s a race against time, with our futures on the line.
Here at IIMB, once you’re placed with a company during the summer placements, that’s it—you’re out of the running for any other opportunities despite the number of shortlists you are yet to interview with. It’s a one-shot deal, and that adds a whole new layer of pressure.
And the more I learned about the placement process, the more the plot thickened. Just two days ago, I discovered how the placement team prioritises candidates while allocating them to companies on placement day. If two people are shortlisted by the same company, the one with more overall shortlists is given priority to interview first. It’s a strategy designed to free up space and keep things moving quickly, but in practice, it means that those who’ve applied to more companies and shortlisted—regardless of their genuine interest—are favoured over those who’ve been more selective. No one had told me that applying to as many companies as possible—whether I was interested in them or not—was the key to gaining an advantage in this system. There was no formal communication to us on this. Those who cozied up to the seniors and got insider information were able to game the process. They applied to companies in sectors they had no intention of joining, just to rack up more shortlists and secure priority in interviews.
During my MBA, companies from every sector came to hire—consulting, marketing, finance, general management, and more. But from the moment I joined IIMB, I was laser-focused on one goal: consulting. The dream of McKinsey was still alive, lingering in the back of my mind, a second chance after missing out during my time at IITM. I knew my profile was strong, so I only applied to consulting firms. McKinsey, BCG, Bain & Co., Strategy&, AT Kearney, Roland Berger, Alvarez & Marshall—I was thrilled to see my name on all their shortlists.
But as proud as I was of my shortlist, a nagging feeling started to set in. I hadn’t applied to a single finance or marketing company. It just didn’t interest me. But now, that decision was coming back to haunt me. Without realizing it, I had already put myself at a disadvantage before I even stepped into the interview room.
To make matters worse, I learned about something called “hotlists” that many consulting firms used. These were lists of candidates they preferred to interview right away—candidates who were likely to receive immediate offers, taking them out of the running for other companies. I was on the hotlists for AT Kearney, Bain & Co., Alvarez & Marshall, and BCG. But McKinsey? They claimed they didn’t have a hotlist policy. Whether that was true or not, I had no idea. All I knew was that I hadn’t heard anything about being on their radar.
We had to submit our preferences to placement organizers for the order in which we would like to be interviewed by the companies. When it came time to submit my preferences for the interview sequence, I put McKinsey first, followed by the others. I couldn’t help but think back to that McKinsey interviewer at IITM who had given me such valuable feedback. I wanted to be surrounded by mentors like him—those who saw potential and were willing to invest in shaping it, who offered life-changing guidance to those hungry for growth.
But I also knew the reality. With so many candidates holding more shortlists than I had, I wasn’t likely to be called for a McKinsey interview right away. I was hoping for a miracle.
I had prepared well for my interviews, but the thought of excelling in any of the others filled me with dread. If I performed too well and received an offer from another consulting firm, it would be game over for my McKinsey dream.
Making McKinsey my first choice wasn’t even logical, considering the odds stacked against me. But within all this turmoil, a tiny, unexpected window of opportunity appeared. It was slim, and it felt almost impossible, but it was something. Out of desperation, I reached out to a McKinsey official who was part of their recruitment team, someone I had interacted with before. I explained my situation, sharing the whole backstory. He was sympathetic but honest—there wasn’t much he could do. Still, he told me to message him on placement day, just in case I managed to hold out long enough to get a shot at that interview.
This is the reality I’m grappling with—the knowledge that the system is stacked in favor of some and against others. And as I sit here, waiting, I can’t help but wonder how much of my fate has already been decided by factors beyond my control. The weight of it all is almost suffocating, but I know I have to keep my head in the game. Because no matter how unfair it feels, this is the process, and it’s all I have to work with.
“Issac Jojy?” The voice of a senior placement representative cuts through the buzz around me. It’s 9:05 AM. My heart skips a beat as I step forward, hope surging through me. This is it—I’m on the verge of fulfilling my dream. I approach the senior, expecting him to direct me to the McKinsey interview panel. But then, his words hit me like a punch to the gut: “Go to Bain & Co., first floor, Room no 107.”
I freeze midstep. A wave of panic washes over me. My thoughts are racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. It’s only five minutes into the day, and already, my plan is unraveling. If I walk into that room and give it my all, there’s a very real chance that this is where my day—and possibly my dream—ends.
All my life, I’ve held onto the belief that with infinite effort, any goal can be achieved. That philosophy now means I have to say no to this prospective employer. Right now, that belief is forcing me to make an impossible choice. Do I walk into that interview room, knowing I could excel and lock myself into a path that isn’t McKinsey? Or do I gamble with the next few years of my life, and maybe even my entire future, by saying no to a solid opportunity?
I’m on the verge of risking everything—years of diligence, hard work, and the reputation I’ve built. If I say no to Bain and don’t make it into McKinsey, there’s a very real possibility I’ll end this day with nothing. The thought gnaws at me as the senior calls my name again, and almost on autopilot, I start walking toward the Bain interview room. My heart isn’t in it; every step feels heavy as I re-evaluate the situation over and over in my mind.
Somehow, I find myself at the top of the stairs, standing just outside the Bain interview area. But then, out of nowhere, this overwhelming feeling of connection to McKinsey surges through me. It’s like a wave crashing over everything else. I know it doesn’t make sense—there’s no logic in it. But my gut, my instinct, is screaming that if I walk into that room and interview with Bain, I’ll be betraying myself, betraying the dream I’ve held onto for so long.
The interviewer from Bain appears and calls my name. One more step and I’m inside that room. But my mind feels like it’s being torn in two. I’m confused, my mouth is dry, and I can barely think straight. Somehow, I manage to find my voice and stammer out, “Can I speak to my placement senior?”
The interviewer stares at me, confused. But then, in a moment of clarity, I gather all the courage I have left and blurt out, “Sorry. I would like to be interviewed by another company first.” He can’t quite believe what’s happening, and honestly, neither can I.
For a prospective employee—especially the first one they’ve called that day—to make such a request must be something he’s never encountered before. His expression shifts from confusion to frustration, and soon enough, he’s venting his anger at me. Another Bain official, who’s been observing the scene, steps in, and now I’m being publicly berated by both of them. I stand there, trying to piece together a rational explanation for what I’ve just done,
Bain had been my second preference, and now, in an instant, I’m crossing them off my list. It feels surreal. Then, one of the officials delivers an ultimatum: “If you don’t want to interview with us, that’s fine. But if you interview with whichever company you want and you don’t get an offer, we won’t interview you—even if we have slots open.”
If I go in with Bain now, they might deliberately drag out the process and prevent me from interviewing with anyone else. This realization solidifies my decision, and I find the conviction to stand by it. I decline, and with that, I’m walking away from a sure opportunity, banking everything on a gut feeling.
As I walk back to the tent, my heart is pounding. Logically, I know what I’m doing borders on madness. When I return so early, some of my batchmates start applauding, assuming I’ve already secured an offer. But when I explain that I didn’t interview with Bain, their excitement quickly turns to frustration which some of them start to take out on me. The competition is fierce—they want me out of the process as soon as possible to improve their own chances.
My mind feels like it’s caught in a whirlwind,.It’s only 9:25 AM. I’m seated under the tent and still clinging to that gut feeling about McKinsey—hoping, against all odds, that I’ve made the right choice.
I decide to send a text to the McKinsey official, and I type out the message. I explain that I’ve turned down Bain, making it clear that seeing McKinsey is imperative. Then, I wait—ten agonizing minutes.. But there’s no response. The clock keeps ticking, and I can see the slots at other companies filling up. If I interview with McKinsey and don’t make it, my chances of landing a consulting internship elsewhere are growing slimmer by the second.
I’m in a vulnerable position. I’ve applied to fewer companies and none outside of consulting. The one thing keeping me from completely unravelling is McKinsey’s policy of interviewing all their shortlisted candidates. So, I sit there, trying to keep my nerves in check, praying that any minute now, I’ll hear back and be called in for the interview.
It’s 9:40 AM. A placement senior approaches me, calling my name. My heart leaps—this has to be it, McKinsey at last. But no. It’s BCG.
I feel utterly defeated, collapsing inwardly as the weight of the situation hits me. What do I do now? On one hand, McKinsey remains silent. On the other, BCG is a major player, one of the biggest hirers, and I had them as my backup to McKinsey. If I say “No” now, I might be left with nothing.
I walk over to the senior, my mind a whirlwind of doubt. When I tell him I don’t wish to interview with BCG, he fixes me with a long, hard stare, as if he’s looking right into my soul. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?” he asks, knowing full well how against the norm this is.
By this point, I’m not sure of anything anymore. I just don’t want a repeat of the Bain incident. I feel like I’m on the edge, and at any moment, I might give up under the pressure. But somehow, I gulp down my fear and say, “Yes.”
I return to my chair, trying to block out the negativity. I start listening to music and crank up the volume on my headphones. It’s 9:50 AM, and in desperation, I send another text to the McKinsey official, telling him I’ve now said “No” to two companies. I’m practically pleading in the message, but again, there’s no reply. I can do nothing more than sit there, tough it out, and wait. My eyes start to well up, an involuntary reaction to the extreme stress I’m putting myself through. It’s not that I want to cry—it’s just the sheer intensity of the moment getting to me.
At around 10:05, the senior comes back, calling my name once more. My pulse quickens—surely, this time, it has to be McKinsey. But no. It’s Alvarez & Marshall, my fourth preference.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I think, frustration boiling over. “What did I do wrong to end up in this position? I’ve excelled academically, I’m an IIT and IIM graduate, I’ve worked for ITC, one of the top recruiters, and I’ve done well in extracurriculars like sports and music. What more could I possibly have done?” But then, a defiant thought crosses my mind: “F*ck it! I’m going to get interviewed by McKinsey, even if it kills me—which at this rate, it probably will.”
In my desperation, a wild plan forms in my head. “If I don’t get placed today, I decide I’ll go teach physics and math to 11th and 12th graders. I’ll make a living that way if I have to.” I’m that desperate. With this resolve, I tell the senior, “I’m not interested in interviewing with Alvarez & Marshall.”
One refusal is rare, two is unheard of, and three? I’m now in uncharted territory.
I sent yet another text to the McKinsey official, but once again, there’s no reply. By this point, I’m beyond caring. A pattern has emerged, and if I get called by another company, I’m prepared to say “No” to them as well, setting a new record for insubordination on placement day. My inner child has taken over, screaming at me that I need to complete the cycle with McKinsey that began four years ago. As time drags on, I’m finding it harder to breathe.
Alongside my determination to see this through with McKinsey, there’s also an anger boiling deep within me. I’m furious at the rigged system on campus and blame my seniors for the lack of transparency that’s now wreaking havoc on my mental health.
At 10:30 AM, I get the next call…
“Issac Jojy, go to McKinsey & Co., Second Floor, Room no 208.”
Suddenly, time seems to stand still. I let out a sigh, but I can’t tell if it’s from relief, excitement, frustration, or the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside me. This is it—everything is on the line now. Almost all the other companies have finished their interviews. It’s all or nothing. Four years of dreaming might come crashing down today.
My legs feel like they’re made of lead as I climb the stairs to the McKinsey interview area. My stomach churns like a washing machine on full spin, and my mind races with every negative thought imaginable. I try to calm myself with deep breaths, but it’s a losing battle. When I reach the door, the McKinsey official I messaged earlier is standing there. I muster the courage to ask why he didn’t respond. His casual reply—he forgot to check his phone—hits me like a blow. In that moment, I feel incredibly small, not just to McKinsey, but in the grand scheme of my entire existence. He offers me a cup of water, but it does little to soothe the sinking feeling in my gut.
After what feels like an eternity, I’m finally called inside. By now, I’m in no mental state to face the demands of an interview. It’s do or die, and death seems to be inching closer. I’ve got no other options left.
As the interview begins, the first interviewer, naturally assuming I’ve already attended other interviews and been rejected, asks, “How many interviews have you attended?” When I tell him “zero,” the shock on his face is palpable. “Why so?” he asks, his curiosity piqued.
That’s my cue. It’s time to tell my story. For the next five minutes, I pour my heart out. I talk about the feedback I received from his colleague four years ago, the refusals I’ve given to other companies that day, and how I’ve staked everything on McKinsey. This wasn’t part of some grand plan—it was something deeper, something my very being was urging me to follow through on. I can’t tell for sure, but there’s a glimmer of what looks like respect in his eyes.
Sensing my tension, the interviewer tries to ease the atmosphere by asking about my general interests. It’s a welcome distraction. We talk about music, and I mention that my favorite bands are Dire Straits and Led Zeppelin. Dire Straits—how ironic, considering the situation I’ve put myself in. Then, out of the blue, he asks me, “If Dire Straits came to perform in Bangalore, how many people would attend?” That’s my first interview question.
From that moment on, something shifts. Through all three interviews with McKinsey, I feel a force of will within me, guiding me through. My natural determination to win finally takes over, and I know deep down that I’ve nailed it.
I sit outside the interview area, waiting for the result. A strange calm washes over me. At 11:30 AM, I’m called back in. My second-round interviewer greets me with a handshake and words that send a wave of joy through me.
“Welcome to the firm.”
This experience was just the tip of the iceberg, a prelude to the life-changing roller coaster ride ahead—one I could never have anticipated.
What happened after this - Click to find out
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