Based on true stories from the chronicles of a makeover event.
All my life, I've been a brave man. Only two things could scare me. Living and non-living.
I discovered a third the other day - A short skirt. You know how sometimes women do things to attract you and you think they are just traps being laid; well, give it some time and you will discover that, yeah, they actually are traps!
One day, I was told that I have been selected for a makeover event. Now, selection for a makeover event does not mean you are a good-looking man. In fact, it means, you have to be “made over” to be presentable. Logical, isn’t it? But after umpteen rejections in life from engineering colleges to business schools to companies to women, any sentence beginning with “You have been selected for…” makes me jump with excitement. Sometimes, I don’t even read what follows. Once, I threw a party for getting sacked. The email had said “You have been selected for a premature termination of the service contract…”
I agreed to be a part of the event, which also involved a hair makeover. There were a few things that had never happened to me before. Like having my head in the sink for 20 minutes. Or four totally hot women sitting around me, trying to make me look extremely attractive. It was unbelievable. One of them said,
Woman 1: "Let's give his hair a D360-1 with a G-Force. That would make him look really sexy."
I gave her my I-know-what-you-are-trying-to-suggest smile.
Woman 2: "But that's not what we want".
What??? How can you not want that? I so wanted to smack her. But she was wearing a short skirt. Forgiven!
Woman 3: "I think what he can carry better is, the XMark 11 with an Apolo13".
Now wait a minute! Wasn't Apolo13 a failure? They termed it a “successful failure” but that phrase hardly makes sense. Scary thoughts are populating my mind now.
Woman2: "Or why don’t we try the Rough-up with X-580 on him?"
The other 3 women tried imagining me with that product and I could read their faces:
Woman1: "Does he deserve such an expensive product?"
Woman3: "Man, he's gonna look like an alien. This will be fun."
Woman4: "Finally, we would get to know if that combination really damages the hair beyond repair like the booklet says."
I said:
Me: "Umm, I am really glad you are doing my hair, but... try not to make it too... umm.. umm.. out of this world".
The girls giggled. In their minds they said "Oh, come on. You're a techie. You hardly have a life. Just shut up and let us make an alien out of you. You just think about the blog you are going to write about this."
With slow, held-back steps, I walked to the guillotine. It was placed in front of a clear mirror, so that the slaughter could be watched by one's own eyes. Two of the four hot women stood alongside, probably having a last look at my gorgeous hair, running their fingers through it. (Another dream come true for me. I mean, two lovely ladies running their fingers through my hair! What are the odds?) The undertaker amongst the two announced "Let's get started". As the cape flew around me and settled on my body, my hair was seeing its imminent death in the eye. Another beautiful goddess had the most important task - to sit on the couch and keep me mercilessly hypnotized, even as my hair was being beheaded. She had her weapon on her; the short skirt. The scissors audaciously made their way through my hair ravaging it, and one after the other, or rather thousands after hundreds, fell helplessly as their fellow ones who were lucky (or so they thought for a little while) stared at them in despair. The rampage culminated with the X-580 and its complementary WMDs clandestinely spreading their reigns over my head.
"Shew shew shew..." the water spray brought me out of the hypnotization. I looked up. A fine, young man, was sitting in front of me but his hair was a little too messed up. I thought to myself "What's with him? What would have made him do that to his own hair?" Before I could completely sympathize with him, I realized a scary thing. It was a mirror! The man was, in fact, me! My heart stopped beating for a while. I froze. A porcupine would have looked at me and felt better about itself. I got really hot under the collar, rose angrily, and turned around. The entire brigade read my rage and declared an emergency execution of plan B. The woman on the couch crossed legs, the four hotties stood in an indescribably sexy posture and the rest of the women exclaimed in chorus "Wow!!!".
I smiled, thanked them for everything, and walked out. I could hear laughters behind me as I left the salon.
At home, my mom answered the door,
Mom: "Look gentleman, we already told two of your colleagues that we don’t want the detergent which removes grease stains in one wash and ink stains without even washing. Now just get lost."
Me: "What? Mom, it's me".
Mom: "Ankit!!! What happened to you? I told you not to mess around with electrical equipments".
I have been drawing similar reactions from all the people I know. On the bright side of it, I am at least drawing attention. I remember watching a Yoga program on television, which taught how to save yourself from falling into such temptation. Just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and think about your credit card bills. Since that day, whenever I come across a short skirt, I say to myself: "The hell with Yoga. I am going to enjoy the sight."
Friday, June 6, 2008
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Made for the maid
This is with reference to "Say bye bye to cheap Bais", TOI, 14 Mar 2008.
The proposed bill to ensure fixed pay and other benefits to house-maids, is a move in the right direction.
Economic imbalance is arguably the gravest issue that growing India, or rather "shining" India as we crave to call it, is facing today. In this nation, proud of the capability to aspire for a consistent 9% GDP growth, there is one class whose pockets are swelling uncontrollably, and there is another, for whom it is getting increasingly difficult to buy a square meal everyday. A considerable portion of the latter are these house-maids, who work tirelessly to earn as meagre an amount as 5 rupees a day per household. Most of these women are also victims of torture from their shameless men, despite being the bread winners and sole supporters of the family. Such policies would give them the ability to stand against atrocities, support their children better, and live a respectful life. Such initiatives from the government should be applauded.
Once the bill is in place, the next step would be to make sure that each and every needy is made aware of this and they know who to and how to approach with their complaints, if any.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
to B.E. or not to B.E.
Today, when I look at my old study table, I see the partially rusted pen stand with a little less than a million pens in it. They come in handy for many useful purposes, except writing. And the table lamp, protected by a thick layer of smooth and glittering dust. The lamp has come as a legacy to my father from my grandfather and to him from my great grandfather and so on. The history of the lamp would probably date back to early 1600s, when, I guess, the Mughals used it first to deceive the Marathas projecting it as a nuclear weapon. Today it stands erect in all its pride, resembling the hardships that my ancestors went through and yet the perseverance that they demonstrated - in cleaning it time and again. The lamp does not work on electricity anymore. On electricity, it only sparkles to show that it is still alive and if you are interested in playing a little fun game with it, it can electrocute you, just for fun. I just wish I had used that table for studying. All of these things remind me of those good old days - when I was not doing my engineering. “Engineering was fun”. This statement is as clichéd as it is untrue. To all those who say that, I would like to ask - which part exactly are you referring to?
Part1: The admission:
Admission process for engineering is the grossest of experiences. You run around relentlessly for weeks using bus, train, motor-bike, non-motored bike, auto-rickshaw and all other public and private modes of transport, and stand at the tail of immobile queues for collecting the form, filling the form, attesting the form, submitting the form, following up the status of the submitted form and performing all other activities that can possibly be performed on forms, including using them for fanning when you bear the scorching heat while standing in the queue. At the end of all this, all you get rewarded with is the smallest possible piece of paper reading “Acknowledgement” at the top and a stamp/seal at the bottom, which is barely readable. You just see two concentric blue circles with something written between their circumferences. It could in all possibility be “Mugambo khush hua” and that too in Arabic and nobody would know. Even the tickets that are issued when you travel by a PMT bus are comparatively bigger and can be maintained at least until the journey is over. With this acknowledgement receipt, you should consider yourself lucky if you manage to retain it in your fist in one piece until you come out successfully, fighting the crowd on your way back from the window.
Part2 – the college faculty and the syllabus:
After studying your ass off in 12th grade, coping with the incessant pressure from teachers and intimidating parents, spending sleepless nights awaiting the results and the plethora of hardships described in Part1, you manage to secure admission into an engineering college. Now, you can get one and only one of - a good college or a good stream or a free seat. None of them co-exists with the other. The stream is your primary concern and your father does not trust that you will be able to do justice to two hundred grands. Consequently, you end up in the worst college of the university. A college where the faculty is as novice to the subject as you, as afraid of ragging as you (because the senior students wouldn’t realize whether the person is a first year student or a faculty and the faculty himself would be too terrified to remember that he is not supposed to be ragged), and as lost as a baby amongst strangers. You try to not care and consider him as a source of entertainment and a topic that you can discuss whenever you are hanging out with friends and are already done with discussing the antonyms of beauty in your college.
Being a computer engineering student seems to automatically obligate you to study how a Reinforced Cement Concrete wall is stronger and lasts longer than other types of walls. Or how the piston in a four stroke petrol engine makes four to and fro motions – two more than a two stroke petrol engine (it’s supposedly a difficult guess) - inside the cylinder of an automobile engine. Also, perhaps you will never be able to develop a software unless you understand how a silicon controlled rectifier is used in regulating a fan’s speed or you are able to visualize the orthographic projections of a given body i.e. its elevation (front view), plan (top view) and side view, and draw them (perfectly, to scale) on a large sheet, using instruments like the drafter, which you carry on your back like a warrior carries his weapon. Somehow, you fight everything and clear the first year, only to find yourself lost in the name game of subjects. Theory of Computer Science does not seem to have anything to do with computers (or ‘theory’ and ‘science’ for that matter). In Linear Circuits Analysis, the circuits are anything but linear. [to be continued...]
Part1: The admission:
Admission process for engineering is the grossest of experiences. You run around relentlessly for weeks using bus, train, motor-bike, non-motored bike, auto-rickshaw and all other public and private modes of transport, and stand at the tail of immobile queues for collecting the form, filling the form, attesting the form, submitting the form, following up the status of the submitted form and performing all other activities that can possibly be performed on forms, including using them for fanning when you bear the scorching heat while standing in the queue. At the end of all this, all you get rewarded with is the smallest possible piece of paper reading “Acknowledgement” at the top and a stamp/seal at the bottom, which is barely readable. You just see two concentric blue circles with something written between their circumferences. It could in all possibility be “Mugambo khush hua” and that too in Arabic and nobody would know. Even the tickets that are issued when you travel by a PMT bus are comparatively bigger and can be maintained at least until the journey is over. With this acknowledgement receipt, you should consider yourself lucky if you manage to retain it in your fist in one piece until you come out successfully, fighting the crowd on your way back from the window.
Part2 – the college faculty and the syllabus:
After studying your ass off in 12th grade, coping with the incessant pressure from teachers and intimidating parents, spending sleepless nights awaiting the results and the plethora of hardships described in Part1, you manage to secure admission into an engineering college. Now, you can get one and only one of - a good college or a good stream or a free seat. None of them co-exists with the other. The stream is your primary concern and your father does not trust that you will be able to do justice to two hundred grands. Consequently, you end up in the worst college of the university. A college where the faculty is as novice to the subject as you, as afraid of ragging as you (because the senior students wouldn’t realize whether the person is a first year student or a faculty and the faculty himself would be too terrified to remember that he is not supposed to be ragged), and as lost as a baby amongst strangers. You try to not care and consider him as a source of entertainment and a topic that you can discuss whenever you are hanging out with friends and are already done with discussing the antonyms of beauty in your college.
Being a computer engineering student seems to automatically obligate you to study how a Reinforced Cement Concrete wall is stronger and lasts longer than other types of walls. Or how the piston in a four stroke petrol engine makes four to and fro motions – two more than a two stroke petrol engine (it’s supposedly a difficult guess) - inside the cylinder of an automobile engine. Also, perhaps you will never be able to develop a software unless you understand how a silicon controlled rectifier is used in regulating a fan’s speed or you are able to visualize the orthographic projections of a given body i.e. its elevation (front view), plan (top view) and side view, and draw them (perfectly, to scale) on a large sheet, using instruments like the drafter, which you carry on your back like a warrior carries his weapon. Somehow, you fight everything and clear the first year, only to find yourself lost in the name game of subjects. Theory of Computer Science does not seem to have anything to do with computers (or ‘theory’ and ‘science’ for that matter). In Linear Circuits Analysis, the circuits are anything but linear. [to be continued...]
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Magic Moments - A memorable trip to Alibag
Magic Moments - A memorable trip to Alibag
07 Oct 2007
Abhay, Jay, Tushar, Jomesh, Kalam, Paro(sex - male), Ankit, Peji, Romel
07 Oct 2007
Abhay, Jay, Tushar, Jomesh, Kalam, Paro(sex - male), Ankit, Peji, Romel
At the age of 45, when you get together with old friends on a weekend, in your drawing room, you will recall some specific moments of your life. You will gasp to go back in time and live those moments again. Such moments are called 'Magic Moments'. [Of course, no disrespect towards our first love - Magic Moments is also a liquor brand.] On the 7th of October 2007, the 9 of us, friends since school, 'lived' such magic moments and there is no way to express what we experienced. Yet, here's an attempt.
4.30 a.m. in the morning, we all assemble at the KPCC headquarters, which is strategically located under the balcony of Jomesh's house. [Honestly, this place has earned itself the honour of being KPCC headquarters by hosting numerous 'magic moments' in each of our lives. It deserves an exclusive article on it and I promise to work on it in the future]. Our throats are sore because of unfinished sleep and hence our abuse for the person who insisted on starting this early sounds all the more harsh and genuine. Thirteen people had confirmed their availability the previous night; but as the moon traversed from over the head to in front of the eye, making way for the sun, 4 of them backed out. One of them was going to get his car and hence we are one vehicle short now. Jay rescues us dramatically from the situation - "I can get my car".
All geared up, letting our hair loose, dumping all the traveling paraphernalia in the dickey of the two cars, and chanting 'Ganpati Bappa Morya', we start at around 5.30 a.m. (only an hour and a half late) evenly distributing load in Romel's Omni and Jay's Indica. We are all just trying to settle and suddenly Jay's car stops. All those in Jay's car want to contemplate on the possibility of changing the destination. After a ten minute long brain storming discussion, putting a lot of facts about several other destinations into perspective, complex time-distance-speed-velocity-and-acceleration calcuations and lighting the cigar which Tushar had brought for us from New York (yes, the one in US and not the store in Pimpri), we come to the conclusion - we should not change the destination. It comes as no surprise because five of us are IT professionals and are used to storming our brains over serious issues only to find that the issue is not so serious and there is no point in storming the brain. Back in the cabs and back on the road.
As the sun bestows its first rays on us, the surroundings become picturesque and we have to stop for clicking. Abhay and Tushar flaunt their sophisticated cameras, which appear to have nothing less than divine powers, and Ankit hides his modest camera in his bag realizing that it would appear like an M-80 amongst Ducatis. A few clicks and we are back on the route. We enter Alibag village and the surroundings start to impress us immediately - yes, there are more and more beer shops around. Finally, we reach the Nagaon beach and begin a game of volley ball. Jay joins us a little late as he has to address some critical issues. He is helped by Paro - only for filling him a bottle of sea water (Fortunately, Jay takes care of the rest by himself). The three volley ball games turned out to be one of the best parts of the trip. Abhay gets the ball bang on target every time, but in another court, Tushar keeps hitting the ball so hard that if it is not for its light weight, it might well cross the sea, Jomesh and Peji lead the cheating from their side with occasional intervention from Abhay, and Romel and Jay lead the cheating from the other side with Ankit to their support, trying to convince the other team to believe him as he was 'paanch waqt ka namaazi aadmi'. I have never been involved in a better volley ball game in my entire career of... 5 games. Anyway...
Three games suck all the energy out of us and we want to gulp something. We order tens of bhurji-pav, Omlet-pav, Pohe and then tea. Everybody finishes their breakfast and is burping and Ankit is still waiting for his Pohe. He doesn’t deny that the thought of giving away vegetarianism crossed his mind. Finally, to the relief of Ankit (and a few others, who were just supposed to be onlookers), Pohe arrive. [Kalam is still feasting on a pav with tea.] Having restored energy, we move to the beach again, this time with the cricket bat and ball. Experts lay down the rules, teams are created, boundaries are marked and the match begins. Once again, no matter how much one tries to keep track of the score, after every alternate ball there is a fight. It is all OK until Jomesh and Romel get into a virtually real fight, pouncing over each other. Ankit, whose both thighs combined would barely makeup for one bicep of these individuals, tries to intervene. No wonder he gets thrown a few metres away. The quarrel turns so fierce that a passer-by tries to pacify both of them. That is when they declare that it is Ok and they are not serious. Phew! sighs Ankit. The game is over and we are all exhausted.
A refreshing hour in the sea waters, then a shower and then beer and food. All of us are dead tired. Nobody wants to move an inch but it is about time we begin the return journey. Making ourselves comfortable in the cabs, we start towards Pune. We are back at Chafekar chowk at around 9 p.m. Least bothered about the expense, contribution etc., we bid each other adieu and disperse.
That marks the end of a memorable trip, which each one of us will cherish for the rest of his life. We don't know where each one of us is heading in life and may be time will part our ways soon, but at least we have moments to reminisce and get all nostalgic about.
-Ankit
Elite member, KPCC.
4.30 a.m. in the morning, we all assemble at the KPCC headquarters, which is strategically located under the balcony of Jomesh's house. [Honestly, this place has earned itself the honour of being KPCC headquarters by hosting numerous 'magic moments' in each of our lives. It deserves an exclusive article on it and I promise to work on it in the future]. Our throats are sore because of unfinished sleep and hence our abuse for the person who insisted on starting this early sounds all the more harsh and genuine. Thirteen people had confirmed their availability the previous night; but as the moon traversed from over the head to in front of the eye, making way for the sun, 4 of them backed out. One of them was going to get his car and hence we are one vehicle short now. Jay rescues us dramatically from the situation - "I can get my car".
All geared up, letting our hair loose, dumping all the traveling paraphernalia in the dickey of the two cars, and chanting 'Ganpati Bappa Morya', we start at around 5.30 a.m. (only an hour and a half late) evenly distributing load in Romel's Omni and Jay's Indica. We are all just trying to settle and suddenly Jay's car stops. All those in Jay's car want to contemplate on the possibility of changing the destination. After a ten minute long brain storming discussion, putting a lot of facts about several other destinations into perspective, complex time-distance-speed-velocity-and-acceleration calcuations and lighting the cigar which Tushar had brought for us from New York (yes, the one in US and not the store in Pimpri), we come to the conclusion - we should not change the destination. It comes as no surprise because five of us are IT professionals and are used to storming our brains over serious issues only to find that the issue is not so serious and there is no point in storming the brain. Back in the cabs and back on the road.
As the sun bestows its first rays on us, the surroundings become picturesque and we have to stop for clicking. Abhay and Tushar flaunt their sophisticated cameras, which appear to have nothing less than divine powers, and Ankit hides his modest camera in his bag realizing that it would appear like an M-80 amongst Ducatis. A few clicks and we are back on the route. We enter Alibag village and the surroundings start to impress us immediately - yes, there are more and more beer shops around. Finally, we reach the Nagaon beach and begin a game of volley ball. Jay joins us a little late as he has to address some critical issues. He is helped by Paro - only for filling him a bottle of sea water (Fortunately, Jay takes care of the rest by himself). The three volley ball games turned out to be one of the best parts of the trip. Abhay gets the ball bang on target every time, but in another court, Tushar keeps hitting the ball so hard that if it is not for its light weight, it might well cross the sea, Jomesh and Peji lead the cheating from their side with occasional intervention from Abhay, and Romel and Jay lead the cheating from the other side with Ankit to their support, trying to convince the other team to believe him as he was 'paanch waqt ka namaazi aadmi'. I have never been involved in a better volley ball game in my entire career of... 5 games. Anyway...
Three games suck all the energy out of us and we want to gulp something. We order tens of bhurji-pav, Omlet-pav, Pohe and then tea. Everybody finishes their breakfast and is burping and Ankit is still waiting for his Pohe. He doesn’t deny that the thought of giving away vegetarianism crossed his mind. Finally, to the relief of Ankit (and a few others, who were just supposed to be onlookers), Pohe arrive. [Kalam is still feasting on a pav with tea.] Having restored energy, we move to the beach again, this time with the cricket bat and ball. Experts lay down the rules, teams are created, boundaries are marked and the match begins. Once again, no matter how much one tries to keep track of the score, after every alternate ball there is a fight. It is all OK until Jomesh and Romel get into a virtually real fight, pouncing over each other. Ankit, whose both thighs combined would barely makeup for one bicep of these individuals, tries to intervene. No wonder he gets thrown a few metres away. The quarrel turns so fierce that a passer-by tries to pacify both of them. That is when they declare that it is Ok and they are not serious. Phew! sighs Ankit. The game is over and we are all exhausted.
A refreshing hour in the sea waters, then a shower and then beer and food. All of us are dead tired. Nobody wants to move an inch but it is about time we begin the return journey. Making ourselves comfortable in the cabs, we start towards Pune. We are back at Chafekar chowk at around 9 p.m. Least bothered about the expense, contribution etc., we bid each other adieu and disperse.
That marks the end of a memorable trip, which each one of us will cherish for the rest of his life. We don't know where each one of us is heading in life and may be time will part our ways soon, but at least we have moments to reminisce and get all nostalgic about.
-Ankit
Elite member, KPCC.
Friday, September 7, 2007
What a win
NatWest Series [India in England] - 6th ODI
05-Sep-2007
What a win India pulled off on Wednesday. It was the most dramatic victory in recent times. I cannot disagree that I was at the edge of my seat for every second of the last hour or so of the game. Every ball being bowled counted and you could not afford to blink. This is the time when you feel that ad-breaks between overs are a must. One can only imagine how much pressure the players themselves would be under whilst they struggle against the mammoth total. Think about it - Winning is difficult and you cannot afford to lose. In such a situation, only a Maverick can hold on to the belief - "Failure is not an option".
Robin Uthappa, emerged out as a hero in the match. He literally dragged India to victory despite restrains of all forms and deservingly had the honour of hitting the coup de grace of such a historic win. I would not say his batting was impressive, though. He was favored by luck on numerous occasions and runs came to him without any special batting skills of his own. His batting graph showed a prominent 'V' formation behind the wickets, indicating that he scored most of the runs in that area. Now, apart from the one unorthodox scoop that he hit there, towards the end of the game, fetching four crucial runs, none of the shots were actual skillful maneuvers. The ball, always, accidentally took the leading or inside edge and fled past Prior fetching him runs.
But his attitude deserves appreciation. He did not give in to the pressure and constantly vied for runs in spite of escaping the return to the pavilion by a whisker many a times. He never seemed to be in two minds like Dravid and Yuvraj, who ultimately threw their wickets off just because they couldn't decide which out of the hundreds of techniques that they have mastered over the years should they apply. In a post match interview, he was asked, what did he plan to do when he was out there and India needed around 9 runs an over. He innocently confessed that he could not devote any time to thinking and had no plans as such. He just wanted to get fast runs. When asked whether or not he thought that the unconventional flick towards fine leg in the last over was a risk and he could have got bowled like Dhoni, he had a plain answer - "I never thought about getting bowled". Sometimes, that is exactly the kind of thinking you need to adopt. Just focus on what you are there to achieve and forget about the possibility of an untoward happening.
Sachin Tendulkar, once again, showed what he is made of. Missing out on his century for the umpteenth consecutive time did not seem to bother him as long as the country marched towards victory.
All analyses apart, the match was a thorough entertainer and my romance for cricket is back.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
I bid adieu to my Friends at HSBC GLT
FRIENDS,
Today happens to be my last day at HSBC GLT.
2 years. Sounds like a long time. Amongst friends, however, it passed by faster than an eye-blink. Leaving and never coming back to the place where you have been spending most part of your day for the past 2 years, didn't seem like that big a deal; until the day finally arrived. Today, a palpable disappointment bothers me and my heart pounds to accept that I will not see some of my best friends around from tomorrow. I just wish I could stay longer. But, at times, we need to reorganize our priorities and be open to the inevitable fact of life called "change".
With attrition rate touching new skies every day, good-bye emails have become more mundane than work-related emails. What bugs is, the unthoughtful and by far the most cliched statements like "I have learnt a lot from you", "Thank you for being an inspiration" etc. More often than not, these are just formalities. I mean, what could a build engineer, who executes shell scripts, possibly learn from a person who writes java programs to transfer money from one bank account to the other. Or, for that matter, from a person who addresses tickets on production boxes. :-)
Having said that, I do want to whole-heartedly thank all of you, but that is for making work place FUN for me. That is what I am going to cherish for the rest of life. I loved working at GLT because I was surrounded by excellent friends. I can never forget the times when we got together to celebrate or just talk our minds out. To smile and then chuckle and then laugh... That is what I am going to miss and remember each one of you for. You have been excellent peers and I have thouroughly enjoyed every single moment of my interaction with you.
My stint at GLT has given me some very valuable experience [and free telephone :-) ] for sure, but the more important thing that I have gained here is friends, whom I will never want to lose in my life.
As as I move on to explore new avenues outside, I carry with me unperishable memories of my time with you. (and a few stationary items. Hey, dont start judging me; I am just taking them as a souvenir :-) ]
I wish all of you well-being, prosperity and all the very best in all aspects of your life. Also, may you all get good bosses and a loyal girlfriend/boyfriend :-) [Please wish me the same. It is high time now. :-) ]
Finally, I thank all of you for being an inspiration and I have definitely learnt a lot from you. (I just realized that we have to write this. It's a tradition. The email would be jinxed without it :-) )
Take care, guys.
Good bye! and GOD BLESS YOU.
Love,
Ankit
Oh! who am I kidding? Even if I try to run away, you would certainly track me down at yahoo or gmail or orkut. (Sometimes, i hate technology). So, I might as well give away my contact details to you myself.
9890602553
ankit_sharma1983@yahoo.com
ankit1983@gmail.com
Also, do visit www.scribbled-by-ankit.blogspot.com [or get a life :-) ]
A man's true character can be determined by the way he treats a person who can do him no good.
Today happens to be my last day at HSBC GLT.
2 years. Sounds like a long time. Amongst friends, however, it passed by faster than an eye-blink. Leaving and never coming back to the place where you have been spending most part of your day for the past 2 years, didn't seem like that big a deal; until the day finally arrived. Today, a palpable disappointment bothers me and my heart pounds to accept that I will not see some of my best friends around from tomorrow. I just wish I could stay longer. But, at times, we need to reorganize our priorities and be open to the inevitable fact of life called "change".
With attrition rate touching new skies every day, good-bye emails have become more mundane than work-related emails. What bugs is, the unthoughtful and by far the most cliched statements like "I have learnt a lot from you", "Thank you for being an inspiration" etc. More often than not, these are just formalities. I mean, what could a build engineer, who executes shell scripts, possibly learn from a person who writes java programs to transfer money from one bank account to the other. Or, for that matter, from a person who addresses tickets on production boxes. :-)
Having said that, I do want to whole-heartedly thank all of you, but that is for making work place FUN for me. That is what I am going to cherish for the rest of life. I loved working at GLT because I was surrounded by excellent friends. I can never forget the times when we got together to celebrate or just talk our minds out. To smile and then chuckle and then laugh... That is what I am going to miss and remember each one of you for. You have been excellent peers and I have thouroughly enjoyed every single moment of my interaction with you.
My stint at GLT has given me some very valuable experience [and free telephone :-) ] for sure, but the more important thing that I have gained here is friends, whom I will never want to lose in my life.
As as I move on to explore new avenues outside, I carry with me unperishable memories of my time with you. (and a few stationary items. Hey, dont start judging me; I am just taking them as a souvenir :-) ]
I wish all of you well-being, prosperity and all the very best in all aspects of your life. Also, may you all get good bosses and a loyal girlfriend/boyfriend :-) [Please wish me the same. It is high time now. :-) ]
Finally, I thank all of you for being an inspiration and I have definitely learnt a lot from you. (I just realized that we have to write this. It's a tradition. The email would be jinxed without it :-) )
Take care, guys.
Good bye! and GOD BLESS YOU.
Love,
Ankit
Oh! who am I kidding? Even if I try to run away, you would certainly track me down at yahoo or gmail or orkut. (Sometimes, i hate technology). So, I might as well give away my contact details to you myself.
9890602553
ankit_sharma1983@yahoo.com
ankit1983@gmail.com
Also, do visit www.scribbled-by-ankit.blogspot.com [or get a life :-) ]
A man's true character can be determined by the way he treats a person who can do him no good.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Application to Offer
Someone, someday said, “Don’t count the moments in life; count the life in every moment”. Now, it doesn’t make much sense, or rather any sense, but it just sounds good in your brain. I don’t know what it means and I never tried to ponder over the philosophy behind it but I do believe that there are some moments, or rather phases, in life which one can never forget. One such phase in an engineer’s life is when he is hunting for jobs. Now, this hunting isn’t as exciting and adventurous as hunting in the woods, the effort and energy invested, however, are comparable.
It was around Christmas, it was the coldest day of the year. Daryl and Kabir were both exhausted from the brainstorming that they had been through the entire day. They had come for an interview at CSS Technologies. They had applied for a job there, sometime in August and had lost all hopes of getting a call. And that is exactly when software companies call freshers.
Until today, for Daryl and Kabir, an interview in a software company meant nothing more than a torture for few hours and then listening to those intimidating words: “The HR will get back to you”. These words didn’t become any less annoying in spite of the fact that they came from the most gorgeous women in the HR department of the company, who somehow managed to maintain an extraordinarily, magically, beautiful and pleasing smile. With this kind of a smile, even if she informed about a second 9/11 incident, some of us would be too hypnotized to even frown. However, jobless software engineers are a rare breed. For them, those seven words are as heart-breaking as they can be. Every time, the goddess’ statements actually meant that “you are an idiot and don’t deserve to be here” but sounded like genuine regret from the company for not having enough openings at that time for people with their kind of skills.
This day, however, was different. Today, Daryl and Kabir were able to solve life’s most genuinely senseless problems like calculating the time required for a train to reach point B from point A, when the wind is blowing at 40 mph. Or, calculating the percentage of loss suffered by a lady selling marbles, when she was betrayed by her business partner by selling 76% of the marbles at 85% less than the actual price to two of her friends, who shared the number of marbles at 39% and 61% each. And all this and much more they managed to do within the stipulated time of 90 minutes. To summarize, they managed to get through the written test at CSS, which is inappropriately called an aptitude test. However, it was not yet time to keep the pens down, as another written test, again inappropriately called the technical test, was to follow. Lady luck smiled at them again as they managed to answer sufficient number of questions right to get a seat on the couch where only those who passed were asked to sit, while the rest were being explained the genuine regret by the gorgeous lady.
As Daryl and Kabir waited patiently for a project manager to come and interview them, they constantly wiped droplets from over their forehead and stared at their watches to kill time. Of course, the thought of what would the manager ask and how they would answer it was not out of their minds and no matter how much they tried to stay cool, their minds wandered into the pages of java books that they had been reading day and night. They probably knew anything and everything that the manager might even think of asking, or even more, but were still afraid that it would not require much for their nervousness to take over their knowledge and that they would screw up this time as well. Two hours passed and there were no signs of anybody coming to take them to the meeting room for the torture. It was not the first time for Daryl and Kabir but the agony was not any less than the first time. In fact, Daryl could not control his agony from taking over his mighty nervousness and he murmured, “What the hell?” Kabir, who was next to him, looked at him instantly, as if he was awakened from a partial sleep, but wanted to pretend that he was totally awake and fresh. Daryl’s words brought him out of his day dream, where he was picturing himself working smartly with the other less smart people of this organization and his natural charm and wit impressed his female colleagues. Believe it or not, this is the dream of every software engineer guy. (And they all wonder, with me, what the lady engineer’s dream is). Daryl continued, “Are we slaves??? Or prisoners waiting patiently for getting their daily bread?” Kabir smiled, trying to calm Daryl down. He said, “It’s the same everywhere. But I am sure this would be the last time.” Kabir’s words did calm Daryl down and he put his hands forward for a handshake and introduced himself with a smile. Smiles really are infectious. “Daryl”, he said in a low, however, confident tone; probably practicing for his interview. The other end replied, “Kabir Sharma” in a rather trembling voice.
Kabir: “I am here for the java position.”
Daryl: “Me too. Do you wanna get some coffee?”
Kabir: “Now? What if the manager comes and…”
Daryl (interrupting Kabir): “Screw them. We have been waiting for two hours. They are in need of us as much as much as we are of them. May be a little less, but still…”
Kabir: “Ok… Ok… Don’t yell… I don’t want to lose the job before even getting it.”
Daryl: “Yeah. Me neither. But if I don’t get a coffee right now, I don’t think I will be able to handle the interview well. Need to get refreshed.”
Kabir: “You are right. Let’s find the machine”
Daryl and Kabir both rose from their seats, where they had been sticking patiently for two hours now. Kabir just looked back at the seat to see his ass-print. They moved to the right corner of the huge floor, where a coffee vending machine was installed. On their way, both were looking around checking out the crowd. Both commented on a few hot females to each other and envied the apparently ugly lot that was with those beauties.
The ten minutes that followed, which they spent at the coffee machine, were enough for them to realize that they had surprisingly similar interests and that they had been through similar troubles in the recent past, being away from home and hunting for a job to survive. This is where a friendship was born, which looked like it would last as long as the lifetime of the friends and even after it. (I don’t know how it works, but people say it can).
As they were returning from the farther end of the floor, they saw a hefty, tall, fair, partly bald guy hovering around the place where they were seated, looking for somebody. Both of them stared at him for a few milli-seconds, then at each other for a few micro-seconds and then it was as if lightening struck both of them. Never tried lip-reading or face reading and yet they could read and interpret the body language of the person from a distance of about 50 metres. They realized that he was the manager who was to interview them and he was, in fact, looking for them. Both of them walked as fast as they could, only because running across the floor would seem weird and awkward and would invite embarrassment. As they reached their place, Daryl said, trying to take control of his breath and the situation, “Hello, Sir. I am Daryl. You are probably looking for us.” As fast as they had walked, Kabir’s heart was beating a million beats. The manager turned around and said, searching for a name in the paper that he had in his hand, “Hmm… and where’s the other person? Umm, what was his name?”. “Sir, it’s probably me. Kabir Sharma.”, Kabir said, trying to stop his heart from exploding out of his chest. The manager acknowledged, “Right. I was looking for you guys.” Kabir began again “Sir, actually, we were just… actually, we just went for… actually, it had been…”. Daryl, realizing that Kabir was unnecessarily trying to justify the need of a coffee break, tried to stop him by holding his hand. Guys holding hands this way is a rare sight and would be declared obscene if they were elsewhere and the situation was different. To Daryl and Kabir’s fortune, the manager interrupted Kabir’s thrice or four times half-constructed sentence, always beginning with “actually”, and asked Kabir to follow him into meeting room Chicago, while he asked Daryl to wait there. I am not sure of the idea of naming meeting rooms after cities. The first time I went for an interview, the HR person told me, “Mr. Kamat, the person who will be interviewing you, is in New York. Please go there. It is to your right.” I wondered - I might be facing south but is that enough direction to get to New York? My next question to that HR person will not be written here to retain the reader’s respect for the author.
A few hours later, both Daryl and Kabir were happily accepting the offer letter from the gorgeous woman, or may be she appeared gorgeous to them because her hands signed their offer letters. Bearing happiness, joy, satisfaction, gratefulness and relief all at the same time on their faces, both of them walked out from the building, passing the reception where a few other aspiring and nervous candidates were still awaiting some manager. What was running through their minds was written on their faces - Did these two gentlemen eat up two vacancies? or the smiles are meant to hide the disappointment from others? Both of them, however, didn’t care to look at the others and their smiles transformed into laughter as they reached the visitor’s parking where Daryl’s bike was parked.
They celebrated one of their greatest achievements in life over a cup of tea and cream-rolls. Daryl, then, dropped Kabir home and waved him good-bye. Good-byes always mark the end of one journey and the beginning of another. Thus, the journey from “application” to “offer” finally ended for the two only making way for bigger ones to begin.
It was around Christmas, it was the coldest day of the year. Daryl and Kabir were both exhausted from the brainstorming that they had been through the entire day. They had come for an interview at CSS Technologies. They had applied for a job there, sometime in August and had lost all hopes of getting a call. And that is exactly when software companies call freshers.
Until today, for Daryl and Kabir, an interview in a software company meant nothing more than a torture for few hours and then listening to those intimidating words: “The HR will get back to you”. These words didn’t become any less annoying in spite of the fact that they came from the most gorgeous women in the HR department of the company, who somehow managed to maintain an extraordinarily, magically, beautiful and pleasing smile. With this kind of a smile, even if she informed about a second 9/11 incident, some of us would be too hypnotized to even frown. However, jobless software engineers are a rare breed. For them, those seven words are as heart-breaking as they can be. Every time, the goddess’ statements actually meant that “you are an idiot and don’t deserve to be here” but sounded like genuine regret from the company for not having enough openings at that time for people with their kind of skills.
This day, however, was different. Today, Daryl and Kabir were able to solve life’s most genuinely senseless problems like calculating the time required for a train to reach point B from point A, when the wind is blowing at 40 mph. Or, calculating the percentage of loss suffered by a lady selling marbles, when she was betrayed by her business partner by selling 76% of the marbles at 85% less than the actual price to two of her friends, who shared the number of marbles at 39% and 61% each. And all this and much more they managed to do within the stipulated time of 90 minutes. To summarize, they managed to get through the written test at CSS, which is inappropriately called an aptitude test. However, it was not yet time to keep the pens down, as another written test, again inappropriately called the technical test, was to follow. Lady luck smiled at them again as they managed to answer sufficient number of questions right to get a seat on the couch where only those who passed were asked to sit, while the rest were being explained the genuine regret by the gorgeous lady.
As Daryl and Kabir waited patiently for a project manager to come and interview them, they constantly wiped droplets from over their forehead and stared at their watches to kill time. Of course, the thought of what would the manager ask and how they would answer it was not out of their minds and no matter how much they tried to stay cool, their minds wandered into the pages of java books that they had been reading day and night. They probably knew anything and everything that the manager might even think of asking, or even more, but were still afraid that it would not require much for their nervousness to take over their knowledge and that they would screw up this time as well. Two hours passed and there were no signs of anybody coming to take them to the meeting room for the torture. It was not the first time for Daryl and Kabir but the agony was not any less than the first time. In fact, Daryl could not control his agony from taking over his mighty nervousness and he murmured, “What the hell?” Kabir, who was next to him, looked at him instantly, as if he was awakened from a partial sleep, but wanted to pretend that he was totally awake and fresh. Daryl’s words brought him out of his day dream, where he was picturing himself working smartly with the other less smart people of this organization and his natural charm and wit impressed his female colleagues. Believe it or not, this is the dream of every software engineer guy. (And they all wonder, with me, what the lady engineer’s dream is). Daryl continued, “Are we slaves??? Or prisoners waiting patiently for getting their daily bread?” Kabir smiled, trying to calm Daryl down. He said, “It’s the same everywhere. But I am sure this would be the last time.” Kabir’s words did calm Daryl down and he put his hands forward for a handshake and introduced himself with a smile. Smiles really are infectious. “Daryl”, he said in a low, however, confident tone; probably practicing for his interview. The other end replied, “Kabir Sharma” in a rather trembling voice.
Kabir: “I am here for the java position.”
Daryl: “Me too. Do you wanna get some coffee?”
Kabir: “Now? What if the manager comes and…”
Daryl (interrupting Kabir): “Screw them. We have been waiting for two hours. They are in need of us as much as much as we are of them. May be a little less, but still…”
Kabir: “Ok… Ok… Don’t yell… I don’t want to lose the job before even getting it.”
Daryl: “Yeah. Me neither. But if I don’t get a coffee right now, I don’t think I will be able to handle the interview well. Need to get refreshed.”
Kabir: “You are right. Let’s find the machine”
Daryl and Kabir both rose from their seats, where they had been sticking patiently for two hours now. Kabir just looked back at the seat to see his ass-print. They moved to the right corner of the huge floor, where a coffee vending machine was installed. On their way, both were looking around checking out the crowd. Both commented on a few hot females to each other and envied the apparently ugly lot that was with those beauties.
The ten minutes that followed, which they spent at the coffee machine, were enough for them to realize that they had surprisingly similar interests and that they had been through similar troubles in the recent past, being away from home and hunting for a job to survive. This is where a friendship was born, which looked like it would last as long as the lifetime of the friends and even after it. (I don’t know how it works, but people say it can).
As they were returning from the farther end of the floor, they saw a hefty, tall, fair, partly bald guy hovering around the place where they were seated, looking for somebody. Both of them stared at him for a few milli-seconds, then at each other for a few micro-seconds and then it was as if lightening struck both of them. Never tried lip-reading or face reading and yet they could read and interpret the body language of the person from a distance of about 50 metres. They realized that he was the manager who was to interview them and he was, in fact, looking for them. Both of them walked as fast as they could, only because running across the floor would seem weird and awkward and would invite embarrassment. As they reached their place, Daryl said, trying to take control of his breath and the situation, “Hello, Sir. I am Daryl. You are probably looking for us.” As fast as they had walked, Kabir’s heart was beating a million beats. The manager turned around and said, searching for a name in the paper that he had in his hand, “Hmm… and where’s the other person? Umm, what was his name?”. “Sir, it’s probably me. Kabir Sharma.”, Kabir said, trying to stop his heart from exploding out of his chest. The manager acknowledged, “Right. I was looking for you guys.” Kabir began again “Sir, actually, we were just… actually, we just went for… actually, it had been…”. Daryl, realizing that Kabir was unnecessarily trying to justify the need of a coffee break, tried to stop him by holding his hand. Guys holding hands this way is a rare sight and would be declared obscene if they were elsewhere and the situation was different. To Daryl and Kabir’s fortune, the manager interrupted Kabir’s thrice or four times half-constructed sentence, always beginning with “actually”, and asked Kabir to follow him into meeting room Chicago, while he asked Daryl to wait there. I am not sure of the idea of naming meeting rooms after cities. The first time I went for an interview, the HR person told me, “Mr. Kamat, the person who will be interviewing you, is in New York. Please go there. It is to your right.” I wondered - I might be facing south but is that enough direction to get to New York? My next question to that HR person will not be written here to retain the reader’s respect for the author.
A few hours later, both Daryl and Kabir were happily accepting the offer letter from the gorgeous woman, or may be she appeared gorgeous to them because her hands signed their offer letters. Bearing happiness, joy, satisfaction, gratefulness and relief all at the same time on their faces, both of them walked out from the building, passing the reception where a few other aspiring and nervous candidates were still awaiting some manager. What was running through their minds was written on their faces - Did these two gentlemen eat up two vacancies? or the smiles are meant to hide the disappointment from others? Both of them, however, didn’t care to look at the others and their smiles transformed into laughter as they reached the visitor’s parking where Daryl’s bike was parked.
They celebrated one of their greatest achievements in life over a cup of tea and cream-rolls. Daryl, then, dropped Kabir home and waved him good-bye. Good-byes always mark the end of one journey and the beginning of another. Thus, the journey from “application” to “offer” finally ended for the two only making way for bigger ones to begin.
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