Fading Mehendi

Mehendi as it fades,

is a sight no pretty.

Same was with her,

as she brought her face down

and cast her vision on her delicate hands.

Yes the mehendi was there,

but no, the mehendi was not.

Just a month ago,

was the dream wedding.

Adorned in her regal costume,

holding the hands of the man she loved,

as they stepped out,

into the glory of the basking sun.

It was then the war broke out,

those enemies attacked their motherland.

The dutiful soldier he was,

he had to report back for duty.

He hugged her

and told her he had to go back.

Back to the frontier,

back to the forefront.

The parting was tough,

but it was inevitable.

The brave face she put up,

was all a façade,

For she was all tears inside.

And it was the day before,

the news reached,

that he was martyred.

That she was no longer

the wife of a brave soldier.

But instead, there she was

the widow of a martyred warrior.

The sun that shone bright

on the day of their union

that sun had gone,

replaced by the wrath

of the untimely monsoons.

The rains quenched the thirst

of the grounds and grass so parched.

As she waited to receive

what precious little of him was left,

the mehendi adorning her hands

was fading into oblivion.

She stood there,

all alone in a savage world.

Not the wife of a brave soldier,

but the widow of a martyred warrior.

The Anatomy of a Code Review

This is the musing of a software developer. If you are or have not been in the profession, some of these might appear jargon to you. I have tried to write it in as simple a language as I can, but still you ought to be thankful to God Almighty for your absence of knowledge on some/all of these issues. Believe me, you are much better off NOT knowing all these than those unlucky ones like me who see lines of code floating around in dreams…..

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, long before the sun has risen over the horizon, in the dark alleys of a software company, an unfortunate soul sits away staring at his computer monitor, his hands deftly navigating the contours of a keyboard attached. That harangued soul, I wish, were my worst enemy, but unfortunately happens to be me. Myself.

The clacking of the keys is the only noise in the entire hallway, which is deserted sans a solitary me. I peck away at the keyboard incessantly, unaware of my surroundings. Completely focused on what I do. And finally, a few hours later, the beginnings of a smile begin to creep up on my face. At last, my code is working. An almost surreal feeling. Priceless, exactly the kind that my MasterCard cannot pay with. And finally, double checking everything, I send off my piece of code for reviewing by my peers. Also known in colloquial terminology as code review. That done, I head to the parking garage to pick up my car and head home. On the way down to garage, I try to remember whether I did have my dinner, or whether the last meal I had in the day was a piece of toast for breakfast.

Sometime after I reach home, I fall asleep on my sofa. And long after the sun has risen and the world around me is busy with its morning activities, my alarm chirps me to life. I brush my teeth, finish with my morning ablutions before I head to office. My first task - to check peer feedback on my code review. As I grab my morning coffee and head to my desk and open my computer hoping to see that my code has gotten the requisite sign offs. Or at least a few comments so that I have something to work on in the morning.

But alas, that is not to be. Indeed, I should have known. The very revered peers of mine were busily ensconced in their respective worlds, my request for reviewing of my code was nothing but a mere distraction. And so there I was, after toiling way past midnight, now at the mercy of my colleagues and seniors. If only they could give me some feedback. But fear not, it is not the first time that yours truly is facing this situation. With nothing better to do, I turn on the web browser. Social and anti-social media are the buzzwords as I delve into the pleasantries of life with friends and family from up close and afar. Cameth the lunch hour and I, having all the lavish time in the world, decide to skip the office cafeteria and entertain myself to a fabulous lunch outside in some restaurant.

I come back after a very sumptuous lunch and open my system. My mind is delving into the multiple possibilities of how to creatively spend my time in the afternoon in the office while appearing to my manager and the rest of the pack that I am, like a loyal servant, hard at work. No sooner has the computer opened up, I see my code review all lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree.

And there, after addressing the plethora of comments that flew in from left, right and center making me appear more of an idiot and less of a software developer, I finally manage to commit my code to the system. Feeling triumphant, like a warrior after a successful battle, I head to the kitchenette to celebrate my success with a cup of coffee. I stand near the machine while it splutters and cranks out the coffee I believe I so richly deserve. The mobile phone in my pocket vibrates. It is a new email, my change has caused a build break. Muttering all the expletives which I imbibed as a part of my collegiate education, I rush back to my office. The vicious cycle begins all over again…..

The Fruitless Wait

You didn’t turn up.

As the train chugged,

leaving behind the station platform,

the hawkers and vendors stay back,

counting the business they got

from the train just departing.

Fresh in anticipation,

about the next train to arrive

As the one after that

and the one after that

and the one after.

They have a hope,

a hope that hinges on the train coming next.

But for me,

out of patience

out of hope,

this was the train I took.

Whether it turns out,

to be a trip to glory,

or one to obscurity

only time will tell.

But I did wait on the precipice

before I boarded for my voyage.

I did wait for you,

I waited in the hope

that you will come to the station

that you will take me somewhere.

To live the life we so much dreamt,

to live the life, you always promised.

I kept my part of the bargain,

leaving everyone behind,

I came to the station

and I waited.

For you to arrive

And for us to depart.

An hour turned into two,

and two into four.

There I was standing solitary

among a crowd of humanity

with tickets in hand

and destinations in mind.

I was numb,

no ticket in hand,

no end in thought.

All I wanted

was for me to be with you.

And then it dawned,

painfully indeed

that you weren’t coming.

Refused to accept it I did

but truth was truth indeed,

whether I liked it or not.

And here I find myself on this train,

no ticket in hand,

no end in thought,

and no destination in mind.

These tracks will lead me

to where my destiny awaits.

Whether it turns out

to be a trip to glory,

or one to obscurity

Only time will tell.

But I did wait on the precipice

before I boarded for my voyage.

Goodbye my friend,

goodbye indeed.

Goodbye forever.

Those Wasted Moments

I still lag behind “Generation X” and its likes when it comes to something basic – accessing internet. At least once or twice a month, I make an effort to actually sit down and do something random surfing the internet. When small sceen phones, phablets and tablets have captured the imagination of the world, I still prefer my laptop to keep me company on those occasions when I deliberately choose to shut off from the mundane world and tread into a nomadic sojourn. Oh by nomadic sojourn, I do not at all mean the footsteps of those very erudite world travelers like Huan Tsang or Ibn Battuta, my sojourns are leaned back in the sofa in my living room, feet atop the coffee table (with a coffee, according to the time of the day and my gastric conditions) and staring in the laptop screen.

At a time when normally we’d talk of an increasing speed or swiftness associated with most things, it is simply one way of me pressing the pause button on myself. I have become so much of a multi-tasker – I listen to music when I work, I watch TV when I eat, I read when I walk, and so on. So much of multi-tasking around me that I often forget that I, like, everyone else, started off as learning to do one task at a time with diligence. Those days when I used to sit down with a text book and notes with pens and papers and no laptop or desktop monitor in front, those days when having dinner meant sitting around the dining table with family and talking was the only thing apart from eating, those power cuts which meant a degree of social activity in and around the neighborhood. Those days. This is what I try to simulate when I sit accompanied by my solitude, with my laptop connected to the internet.

Internet is one big web. The kind of web where you latch onto one cog, and before you know it, you are somewhere deep inside with or without realization. I end up watching some of my favorite childhood videos, songs or advertisements. Sometimes it feels like bliss to sit and simply listen to Mile Sur Mera Tumhara, that Doordarshan song does to me something still inexplicable. More than twenty years since I watched that song, after probably watching it for close to a thousand times, I can still watch it that one more time. The Doordarshan Samachar theme song, which seems to remain embedded. My parents, as was the case with my teachers at school believed watching English news at Doordarshan would help improve spoken English and as a consequence I used to watch Doordarshan news fairly regularly. The ten year old me can’t remember a lot of news items or events covered on TV in those days but I certainly remember gawking at the anchors and thinking about them as legends who could “memorize” half an hour’s worth of news and recite it flawlessly without stuttering or stammering (Oh, I came to know about the concept of teleprompters much later in life). People like Sukanya Balakrishnan, Tejeshwar Singh, Neethi Ravindran, Suneet Tandon and Rini Khanna(among the names associated with faces I distinctly recollect) were truly charmers. I don’t know the role it played in impacting my English language or vocabulary, it likely would have, but it certainly inculcate the news junkie in me. Plus, the inexplicable feeling of nostalgia on hearing the theme at the start of the news bulletin. Something which remains, and inexplicably so. The other element of my nostalgia associated with Doordarshan are the advertisements. Nirma (“Washing powder Nirma”), Nataraj Sharpener (“Khoob cheele bina thode”), Cadbury Dairy Milk (“Asli swad zindagi ka”), Titan are among some of the advertisements I watch sporting a smile on my face. I guess before sporting icons and movie stars monopolized the advertisements, these advertisements had their simple yet unique charm.

One of the things I “progressed to” with the advent of cable television at home was BBC News. I remember watching the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Center during dinner time from the cozy confines of my house, not fully comprehending the impact of that day but still knowing all was not well. Probably the most distinct “visual landmark” that I keep with me of my “BBC days” would be the iconic Countdown to BBC News. Sometime in the first decade of the new century, the television scene in India exploded with an astounding speed. I was absorbed into that metamorphosis where specialized channels came up for 24 * 7 news, movies and entertainment domains, as opposed to one channel (Doordarshan) for everything. Looking back, I can parallel that happening with my transformation from childhood to adolescence, probably one reason why I rather remember so much more fondly of those days with a single channel and limited programs.

Those frozen moments in time, idling and reminiscing of the time in front of laptops watching those videos, which are starting to become few and farther between, bring out the child in me. The use of internet, I realize, might not be all as is propounded and generally agreed upon. It could as well be a priceless source of reminiscence, of nostalgia. Indirectly, of some missing cogs in what forms the me of today.