The fine art of navigating the system
It has been almost two years since I took over as the placement chairperson at IIM Sirmaur. If anything, these 700-odd days have been an exercise in decoding patterns—of aspirations, anxieties, and the delicate interplay between expectation and reality.
Just today, I received an email from a student who had meticulously interpreted the placement policy (which we had made in good faith, trying to be as progressive and student friendly as possible) laying out his expectations with a clarity that was almost strategic. On the surface, it was a simple communication—submitting an employment agreement and seeking confirmation of continued eligibility for higher-category companies. But beneath it lay a far more interesting phenomenon, one that I have encountered time and again in these two years: the fine art of navigating the system.
Let me iron this out with some examples to drive home the point. Most courses in IIMs (and other B-Schools by extension) typically have an 80% attendance requirement—students who miss more classes suffer grade drops and/or other penalties. In essence, this means that as long as students meet the 80% threshold, they face no consequences. So, what happens? Most students attend precisely 80% of the classes, treating the remaining 20% as a sort of sanctioned absence, much like how a government servant views their casual leave—an entitlement rather than a contingency.
This is not defiance; it is optimization.
Let’s look at one more example. Consider grading policies that allow students to drop their lowest quiz score. Designed as a safety net to account for bad days or unforeseen circumstances, this policy was intended to provide fairness and flexibility. But how do students engage with it? Many strategically skip one quiz altogether, effectively treating the policy as a free pass rather than a safeguard. Again, this isn’t rule-breaking—it’s optimization, a calculated approach to maximize benefit while staying well within the system’s design.
The same behavioral pattern extends to placements. Policies meant to provide clarity and fairness are often interpreted through the lens of personal advantage. The student’s email today was a perfect example—a carefully crafted argument that did not question the rules but rather sought to stretch their intent, ensuring that every possible opportunity remained accessible. It’s an instinctive negotiation, one that plays out in boardrooms, contracts, and business dealings long after they graduate.
And that, perhaps, is the most revealing lesson of these 700-odd days. Policies are not just documents; they are living systems, shaped as much by those who create them as by those who engage with them. Every rule, no matter how well-intended, is ultimately tested by human ingenuity. The challenge is not merely to enforce these policies but to anticipate how they will be interpreted, adapted, and—more often than not—optimized.
Every rule, no matter how well-intended, is ultimately tested by human ingenuity.
If fairness was the core principle that needed to be achieved, then all we have to do is declare that no one will receive any placement support. No companies invited, no processes facilitated, no resume workshops or mock interviews organized—just a level playing field where every student fends for themselves in the job market, armed with nothing but their own initiative. That, in theory, would be the fairest system of all.
And yet, we know this approach would be absurd. Because fairness is not about enforcing uniformity; it is about creating equity—ensuring that those who need support receive it while maintaining a structure that rewards effort, preparation, and merit. The placement process, like many institutional systems, operates within an inherent tension: how do we create opportunities without skewing the playing field? How do we accommodate individual needs without compromising collective outcomes?
This is precisely why placement policies exist—not to impose arbitrary restrictions, but to balance incentives, ensuring that opportunities are distributed in a way that is both structured and flexible. But as with any system, policies are not just followed; they are engaged with, interpreted, and sometimes gamed.
The system is, in essence, a live experiment in incentives.
Every year, we see students attempt to stretch the boundaries of what is permissible, often arguing their case with an almost legalistic precision. Some accept offers but keep fishing for better ones, justifying their stance with clauses and technicalities. Others strategically position themselves within categories, not based on genuine interest but on maximizing optionality. And then there are those who, like the student who emailed me today, present their understanding of the policy as if it were a contract negotiation—seeking to extract the most favorable interpretation for their own benefit.
But here’s the irony: the very policies designed to make placements structured and predictable also introduce complexity that students instinctively learn to navigate. The system is, in essence, a live experiment in incentives. Set the wrong ones, and you encourage opportunism. Set them too rigidly, and you stifle genuine growth. The challenge is not just in enforcing rules but in anticipating human behavior—because the moment a rule exists, so does the drive to optimize around it.
And this is the reason we cannot have the same policy across the board. Simply copy pasting from “Top institutes” is not going to work in other places. Every institution operates within its own unique ecosystem, shaped by the caliber of students, the expectations of recruiters, the maturity of industry connections, and even the socio-economic realities of the student body. What works seamlessly in an IIT or an IIM with a decades-old reputation and a queue of recruiters vying for talent may completely break down in a younger institution where the dynamics are still evolving.
