aditya kumar's weblog

A friend I know, one of the many programmers in the city, told me over dinner that he is facing problems with his job.

What kind of problems I asked.

The company he works for has barred the employees from using the Internet. It is common, of course, network administrators keep on applying policies to block certain websites, I said.

No, they have not restricted the access. They have completely barred access to the Internet. Any website. Even Google is not accessible.

According to my experience, this happened, well, maybe 5 to 6 years ago. Mostly for cost reasons. I must admit I was surprised to hear this from him.

As a programmer, I realise how important it is for me to connect to the Internet while I am at work. There are a thousand serious reasons, even after you exclude the Instant messaging to your friends (Yes, that too, is serious, to an extent).

The prevalent thinking in his organization is that a programmer should be able to program without referring to the Internet. S/he should be capable of that. In a way I am glad that they have such faith in the people they recruit for the job, but beyond that, it is, well, stupid.

Companies like these need to realise that 1980s are gone. When the only programming languages used were C++, Perl, Cobol or the likes. When you could use a single programming language for the whole project and you could buy a big fat book of C++, keep it with you while at work as a quick reference. And that was all that was needed.

Today technologies are changing with the speed of light. There are at least three entirely different technological aspects to every project, however big or small it may be.

While talking about this, even if I dare to keep aside the aspect of technology, the fact remains that there is always more than one way to do a thing. How is the programmer expected to know that?

So where does a situation like that lead us, in the long run? The programmer is stuck for longer time on problems that could be solved in a matter of seconds after a Google search. S/he tries to convert a String to an Integer to feed it into a method when s/he could have called the same method directly with the Integer. But for that to happen, one has to know that the method supports Integer as an input as well.

It takes more time. It goes on to increase the frustration for the programmer and the people involved in it. Whats more, the programmers reputation is at stake!

One of the reasons why companies come up with stupid policies like these is that the people who make the policies for a company (which has 80% of its employees as programmers) have never written a single line of code in their lives.

In contrast to this, if you have ever worked in an organization which has been founded, nurtured from its beginning by a bunch of techies, you will feel that issues like these aren’t an issue at all! These are small trivial things. The focus should be on getting the job done without writing trashy code. That’s all.

But it’s very rare.

This was written a couple of weeks ago, posted now

The family of four with whom I share my bay with, in the train, are strange, irritating people.

The two boys are noisy. They could be aged 3 and 5 years. I mean you expect kids to be noisy, it’s understandable for kids to be noisy but this noisy?

Then of course, there are the parents. Every now and then their mother, shouts at them to be quiet. In hindi, sometimes in English. Be quiet, be still, she insists albeit with little effect. Little effect for the kids that is, but her command carries a lot of effect since while shouting, she is louder than the kids. Its 10:30 in the night and if the kids fail to wake up the few sleeping passengers, she, with her “be quiet” and “chup raho” guarantees to leave a mark.

I get a feeling, these people always need to be in the midst of their comfort zone, no matter where they are. There are special clothes to be put on for sleeping, special sandals to be used while in the train. Special food, home made, of course. All this for a 12 hour journey. Dinner is served at 9:30 and it cannot be shifted an hour plus minus, so what if the train starts at 9pm.

The husband of the lady (alarmingly, it seems he is the head of the family), is another character. He needs to get into his “comfy” night clothes (bottoms, actually). What else could be ideal, than to wrap a bathing towel around oneself and change it right there, in the middle of half a dozen strangers? Why go all the way to the bathroom for that? He insists that the kid do the same. The kid, ashamed, resists but papa is always right says mom and bingo.

Morning time, the gentleman in his 60s, sleeping above me turns out to be an early riser. At 7am, he slams down and wakes me up. Sooraj aa gaya hai bhai, kab tak sona hai? One of those guys who are the preachy kinds and get some kind of pleasure in commanding others while being rude, especially to the younger lot. Something in me wants me to get up and bash this man up. Similar emotions were not evoked when last night he insisted to sleep at 10-30 while I was not ready for bed and yet I had obliged. This time too, I wake up and close the middle berth so that he can sit at the cost of my sleep. I need to show some resistance from now on.

The kids wake up too, much to the dismay of their mother who’s still snoring. The elder kid has an obsession for counting parallel rail tracks seen out of the window. The numbers increase and then decrease as tracks merge with each other, as if automatically and in motion, as seen from the window of a fast moving train. Hunger strikes and subsequently the kids are fed with potato chips and all the junk food that their parents, now awake, carry with them. Coffee cups, water bottles, empty snack packets – the place is littered in no time. I am trying to read my book but I really want to put it down, slam it on the small table and tell their father, that this is the time. That this is the age when you teach your children some manners because if you don’t, they will grow up to be bad citizens of this country, with no civic sense — just like their parents.

But I stare out of the window and I see two boys playing a game with ping pong bats and a badminton shuttle. Almost like badminton with ping-pong bats…It could be called Pong-inton…

Then the kid throws a bottle of water on the table, there is noise and then an even louder “STOP IT” scream and I am back at where I was…

Sometime during the last couple of days, the visitor counter on this website crossed 10000.

Readers, Thank You.

From a country so deprived of heroes in the recent past, from a country which has often found solace in the game of Cricket for it has been one of the few things that has gone right throughout the nations history — From Pakistan, two cricketers, one of them an idol to many and a matchwinner on his day, decide to take drugs and get banned for a couple of years.

And then, another man from a land already abundant in sport heroes — this man still manages to lead in his own unique way, commands respect from people in countries like India for his on and off the field activities — From Australia he comes and builds home for the homeless in a land which is not his own.

It is men like these, which eventually make good teams different from bad teams.

Few pictures taken while I travelled to Ratnagiri for a day. Some have been taken during the 6 hour train journey, some in the town vicinities. Your comments, as always, welcome.

…to everyone who reads this! May this festival of lights bring you joy, happiness and prosperity!

Meanwhile, I’ve reached Goa and I am still nursing my injured arm. Thank you for the comments in the last post, thank you for the emails…I am going to reply soon!

I always thought that since I hardly ever speed when I ride, I could stay away from accidents. But this is Bangalore. This careless pedestrian, a seemingly well educated man in his 20s, let me have this terrible accident that I have just had, rendering my right arm, well, unusable for at least a few days.

I fell on the road, upfront. By the impact with the pedestrian (who fortunately, got no injuries, but I hated when later he smiled to me and said ‘sorry’), my scooter went down before me. My body went on, came to a screeching halt on the rough road about two meters ahead of the point of impact. A matter of three seconds, and I was blinded with shock. I was unaware of everything, but it was not a void. I had seen a car coming from the opposite direction and at the end of the third second, when I realised what had happened, I had a feeling it was only a matter of a moment and this car could be, would be over me. Not a matter of if, but when. I tried to get up, but my body failed to respond.

The mob that had gathered helped me to come over it. People were talking to me and I can’t even recall the language they spoke. Someone pointed at the right arm, a part of it covered with blood. My mind failed to register the pain. The damn thing registers the pain now. and how.

I saw death today. Up, Close and trust me, very, very Personal.

I can’t even change my shirt. Another disadvantage of staying alone, but well, I guess, one more learning experience neverthless.

To the few readers I have, you have to excuse me for a few days. It might be a week or so before you hear from me again. But I’m alive and kicking.