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.