Bitter

In the depths of my soul, My hearts been bottomed out

Lights have dimmed, the sparkle in your eye's out

My mind wanders dazed in this fog, Searching for you, Searching for a way out.

You led me through dark times 

Guiding light, Embalming my pain

Raising me from the depths of my shame, To the cliffs of redemption

And now you've pushed me over

As I fall through the dark clouds 

The wind whistles your name

And as the black earth embraces me

I taste your love one last time 

And its bitter. 

With or without you, now it feels just the same

Who's at fault, who's to blame

Your passion's frozen over,  And what's a moth to do, without it's flame

You'd blow hot and cold

That I could take 

But now there's nothing, and I'm running out of air

I'd cry for help, 

but you just don't care 

I feel the walls closing in

The fight in me's fading

And as darkness washes over everything 

I look back to the memories of you

And they're bitter. 

Words

I wrote a lot, Of love and of hate

Of summer's spring, Of winter's fall

Of my past's present, Of my future's fate

And stories of men, some near, some far

Words of passion, Words of devotion

Of the lust for heaven, Of the fear of hell

Of mice and men, and of sheep

Of how we live and die, to someone else's beat

The whispers of the wind, The sighs of the sea

The babble of brooks and rambles of the wood

The sounds of silence, and the silence of strife

I wrote them all down, scratches on a sheet of white

Wrote a word or two

Of the yearnings in my heart,  and of the stirring of my soul

Of playing my part, knowing my role

And few about wishing on a star, dreaming for a bit more. 

Then I bundled it all in a song

And sang it to you, hoping that you'd sing along

But oh, and how I wish this weren't true

In the end, they were just words to you.  

Farewell

It's 2 in the night, and there are some things that need to be said, nay written down. (Funny how everything I write, starts around 2 in the night). So today's my last day at Oracle. And I feel the obligation to cast my mind back to what the past 5 and half years have been.

17th June 2013 was the date I first started. Pooja, her dad, Vipin and I fresh from M.Tech (Or as fresh as one can be after PG) heading down to OTP for our orientation. I still remember chuckling inwardly at Uncle's well meaning but unintentionally racist(?) remarks ("You'll enjoy the food in south India for sure"). I remember the shirt I wore. I remember drawing up to the OTP building and getting out of the car. I remember entering the orientation room. I remember creating my first bank account. I remember blanking out when the HR (who turned out to be Alex incidentally) started to talk about finance and tax related stuff. I remember tall 6'3 Ashish introducing himself to us during tea break. I remember meeting Priyamvada and Niyati(?) for the first time. I remember being suitably impressed by the IIT tag (we're all conditioned to). I remember somebody asking whether the two were also staying in PSN, and I remember being surprised that one was still living at home with her parents. And that's because my world had drastically changed in a matter of few days, and though independence felt like the keen cold fresh mountain air on your face, it was also warm and comforting to know that people still went back to their parents, it felt like home.

I remember waiting for Pramod on the first floor of the NR Enclave building. I remember him taking me down to the ground floor and introducing me to Acharya (It was always a dilemma how to address him. Sasabindu Acharya. Doing so by his last name felt rude at that time. Calling him by his first was too inconvenient. It took me almost a year and a half to get used to this.) I remember I wasn't really nervous, even though half of what Acharya was explaining to me was going over my head. I remember getting introduced to Hemanth,Anusha and Bala. I remember wondering why Acharya was wearing a cap indoors. Was there some horrendous boil he was hiding. I remember logging into my first machine (slc03sxb.us.oracle.com). I remember being asked to install Enterprise Manager on the box. I remember terribly failing to do so. I remember Acharya getting mildly ticked off at my ineptitude. I remember being asked to open a VNC session. I remember asking politely over pidgin what a VNC session was. Apparently things were not off to a great start. I remember drafting a letter to Acharya saying that things weren't really working out and could he have somebody help me through the setup process. That kind of broke the ice between us and he was quite cordial after that, and has since been till now. I don't remember fixing my first bug. What I remember though is making a status update about while on the bus (Damn, I was stupid then). It's kind of bittersweet now you think about it. About how the passage of time trivializes your sense of achievement. I guess that what's growing old is all about.

I remember copying over a lot of music from Ramya's (Pooja's first roommate's HDD). I remember specifically copying Rolling Stone's 500 greatest songs track. And that playlist helped me a lot in setting me on my musical journey.

I remember Priyamvada and the rest of the PGBU folk chatting about Basketball and stuff in the pantry and desperately wanting to join in, but never being able to muster the courage to do so (Story of my life). But life, life works in mysterious ways man. I finally got in. Granted I had to go to Hogenakkal falls, contract a staph infection, almost die from MRSA, get a 6 inch incision on my leg to drain out the puss and be bedridden for three weeks to get in. But it was worth it. Thanks to my uncle in Hebaal and consequently sharing a cab with Archana because of that, connections were established and I was finally invited to join. And that's where I met Priyamvada properly for the first time and then by extension Aditi. And that's how Beatles and Basketball started. At least for me. Yep. Totally worth it.

But things now start to get fuzzy. I remember Bala leaving. I remember he sitting me down and telling me one of the reasons he was leaving was Acharya (Which was surprising to me, He was quite lenient towards me) that and the pay in Oracle sucked and how I'd never get a hike. I remember him leaving on April Fools Day. And despite what everyone thought of him (He was originally from QA, And developers seemed to always treat him with scorn, at least that's how I envision it) I was always held him in high regard. He had worked here for 6 years in total. And I was sad to see him go. I remember walking him to the gate, and then returning back with little bit of a heavy heart. But in the end it worked out in my favor after all. 4 had become 3 now and thus I was given more responsibility and more opportunity to learn.

I remember getting my first hike. 6th Oct 2014. 15%. I remember blathering to Pooja all about it. I remember basking in her adulation :"D. I remember thinking Oracle's not that bad a place to work after all. I remember talking to Amma and Appupa and everyone about it. Everyone was so happy.

Since everything here is workplace related, this does not necessarily fit in. But I bought my first guitar. 11th Oct 2014. AND I bought it because I'd got a hike. And I fervently thank the powers that be for how things progressed from there.

I remember Sriraam. I remember getting introduced to him via Vipin. I remember getting introduced to the rest of the gang. Jithin, Rohan, Sasi, Greena and Lakshmi. I remember getting floored by Lakshmi's then hazel eyes. They turned out to be colored contact lenses.

Vipin left. It was sad to see him go. But understandable in some sense.

I remember meeting Prerna, and consequently Harika and Abhilash and Sanchit.  Once again getting introduced through Basketball (Note to self. There might just be something here). I remember sitting in front of Aditi's car one evening, while everyone else tried to squeeze in the back as we made one of our sojourns to PSN to play BB. And I remember Prerna's roommate, Dimpy fitting into that car too. And that's how THAT phase of my life began. We'll leave it that, lest I lose my train of thought entirely.

We moved to PTP, and though it was far, we were hopeful that that place would have a basketball court that we could make full use. Unfortunately by the time it got ready there was no one left to play. And also the court dimensions sucked so not much grief over this.

I remember getting my second hike. Though I don't remember the date. 10 %. Though not exhilarated like the last time, I was satisfied. At least my work was being appreciated. I was doing something right.

I remember Anusha leaving for her maternity leave. The plugin team was just me and Hemanth now. Mallik was asked to join. And once again my responsibilities increased and I made use of that. Learned a lot during that time.

I remember Priyamvada leaving for higher studies and I remember feeling quite alone.

And then Hemanth left. And out of the original 4 (viz. Hemanth, Anusha, Bala and myself), it was just me that now remained. Mallik and I were the only ones left and I was given even greater responsibility. Even though I was far less experienced than him, I was naturally tasked with the more critical stuff having worked on the plugin for a longer time. Sometimes I think that's the reason why I'm leaving Oracle as late as now. Whenever I'd feel comfortable or complacent someone would leave, and I'd be asked to step in and learn more. I'd started kind of relishing that by now. Gitmaya Panda joined. And Gitmaya Panda got fired for not performing. I remember being asked by Acharya to put it quietly bluntly in his performance appraisal that he wasn't working out. I did feel little bad doing that, but it was the truth, and personally it was not a hill I was prepared to die upon, so I did so.

And life kind of continued for a while. I got promoted to IC3 and got my third hike. My highest yet (By yet, I mean yet then). 24%. 11 Nov 2016.  I remember I'd taken wfh that day and was watching Gangs of Wasseypur on my laptop, when I received the call from Acharya. That was one of the better conversations I've had on the phone. Remember going to Opus with the boys to celebrate.

Pooja and Ashish left in quick succession. So out of the four(viz. Pooja, Vipin, Ashish and me) I was the final one left still standing.

Work went one, there were good days and bad days. But overall things were pretty normal, until the later end of the year. It was hike season again and I was expecting a good amount this time around. After all that was the trend. And with me handling the lion's share of work in the team, I felt justified in my sense of entitlement. Unfortunately management didn't share my sentiment and I was overlooked for the first time in 4 years. It was quite disappointing. And it was around this time that I first seriously started considering leaving Oracle. But in the end I decided to give Oracle the benefit of doubt. I'd stick around for another year and if I'd not receive one the next year, I WOULD leave. (Honestly inertia and complacency could have been driving forces behind this decision too)

2018 came and half of it pretty much went in a whiz. Mallik left in April, and then there was one. I owned the entire plugin. And I quite enjoyed said ownership.

Dimpy left on the 7th of September 2018 and that was the end of an era of three gloriously cherished years.

Then came the final burst of work that I did for automation. Interesting work that really drove my stock up in the eyes of management. I was pretty certain that this year there was no way I would be overlooked for a raise. But the days went on and no news came. By November Anupam had got in touch with me about an opportunity at AT&T and right after that Sandip also got in touch with an opportunity at a startup called Unravel. So for the first time in 6 years I made a resume and sent it to Sandip. I went for my first interview in 6 years and through no merit of mine got through and got the job. And so it was time to finally move on. Everything happened in such a blink of an eye that I hardly had time to process it all. But hey that's life for you.

You know, In the almost 6 years I've worked here I've never seen Acharya without a cap on. I've always thought I'd ask him about this the day I left. But now that that day has come, I'd rather not. There's some charm in leaving a few mysteries unsolved innit.  

That's pretty much it. Honestly I started writing out this with the purpose of putting a few thoughts down about what to pen down in my farewell letter, but things kind of got away from me.

All in all I have always tried living my life with the objective of consciously minimizing the amount of regret I carry through life. I have been quite successful in this. And to date there's only one that actually stands out. And it's not even exactly regret. More like the intense curiosity about how life would have turned out had I chosen to do Masters in Data Science in IIIT Delhi, rather than opt for DTU (Silly). The only good thing that came out of DTU apart from making good friends like Pooja was getting a job. A job at Oracle.

The only reason why I don't quantify my decision as regretful is because what came of it. Had I not joined Oracle, I would not be here writing this. That's a pretty obvious statement. But what it hides is the personal development I've gone through in the past 6 years. While my academic pedigree sucks ass, all around I'm quite proud of how I've turned out (If I say so myself). The life experiences I've had would never been available to me had I chose to stay at home, and I feel I've evolved for the better because of them.

Another thing that I'd like to thank Oracle from the bottom of my heart would be the time it gave me to widen my horizons. I was afforded enough time to devote to pursuits such as health, fitness and most importantly music. So yeah comparatively, I might never earn as much as my peers, but I'm completely ok with that, given how much I've gained otherwise.

Yep. That's pretty much it.

So long and thanks for all the fish.

: )

Mad Haven

Tonight, It's two in the night

But am I right, to write

Or am I wrong because it's been too long

These words, This song, could go on and on

But it doesn't matter to you,  you're long gone. 

'Tis good to grieve,' tis good to let the tears flow

But Even as I watched the body burn

I don't know why, I didn't cry

It didn't matter, we're all going to die

You sure did, and one day so will I

Heh, but life you see it's a funny thing

You'd think it'll move one, some peace bring

But part of me's still stuck in that funeral home 

And I crumble like the Ash, made from your bone

Swirling all around, and all alone

Don't get me wrong though, there's no denial 

No unresolved feelings or never ending trials

Fate has been kind, in its own way

And I might have progressed, one might say

Yet I yearn for just one thing I fear 

I wish, I wish you were here

But no matter, however gray the skies may be 

You were my sunshine, and always will be

And No mountain's too high, No ocean's too deep

As long as long as you're next to me, unbowed, unshaken

My refuge, My Mad Haven. 

From Me to You

I'm trying my best, I can't lie

I thought I was ready, for this Goodbye

But as you walked outside the door

Three words, six strings whisper

Please Don't Go.

Minutes would flutter seconds would fly

Time flew funny with you nearby

Momentous years,  in a moment nevermore

Stay a while longer

Please Don't Go.

She deserves better, she'll be better off

Is what my cage of silver linings is made of

Still Hope still springs eternal though

It might seem silly, I know

But Please Don't Go

But those aren't the words, I want to leave you with

If part we must, make the most of it

So here they are, from this bum to thee

Be free, Be the song YOU want to be

And Somewhere down the road should we meet

In the Perth Summer, or on a chilly Vancouver street

A Stella or a Gina around my arm, and you with somebody's son

Always know, It was you

You were the one.

Roopkund

There lies a lake, A mirror for the gods
Shining on the bones of the dead
Covered in ice,  Covered by snow
O'er the Whistling mountains is where it lies

I set out with puffed chest and tightened belt
A spring in the step, a tune on the lips,
A week or a month I did not care
The miles ahead seemed just like a bit

Waters of divine reflection
Blue are your depths
My sorrows no more can I face
Lend me your calm embrace
O'er the Whistling mountains, where you lie

But the mountain laughed, Whistling Screams
Sun and sorrow, darkened body and soul
You are not worthy, moaned the wind
And blew me away, I was forsaken

Water of divine reflection
Blue are your depths
I'll return, having paid my debts
Until then fare thee well
O'er the Whistling mountains where you lie
O'er the Whistling mountains where you lie.....

Ramblings... #1 (5/1/15(?))

Ramblings to get stuff working right in my brain again so that I can write once again ….

Sitting on the porch, watching the moon peek out behind the clouds, the cool breeze caressing my face, and Maggot Brain playing on a loop in my ears…. 0 % hike, but life’s pretty awesome still.

Sheesh.. the line above is so cheesy. I wonder though, if something can be true and pretentious at the same time..

Well there are some people in this world for whom the reason behind performing an action is as important as the action itself, if not more so. I’m that kind of a guy. So today, I’m going to write something about why I write. Also to make the entire process more honest, I’m going to put down whatever comes to my mind.. And my roommate just came out…. K Horrible timing, I was finally in the zone after such a long time, so I think I’ll just continue rambling until I once again find my train of thought.

Yeah so as I was saying why do I write? Honestly I don’t know. Even more honestly, perhaps I don’t care?? But then that’s not a satisfactory answer now is it? For one, this would be a really short piece (Now that wouldn’t be too bad ‘eh?) and more importantly, I would be contradicting myself on what I said just few lines above about the importance of motive.

So let’s delve a bit deeper shall we, why do I write..  Do I enjoy doing it? At times, especially when I’m in the zone. (Ok to somebody who’s reading this other than me, the zone’s what I call a state of mind, when you’re just cruising. The synchronization between your thoughts and what you want to achieve at that time is perfect. More specifically, when it comes to writing, every key that you press, every word that you assemble, all fit perfectly with the story you have in your mind. Each sentence, that perfect thread in the tapestry you mean to weave, or like that perfect note, to add to the symphony that your mind is composing.) But that’s not just the reason. It’s not like I spend my days, yearning to be in the zone all the time. I’m not an addict and anyway it’s not my fix.

So then what? If the pleasure I derive from the process is not the real reason what is it? Could it be because (ok remember the cool breeze caressing my face part in the beginning, well it’s more like freezing my toes now, I’m off to bring my blanket…Aaahh.. that’s much better) because I feel this urge to write? To some extent that’s true. I’ve always believed that writers don’t create stories, stories create writers. Sometimes an idea will take hold of you and just won’t let go, no matter how hard you try to shake it off. I’ve always felt that when you put down such an idea on paper, it mostly turns out better than say an idea that you’ve actually put an effort into thinking about.  This would explain a lot though, especially the reason behind why I don’t write more often (Of course, an equally valid reason might be that I’m just too lazy, but this sounds way more er… cooler?). I’m a slave to my ideas and not the other way around. If something worth writing comes up in that brain of mine, only then I put pen to paper, or should I say press finger on keyboard.  But then this would also mean that I’m not that creative as I consider myself to be, and that’s a humbling and not too likeable conclusion. I have a very few thing that I’m actually proud of, and my creativity’s one of them.

Which brings me to another reason, and probably the most obvious. I write because that’s the medium through which I’m most comfortable channeling my creativity through. What is creativity? Well that’s a question that merits a whole separate piece (I’ll write about this when I finish GEB. For some reason I’m convinced that a lot my questions will be answered there. Though at the pace I’m going, I’m afraid it’s not a question of when but of if (-_-) ). But yeah, some people paint, some dance, some create music; Well I, I write. Giving my profession it would have been awesome if I could have expressed my creativity through code, data structures and algorithm design, but yeah what I’ve got going now isn’t bad too.

And to the final reason. Why do I write? Because I’m good at it.  I lost the ability to sing after puberty, sucked at dancing before I could even walk, sucked in art class, I’m not a very good orator, and a pretty average coder. But yeah writing; at the risk of sounding boastful I’ve got to say that apart from my father I really don’t know anyone who actually writes better than me (But then again I really don’t know all that many people). So this probably sets me apart from the lot, and gives me something I can be silently proud of.

Yes this is pretty much it. My first introspective piece. And at the age of 25 ( I’m 25.. A quarter of a century. Phew, that’s old!) it’s been long overdue. Maybe I’m really not that good? Had good fun writing this though. Probably I should try to be more regular in my ramblings.  Perhaps once a week?

..............................

I finish reading the entire thing. It seems to be a pretty solid piece I think to myself. I should post this on Facebook and put it up on my blog too. Probably tag a few friends who I know enjoy a good read every now and then. And whoa! There it was, clear as day, staring at me right in the face. The penny dropped and it became clear to me, why I actually write. And why I’ll always be a good writer and never a great one. It’s because I do it for attention. It’s because I do it for the adulation. It’s for every comment and like I’ll get. I’m nothing but a mere fame monger. Sure all those reasons I’ve wrote about matter, but they aren’t the driving force, this one is. This absurd need to be admired by my peers and betters, that’s why I write. Pretty ridiculous when you think about it, but true nevertheless.

Well at this point, I probably know what you’re thinking. It’s obvious that you’re wishing for the time you wasted reading this be returned to you, but apart from that, why write something about why I write in the first place? Especially if the real reason behind it would turn out to be so ordinary, so base; why let you know? I could have left out the preceding paragraph and it would have still been an okay enough piece. What could be the reason? Well I don’t know, perhaps it could be something deep and noble like I promised myself that I’d be honest or it could be something really silly like the word count tally at the end of the paragraph before the one above this was 926 and I wanted it to be more than 1000. Take your pick.

Heh.. you remember me wondering at the start if something could be both true and pretentious at the same time? Guess I just answered that question.

..............................................

Simply Me

I’m going to keep this short and simple. Basically because of two reasons: One, because it’s Friday morning and I was supposed to turn this in by er, Friday morning; and secondly because I’m finding it just too darn difficult to write something about myself.

So let’s get the usual stuff out of the way first. My name is Hari Nair. I’ve done my schooling from Montfort School, Delhi, then after that I completed my B.Tech in computer science from GPMCE, IP University. Currently I’m doing my M.Tech in Information Systems from Delhi Technological University. I love playing basketball and table tennis.

Now a bit about the reading I do. It’s predominantly fiction. I swear by Harry Potter. I have no qualms in accepting that I would be a very different person without the presence of those seven books in my life. Like all others, I too treat Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings with a respect that borders on reverence. I’ve read CS Lewis’s Narnia series and in my opinion it would be quite difficult to find somebody else who writes so simply, yet so beautifully. Artemis Fowl, Eragon, Septimus Heap and the Bartimaeus trilogy are some books that I have really enjoyed. Among others I’ve also read a fair share of those Robert Ludlum ‘Spy/Ex CIA/Rogue FBI guy who saves the world in one night’ novels along with James Hadley Chase (I dig the girls on the cover. ;))

My favourite genre would have to be humour though. It all started with Oscar Wilde’s Importance of being Earnest. Then I fell in love with the writing of PG Wodehouse. Jeeves, Bertie Wooster and the pretentious cream of the English society have delighted me to no end. After that came Douglas Adams and his hitchhikers guide to the galaxy. He gave me the answer to life, the universe and everything and more importantly Marvin, the Paranoid Android! Things like improbability fields, babel fishes, total perspective vortexes, bistromathic drives.. I could just go on and on about the crazily funny stuff that man invented. And the final author to complete my trinity of humor is Terry Pratchett. The man is a living legend.  If you enjoy reading humour you must pick up a book from his Discworld Series.  Apart from this, I also indulge in a lot of comic book reading, Marvel and DC mainly. My favourite comic book strip is Calvin and Hobbes (Bill Watterson FTW). I’ve also read all the Tintin and Asterix books. (I believe that when it comes to word puns, nothing can beat an Asterix book)

When it comes to music, I listen to a bit of everything.  Beatles to Eminem, it’s a pretty wide spread. I’m also a fan of old Hindi songs, Kishore Kumar, Rafi, Mannade and all. Of the nine gems my favourite artiste is Hemant Kumar, his being the first song I ever heard in this genre(Zara nazaro se kehdo ji, in case you were curious). I could sing pretty nicely at one time. I can’t any more. At my best, I’m a passable bathroom singer.

By now, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that I enjoy writing humour, though my attempts are sometimes so pathetic that it’s funny (Hey! Mission Accomplished).  I’ll leave you to be the judge about the way I write though.

So that’s that. 600 odd words should be enough to gauge a man don’t you think? I hope you’ve gained some insight about me and my life. And don’t sweat it if you haven’t, I’m not that worth knowing anyway.

Cheers!
Hari Nair

Ram-Leela blamed for Narendra Modi Speech Slip Ups

After his latest mistake wherein Narendra Modi referred to Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi as Mohanlal Karamchand Gandhi, sources close to him have finally revealed the reason behind this recent series of gaffes. "Modi Sir is not in a correct state of mind these days. He barely eats and sleeps, his entire mind is preoccupied with one thing, and one thing only." said Prempreet Pyaare, a BJP aide.  "You see we were asked to keep quiet about this, but those smart asses over at the Youth Congress sending us old 10th class history textbooks was the final straw.”

Prempreet Pyaare continued

“Around a month ago Modi Sir received an invitation from that Sanjay Leela Bhansaali to watch a special screening of Ram-Leela. Sir had his doubts, especially after watching Saawariya, but since the film is set in Gujrat he had no choice but to go.” When this faking news reporter questioned why he had gone to watch Saawariya in the first place, Mr Pyaare replied, “Back then there were many who were saying that the Modi Idealogy was too saffron and since it was pretty clear at the time that Saawariya was the blue film to see, Sir decided to give it a go. He’s been staunchly saffron ever since.”

“Everything started going downhill from that point of time onwards. You see the fulcrum of our campaign is progress; and this Ram-Leela is the antithesis to this very concept. It….just…doesn’t…..progress. There’s this one scene where this lady keeps on running for like 10-15 minutes where a simple 2 minute run would have sufficed. There are so many unnecessary songs. All this hamper the development of the film! Sir has been shaken to the core after watching this film. And to think this picture is set in Gujrat. We all know how much he loves Gujrat!!!!! (Mr. Pyaare insisted on the extra exclamation marks). It’s completely thrown him off his game. Actually he almost broke down when Sanjay Leela Bhansaali asked him to list the film as one of the shining achievements of Gujrat.”

There has been some speculation in the BJP camp that this film is a clever ploy by the Congress to derail the Modi Juggernaut.  “Somebody should examine this film’s financing ledgers. From where did this Bhansaali get so much money to build such ostentatious sets and surroundings?  There is something definitely fishy going on here.” declared Prempreet Pyaare.

Meanwhile Rahul Gandhi was quick to rebut, “Hah!! This is just another underhand ploy by the BJP. Have you not seen this film?! It’s completely saffron in hue. Diggy uncle told me that Bhansaali is a RSS agent. By using all that orange he’s subliminally influencing the aam aadmi’s mind. Modi messes up because he is a foolish man. And unlike me he doesn’t have the oratory experience and skill of mummy, didi and Diggy Uncle to bank upon.”

“Potato.” Digvijay Singh added.

Music that you should listen to while Bug Fixing:

Requisites: Rolling Stones top 500 songs playlist and others. 

1. Read the bug scenario while listening to Desperado by Eagles. The song's piano work should quell any anxiety arising from the fact that you don't understand a word of what you are reading. 

2. Try to replicate the bug scenario while listening to Eminem's Stan. If you can, cool. If you can't... well it's a great song and who cares about replication anyway?

3. Bug resolution. Your brain requires stimulation, and young Michael Jackson's vocals in I want you back prove just right for that. Those sprightly beats don't hurt either.

4. Of course, the first fix didn't work. :-| What you now require is new ideas and motivation to keep thinking. What you need is Highway to Hell playing in the background.

5. Still not successfull? You really need to wring that old noodle for all its worth. Time to bring out the big guns. Led Zeppelin's Kashmir or Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. Or both.

6. Bug yet not squashed? You need to cool off. Ponder about the futility of the task you've been assigned while hearing to Dylan's Blowing in the wind.

7. Time to give this another shot. This time take a different approach. Start slow and systematically. Ben E. King's Stand by Me is your best bet. Then move onto 'Suspicious Minds' by Elvis.

8. Hopefully things should have worked out by now. Test your fix. Iron Maiden's When the wild wind blows is a great song to hear while you are testing. The ballad poignantly sums up the ups and downs you have faced during the entire process.

9. Triumphantly document your fix while listening to Hey Jude by the Beatles. You've earned it.

10. Await your code review. Bleed it out by Linkin Park is what I hear at the time.

11. Once having been told by your manager that this fix won't work, listen to Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones. Console yourself that at the least you've got great music to keep you company.

12. Eye of the tiger, by Survivor. Crick your neck, Agent Smith style. And back to 1.

Ambika

The odour of burnt leather assaults my senses, overpowering everything, even the sensation of the fiery twisted metal all around me. I try to open my eyes, but the heat seems to have welded them shut.  I can’t feel my legs, presuming I still have any. Darkness sets upon me, and it’s almost a welcome relief as my body slowly gives up its feeble attempts to stay alive.  Then Noise!! Screams, the whining of sirens, rushing footsteps; I hear someone say, ‘This one’s still alive, Get the defibrillator, Quick! ’ I feel hands upon me as they try to get underneath my clothes to reach my charred body. I feel an icy metal surface come into contact with my chest, ‘Clear!’ somebody shouts and I feel life coursing through my body, or is it electricity? I do not care, I need more. The voice seems to agree with me and with one more command, another jolt rocks my body. Then silence. ‘To be back from death, just to die again’, is all I can think. Then amidst all that quiet I hear a dull thumping; a rhythm that seems to permeate through every pore of my existence.  I realise it’s my heart making one last stand. And this time I must help too.  Utilizing every fibre of my will, I crank open my eyes. The effort almost makes me pass out but I somehow manage to cling onto my senses. ‘This one’s conscious. He needs medical attention immediately, get him on the stretcher’.  I feel strong arms lifting me up and placing me on a platform. My neck bends at an awkward angle and my eyes behold the wreckage in front of me. And amidst all that pain and destruction, I see her.

I woke up gasping for air, looking around wildly.  A nightmare, that’s all it was. But it had all been so real. I could still picture the entire scene in my mind’s eye. Funny how some accidents scar you both on the inside and the outside.  It had been eight months since that accident. Eight months since my body sustained severe second degree burns, leaving me disfigured forever. My world had then become limited to my bed. In the beginning it was a struggle in itself to reach out and pick up the glass of water lying on the bedside. Things like the incessant burning, my pain, and my family’s pain on seeing my pain were slowly getting to me.  The prospect of me remaining a vegetable for the rest of my life was slowly but surely eating away all my optimism. Things would have gone a lot worse (and trust me they were pretty bad already) had it not been for the individual who was sleeping right beside me; my wife.

Ambika was lucky. She was in the car with me that faithful day, but the impact tossed her aside and she was relatively unharmed. All she had to show for the accident were some bruises and a small scar on her cheek. On some dark days I mustadmit, I envy her fate. But those are really dark days; most of the time I really thank the good lord for her presence in my life. Dark curls framing an angelic face, lips that could, depending on her mood, form an adorable pout or a thin slash of disapproval, Bambi eyes and a snub nose. As you might have already gathered, not ugly at all and what really matters is that she’s even more beautiful on the inside. Not many women would decide to still stay with a husband that’s been reduced to a pitiful excuse for a living, breathing human being, and even less would do so willingly.  If anything, I feel her love’s increased for me even more. As I watched her, her eyes suddenly flickered open. It was this peculiar trait that she’d recently developed, she somehow always seemed to sense me watching her.
“What’re you looking at mister?”
“Nothing,” I replied “just admiring the women in my bed”.
“Mmmmm, what would you give for a closer look?” she said snuggling up to me. She smelled of crushed lilies. I was happy as anybody with burns and scabs all over his body could be.

Further pillow talk was interrupted by a polite knock. Jeevan kaka has been serving the house before my birth. To my knowledge he’s never taken a day off work or asked for money other than his wages. Silent and subtle, most of the time we barely realize he’s around, but we all know that the lifestyle we’ve gotten used to in the house would come crashing down onto our ears if not for him.  Tall and unbent even at 70 he’s an impressive sight with his shock of white hair and bushy eyebrows. Though cordial and respectful to all, I found his recent attitude towards Ambika a bit startling. Kaka never really liked her from the beginning, but always maintained an amicable dynamic with her. But after the accident I feel Kaka, somewhat foolishly, on some level blames her for coming out unscathed from the crash, leaving me to burn. He sometimes neither answers to her nor responds to her queries. I took this up with my parents and they told me that everybody was shaken up by this entire incident and that I should make allowances. I understand and hope that with time, things between the two would go back to normal. Ambika understands too, but I sense at some level she is hurt.

“And what would Sir like for breakfast?”
For obvious reasons, I prefer breakfast in bed. “Toast and a glass of milk”, I replied.
“Very good sir”, and turned to leave the room.
“One minute Jeevan! You haven’t asked what Ambika would like to eat”.
He turned back, “O-oh sorry sir, I didn’t realize that she too would be joining you for breakfast, Ma’am would like then?”
“I’ll have the same too. Thanks kaka”. And with a nod, he quietly left the room.
“His attitude towards you bugs me to no end.” I told her.
“Its fine dear, things should gradually become alright. Now why don’t you get ready for breakfast?”

Wincing, I got out of the bed and slowly made my way to the bathroom. Though each step was an effort, it also gave me great pleasure because all that physiotherapy was finally paying off. And again it was all thanks to Ambika. I had resigned myself to remain bed ridden for the remainder of my life, but it was she who encouraged me, inspired me to not get overwhelmed by the odds stacked against me but to fight and overcome them. She signed me up for these physiotherapy sessions. At first even the simplest motions brought tears of pain to my eyes, but slowly and surely I made progress until I finally got to the stage where I could walk by myself without help. Yes it’s true, I owe her a lot.

Jeevan wheeled the breakfast tray into the room. He laid out our plates and with a quick ‘Enjoy your meal, sir’ left the room.  For the past few weeks Ambika has been trying to bully me into stepping outside the house, and today was no different. Walking around a bit in your own home is fine, but in the outside world while attracting stares from everywhere; I shudder at the very thought. “Just think of it as a tattoo gone wrong”, seeing my look she hastily amended, “alright, a whole body tattoodone by a blind drunk old man hung upside down, gone horribly wrong”.  I could not but help smile, and I knew my resistance would not count for much. Ambika usually gets to have her say and way.

While eating breakfast Jeevan once more entered the room. “Jai sir is here to see you. Would you like to see him now?” “Sure, Jeevan bring him up.” Jai Bose, my childhood friend, but more importantly a psychologist by profession. I’ve always maintained that Ambika was all the therapy I needed, but everyone felt it was necessary to seek expert help too, so I decide to humour them. “You boys catch up, I’ll take a bath in the meanwhile” and saying so she got up and headed towards the shower.

The door opened and in came Jai, immaculately dressed in his shirt, tie and formal trousers.
“Hey burns! Feeling any hot today?”
I really did not mind, in fact I enjoyed matching wits with him and I suspected his frivolousness was a ploy to get me to stop all that self pity
“You are a psychologist sir, don’t you think constant reminders about a patient’s traumatic experience could damage his psyche?”
“Yeah maybe, but then again I’m doing this for free.”
Intelligent eyes surveyed me behind black framed spectacles, “Seriously though, how are you?”
“I am feeling quite good. I can even walk around a bit now.”  I replied.
“That’s excellent news! It’s time then to get out of the house now, don’t you think?”
“Funny thing, Ambika was just badgering me with the same advice right now. Maybe, let’s see.”
“Ah, Ambika, where is she? “
“She’s in the shower”
“Oh, good. Well inferno (*sigh* he’ll never learn), I am here to tell you about another intriguing case. Interested?”
I fancy myself to be an amateur psychologist. Jai always drops in with interesting stories about his patients. We have always been fascinated by the human brain and how it can adapt to any kind of situation.

“I’m all ears.”
“Well here it is then. You might find this interesting because it is very similar to yours. He too suffered severe second degree burns in an accident, the only difference being that his wife did not survive the unfortunate incident.”
“Poor man, “I said, “I couldn’t even imagine where I would be without Ambika”
“Ah, but then things got interesting. Part of the poor man’s brain began to manifest traits of his wife until he couldn’t differentiate between what was real and what was not. He hallucinates that his wife is still alive and well. “
“Strange are the works of the brain” I mused, “Why don’t you help him out of this delusion by telling him his wife is nothing but a figment of his own fractured imagination?”
“I am afraid to do so. Who knows what effects such a revelation might have on him? It could break him completely and undo all that progress he’s made till now. I believe his brain itself will let him know when he’s ready.” He looked at his watch,”Well, I’ve got to run now. See you later in the evening”
“Don’t you want to meet Ambika? She’ll be out any moment.” I asked.
“Never mind, I’ll meet her sometime else.” And he turned to leave.
“Wait a minute Jai, what’s this guy’s name?”  He told me.
“Ummm.. could you write that down, I didn’t get that entirely” He wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it over to me.
“I. M. Kasab Eiadd, that’s an odd name” Jai smiled sadly and said,
“Sometimes strange men have strange names.” I watched him leave and then turned my attention towards the piece of paper again. Somehow the name felt familiar, and it was not because of the obvious reason. I identified with it somehow, but like a slippery pebble in a glass of oil, I just couldn’t get my hands around what exactly. Oh well, perhaps Ambika could figure out what was so special with Mr I. M. Kasab Eiadd.

I heard the shower stop. “She’ll be out any moment.” I thought happily and finished off my milk.   

 –

Hari Nair
MTech(IS) 3^rd Sem
DTU

Gift to my Grandad

Thank You

Dear Appupa

Well I’ll be honest from the start, its 4.17 am in the morning; I’ve been thinking about what to get you, and I’m stumped. Picking out Ammuma’s Sari was by no means an easy task. Khadi, Tusser, Kanchivaram, handmade, machine made, I must have browsed through at least 50 of them before settling for one that I actually liked. Right now as I write this I’m not even sure how my choice will be received by you all but hopefully everyone will like it, especially Ammuma. In her case I’ve always known from the beginning what I needed to get her, it was just the selection that was the tough part. But you Sir, have proven to be an exceptionally difficult person to shop for.

You see the reason behind this is that I believe a gift should not be given just because the occasion demands that one be given.  It should hold some value in the hearts of both the receiving and gifting parties. In Ammuma’s case, this Sari is actually the fulfillment of the promise I made to her when I was god knows how many years old. So it naturally means a lot to both her and me. No such pact exists between us. You’ve never asked, and neither have I ever offered to buy you anything from my first salary. But I really want to get you something too, so I have given this a lot of thought, trying to come up with some suitable options. But I soon realized that whatever I could come up with, be it a watch, t-shirts, walking sticks or pens,  was something you already possessed and that too in surplus amount. So it wouldn’t really be useful. Actually no, as I’m writing this I realize that you would indeed happily accept any of the above, just because it’s a gift from your grandson. The actual reason behind me not going for something like a Titan is something far more selfish; I want to give you something that’s special and I wouldn’t personally derive the same pleasure giving a simple watch to you as I would giving that Sari to Ammuma.

Finally I’ve come to the conclusion that I really can’t buy you anything. Simply because unlike Ammuma’s sari, whatever stuff I buy you would only be materially significant. It’d seem like merely going through the motions; like a formality.  No, I want my gift to be more. To mean more. So I’ve decided that if I can’t buy anything for you, I’ll create something for you. Now if I was a painter I’d paint you a picture, or if I was a singer I’d have composed a song and sung it to you, but since writing’s the medium I’m the most comfortable with, I’ll try to do this with words. ­­

Your principles have always acted as a lighthouse for the family, guiding us to safe waters during troubled times. I’ve always regarded you as the only role model of my life, and hell, if I’m able to conduct my life even half as honorably as you have I’d be an extremely happy man. I’ve always believed that the worth of one’s existence shouldn’t be judged by the success achieved by him, but by the difference he’s made in the life of others. And I’m sure each and every one of us in this room would be very different people hadn’t you been a part of our lives. Be it about cricket, politics, religion, science, mythology or just life in general, I treasure each and every conversation I’ve had with you. They’ve played a major role in defining my value system and how I perceive things.  Even more though, I treasure the time I got to spend with you while having those conversations. It’s only after staying in Bangalore for such a long time, that I realized how much I valued those morning and evening walks with you. And not just the walks, sitting with you and verifying if all the medicines had been properly derived, listening to you explain the finer points of the Gita to Ammau, you getting that tad bit irritated when Ammuma’s nagging got a bit too much to handle, your frustration with those never ending Malayalam TV serials…..… I miss them all. In a nutshell, all I’m trying to say is that today I’m working in a respectable company and earning a respectable income, I’ve also had a moderately successful academic career, and to a large extent it’s because of you and you’re presence in my life. But most of all I owe you for my principles. They definitely wouldn’t be what they are if I didn’t have you to observe and learn from.

So Appupa, this is it. My gift to you. It may not be much, but these are 888 words straight from the heart. I won’t call them the best 888 words I’ve ever written but they’re definitely the 888 most honest ones. Of these 886 of them are also though, the most unnecessary ones that I’ve ever put on paper. That’s because everything I’ve said and everything I’ve wanted to say but somehow couldn’t, can all be summed up by the first two words you read.

I love you.

Oh, and a happy belated birthday!!

-Hari 

Poetry

Yeah, a word of caution. I'm NOT a writer of verse. But I respect the form nonetheless, not in the least because I've got friends who are an ocular mishap away from becoming Homer (er..the poet, not the yellow fat guy, though he's a pretty good poet too.)

Oh and my misguided belief is, It ain't a poem, if it ain't rhyming. 

What follows is just a story in the form of a poem. And its taken a lot out of me. I've got an exam tomorrow, and to borrow Mr Jay Zs words

Son, problems I may have got 99

And damn it bitch, I just can't stop thinking in rhymes 

meh...

.....

I live in house, They tell me it’s my home

Its walls are mainly pink and red

Its where I’ve been bought up, cared for and fed

They told me I was free to do as I please

Read, write , philosophize or just roam

But whatever you do, they said, Just don’t leave this home.

I asked, Why not? What’s out there, that keeps me in here?

They said kid, You don’t want to know

But I very much did, So I threw a tantrum and cried

They had no choice so they complied

They took me to two windows, both covered by pretty drapes

Pretty they were, though dusty too

It seemed they hadn’t been opened in an age or two

They were flung aside, And I was ordered to look outside

Colours!! So vivid, so bright

The sensation hit me like a running train

What do you see, They asked

I said, so much light, so much pain

Draw the drapes! I begged of them, never again.

The drapes were drawn, the windows shut, they faced me and they said

That is the cruel sun my son, regard it with dread

She shall shall burn your skin and your soul

She shall beckon you to come outside and live a life

And then she shall fill it with misery and strife

There is also her brother, the cunning moon

Fickle as a colt, colder than ice

He shall fill your mind with fantasy and lies

And laugh as you chase them, helpless as mice.

And saying so, with all care, They took me to my room

A hot meal and a warm bed, That’s all you need

To put your fears to rest, they said.

The sun and the moon, Demons hot and cold

Making all life miserable, young and old

That’s what I was told to believe

Try as I might, I couldn’t dismiss that sight

Terrible though but Beautiful so,

I resolved to step outside

But next day when I woke up, I felt that fear take over

I felt the sun, It made my skin crawl

No I can’t, and lay back in my bed

Sinking, lower and lower..

Then one day as I approached the door

And lo and behold! It was open a crack

A shaft of light piercing dreary gloom

As I peeked outside, wary of impending doom

The colours were still there, still vivid, still bright

But what drew my attention was a tiny snail

Oozing his way through, small and frail

But unmindful was he of the burning sun, the pain, and the fright

Slowly, inch by inch, it made its way through life.

So I reasoned, A lowly creature such as him

And yet not afraid of the mighty sun

Then why should I? No I shall not!!

And heedless of what they told me

I flung the door open with a spurt of might

And stepped outside.

I was wrong, their counsel wise

I could feel the sweat running through my brow

I could feel the frenetic thumping of my heart.

But most of all and Oh, this scared me so

I could feel the pain pulling me apart.

I looked again at the snail, for inspiration

Then realized something in my desperation

That puny thing slithering on was so simple, So free from complexity,

What did it know of the tragedy that is life

Or about how horrible things might turn out to be

Ignorance is bliss, I heard my brain chime

At least that I had learnt from the thing in slime

But then as I felt my senses depart

There was another lesson, I realized with a start

They found me unconscious on the sidewalk

Picked me up and carried me inside my hive

They lay me on that pretty couch, and fanned me

Until I regained my senses five

Didn’t we tell you, Distress in their voice

Of the sun and the moon, Of the terrors outside

Of the burning heat, and the freezing cold

Of the trials and tribulations galore

Look at your skin, Oh how its burnt

Poor child, Why didn’t you learn?

I looked at them, I remembered the snail

I remembered how I had mocked its pace

But alas, there lay the key

The problem wasn’t the sun; It was me

With wisdom and sparkle in my eyes

To take life one step a time, no hurry no haste

To tackle each problem with an unfettered mind

And never let my wit go waste.

And when things seem to go out of hand

To take pause and relish, ‘Cause it’s just the start, not the finish

To remember that life’s a marathon and not a sprint

Thank God, for whoever put that in print

That slimy thing, oozing away at its pace

Taught me that indeed, slow and steady wins the race

I then took a look at my burnt red skin

Worry not, I assured them

Nothing but a rite of passage,

I’ll soon forget the pain, but never the message

And so saying this, with a spring in my step

I made my ways to the drapes

Drew them and drunk in the scene

Then found myself at peace

And finally as I gazed at the burning globe

There my friends, There was hope.

.................

There its done. Eagerly awaiting your criticism. 

Cheers!!

Hari 

^_^