As I begin to wind up this week’s blog, I find myself acknowledging something I had quietly been avoiding: PGPX, in its truest essence, has ended. Yes, I will still walk through these corridors until Convocation. I will still pass through the classrooms I once sat in, meet friends over chai, and quietly count down the days on the calendar. But the core of the experience, the chaos, the uncertainty, the relentless pressure, the shared storms, has passed. What remains now is closure. And gratitude. With that realisation, something else became clear to me.

The reason I began documenting this journey was to capture a living, breathing experience as it unfolded: the highs, the breakdowns, the absurdities, the reflections. Now that the heart of that experience has settled, so has my compulsion to record it week after week. After much reflection, I have decided that this marks the beginning of the end. This will be the second-last blog I write about my PGPX journey. The final one will be released on March 30, 2026, the day this chapter officially closes and another begins. Until then, we live the remaining days fully, not as chroniclers of the experience, but as participants in its final moments.

Week-46 & 47 here refers to the week of March 02, 2026 to March 11, 2026. As mentioned above, the second-last blog of this weekly series deserves its own pause, its own space, and the respect of what it represents. For almost a year, this ritual of writing every week has given structure to my reflections. It has allowed me to process the chaos, the joy, the exhaustion, and the quiet moments in between. But as this chapter draws to a close, the format itself must evolve.

I will continue to write about my PGPX journey. That part of me is not going anywhere. The emotions are still very much alive, perhaps even more intense now. But they will no longer be bound by the discipline of a weekly release. They will be captured when they feel urgent, when nostalgia strikes unexpectedly, or when gratitude demands articulation. Some stories are best told on schedule. Others are best told when the heart insists.

The reason I had given myself for delaying the second-last blog was that I wanted to attend (or rather, audit) one of the most anticipated courses at IIM Ahmedabad. Titled The Remains of MBA, the course was far more awaited and talked about than any other celebration or event on campus. But as luck would have it, I lost the will to audit courses beyond the PGPX requirements by the end of the second class of the five-class series.The reviews from my peers and colleagues about the course were spectacular and very much along expected lines. But at that point, I realised that perhaps my mind had already begun to move past the classroom phase of this journey and into the space of reflection that comes towards the end of a year like PGPX.

As I could gather, the course runs largely on nostalgia, gently nudging you to confront your past, reflect on your present, and think about the future that lies ahead. In doing so, it reminds you that an MBA from IIM Ahmedabad is, in many ways, the icing on the cake, or perhaps more fittingly, the journey itself.

But then again, not everything unfolds according to the plans we carefully make for ourselves. Somehow, despite the detours and unfinished intentions, you still find a way to make sense of things and move forward. And perhaps that, more than any framework or case discussion, is the biggest learning one can take away from PGPX, that plans may change, paths may shift, but you still figure things out along the way.

Sunday marked the last time I ran a marathon as a student of the IIM Ahmedabad PGPX programme. While the run itself was a 10K, it carried with it a flood of memories, of how I first stumbled into marathon running and how this one year somehow saw me complete four of them.

As I ran through the route, it was no longer just about the distance; it was about everything that had led to that moment. Every stride seemed to carry with it a memory from this past year: the early attempts when I was not even sure if I could finish, the excitement of signing up for races almost impulsively, the quiet disbelief each time I crossed the finish line, and the understated pride that followed.

I do hope to continue the tradition and take part in many more marathons in the years ahead. But the thrill of being an amateur runner, someone who simply shows up, pushes through the doubt, and somehow manages to finish every attempt, is a feeling that cannot quite be replicated anywhere else. It is messy, imperfect, and deeply personal, and perhaps that is exactly what makes it so special.

But more than anything else, it is the empty dorm rooms that hit the hardest now. Corridors that once echoed with late-night conversations, hurried footsteps before class, and the occasional bursts of laughter now feel unusually quiet. Doors that were once open, rooms that once held light and noise at odd hours of the night, now stand still, almost as if the building itself is pausing to acknowledge that something has changed.

Every now and then, you see someone leaving with a suitcase in hand and a couple of quiet tears in their eyes. There is rarely a grand goodbye, just a few hugs, a promise to stay in touch, and a slow walk out of the dorms that had unknowingly become home.

To think that this very group of people walked into these dorms exactly a year ago, carrying nervous excitement and dreams in their eyes, and are now leaving with those dreams slowly taking shape in their hands, is a deeply bittersweet sight. In just one year, strangers became classmates, classmates became friends, and somewhere along the way, this campus quietly became a shared chapter in all of our lives.

On one hand, you want to hold on to everyone, to somehow pause time and keep PGPX going just a little longer so these moments do not slip away. On the other hand, you also want to watch people step out and chase the lives they came here hoping to build. Because in the end, every person who walks out and goes on to do something meaningful becomes a quiet ambassador of this journey. Every success, every milestone, every story written after leaving these red bricks only makes the PGPX story shine a little brighter.

Suitcases and cardboard boxes could never capture the memories and laughter that will follow. They may hold clothes, books, and the last remnants of a year spent inside these red bricks, but they cannot carry the late-night conversations, the shared anxieties before exams and interviews, the uncontrollable laughter over the smallest of jokes, or the quiet moments of reassurance friends offered each other when the pressure felt overwhelming. Those moments have quietly settled somewhere deeper: in the friendships formed, in the lessons learned, and in the stories that will inevitably be retold for years to come.

What leaves the campus in those suitcases is only the physical part of the journey. What truly travels forward are the bonds, the shared struggles, the victories both big and small, and the sense of belonging that this one year created among strangers who slowly became a family.

And for all of that, the chaos, the growth, the friendships, the sleepless nights, and the countless memories that will continue to unfold in conversations long after we leave, I can only feel a deep sense of gratitude for PGPX and the incredible journey it has been.

UPDATE: I will be heading to Goa this weekend with a couple of my friends to participate in the time-honoured tradition of a graduation trip, a small ritual that seems to mark the transition between the intensity of student life and whatever lies ahead. After a year that has moved at breakneck speed, the idea of slowing down beside the sea feels almost poetic. The plan, for the most part, is simple: spend long hours on the beaches, watch the sun dip slowly into the horizon, and allow the mind to wander without the pressure of deadlines, classes, or interviews.

More than anything, it will be a chance to pause with friends who have walked through the same year, shared the same struggles, and celebrated the same milestones. Between conversations, laughter, and the occasional moment of quiet reflection by the water, it will perhaps be the perfect way to close this chapter before stepping into the next one.