Worth Every Penny

"And, thats how its done", Kesavan said as he clicked on the 'off' button of the telecon instrument.

Kesavan was a born-seller. However, it always gave him the kicks whenever he closed a deal. His face beamed when his colleagues surrounded him congratulating the deal he just clinched over the phone for a million dollar project with Matuka Electronics. The largest ever deal for his company, iBend Technologies. For iBend, which was planning layoffs due to lack of projects, it was a life-saving deal.

As Kesavan walked out of office, he walked into the auto-rickshaw stand in front of his office, and gave the location of his home, to one of the drivers.

"How much", Kesavan asked the auto-driver.
"150 Rupees"
"WHAT? did you take me for an idiot? 150 Rupees for 6 kilometers is atrocious!", screamed Kesavan.
"What sir? From there I wont get a passenger on the way back, plus that is a god-forsaken place. You will have to take a train and a bus and walk to your area...", reasoned the driver unreasonably. His sir sounded like 'saar', rather than sir.
"80 Rupees and not a penny over that", Kesavan - the born seller was stubborn.
"Okay, give me 140 rupees...", the driver was no less a seller, and rude.
"80 Rupees, and thats it!", Kesavan said, walking away from the auto - The usual trick of auto-going-bargainers.

As Kesavan walked, he could see that it was already 10PM and the road was sparse with automobiles. It would be difficult for him to find another auto at this time, let alone a bus to reach the train station.

"seri sir, give me 125 rupees", the auto-driver was now driving alongside Kesavan, prolonging the bargaining. The walk-away trick had worked.
"This is dacoity", Kesavan said in a loud voice, "80 Rupees and no more..."

After another 100 meters of walking and driving alongside, they settled for 90 rupees.

The auto sped through the city lights with two born sellers.

X---------------X----------------X

"Seriously, am wondering why auto-drivers demand so much more than what the ride is worth...", Kesavan was genuinely interested in knowing.
"Petrol costs are going up, sir. Its not easy to lead a life nowadays", started the driver, delving into the usual rant, and listing reasons for why they 'robbed' their customers.
"Let me ask you this... how much mileage does your auto give?"
"Not much, sir.."
"How much?"
"20 Km per litre sir"
"Even assuming you don't get any passengers on your way back, you can drop me and come back - 12 Kms, for a little more than half a litre, which is 25 rupees, even giving the same amount as profit, it costs only 50 Rupees. But auto-drivers usually charge 80 Rupees. Why is that? And why did you ask me 150 rupees? Isn't it atrocious?", Kesavan was intent on proving to this fellow that they were unreasonable.
"Sir... you promised 90 rupees...", the driver slowed the auto to the left, worrying if Kesavan was bargaining again.
"Okay, Okay, I will give you 90 rupees. I have promised that and I will give you that.", Kesavan was quick to reply. They were really traveling on a god-forsaken road.

The driver continued driving.
"But, I want to know. Tell me, wasn't my calculation right?", persisted Kesavan.
"uh... ys", said the driver, gulping the 'yes' down his throat, even feeling a bit guilty. But he was no less talkative, and went into a deep conversation.

"You don't look like a native sir, thats why I thought I could make some extra money"
"What? so you will cheat a guy who doesn't know the place?". This wasn't the first time Kesavan was taken for an out-of-towner. He definitely didn't look like a localite.
"uh... but whats wrong in giving it a try sir? I swear, if I had known that you were a localite, I wouldn't have asked you so much...", the driver sounded genuine by now.

But after 10 more minutes, Kesavan finally convinced him. They were getting more casual as they talked. The driver lowered his tone and was more respectful now.

"Next time on, I will ask only 90 rupees, sir", said the driver finally.
"What 90 rupees? 80 rupees next time... otherwise how do you think I will ever come back to you? Repeat customers are important, don't you think so?"
"..."
"I wont come again for 90 rupees. Say 80 rupees, and I will come to your auto everytime I want to come home"
"Okay, sir. 80 rupees. But you must come often sir, we depend on people like you for our living..."
"Definitely. Now we are talking", Kesavan's face was aglow again. "And, thats how its done", he told himself.

"My name is Vinny sir, next time you come to our stand, ask for me, sir", he said, as Kesavan paid 90 bucks, while getting down at his home.

X---------------X----------------X

Matuka wasn't an easy customer to please, and iBend had a tough time getting through the project. iBend was still barely scraping by. It was worry time again, but it didn't dawn on Kesavan, until he got a mail from John Alter, his US boss, who demanded to know why Kesavan wasn't able to bag even a single deal since Matuka.

"But, John, am a project manager. Its true that I helped close deals, but that wasn't my job. I'm supposed to be leading projects, not getting them", Kesavan said in a pleading tone over the telephone.
"...", we couldn't hear what John was saying on the other end.
"But, I have been involved in so many other tasks, that I hardly got to spend time with my team..."
"..."
"But, how many things can I handle at the same time?"
"..."
"But... don't you remember that I helped clinch the Matuka deal, that saved iBend? I have sweated my blood for the company..."
"..."
"No... But, now look at it this way...", Kesavan had hardly finished the sentence. There was a click and the line went blank on the other end.

X---------------X----------------X

Kesavan walked down to Vinny's auto and got in, brooding over the conversation with John.

"You are just the second business for today sir. Bad business. Its the month of Adi, and there aren't many marriages... But am glad you came sir. At least I can lighten up talking to you. I got to go home anyway after dropping you... my wife will be waiting for the money..."

Vinny was talkative, as usual. But he was quick to notice that Kesavan was not talking much.

"What sir, did I say something I shouldn't have said?"
"No, no... its just something at office"
"If you don't mind, you could tell me about it, sir. They say it lightens up your heart when you narrate your woes to a monkey", he paused and grinned at his metaphor. "You can call me a monkey, sir, I dont mind...", he said, winking at the rear-view mirror, looking at Kesavan.

Kesavan was taken aback. He had never thought about talking such stuff to anybody - not even his wife - leave alone an auto-driver.

Vinny stopped the auto at a tea shop and ordered tea and cigarettes for them. As they sat there in the bench of the tatched tea-shop, on the road-side, buzzing with activity, dragging on their cigarettes, Kesavan narrated his story at office in short, in a way that Vinny could understand. Then there was silence – but for the honks of the vehicles passing by. They sat contemplating, sipping at the tea, watching the busy road.

"hmmm, we outsiders think that a software engineer's job is easy, sir. That you get to spend all the time in an air-conditioned room and have it easy... But you have a lot of things to worry about too. At this level of pressure, your salary is well deserved, sir", said Vinny, breaking the silence.
"What...uh...", Kesavan was almost stammering. He had never seen anybody in other professions talk like that about software engineers.
"..."
"Sir, don't mistake my saying this... but what happened today is not important in your life, sir. Its just a test of your character, your self-confidence"
"uh..."
"Yes. Your life will not end if you lose your job."

"Its not just the job, Vinny... you do not understand. I have my home-loan payment to make. I have other expenses. Am responsible for the welfare of my wife and kids. Come the first of the month, I have bills to pay... With a sudden loss of job, I will be on the street."
"Look at the old man there, cleaning the plates. He must be 65. Why does he work at this age? He has bills to pay too... Everybody's bills are as big as their salaries. He does not have pension. He does not have the benefits that your job entitles you to. If he falls sick tomorrow, he won't be paid. But today he is healthy. He is working."
"..."
"The fear of tomorrow is real and looms in front of everybody. Everybody works for a better tomorrow. But when you expect your job to take care of you, things crumble with your job. You would stoop low to protect your job."
"..."
"Theres a point where your self-esteem should kick in, telling you that *you* are more important than your job"
"..."

"Sir, you are highly educated and skilled, that is why you are employed by that big company, while me and this old man are not. Theres no guarantee of job for him or me. We do not know if we will be able to earn tomorrow's wages. When we can lead life with our head held high, why do you have to be a slave to your job?"
"..."
"You should be more confident that you will be able to land a job or run a business of your own than we are. But here we are, you are worried if you will be able to meet the next month's bills, and we are not!"

It began to dawn on Kesavan. He had always thought of his job as paying his living rather than for his skills. He had this idea of his job paying his bills. He had equated his job to his liabilities.

"You are right Vinny. I had expected my job to take care of my bills, instead of myself. I trade my skills for money. My job doesn't pay my bills. I do. My skills do..."
"Yes sir, and if you can close a deal worth a million dollars for your company, why can't you do it yourself?"
"Yes, why do I have to depend on *this* company. I have to depend on my skills"

"You are worth every penny they pay you. Why should you be scared that they will throw you out..."
"I shouldn't be stooping low to save my job, its not like they are paying me for charity. They use my expertise for the money they pay..."

"Yes, if they can't pay for your expertise..."
"I will throw them out of my life, and seek a company that can pay for my level of expertise, or better still start a venture of my own...", high of energy of the sudden realization that dawned on him.

"...and thats how its done.", said Vinny startling Kesavan with his own words. The sale was made.

X---------------X----------------X

They kept talking till they reached Kesavan's house.
"It takes guts to take responsibility of your life on your own. But its all in here, sir", Vinny said pointing to his chest, where he believed his guts would be.

"Start a venture of your own, start a life of self-esteem, sir. If you make it big, you would leave behind a better life for your son, sir. If you don't, and barely make it, you still would leave behind a legacy of self-esteem and confidence to your son, sir. After all thats what every one of us wants to do... see our children and grand-children, in better shape than we are."

Kesavan sat thinking about the sudden change that Vinny had brought about in him.

"Sir, we are there...", Vinny interrupted his thoughts. Kesavan pulled out a 100 rupee bill from his pocket, and handed it to Vinny.

"Don't...", he said, stopping Vinny who was searching his pocket.
"But sir, I should return 20 rupees..."
"Don't...", Kesavan repeated again, staring at the dark, skinny face. Vinny wasn't used to this. Kesavan had always been demanding of the 20 rupees.

"Sir... sir... have I said something wrong?", he asked hesitantly.

"Don't... you are worth every penny of it", Kesavan said, still staring at Vinny.

Answerable

"Call me paddy", Padmanabhan said as he got into Jayanth's car.

"What?", Jayanth said, opening his door, stepping out and looking at 'Paddy' Padmanabhan.
"...", shrugged Paddy.
"What changed in just 6 months?", Jayanth couln't believe Padmanabhan had changed so in just six months in the USA.
"just call me Paddy, man", Paddy said, ignoring Jayanth's exasperated look.

'Paddy' Padmanabhan has just arrived in India.

X-------------X-------------X

The car made a screeching sound, as Jayanth braked in the middle of nowhere.

"what?", Paddy said looking around. He was holding his stomach.
"You wanted to pee...!"
"not here?!"
"of course here..."
"nah, nah, nah... naw here man... drive around to a restroom"
"WHAT?"

Jayanth finally found a restroom shack on the way home.
"Ow, that was dirty, and no water... hey, where can I get some water", Paddy came out of the 'Gents Toilet' waving his hands up in the air.
The rough looking boy there handed out a piece of old newspaper. The storage techniques weren't that good, which was obvious.

"hey , hey, hey, wait... why are you paying him money? you don't pay for the restrooms here, do you?", Paddy asked Jayanth."aw, forget it man", Jayanth said flipping over a two rupee coin to the boy pointing to the "Use and pay toilet" board with his left.

Paddy turned around. He had by now forgotten all about his need for water, and had his hands in his coat pocket by now.
"Well, it says 1 rupee, why are you paying two?"
"ah, you can't have forgotten everything, Padma... er Paddy", mocked Jayanth.

Paddy tried to snatch the two bucks lying on the table. The rough looking boy beat him to it.
"You haven't cleaned that place in a month...", Paddy confronted the boy.

The body stared back angrily. He looked a lot older and rougher by now.
"... and you charge double the money you should have charged if you had kept it in order...", Paddy wasn't buckling down.
"Do you know how much it costs to get this contract?", the boy was now snarling at Paddy, "And do you know that our MLA doe
sn't like being questioned?"
"Lets see that, who is your MLA?"
"... and I don't like being questioned either..", the boy slammed angrily on the desk.
"You contractors are answerable to us..."
"is it?", the boy now had his dirty cuffs rolled up and fists ready. One could see fear in Paddy's eyes. But he couldn't ba
ck off after all that had happened.

"Hey, hey", Jayanth intervened, pushing the boy who had gotten menacingly close to Paddy. He shoved Paddy a bit with his le
ft hand.
"SHUT UP!", Jayanth screamed to Paddy, as he tried to press forward.

"Hey, you boy, make sure it is cleaned the next time we are around", Jayanth said winking at the boy, flipping another buck
on the table.
"you bet, sir", the boy winked back, and snarled at Paddy.

Jayanth pulled Paddy away from the scene.

X-------------X-------------X

"Stop showing off your american mentality here man"
"Aw, you guys are so used to mediocrity... you dont even question all the injustice that doled out at you..."
"I can't believe you could have changed so much. Are you really this mess, or are you acting like one?", Jayanth had by now
lost his patience.
"look, look, that cop is talking on his mobile phone. He doesn't even care that guy jumped the amber light. Isn't he answer
able to anybody at all?"
Jayanth looked around, and before he could open his mouth, Paddy slammed on the brake stopping the car exactly at the 'STOP
' line.

"No", screamed Jayanth. But nobody could heard him.

A car and three bikes had stacked up, and an auto almost rolled over scratching his esteem - Esteem being Jayanth's car.

X-------------X-------------X

"Life is so much more predictable inside the office", smiled Paddy broadly, as he brought over his plate of lunch to the ta
ble.
"Am sooo glad..", winked Jayanth.
"No, seriously, you were right, I have learnt some things after coming back". Paddy now had a driver to drive him to work and back.
"good"
"And I don't take those mediocrities so seriously now...", Paddy rattled on. "Now whats life without a little laugh?"

Jayanth was really happy that Paddy had given up his illusionary ways.

"Hey, whats this...", Paddy said fishing out a longish hairy thread like object out of his plate.
"Thats spinach... the stem", Jayanth offered.
"No, No.. look at the color... its brown"
"It has been cooked well", Jayanth shrugged, rolling his eyes.

"No, No, am sure this is the leg of some bug... let me see.. cockroach? In the US, I can sue the caterer for this... make him pay for his mistakes...", Paddy turned around, to find Jayanth missing at the table.

If freedom is the cost of security

It was an unusually empty train car for a peak hour - even for a first class compartment. Iftikar made himself comfortable in a seat, and tried to relax, as the train pulled out of Churchgate. He tried to pull out the earphone for his mp3 player from his bag, and out came a jumbled mess of cables of all types, and other gadgets. Iftikar patiently untangled the wires, looking around him.

"Hey you, Whats your name?", he heard somebody close to him say, as a lathi loomed large between his face and the wires.

Iftikar looked up. It was a railway police constable, not so friendly. The scar on his face and the rough cuts made it obvious that he was a street cop.

"uh..um... Iftikar...Iftikar Ali, sir", mumbled Iftikar.
"What have you got in your bag?", the constable looked suspiciously at the bag, while keeping distance as much and possible and letting his long lathi do the gesturing.

"uh, mp3... walkman sir..."
"And whats that?"

Pulling his amateurish SLR from the tangled mess of wires, while attempting to stand up, Iftikar said, "pen-drive ..."
He did not finish his sentence, he was pulled down from the seat and his bag thrown roughly on the window - like the constable was trying to throw the bag out of the train.

Iftikar pulled himself up angrily, and was dealt another blow on his hands.

"Dont move", said the constable, now fishing for the bag with his left hand, and controlling the fallen Iftikar with his lathi on the right.

Cornered and alone, Iftikar watched the other passengers huddle towards the other end of the car.

In the meanwhile, the train was making its dutiful run down the tracks towards Marine Lines.

X-------------X------------X

The constable started pulling out the wired mess which was attached timers of all sorts carefully.

"Whats this?"
"My headphone cable sir", answered Iftikar weakly.
"This?"
"Charger for my mp3..."
"What about the yellow wire"
"Thats the handsfree for my mobile..."
"...and this bag..."
"batteries and a flash-card...sir"

The constable didn't fully understand the terms, but continued the questioning. He seemed to be looking for a flaw in the logic of Iftikar's sentences, rather than the answer itself.

"Why do you need batteries?"
"For the camera... sir"
"Why are you carrying a camera?"
"Am an amateur photographer sir..."
"Armchair what?..."
"photo..grapher"

By now, having dumped all the contents of Iftikar's bag and found nothing, the constable still looked at Iftikar with suspicion.

"Here, don't try to show off with all these gadgets... living off your dad's money, uh? Dont try be a smartass kid. I will keep watching you everyday you travel here.", constable said, as he flung the bag on Iftikar's face and moved on.

The passengers sighed with relief and were now discussing politics and terrorists, some vaguely still accusing Iftikar of wrong-doing and some praising the policeman for his 'alertness'.

Iftikar who was now bleeding from his elbow, picked up his stuff, checking the gadgets for damage while putting them back into the bag. The train was by now crawling slowly into the Charni Road station.

X-------------X------------X

A couple of people came by to Iftikar to enquire if he was okay. Iftikar responded with a smile.

"Am fine. Its just the shock...", he managed to say.

Once all of them had gone to their seats, Iftikar sat wondering about life during his times, and what the terrorists had made it. Being a software engineer of proficiency, there were no lack of demand for him abroad in companies in his home country. He had used it wisely and traveled widely.

"The world has changed a lot after 9/11", he told himself, "Life has become tougher for the common man. Half the trouble is because of the terrorists and half because of the governments fighting it".

"Anti-terrorists", he said to himself. The word sounded like the people fighting terrorism themselves caused a lot of fear and terror among the common people.

Freedom was a word that now sounded only vaguely familiar.

"The very reason to fight terrorism is to safeguard our freedom", he said to himself. Iftikar wondered if the anti-terrorists were fighting the terrorists by curbing the freedom of the common man. If so, the terrorists had actually succeeded in terrorizing his country.

Iftikar felt a chill pass down his spine at the thought.

He felt enraged at the way he was just treated.

"Like a criminal", he told himself. Its sad how the law-enforcement had a unique way of 'enforcing' law in India. He wondered sadly at the kind of harassment a law-abiding citizen faced on the road in the hands of the traffic police everyday and of the kind he just faced today.

"Treat everybody like a criminal", he told himself, "must have been their training."

"But erring bollywood stats and gangsters and bomb-blasters slip though their 'enforcement' tactics", he thought. A frown cracked through his face.

"Iswar Allah rajaram", he called out with a sigh, reminicising Gandhi.

X-------------X------------X

The train pulled into Bandra.

The constable appeared in Iftikar's view again. Iftikar gave a disgusting look at him and turned to watch the passengers boarding the train.

A boy - Iftikar estimated would be in his late teens - was trying to lug his heavy steel suitcase and two bags into the train.

Our officer was standing in the way. Iftikar smelt trouble. As the boy pulled up his last piece of baggage, the train had started to move.

"Whats your name?"
"uh... um...", the boy was stammering.

The constable used his lathi to push the boy away from his luggage, and waved the lathi dangerously close to his face.

Iftikar could take it no more. He rushed to the boy's help.

"Look here, sir. This is too much of harassment.", he said moving towards the officer, looking around for support.
"You might be an officer, and we respect that. But you do not have the right to ill-treat everybody you feel like..."

"Yes, misusing your authority", came a voice from behind. Iftikar turned around to see that five to six people who had witnessed him being harassed were in a bad mood about the officer too.

"Who do you think you are? Give me your name and station name. My uncle is a DGP. Lets ask him who you are...", screamed a man from behind the constable.

"People like you should be thrown out of the running train", yelled a heavy built man, and came dangerously close to the constable.

The boy was watching everything, scared pale.

"But... but... its my duty... I was asked to search for....", stammered the officer, who was by now retaliating at the force of the mob building around.

"So, who gave you orders to hit this man here", somebody said, pointing to Iftikar.
"..er... I...", the constable tried to talk back.

"No, no, no talking. Give me your name and station. I have to talk to your higher-ups"
"You deserve to be mob-hit...."
"You can't nab Dawood, you come around harassing innocent people"
"Look at his tummy, its all filled with bribes..."

The mob seemed to get forceful by the minute, noticing that the officer was now surrounded and feeling weaker.

X-------------X------------X

As the train chugged into the Khar Road station, the officer was close to being man-handled by the crowd.

Iftikar and a few others tried to maintain calm, and hold the crowd under control.

"It is for your security, sir...", the constable was reasoning, his lathi now snagging earthwards.
"If freedom is the cost of our security...", Iftikar passionately started on his views on freedom and security.

Suddenly the boy pushed aside a couple of people standing near the door, jumped out of the slowing train onto the platform and took a run.

Everybody turned around wondering what just happened. The officer's face turned pale.

The train came to a stop a few seconds later. It was 6.24 PM.

X-------------X------------X

The arrival of this train at Khar Road Station on the the 12th of July 2006 will be written about eternally - in blood.

Minor Problem

"We are service providers, Raghu. We are not a charity organization. We are a business...", Hari shouted over the phone.
"Yeah, but I just had to fix a loose-connection of the power-chord, plus Mr. Ravi is also requesting for a waiver of the bill this time..."
"Raghu, "Helping Hands" is a support Not-for-profit organization. I also admire Mr. Ravi's principles and his cause. We could support them in other ways. But not this. This is our business, and we can't be lenient with collections..."
"er, Mr. Ravi is here, why don't you talk to him directly", Raghu said, and handed over the phone to Ravi, without waiting for Hari to respond.

"Darn", Hari said to himself.
"Hello, Mr. Hari, how are you doing?", It was Ravi on the other end. His pace was slow and even. A sign of the matured man that he was.
"Well, good, Mr. Ravi. Thank you. How are you? and how are the children?", Hari tried to be polite.
"By God's grace, everybody is fine. The children are real studious. You should visit them once and tell them about your business story, you could inspire them..."
"Will try to do that, Mr. Ravi, but what about this problem you wanted to discuss about?", Hari said, cutting the charity part out, curtly.
"Ah, Well, Mr. Raghu is here and solved our computer problem. As per our contract you should bill us Rs. 100 for the service. I'm wondering, since this turned out to be a minor problem, and since we have been doing business for a long time, if you could waive off the bill as a good-will gesture towards our organization. You know, being a non-profit organization, and being short of funds, every penny that you could save us would be of immense help..."
"Mr. Ravi, our organization could help you by other means, but you know, this is our main business, and am sorry that I won't be able to waive this off for you."
"oh, I see. Its okay, Mr.Hari. I understand your situation. Never mind. Anyways, thank you for listening patiently. But please do drop by sometime to talk to the kids."
"Lets see, Mr. Ravi. Thanks anyways. Talk to you later", Hari was curt and ended the call.

In the same hurried pace, he let the phone slip off his hands. His back sent out a pricking pain, as he bent down to retrieve it.
"Darn", he squealed, sliding down on the sofa.
"What happened?", his mom came running into the room, hearing the squealish scream.
"Its the back pain again", he said. "Its all the long hours in front of the computer", he reasoned.
"People in our age never used to work this hard and long. It used to be eight hours at office and back, and that was it. I wonder why you young guys sacrifice your health and personal life for work!", his mom was being philosophical.
Hari rolled his eyes over, indicating that he was not interested in the topic that his mom had brought up.
"Anyways, go meet Dr. Elango. He specializes in physiotherapy. He must be able to suggest a few exercises", his mom said, as she stood up and left the room, leaving Hari massaging his back.

X----------------X-----------------X

"Hi Dr. Elango, am Hari", he said introducing himself.
After the usual round of introductions, Hari stretched on his back on a cot close-by, as the doctor lifted his legs in various directions to determine the cause of the pain.
"Are you in a hurry?", Dr. Elango asked, noticing his terse muscles.
"Well, actually, yes, I have to be in office by now...", ranted Hari.
"Can you spare half an hour?", the doctor asked as if he wanted to talk to Hari about donations for a temple in his home-town.

"uh, well, of course, Doctor", Hari said, taken aback by the politeness of the doctor. To him, only doctors and scientists were more intelligent that computer engineers. And he knew Dr. Elango was a doctor of proficiency. The crowd outside was proof enough.

Sitting close-by, Dr. Elango, asked Hari to breathe in and out deeply for a few minutes, at a slow pace, meanwhile dictating some therapies for other patients to his assistants.

Soon, after Dr. Elango began his therapy and was done in twenty minutes. It was followed by a session of exercises.

"Do these exercises everyday, and you should be fit in 10 days. Its just a matter of posture. Sit straight...", Dr. Elango went into a series of suggestions to sitting right.
Getting down from the cot, Hari felt better as his spasms seemed to have vanished magically.

Hari relaxed for a couple of more minutes, in which time Dr. Elango vanished too, to meet his other patients.
Hari found the doctor, performing some kind of heat therapy for an aged woman down the hall.
"Doctor, how much should I pay...", Hari said, pulling out his purse.
"oh, nothing. its okay, it was just a muscle spasm, a minor problem. ", said the doctor, continuing to focus on his old patient.

Hari couldn't believe his ears.

"oh, it maybe because he didn't have to use any tools on me", Hari reasoned to himself, "I would have charged a bomb for spending half-an-hour with my clients, tools or no tools.". What was a minor problem to doctor was a major pain for him, and what difference the doctor could make. Thats the power of service-providers, he said to himself.

"...but doctor, your time really mattered to me...", dragged Hari.
"...Thats okay. No problem... call me if you have any persisting pain. I hope you do not have to come back to me", smiled the doctor, firmly refusing payment for half-an-hour of his services. He motioned to his assistant who brought him the doctor's card.

"uh... I'm a computer engineer... if you have , er, any computer needs, please do let me know... I could help you out...", Hari offered his card awkwardly.

"Ha, ha, ha...", laughed the doctor loudly, startling his patient, and turned to face Hari.
"You are here because you are a computer engineer in the first place, aren't you?", he laughed aloud again. There seemed something mystical about the doctors words, like the doctor was pointing out the intangible relationships their professions.

Hari stood there looking at the Doctor awkwardly.

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hari. But I sure know somebody you could help, if you really want to repay my services...", he said pulling another card from his pocket and handing it over to Hari.

Hari stood there, frozen in time, reading the card.

"Helping Hands", it said, giving an address that Ravi already knew.

Mobile

Suresh was the lead designer of the project.

"And, the Billing-Cash class would take care of the cash bills, while the Cash-Cash class would take care of the cash-in-hand status", he was telling the team.
"But shouldn't the Billing-Cash class be inherited from the Cash-Cash module?", that was Shyam, an engineer in charge of the development.
"The Cash-Cash class...", Suresh was interrupted by the latest hindi item number that came out of his mobile.
"One second...", he said looking at the screen. It was his cousin Balaji. He picked up the call, oblivious to the staring crowd who expected that Suresh to switch off his mobile, just like they all did, when they entered the meeting.

"haan, tell me da...", he said loudly.
"..."
"No, no, I must be done by then..."
"..."
"No, dont worry dude, I will pick you up"
"..."

The conversation continued for another five minutes. When he came back, he looked frustrated.
"Its the family", he said as he entered the room again.

"Now, where were we? Yeah... we were discussing the Billing classes. The Billing-Cash class...".

It was the item number again. Suresh disappeared for some more time.

There audience seemed noisier as he continued the presentation. He wondered why.

X---------------------X-------------------X

"I waited for 45 minutes before I took the auto", screamed Balaji.
"uh, I was on the way da, when this old friend of mine called. Had spend some time with him. I started right after the meeting, but it was already late...", reasoned Suresh.
"but, why couldn't...", Balaji was interrupted. It was the latest item number. Suresh picked it up.

"haan, tell me da", Suresh said loudly.
"..."
"yeah, yeah, I know all about you *%&*&"
"..."
"What about yesterday. You didn't call up yesterday either..."

Balaji went to the dining-room, unable to stand the noise and the language.

"Whats up? Isn't Suresh joining you for dinner?", it was Balaji's mom, as she served dinner.
"nah, its the mobile again. He will come."

Balaji was half way through dinner when Suresh came into the dining room.
"Whats for dinner?", he said as he pulled up a chair.
"Who was that, on the phone?" queried Balaji in response.
"That bugger Sethu. He spends so much time with that girl, he doesn't even call...".

It was the item number again. Suresh picked up the phone.

"Yeah, Shyam, tell me..."
"..."
"Aare nai yaar. The Billing-Cash class is derived from the Cash class. So is Cash-Cash", Suresh left the table seeking the solace of the balcony for the conversation.

Balaji's mom stared at the empty chair when she came back from the kitchen.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Its the phone again", sighed Balaji. "I just wish he spends more time in real life than on the phone"

X---------------------X-------------------X

"Yeah, but you didn't finish telling us about the Cash class during the meeting..."
"..."
"But..."
"..."
"Okay..."
"..."
"Yeah, okay, I understand now. Thanks", Shyam threw his mobile down in frustration.

"I simply do not understand unless I see him explain on the board", he said looking at his colleague.
"I wish he uses the face time to explain the design...", he complained to the cubicle. "But with his mobile ringing all the time... God save us!'

X---------------------X-------------------X

"The bloody office... I just wish these guys learn some fundamentals before they come on the job, I have to keep repeating the same darn thing day in and day out, and they still screw things up...", complained Suresh loudly as he entered.

But Balaji wasn't around. Suresh looked enquiringly at his aunt.
"He has gone out for a walk with tiger", she said. Tiger was their pet dog.
"He is angry at me. I need to cool him down...", Suresh said, as he gobbled down some food, and dialed Balaji's mobile at the same time.

Balaji's mobile rang in the room next door.

SWAG

Circa 1993

It was the software engineering class, and the topic was 'Estimation Techniques'.

"But, how do you account for the complexities of the business-layer?", asked Gopal 15 minutes into a discussion that left the rest of the class to stare at a rapid-fire question answer session between Gopal and the lecturer.

Gopal was a top-student in his class. He was bright and talented and remained on top-of-the-class for all his life. Being highly opinionated, he always approached any topic, with scepticism, especially when somebody else came up with it. He held the view that all professors and lecturers in college were eventually incompetent, in that they joined the teaching profession, just because they couldn't get a job in the industry. Needless to say that the lecturers bore the brunt of his debates.

"uh, I think the business layer complexity is handled by counting the detailed function points", blurted the lecturer - a poor man in his early twenties, who chose to join this college after futile attempts to gain employment in the industry -just wishing Gopal let go of it.

"How will you estimate the complexities of the function points?", persisted Gopal.
"..."
"Thats exactly my point. Now, you have a proposed system with a certain requirement, one can definitely do a good design, given the limitations or capabilities of the technologies available"

Everybody was looking at Gopal, like he was teaching.

"Since the business case itself is new, and even if similar applications exist, the dynamics of the technology and market change, and at any given point of time, a proposed system would essentially be the first time that thing was developed... if it ever were"
"..."
"How do you 'exactly' estimate the time to build the taj-mahal, when you only have a vague idea that you need to build an awe inspiring monument?"
"..."

The whole class was now looking at Gopal in awe. Gopal himself knew that not many guys could follow his train of thought and by now be day-dreaming. He knew that he was the envy of the class in complex abstract topic discussion. It was an envy he cherished. He liked the way the class hated him.

"So, the point is, what you are doing, when you say you estimate a function point, is at best - guessing."

The lecturer didn't like the class being taken over by Gopal. But then, he did not have a valid answer.

"Yeah, but it is a scientific guess, based on past=experience", he managed to say.

"Scientific guess, my foot!", Gopal said as he stamped his right foot down loudly on the wooden floor. "The so called 'Estimation techniques' are all crap. This should probably be my area of research. Estimation is still an art. Time will come when it will be science, purely calculable. I will make it happen", Gopal vowed to himself as he picked up his books and walked out of the room.

The class watched with a collective gasp.

X-----------------------X-------------------X

Circa 2006

"Mark says they've got 124 APIs provided by their engines. All we have to do is wrap them around, make their existing front-end systems get 'intelligent' analysis from these engines.", Gopal said, explaining their new prize-catch project from the customer.

"What about the complexity of the APIs?". That was Lingam - one of the core team-members, Gopal was planning to build a team with. They were discussing a new project proposed by their client.

Our Gopal never liked to be at the receiving end of such questions, but nowadays he frequently was. Rising up to the level of project manager in one of the top IT service provider in India was no joke, and Gopal was glad to be not handed-down tasks to. "Now, I can tell people what to do, and what not to do", he told himself. But the utopia didn't last long. He soon came to realize that projects were at one end at the mercy of his bosses for manpower and infrastructure allocation, and at the other end, by people who made projects happen, people like Lingam who were actually working to take the project someplace billable. He felt sandwiched.

"How complex can an API get... a function call, a few parameters, and a return value", argued Gopal.
"Are you forgetting that the engines run on mainframes and the XMLRIP calls that we build should be able to handle huge numbers, deliver the values accurately to the front-end system, whose technology has very limited datatypes?"
"Sure, we will let the backend system and the XMLRIP calls handle all these numbers, and deliver the results as text"
"What about network congestion", Lingam persisted.
"..."
"Look, firstly, we need a better design and more resources than you are suggesting, to handle such complex data transformations."
"But the client budget is only 100K"

It was not a well-kept secret in the industry that the project costs were more often based on how much the client was willing to pay, rather than how much work and time the task at hand would require. "Add more heads, and only during a crisis" was the norm of the day.

“We should tell the client that we can probably do wrappers for only 50-60 API calls with this cost, moreover they need to disclose their API specs early for us to estimate"
"Lingam, see clients are important in our business. We don't question them, Plus we can't lose this 100K they are willing to give us"

"But how can you squeeze a project that requires probably more than 250K into 100K?", Lingam asked, matter-of-factly.

Gopal was getting impatient.
"Whats your point?", he asked visibly irritated.
"As per our current estimates, each function wrapping should take only 3 person-hours. I do not see how we can say that, without even knowing the signature of the calls. Moreover, wheres the time for testing? Where is the documentation and where is the time for the quality forms that we need to do? How did we even workout this 3 person-hour calculation?"

"Its a SWAG - a 'Scientific Wild Ass Guess'. Now, do you have a better idea?", Gopal said sternly hoping to end the conversation.

"Scientific - my foot. Its a Stupid Wild Ass Guess", Lingam stomped his feet as he said that. "Our so-called 'estimation techniques' are bogus. We must first admit that!", Gopal could hear Lingam, as Lingam stood up and walked out of the door.

The whole team watched with a collective gasp.

NRI

Visalakshi was one of those near-perfect pieces produced by Bramha. Seven love letters from seven different guys during her SSLC holidays was enough to prove it.

But that never stopped Visalakshi from spending a lot of time and her father's money on cosmetics and clothes.
"Half a man, half what he wears", she would quote her grandmother.
"Do you think money grows on trees?", her father would ask.
"Yes, am going to marry an NRI, and money will grow on trees", and wink naughtily, further enraging Narayanan. NRI is short for Non-Resident-Indian, probably residing in the US.

Belonging to a middle-class brahmin family, her life revolved around the crowded streets of Srirangam. Between her chores at home, and a not-so-mentionable college degree, her favorite pastime was to watch the english movies that played on HBO, fantasizing of her future in the US. Her dream was to marry an NRI and settle down in the United States of America. The common dream of the lad and lasses of India. The lads did it with a good job in a software company, the lasses did it by marrying the lads.

X-----------------------X------------------X

"This guy is good, works in Bangalore, in tinfosys", Narayanan reasoned, "He might get a chance to go abroad too..."
"No, appa." Visalakshi was adamant, "I want to marry an NRI, who would take me with him right away".

Narayanan was saddened by the ways of his daughter. He wished she wed somebody she liked too, but he was finding it difficult to find a NRI groom for his daughter. In spite of her looks, she was just a small-town girl. He dared not to shatter her Cindrella dream, but he was worried how long it was taking them to find her a suitor.

X-----------------------X------------------X

Visalakshi almost jumped in joy when Rangu-mama brought the horoscope of Ananthakrishnan.

"Ananthu works for one of the biggest retail chains of America...", Rangu-mama couldn't hold his awe for the groom-to-be.
Exactly what Visalakshi wanted her groom to be.

"The boy is 37 years old, theres almost a 13 years age difference between you and him", Narayanan didn't like the idea one wee bit.
"I'd rather you married Kicha next door, than this guy".
But Visalakshi wouldn't buy any of it. She had her mind set and for good.

X-----------------------X------------------X

The date was set, and Ananthu flew down for the marriage. With a few weeks left before marriage, he charmed his wife-to-be with jewelery and foreign chocolates. When Visalakshi expressed her desire to visit a disco, Anant flew her to Chennai, her first trip on a plane, to go disco.

Ananthu took her to the best restaurants in town, and urged her to shop till she dropped dead. The Spencer's and Globuses of Chennai booked their profits, straight from the credit card of the NRI.

"Gone are the days of restrictions...", Visalakshi thought to herself, "Enough of appa's 'Don't do this', 'Cant afford it'... Ananth adores me, and almost spoils me", she thought to herself.

X-----------------------X------------------X

She 'Cho chweet'ed him when he told her to be more respectful to the waiter at Saravana Bhavan.
"I ought to know, I do that, day in and day out", Ananth continued.
"Still, to even bother about a server, you are soo... wait, what did you say?",
"I said, I do that day in and day out", repeated Ananth casually.

Visalakshi's eyebrows went up and she semi-turned her head to the waiter who was walking away from the table.
"That?", she asked pointing to the waiter.
"Yes", Anant didn't seem as disturbed as Visalakshi was.
"..."
"I serve at McRonalds", continued Ananth.

Visalakshi's felt dizzy as she heard these words resonate in her ears - louder than usual.

Visalakshi spent the next two days locked-up in her room, contemplating about her marriage. It was too late to stop the marriage. She consoled herself that at least Ananth was not stingy with money. He definitely was more liberal-minded than her father. Those were definite improvements in her life.

X-----------------------X------------------X

Two months into the marriage, Visalakshi did not even miss Srirangam. Apart from some oddly-timed calls from her father, she was settling down well in Chicago. The weekend trips to the wholesale shop to stock groceries, and the house-keeping kept her busy. She enjoyed her days in the US. Until one day during dinner:

"Hey Ananth, lets go dancing... are there any good discos around?", she asked Ananth casually over dinner.
"No, Visal. Dont even think about visiting discos. They are not safe, plus, costs a lot..."

"ouch", Visalakshi thought, "Thats the same words appa used to use...". Narayanan used to be much more gentler though.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, Visalakshi started again...
"Okay, let me get a few clothes at least..."

Anant shrugged his food-laden hands in the plate. He looked visibly upset.

"What were doing when I asked you to shop in Chennai? Why do you think I asked you to shop there? Its pretty damn expensive here... ", Visalakshi was taken aback. She had never seen Ananth this loud or angry.

"...no... its just that I need some warm clothes...", staggered Vislakshi.

"There, you needed some modern clothes, now you need warm clothes, come summer you'll need easy fitting clothes. And your rants about buying a car.", Ananth's voice grew louder, "Damn, understand something. I work at McRonalds. I earn little, and we have to save for the times when we go back to India. If you can live a life of a waiter's wife, do it, otherwise..."

For a second, Visalakshi stared fearfully at Ananth's eyes.

"Damn!", he said, gulping whatever he was about to say.

Tears streamed down Visalakshi's cheeks.

"Do you think money grows on trees?...", Ananth said, as he picked up his coat and left the house.