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.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Senior
There are some people we never forget in life. The thought of these people might evoke one or all or any combination of the human emotions ranging from sheer joy to pure hatred. We might not have seen them in the past ten or twenty years, we may never have a chance to meet them again, they might even be dead. But we never forget them.
Nandisha was one such for me. For some reason, his world revolved at a lesser Frames Per Second than the rest of us. It might be because he was physically huge. Tall, round, in short like a huge barrel, but useless. Indians might be able to understand, if I compare him to a buffalo. If you have ever seen buffalo, straight from the gutter, crossing the road, blocking your car, you'll know what I mean. You can't touch him to make him move, you'll splash scum on yourself. You can honk all you want, but he won't move. You can only sit in your car, honk and more importantly - pray that he moves away. And after a while, engrossed in his own thoughts, the buffalo will start walking, at his own pace, right onto the tracks of a speeding town bus. Screeches and shouts later, the buffalo will be doing his own thing, oblivious to the commotion around.
Well, you get the picture. Now, Nandisha was a human buffalo. He used to work, or should I say, he was employed by the company where I joined right after college. He had a big ego, and a even bigger stock portfolio - which he enhanced during his office hours, calling stock brokers using the office telephone and talking loud enough to disturb others.
He had been with the company for 8 years then, and was respected more for the position, than the person he was. He was a senior programmer by designation.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
"...and I do not know, Krishna, the car hit the pavement, and electric post...", Nandisha was explaining, at his own pace, how he hurt his leg, to the Manager.
"Car accident, I see... who was driving?..", I said, partly glad of the situation, spying his heavily bandaged left leg as I walked into the cube.
"... I was sitting on the right side, that is why I got hurt..."
"You got a left-hand-steering car?", I was still confused as to how he got hurt.
"... aare, no, yaar!", he turned around, slow as a sloth.
"Then, who was driving the car?", I asked him, still wondering why he was sounding like he was only sitting in a car, that hit the curb.
"I was driving the car... but the car lost control", he explained.
"Well, well...", I said to myself, "Nandisha cant move fast enough to hurt his leg, can he? Its got to be the car that lost control.".
X-----------------------X----------------------X
Nandisha made himself comfortable at his chair and started browsing the internet. In those days, internet access was restricted for most of us young workers. It was given only to the privileged few. Nandisha had been with the company for 8 years, and by virtue of being a senior, he held this privilege.
Most of that day was uneventful, until sometime after lunch.
"Hey!", he called out raising his hand, to get my attention from the other side of the cube.
"What, Nandisha?", I stood up, so that we could see each other's faces, making the conversation more comfortable.
"Get the printouts for me, no?", he said, more of a statement, than a request. If you had heard that sentence over the phone, you might have wondered, if he was talking to his wife. Unfortunately for us, there was only one printer in the floor, and that was at the other corner. Even more unfortunate for me, Nandisha didn't have a wife to order around.
Being fresh from college, as of then, I had not yet attended the corporate session, that taught that it was okay for me to say No to people, except your manager. Implicit rank and file was as important in the 'flat-hierarchy' organization, as the technology we worked on.
As luck would have it, the printer auto-feed was not workng, and I had to manually feed papers for the next twenty minutes. It was a printout of a kannada movie review.
Back to work, I tried to focus on the intricacies of a web application, when I saw his hand again above the cubicle wall, again. "Some more printouts", he said. Irritated as I was, I spent another half hour at the printer. This time, it was an in-depth review of "Samsara saagarige hanniredu suthrigalau" - "The twelve sutras of married life", a kannada hit movie of the past. As much as I would come to like that movie in the future, I still don't understand why Nandisha - who was 35, and who had been unable to find a girl to marry him - was so interested in this particular movie.
The third time I saw his raised hand, Shyam smirked loudly, and I could feel anger rise, along with the blood pressure. I stood up, looking at Nandisha, as I shook my head slowly - though not as slowly as Nandisha - hoping to buy time for coming up with a good reason why I should refuse. Since there was no good reason whatsover for me to do it for him, except that he had hurt his leg, I looked at Krishna. Krishna - the manager, turned his head toward a monitor in another direction to avoid getting involved.
"What are you thinking? You wont do what am asking you to?", Nandisha asked threateningly, using his seniority weapon.
"Krishna, must I do it?", I asked, trying to get another 'senior' to opine on the issue.
"You could refuse if you don't want to do it", Krishna didn't look at me when he conveyed his cautious opinion.
I looked up at Nandisha - after all he was at least a foot taller than I'm, and was standing on his one leg by this time - and said, "I refuse", and managed to whisper, "Sorry", without actually meaning it.
"Am asking you for a help. Wont you do this much for a senior colleague? After all, we teach you new things here. We help you grow, and you wont do this small thing for me?". His tone was subdued. If somebody used the stopwatch, this sentence would have taken a minute for him to utter, with equally slow gestures.
He had a rather disgusting habit of rolling his upper lip out, as if he wanted to wet a postal-stamp with it, and moving it from one side to another. I was too engrossed in this action, I hardly noticed what he was saying.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
I don't want to leave on the readers, an impression that I was being cruel and was biased in my opinion against him. I did try to mend the relationship - after all in India, all colleagues are "friends" anyways.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
"Nandisha, I would like your feedback on how am faring in the project... like technical knowledge, speed, etc., In short, how good or bad I'm", I asked him as we sat in the canteen eating our breakfast one day, just to strike a conversation.
"You are doing good technically...", He looked up from his plate as he said that. I wondered how qualified that opinion was, as nobody had seen him work on a piece of software or hardware, but the internet browser and the telephone for the past six months.
"But you are very aggressive. It is not good"
"You mean, I'm assertive? more than needed?"
"No, no... you should be friendly with the team. You might be right in some circumstances, but you should let friends have their way."
I was looking at his face, searching for a meaning.
"You should obey seniors. Otherwise, they will not help you to grow up the ranks...".
The rest of the monologue was a blur for me. I was engrossed in how his upper lips twisted out, moving from side to side, wetting the invisible postal-stamp.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
Soon afterwards, in a series of 'unrelated' events, the US economy broke down, causing ripples in the software industry in India, stocks plummeted, Nandisha sold his car and house, indian companies panicked, and 'let go' non-performing employees.
Last I heard of Nandisha, he was visiting the psychiatrist more often, after he got flushed out of the company, and his bride-to-be broke up the engagement. I only wonder how senior the psychiatrist was.
Let me also make it known, that I did not write this in an attempt to re-establish contact with Nandisha, quite the contrary.
Nandisha was one such for me. For some reason, his world revolved at a lesser Frames Per Second than the rest of us. It might be because he was physically huge. Tall, round, in short like a huge barrel, but useless. Indians might be able to understand, if I compare him to a buffalo. If you have ever seen buffalo, straight from the gutter, crossing the road, blocking your car, you'll know what I mean. You can't touch him to make him move, you'll splash scum on yourself. You can honk all you want, but he won't move. You can only sit in your car, honk and more importantly - pray that he moves away. And after a while, engrossed in his own thoughts, the buffalo will start walking, at his own pace, right onto the tracks of a speeding town bus. Screeches and shouts later, the buffalo will be doing his own thing, oblivious to the commotion around.
Well, you get the picture. Now, Nandisha was a human buffalo. He used to work, or should I say, he was employed by the company where I joined right after college. He had a big ego, and a even bigger stock portfolio - which he enhanced during his office hours, calling stock brokers using the office telephone and talking loud enough to disturb others.
He had been with the company for 8 years then, and was respected more for the position, than the person he was. He was a senior programmer by designation.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
"...and I do not know, Krishna, the car hit the pavement, and electric post...", Nandisha was explaining, at his own pace, how he hurt his leg, to the Manager.
"Car accident, I see... who was driving?..", I said, partly glad of the situation, spying his heavily bandaged left leg as I walked into the cube.
"... I was sitting on the right side, that is why I got hurt..."
"You got a left-hand-steering car?", I was still confused as to how he got hurt.
"... aare, no, yaar!", he turned around, slow as a sloth.
"Then, who was driving the car?", I asked him, still wondering why he was sounding like he was only sitting in a car, that hit the curb.
"I was driving the car... but the car lost control", he explained.
"Well, well...", I said to myself, "Nandisha cant move fast enough to hurt his leg, can he? Its got to be the car that lost control.".
X-----------------------X----------------------X
Nandisha made himself comfortable at his chair and started browsing the internet. In those days, internet access was restricted for most of us young workers. It was given only to the privileged few. Nandisha had been with the company for 8 years, and by virtue of being a senior, he held this privilege.
Most of that day was uneventful, until sometime after lunch.
"Hey!", he called out raising his hand, to get my attention from the other side of the cube.
"What, Nandisha?", I stood up, so that we could see each other's faces, making the conversation more comfortable.
"Get the printouts for me, no?", he said, more of a statement, than a request. If you had heard that sentence over the phone, you might have wondered, if he was talking to his wife. Unfortunately for us, there was only one printer in the floor, and that was at the other corner. Even more unfortunate for me, Nandisha didn't have a wife to order around.
Being fresh from college, as of then, I had not yet attended the corporate session, that taught that it was okay for me to say No to people, except your manager. Implicit rank and file was as important in the 'flat-hierarchy' organization, as the technology we worked on.
As luck would have it, the printer auto-feed was not workng, and I had to manually feed papers for the next twenty minutes. It was a printout of a kannada movie review.
Back to work, I tried to focus on the intricacies of a web application, when I saw his hand again above the cubicle wall, again. "Some more printouts", he said. Irritated as I was, I spent another half hour at the printer. This time, it was an in-depth review of "Samsara saagarige hanniredu suthrigalau" - "The twelve sutras of married life", a kannada hit movie of the past. As much as I would come to like that movie in the future, I still don't understand why Nandisha - who was 35, and who had been unable to find a girl to marry him - was so interested in this particular movie.
The third time I saw his raised hand, Shyam smirked loudly, and I could feel anger rise, along with the blood pressure. I stood up, looking at Nandisha, as I shook my head slowly - though not as slowly as Nandisha - hoping to buy time for coming up with a good reason why I should refuse. Since there was no good reason whatsover for me to do it for him, except that he had hurt his leg, I looked at Krishna. Krishna - the manager, turned his head toward a monitor in another direction to avoid getting involved.
"What are you thinking? You wont do what am asking you to?", Nandisha asked threateningly, using his seniority weapon.
"Krishna, must I do it?", I asked, trying to get another 'senior' to opine on the issue.
"You could refuse if you don't want to do it", Krishna didn't look at me when he conveyed his cautious opinion.
I looked up at Nandisha - after all he was at least a foot taller than I'm, and was standing on his one leg by this time - and said, "I refuse", and managed to whisper, "Sorry", without actually meaning it.
"Am asking you for a help. Wont you do this much for a senior colleague? After all, we teach you new things here. We help you grow, and you wont do this small thing for me?". His tone was subdued. If somebody used the stopwatch, this sentence would have taken a minute for him to utter, with equally slow gestures.
He had a rather disgusting habit of rolling his upper lip out, as if he wanted to wet a postal-stamp with it, and moving it from one side to another. I was too engrossed in this action, I hardly noticed what he was saying.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
I don't want to leave on the readers, an impression that I was being cruel and was biased in my opinion against him. I did try to mend the relationship - after all in India, all colleagues are "friends" anyways.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
"Nandisha, I would like your feedback on how am faring in the project... like technical knowledge, speed, etc., In short, how good or bad I'm", I asked him as we sat in the canteen eating our breakfast one day, just to strike a conversation.
"You are doing good technically...", He looked up from his plate as he said that. I wondered how qualified that opinion was, as nobody had seen him work on a piece of software or hardware, but the internet browser and the telephone for the past six months.
"But you are very aggressive. It is not good"
"You mean, I'm assertive? more than needed?"
"No, no... you should be friendly with the team. You might be right in some circumstances, but you should let friends have their way."
I was looking at his face, searching for a meaning.
"You should obey seniors. Otherwise, they will not help you to grow up the ranks...".
The rest of the monologue was a blur for me. I was engrossed in how his upper lips twisted out, moving from side to side, wetting the invisible postal-stamp.
X-----------------------X----------------------X
Soon afterwards, in a series of 'unrelated' events, the US economy broke down, causing ripples in the software industry in India, stocks plummeted, Nandisha sold his car and house, indian companies panicked, and 'let go' non-performing employees.
Last I heard of Nandisha, he was visiting the psychiatrist more often, after he got flushed out of the company, and his bride-to-be broke up the engagement. I only wonder how senior the psychiatrist was.
Let me also make it known, that I did not write this in an attempt to re-establish contact with Nandisha, quite the contrary.
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