GimMI a break!

There is this tendency of ours to throw opinions, judgments and concoct explanations for every other happening that seems controversial enough to create uproar. All the hoopla around the Indian Premier League for reasons other than cricket is perfectly justified. It’s a meat stake for the media and quite easy a topic for the bourgeois to assert expertise. Straightforward and simple facts are often deliberately ignored for assigning more convenient and suitable cause-effect relations to an event.

I happened to read this book called ‘Fooled by Randomness’ by Nassim Nicholas Taleb at a time when the IPL was nearing its climax; it was appraisal time at my workplace and when B-schools were offering admissions. I must admit that it was because of this book, a real good one, that it became really easy to cope up and recover from a number of disastrous things that unfolded at around the same time. Also, it aided an argument I always had against cricket ‘experts’ who take their knowledge of the game and of the world in general, a bit too seriously.

The Mumbai Indians lost the final. Now it is insane and grossly unfair to assign reasons and causes to results that cannot be simulated in laboratories, television discussions or by sms polls. Every event tends to seem less random or more causally assignable in the retrospective. Now with all computable odds against the Chennai side and with Mumbai on a roll, very few would have put their money on the CSKs. Even though it was difficult to predict this outcome theoretically, in the retrospect, everyone seems to justify the reasons why it happened. The pathetic part is when they ramble on to prove how Sachin Tendulkar made some big mistakes that even a kid could have easily avoided. It isn’t as complicated as it seems or is made out to be. It takes courage to remain skeptical, to introspect and to accept one’s limitations. Not just from personal experiences, but otherwise also, I believe, we aren’t just a superficial race, but a very unfair one too.

Farce: Now, Today and 24×7

I feel ashamed and terribly appalled by the disposition of the Indian Television Media in the face of a crisis, which had buckled the entire world down to its knees. I couldn’t help but vent out the anguish and frustration when our news industry didn’t find any business in reporting and following the tragedy, measuring 7.0 on the Richter scale, which struck a small nation on January the twelfth. Haiti, a poor Caribbean nation which has been reeling under poverty for all the time registered in recent history, is torn and tossed apart. Magnitude and scale of the massive disaster can very well be judged by the fact that close to two hundred thousand are feared dead.

Although there is nothing at all to expect from channels like India TV and the (few hundred) like, it is disturbing to know that even those glorified by a façade of sterling personalities and a much-preached reputation for responsible, true and fearless reporting, didn’t find this important. Told or untold, the fact remains that for want of resources the Indian media cannot match up to the comprehensive coverage on BBC or CNN. One needs to laud the efforts of media-men on the ground, who have been capturing on-camera and paper, not only the massive devastation and loss of life, but also relief efforts, need for urgent aid and the burgeoning social imbalance. Probably our media too has its reporters there, on the ground, sorting rubble, making reports and feed for their channels. If not anything else, it was for them that they needed to keep business aside and engage in the cause in a more sensitive and responsible manner.

Instead, what they were running were raunchy shows and belligerent panel discussions. One was digging deep in the grave to prove or disprove, whether Jyoti Basu was bad for Bengal, another was evaluating prospective bidders for Afridi and Pollard at the IPL Bazaar Auction which was to follow the next morning and the remaining were making money from the ostentatious portrayal of the Indian bourgeois. Who is to blame? The close to hundred news channels, reporting sensationalized crime and love stories, or we and others like us who have made them loud and arrogant.

Heart Break Kid

It is quite extraordinary to admit that the most difficult part of writing an article is how to begin. And while I write this, I suddenly realize that I am wrong! However, when I try to maneuver on the right track, I am back where I began. I wish to be distinctly unique with anything I do, and this most suitably applies to my experiments with converting thoughts into words. This is the general case with almost every kid who somehow manages, to become an engineer. Engineers are so unique! :P
The benchmark to begin with is the neighbor’s son or a distant relative or some random geek employed in a multinational company. The first goal- specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and time-bound, for some, is to secure the first rank, for some others, a merit position and for the rest, a decent 80 percent in the 10th standard board examination. Kids are told, or somehow manage to find out, that this examination happens to hold the key to their future. And just one year of hard work can make or break their career.

Ok. The kid goes through the thing. He scores a 92 percent and a stamp size photograph of his features in the local daily newspaper. The kid, and in some cases even the parents realize, that he was worthy enough for a 95 percent and the front page full body photograph. Now this is the same kid who goes on dabbling and yammering to his less fortunate friends and their obsequious parents, the schools and courses that are the best in offing, given the trends in industry and based on the feedback from his very successful brother working in the United States, who gets for him a cap and a shirt occasionally, and a packet of chocolates every time he visits India. The kid gets an admission in the most sought school, which is decided by the choice of the majority before him. With the glorious company of erudite scholars and rocket scientists in the making, it is difficult for the kid to keep to himself the feelings of ecstasy. So, he takes his bicycle and goes hunting. Most obviously, the first place he visits is the place of his friend who has scored less than him. While he is appreciated by the parents of the less fortunate kid, he seeks solace in the despondent expression on his friend’s face. Now the friend, and his parents, not ready to leave any stone unturned, somehow use their ‘contacts’, pay some money and arrange an admission into the same school. This spells disaster for the first kid who is by now convinced of the fact that his parents are worthless. He sits dejected and remembers the time when he used to make plans for his better life after the 10th board examination. He then realizes, it isn’t so much fun as he had expected. Anyhow, life goes on.

The fairer sex is a complicated phenomenon that he sets out to deal with. The very presence of a girl close enough to be able to smell her, freezes his sputum and transforms his cerebral material into cauliflower. Unperturbed by the crisis, he envisions a bold self of him, two years hence. Meanwhile, the IIT/AIEEE tuition scene is a happening, as happening as any Spielberg movie. The happiest moments for this kid are those when he outshines in the class, features around the expected toppers and when he is the only one able to crack a complicated problem. At last, the season ends. He again gets something and calculates that he could have done better. Now the only two options that this kid and his family have in life are:

1) Admission into an engineering institute this year or

2) Drop this year. Admission into a better engineering institute next year.

Ok. Now he calculates the probability of his getting a better choice next year, the available choices for tuitions in Kota and Hyderabad, the investment and the opportunity cost. Late after-dinner discussions and intensive consultations with experts lead the kid and his parents to a decision to opt for an institute. Now the billion dollar question is: Which college? Which branch? This requires an in-depth analysis of ‘the placement scene in the college’ and the ‘scope of the branch’. The list of experts summoned and approached for reaching a conclusion are old professors staying in the neighborhood, relatives working in the US, friends going into an IIT and senior students, both specifically chosen and randomly sampled.

Ok. The admission is done. Now the content may vary, but the process is similar for almost everyone.
(Now, below I write only for a few like me.)
Four years, if the kid is fortunate, pass, and an engineer is created. This kid doesn’t buy textbooks, notebooks or a bathing soap ever (not me, but a majority). The number of hours he studies for examinations is directly proportional to the number of examinations he writes, the proportionality constant being very close to one. The toppers happen to have this greater than one and the majority, less, but very close to one in both the cases. He is placed in a company at a round of campus interviews and there are parties thrown for even the bleak acquaintances. Four years of engineering are a celebration and reward of the hard work put in before. The initial torture of giving up things weighs against any justification for class bunks, phone bills, petrol, girl-spending that couldn’t fetch anything worthwhile, low scores, tapri sittings, cricket, smokes, booze and college fests. People, who care and bother to remember those times after six months, are the few who cherish their four years of engineering. I am sure there is a big number, including this kid in the narrative. Now this kid, after a long slumber, suddenly realizes that he is independent. Technically speaking, if I quantify by comparing scores, (I am an engineer. Scientific temperament and not blood runs through my veins! :P ) a kid learns so much in the first four years of his life and so little in his four years of engineering! Even then, given any amount of freedom to choose from every available option in this world to pursue higher education, or even doing away with it for the sake of doing ‘what you always wanted to do’, I do believe, that it is these four years that teach you to have a true sense of belonging for a bunch of people and if not anything else, make you what you always wanted to become- independent.

A month in Mumbai

It has been long since I put pen to paper metaphorically, and wrote something. My experiences at the workplace were so unique, co-created and personalized that I hardly found anything different to think or ponder upon every second moment. Thoughts of all things I ever did or wished to do started to converge at such a rapid and random pace that I feared it was time for the second big bang. But as my shirt had read every second day in college, change was inevitable. And Mumbai was it.

My apartment on the sixteenth floor is just the right place for almost anything. When I first stepped inside, it wasn’t as much a feeling of grandeur as it was of a calm, a sense of stillness, starkly different from the pace of things that Mumbai is known for. The silhouette at my window is exemplar of the enigma, the passion, and the strange attraction that Mumbai is. Lit buildings, signboards, orange streetlights, a railway track, the dark sky, the grey sea and the sprawling sea-link present an amazing portrait of this amazing city. The first thing I observed was that there are a little less than infinite number of people here. And they come in all sizes, shapes and varieties.

The best thing is, I have lot of friends here, whom I already know since long- to meet up and go out with. Its good for a guy like me who is generally very crookedly opinionated about people. Its like being a choosy beggar! Amit was here for this weekend. He said he had some GRE work, but I bet he just wanted to send another e-mail to the same female! :P We didn’t do much. Spent most of the time at home, talking and discussing how the whole world is in wrong hands. Amazingly. in college, our eyes didn’t go beyond a cheek-whiskered fair chunk by the name Mohota. The last few days were real fun. It was like your girlfriend’s sister treating you!
People generally don’t change with time. Some case study topics to prove this:

1. Akshay couldn’t find a place to meet in the whole city, other than Hiranandani Gardens, Powai.
2. Rocky was smart to avoid the rush and get down from the local train at the wrong (?) side.
3. Sushant slept and snored during a Avatar show worth 280.

and..

4. Amit ko raat ko garmi hui. To usne apni sone ki chain nikal ke fenk di!

Now this is what I am used to. Nothing less!

Costa Coffee, IGI. Delhi 37.

Finally some time to write! Its 5 in the morning at the Delhi airport and the first thing I notice is.. its still raining chicks! After a hundred years of solitude at depressing places like Rudrapur, Pantnagar and in the bus commuting between the two, I was what the spiritualists call a Sensitive Subject! I had reached that depth of gloom and bodily discomfort when a sudden smile from a Japanese girl next to you at the coffee kiosk or a heavenly thank you from the girl at the check-in row, has all the effect of a strong liquor and good news administered simultaneously, warming the blood and comforting the soul. Its like this world has very generally transformed from a bleak desert to a land flowing with milk and honey.

I am the only one amonst people I can relate to at my workplace who managed to get an official leave. The feeling was better than even cleaning Sultan Singh Bisht at the Dalvi encounter. After an eternity of numbness at the plant, a couple of weeks without ends and Ramsay schedules there was finally something for me to look up to. Nervous and imaginative that I always was, atleast as my friends know me, has in some respect undergone a Darwinian transformation. A subtle flaw in my character was that though I was kind hearted enough in most respects, I listened with a regrettable feeling of impatience and irritation to the confessions of those less happily situated on the altars of maturity and general expected intelligence. I believed, it was their responsibility and my right, that they reserve such conversations for the ear of those like them. But now, I have the nerve to imagine myself to be a punching bag to work peoples' bad temper off. I generally can stand it when mr bubblejit (I dont use capitals for men like him!) can dare to suppose that he has the immortal spirit to nag and bully me, whenever his suicidal way of working lands him in the ring with a handicapped cage match coming his way.

And here I am, at a place with neatly dressed people in shades other than blue and white and gawd.. I am happy for a change. I am being miraculously intutive and accepting the easier explanation that all my friends would be waiting to meet me just the way I am. And this thought, coming on top of a prolonged mood of despair and general dissatisfaction with everything mundane, is acting on me like some powerful chemical (dot 3 brake oil you make assume :P). There is a lot to be said in excuse for this impatience but even if people arent excited enough to see me, Il surely make things happen in these 4 n aa haaf days to come! Ok. Ill do something else now.

The Moment of Truth!

I: Working on a PC in our plant office that exactly resembles our Theory of Machines lab at VNIT. I have just walked almost over 3 miles to return some flask to some meagerly important person here. I feel the sweat on my legs as they shiver with spasm. They ache all the time and I seriously fear, I have polio or some major limb dysfunction. My learning: When you dont know whats going on, walk fast, have an angry-man expression, glance left-right and to top it, wipe off something from your forehead with a gasp.

Paro: Donning a slick helmet, at the Underbody line flashing ECU vehicle calibration numbers and eagerly waiting for someone to join him there in the hideout for a ‘bakar session’.

Ankur: With his ‘Icchadhari Naag’ –gray-eyes-bulged-out-look, smile suppressed and with a few History cards in his hand,rubbing his ass out at the quality inspection line, to prove that he deserves more appreciation that Vishal.

Shrish: Resting somewhere and studying things that don’t even deserve a glance, or, roaming all around the place with a visible hope to catch hold of a chick or something similar. :p

Abhigyan: Spreading the yoopee charm at the Underbody line, making new friends and honing his oration and netagiri skills. He repairs things once in a while for a change. By the way, Abhigyan believes in 'smart work rather than hard work'. The fact that he spends half of his day trying to tell this to us is an altogether different issue! :p

Dhruval: Busy disciplining operators at his line and shedding some light on vital things like responsibility, work ethics, bread-butter and neck exercise. Vaada Hai: Yess Sirr!

Siya: Welding his tongue for a longer, deeper and more stimulating- ‘Kyaaaa bbe!’

Vishal: Gearing up to warm the General Manager’s chair with a vibe that would put even Shahrukh Khan to shame.

Tanay: Auditing stations. In reality, searching for milk, fruits and a place to stand on his hands.

Piyush: Enjoying the tranquility of welding with heavy remembrances of the homely, read- spooky place called Sai Vihar. Some others with him are being pressed and welded.

Abin and Ajay: Discussing the colors of walls and curtains for their new house. Ajay these days flaunts a – ‘Mai Kaun hoon? Mai yaha kaise aaya?’ look in a futile attempt to evade bewilderness.

The Sridevi and her Pantnagar Army: Akkchielley…llikke… going somewhere…reaching nowhere!

P.S.: The thing for which I get paid is as worthless as this post!

It doesn’t get more Mechanical than this!

This is a morning of the 29th day of August in the year 2009. I finally remember dates. I sit behind a study table like one I have never seen- clean, not amply filled and, as it should be. The big glass sealed window to my side shows the frayed tops of rusted factories and godowns across the street (it didn’t qualify to be termed as a road), and the charm of the area- a desi daru theka! The walls there read: In red: Masti Hai- Cheeled Beeyar ki dukan! Angreji daru! In blue: ‘La aur pila de!’, ‘Jab shaam dhale, tum yaad aao!’, ‘Har shaam ka sathi!’, ‘Jara jhum ke piyo yaaro!’. There is one more, but isn’t visible.

To my side of the sealed window, is a thick deep maroon and beige curtain that goes pretty well with the dark wooden interior. It cuts all the plebian light from the outside reality and quite succinctly separates the rabble from luxury. Also to my side are a thin television, a white mushy bed, a painting and some yellow lamp-light, adding to the air-conditioned calm. Everyday, when I enter this room numbered 109, to the right there is a sparkling mirror, in which I see a boy buffeted by existential questions and thoughts of the past, present and future. He says, he used to be in such mirrors to dress up well, to style his hair and lament his lankiness. I am told I shouldn’t bother about such things and concentrate on my work. I have no choice since I have no time.

For me, times have changed so drastically, that I cant even criticize VNIT for yet another decision wreck. I graduated a Mechanical engineer, but it is now after almost four and a half years that I realize, how Mechanical it can get! I make a small car. I fit hex flanged bolts, route cables, fill fluids, connect couplers and do a number of less important things too. For a change, I make excel documents on a computer. That is the only time I get to sit. Along with this menial work, I rant and chant Japanese terms every now and then to assert my understanding. I don’t vomit in the bus now. I fall asleep. I was arrogant, boisterous and aggressive. I had an opinion on everything. I had an advice for everyone. I study the Work Instruction Sheets, Control Plans and Version Matrices now.

There is no appreciation for a measured cadence in the way you talk. There is no retribution for arrogance or anger. There is no vacillation in decisions, opinions or expressions. Everything is sorted, systematically arranged, clean, standardized and accountable. This wasn’t an absolute achievement but a modest accomplishment for me to get here one month back. I came with expectations and presumptions. I realize now that there is a lot more- something ahead of the pack, something on the mend and something sicker than expected, to everything, than can be visualized, studied, planned or even abstractly dreamt of. This turpitude and murky munificence has taken a toll on my vocabulary too. I jumble up meanings when I think of what I want, need, desire and wish! I wish to go back, at least for a day, from where I came. But then this place reminds me, if wishes were Horses, I would ride!