aditya kumar's weblog

In a fast food chain restaurant, standing in a queue, overheard a couple of 30-something software engineers (or the likes) deciding on the menu. A sentence should suffice —

“yeh le le — this combo has 4 items compared to that one, which has only 3 items, for the same price”.

This sums up, how an Indian mind works once confronted with the menu.

On my way back home from work, near the Sony world Koramangala intersection, I saw an Enfield Bullet with “POLITE” written on back, Red bold letters. Curiosity, like always, had the better of me and the red signal as it was, I went near the bike, dragging my (relatively) mediocre looking Honda Activa and I asked the rider what was the whole “Polite” thing all about. I mean, if these letters had to form a word on the back of an Enfield Bullet, “C” had certainly to be a part of it, instead of the “T”.

Turned out, our rider had a little sense of humor. His first reaction was a frown, but as I completed my question, it turned into a smile and he told me that “POLITE”, in those big Red letters, was actually meant to scare off the rude Autorickshaw-wallas, for the menace that they have become on the roads. And since he really didn’t belong to POLICE, he could not claim that “C”. In these mad streets, at high speeds and manoeuvres , “POLITE” could well be “POLICE”.

Presence of mind?

Now, I had to read this a few times to be really sure of what it was. On the exact same spot, a month or two back, a lady driven scooty with, believe it or not, a sticker that said:

“DON’T KISS ME”.

Oh, how could I lady, especially with that helmet you have put on.

Absence of mind?

I sometimes think, and these ‘sometimes’ are quite often, I am probably in the wrong profession. Or perhaps, I take my profession only seriously to an extent where it just qualifies to be “serious” enough. Kind of, on the edge of it all. Honestly, I am not okay with the idea that I spend 16 hours everyday, 5 days a week thinking about whats going on at work and checking my office emails all to often. I know people who do that. These people, at the same time, always complain of how the work gets to them and how much they want to get away from it.

Truth is that, on the contrary, they themselves do not attempt to get away from the madness.

I once heard these lines somewhere and I believe in it so much that it motivates me to take my mind off the trivial things that sink me down everyday — When I am 75, lying on a bed (probably because thats all I’d be able to do), I would not think that, okay — I should have chosen .NET over Java. I would not think about a project that I once messed up. I would probably not think about the laurels I was applauded for. But yes, I’d probably think and wish that I had spent more time with my parents and my sister. I’d probably be wishing that I had traveled more than I had, when I could. I believe in this so much that once I start thinking on these lines, I start hating everything that stops me from treading the path that I so much want to. Not that I have been unsuccessful all the time, in fact I am one of the most traveled persons you will ever come to know of.

So the coming two months could be one of travel. Konkan, Goa, Bombay, Delhi and Calcutta are the places I’ll have to choose from. The only time I was in Calcutta was last year and since then I have carried a part of it with me. There is a world to be explored in the streets and corners of Calcutta and I intend to do it as and when I’d be able to.

Besides, this city is testing my endurance. I have been away from home for close to 9 years now and yet, at times I feel like my first day alone, on my own. The few friends I had could not stand the loneliness this city offered them — I mean, here is a city where you can’t even talk to another guy on the street because of the language barrier. So they left. I don’t blame them. The few that remained, got married. I don’t blame them too — they had to get married, however harsh the idea may seem (No, I am not opposed to the idea at all). They, however, had to get married because loneliness got the better of them. But seriously speaking, even a guy like me who needs his solitude more than the average guy does, finds time hard to go by on a sunday evening. I too, at times, contemplate on leaving Bangalore and going back to Pune — a city of my so many ‘firsts’, a city that once got my wrath for being so insensitive by making me walk on roads that reminded me of a better time, a city once I promised to never return for all the time to come. But then again, it would be foolish to think that Pune is the same and that it would offer me all that it once did. If I go to Pune, I would go with a clean slate, a clear conscience and a heart free of prejudice but also, at the same time, free of expectations.

I am surprised that I am thinking about going back to Pune, in the first place. Its strange, and perhaps funny, how time makes even the sternest of minds to bend.

Meanwhile, expect some travelogues.

My article on Anil Kumble’s latest exploits, written specifically for Desicritics.org and crossposted here.

There are a couple reasons why Anil Kumble comes to my mind every time I walk around M.G.Road in Bangalore. First, there is this road intersection named after him right in the heart of the city. When I first came to know of it, I was amused to find something like it. Cricket administrations and associations have a habit of naming stands in the stadium on state cricketers who made it big but this is an altogether different way of showing gratitude.

Second, not very far away is Bangalore’s Chinnaswamy Stadium. The sixteen runs Kumble made here, in company with Javagal Srinath’s equally valiant thirty, that made India defeat Australia in the third league match of the Titan Cup back in 1996, cast a shadow on an innings that was perhaps one of the best, if not the best, of an illustrious career — Mark Taylor’s only century in One Day Cricket. I like to think that the unbeaten innings of 16 runs that Kumble made that very night was his greatest contribution with the bat to the shorter version of the game. In Delhi that night, how I wished I was at the Chinnaswamy Stadium. The four towering flood light towers of the stadium are something that I envy to this day for they have been witness to such glory.

In Delhi’s Kotla, when Kumble got his 10 wickets in an innings against Pakistan, his first reaction had been that India had won. It took a moment or two for the feeling to sink in, that he had got all 10. It must have been a typically modest Kumble, dealing with yet another achievement. But the Oval test, in many ways, has shown us a side of the man that we have never come across.

This is probably why I have a feeling that for Kumble, his only century at this level must rank higher than his 10 on 10. Think like a bowler and you would probably discard a possibility of taking 10 wickets in an innings. A feat like that, if it ever came one’s way, is served with a big slice of luck. Furthermore, one does not plan for miracles. But deep inside, you won’t discard easily the feeling of hitting the cherry all over the ground like a top order batsman and contemplate hitting a ton. And if you happen to be one of those in the pavilion who shoots the defining moments on an SLR, while the Sachins and the Dravids raise their bat, the wide open arms towards the sky and say a silent prayer — you probably have played the sequence in your head and tried to live the moment countless times.

Moments after Anil Kumble tucked the bat while coming down the track on the London Oval, it seemed like Kumble had not, for a change, come of age. Instead, the man had turned into a child, a 16 year old child who had somehow made it big finally. His helmet came off as if it were the biggest but the last obstacle to a celebration marking the realization of a personal dream that he had been secretly nurturing for years.

And that is why, after what was witnessed on 10th August 2007, “Anil Kumble Circle” — that intersection at Bangalore’s MG Road, will mean more than one thing to me. Not only will it indicate one of the busiest traffic intersections in Bangalore named after India’s greatest matchwinner, but it will also mark a life that has finally come full circle, for a man who has played the role of an unsung hero for most of his part in Indian cricket.

To move from one of the many small/medium organizations to one of the biggest Information Technology recruiters in the world is quite a transition. The problem I am facing is not of following the new rules and procedures that creep into the small things (that we take for granted while we work in a small company) but of facing the human sea that overwhelms me every day, every minute I spend my time there.

According to one estimate, there are 6000 people that work in the 4 blocks of my office. So when I take the lift (call it elevator, if you may) everyday, the probability of someone who has been in the lift with me before is largely diminished. And it shall remain so until I have spent some time there. Coupled with the fact that there are new faces coming in three times a week, the point of my time spent there’d barely make a difference.

So it does not matter how long have you been in the organization. You could be a week old, a month old or a decade old working here and still walking around as if this is your first day. 95 of the 100 people you walk across everyday won’t even notice you. Chances of looking at a person and making a mental note like “Oh, I see her around everyday” are remote unless you happen to be working in the same project/application etc (in case that happens you’d need a slap on your back because since she works with you, in the same department, you ought to know her).

So you, kind of, start feeling alone in this whole sea of human beings. There is no connection, apart from, of course, that all are working for the same company. That does not matter much, I dare say, because its not a big deal. Everyone is.

Of the thousands of cubicles that you see, one of them is yours. Of the thousands that park their vehicle everyday in the parking lobby, one of them is yours. And You realize that you’ve become, and how, a part of the system.

Rationally speaking, one shouldn’t be concerned with all this, simply because thats the way things happen all over the world. There is absolutely no other way of accomplishing the goals that world class companies chalk out for themselves. It’s raw manpower that drives the system (notice how ironical it seems, to use the word ‘system’ again, compared to the usage of the same word in the last paragraph). No number of machines, tools, hardware or software can replace the effect a bunch of minds, working together, can create).

Maybe one day I’ll be able to recognize faces in the elevator (or call it lift, if you may) and better still, someday people would know people three cubicles apart but for now, I appear lost and trust me, many, just like me, are.

The airport runway gives me a high. Always has given me a high. Today it happened, quite literally.

The airport boundaries are guarded by long, fenced walls. In a quest to catch a glimpse of the runway and aircrafts taking off, I had to climb a tree off airport road — On one side heavy traffic and on the other side a tall wall with barbed fence.

Airports, like Bangalores, lie in the middle of the city. There are residential and commerical complexes around the boundaries of the airport. These places offer a decent enough view of the aircrafts that hover around. Yet, photography around the airport is prohibited. Why? This is the age of the internet and google Earth, yet, simple and harmless guys like me have to act like monkeys to get shots like these:

The above aircraft is an IAF HS 748 Avro, a medium range utility bird. Of course, the picture has been taken by me, after much hardships. Frankly, an ordinary photo. The sunlight was against me else the shot would have been better.

All said and done, I must say this business of clicking flying birds is not an easy one. It’s a real pain, at times, quite literally. And the Government doesn’t make it any easy for people like us.

There are less sights better in life than being in the cockpit of a cessna 172, 500 feet above and going down while ahead lies a runway and you’re cleared for landing. I tell you that from personal experience.

Three bachelors, including yours truly, spent their new years eve walking down Brigade Road. Then to Residency road, briefly touching St.Marks Road and then most of MG Road before coming back to Brigade Road. And then doing it all over again. We could have walked from Brigades to MG but for the Police. Not only had they made Brigades a “Pedestrian-only” zone, they had made it one-way as well. Not a bad thing, considering the amount of crowd expected in the area.

Few minutes past ten and hunger strikes. What better than to have Pizza at Pizza Hut on this eventful evening? Only that the restaurant is closed. This got to be some kind of joke, I say; New Years eve and Pizza Hut’s shutter down? Just the shutter down, not closed per se –as we find out 20 minutes later.

Turns out, same time last year, people high on beer did some bad things to the Pizza Parlor. So this year they decided to play safe. Shutters down, and (backdoor) entry to people only after being sure that they’d not create trouble inside. Of course, a little extra time to prepare your order — It’s rush and everyone wants to have a good time here. Lovely, take your own time — We have plenty to talk.

An hour later we are still wandering, no where in particular. The mob that surrounds us is high on alcohol. Not exactly the kind of place you’d want to take your girl to. Amidst of all this, the crazy cricket fans that we are, we try to arrive at a conclusion on why our team has had a hard time in South Africa. Speaking of which, would they care if they knew? The Sehwags and the Dravids, would they care if they knew that at a quarter to New Year, in the middle of a crowd of thousands at MG Road, Bangalore, two guys were indeed found discussing, of all things, reasons for the miseries of Indian Cricket? Crazy, yeah. We’re just the kind of people BCCI needs to run the show here.

They say what you do at the stroke of the hour, you tend to keep doing for the rest of the year. We, afraid of the excited mob that we had witnessed, spent the moment in the auto rickshaw going back home. So much for the New Years. In the words of Garfield, that lazy fat cat, “We’re bachelors, baby“.