Dear Sir ,
I am B.Tech from National Institute Of Technology ,Calicut in mechanical engineering and have work experience of 40 months in TCS, Asia's largest software consultancy. Did that impress you? Or you just wondering 'How come??!!'. Even I used to wonder in my engineering days, when my seniors from non IT stream made it to IT biggies. But I was not that motivated or driven. I just tumbled into TCS. So after 40 months into IT industry sometimes I wonder - what if I started my career at core sector, as I used to dream in my engineering days - in an enterprise with a chimney with smoke coming out of it, with sounds of machines , trucks, a chowkidar somewhere, workers smoking bidis in a corner. Quite an factory atmosphere , might not that cozy like an air conditioned IT office. But I guess that is where mechanical engineers belong to. That is where their purpose lies. AC atmosphere just make them lazy. Ironically nobody actually asked me to write an SOP before my engineering. So I never felt the need to think about the 'next big thing' after NIT. So I joined TCS. Wasted time in some meaningless works , And it took 3 years to realise that the 'time for change' has come. I must have dozed off in my cozy cubicle, in spite of the constant din made by managers sitting around me. Now I wonder what if I was asked to write an SOP before my engineering. I would have fixed my purpose long back. I might not take pain or gather words to write this impressive sop today.
Dear Sir, in next two years I will always be a good boy , work hard as I have saved enough energy in last 3 years. And you wont need to take pain for my placements. I will opt for OOPS(Opted Out Of Placements). TCS made me sure that I am too lazy to work under a boss. Better I would start as a shopkeeper. Selling has seemed to me such an easy way of making a living that sometimes I wonder why people bothered to do anything else. On market days , for instance , if I seat down before a bag of flour , with a scoop and a set of scales on one side , people will come, buy my flour and put money in my pocket. In fact it looks such an simple process that sometimes I wonder it wouldn't work if I try it!!!! :p:p. 'Jumping off the cliff' might not be that rosy sir. I just need to learn the confidence tricks in your institute over the next two years.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
A Le Chal Mujhko Sapno ki Nagar !!!!!
Ever you been to old Delhi? In the bylanes of Darya Ganj? In its narrow streets and crowded Meena Bajar? Did you experience the feelings of getting lost amidst the crowd? In the aroma of Karims? In the bustle and tinsel of the street around you? In the hawkers' shout,cars' horn, autowalas' howling, riksawalas' pa po? I was lost in a dream of course , one in which the settings has dropped. Looming ahead was the imposing facade of the red fort with its neat rows of windows and doorways, with the delicate intricacy of minaretes and arches. All these centuries later everything still stands , just like Mughals built it. Dynasties passed. The British have come and gone. And the building still the same and will outlast us all. I wondered if days here would be the same as well once I stop dreaming , or after centuries?
And then the electricity failed. A collective sigh rose into the air . And the great architectural work of Mughals around me plunged into darkness. The darkness abruptly swallowed the busy world around me. As if it plucked off the dark night and descended onto the streets. The moon hanged high and round above me like a sole surviving streetlight, beaming down its chadni.I closed my eyes and turned my face towards the sky and opened my mouth as if I could catch the chadni like rain. I stood there , observing the bustle of the street. Moonlit arches of red fort rose from the twilight ahead. I wondered if I could live in the days of Mughals. I wondered what it would feel to be inside the royal courts? I imagined Shah Jahan and his empress Mumtaj reclining at dusk. Mughal soldiers saluting in sync. Shah Jahan sashays past slowly with his Mumtaj, feeding her grapes, in the fort on the cushioned interior of the sheesh Mahal, followed by his musical entourage. Tansen came to life and descended singing from his poster , his lyrics ushering in the evening candles, one by one, each flame igniting a thousand images, in the mirrors embedded in the ceiling and walls. The bricks of the red fort light up like day.
Floodlights started coming on all around the floor. Then came the sound of a soft explosion from somewhere behind the fort. A single rocket rises silently into the sky.Its plume leaving a white trail against the blue-black night. An instant later a galaxy of sparks lights up the sky. More rockets begin to climb lazily, like fire stalks scaling the night and blossoming in bursts of orange, green and white.The flag emerges from its seclusion of night, its stripes rippling under the national colours unfurling above. 'Testing testing' someone said over a loudspeaker. The Nehru's voice cracked through the air, reprising his 1947 independence day speech. Gandhiji twirls his stuff and comes dancing right after. Sandstones lit up in patriotic cascades of white and green and orange.
And here we are, from the Mughals and the British to Gandhi and Nehru , all lined up for the grand final.The scene burst into Eastman color, the sky stretched to cinemascope . Gandhiji tapped his cane to the tune of the music, first at his feet , then at me , then at Mumtaj, then at the explosions above the red fort.I turned into shahenshah Mughal-E-Azam Shah Jahan, Rintu winked under the red and gold bridal regalia of Mumtaj.I looked down at Darya Ganj. For a moment I simply stared at Old Delhi. Trying to digest what happened.Flashes illuminated the arches of the fort as cannons being fired in salute from behind the wall. Lyrics of Tansen swelled up around us once again.
Cut to 2010. Perhaps I actually dozed off at the backseat in the JN stadium. Perhaps the karims lunch at Darya Ganj was little intoxicating. Rintu jolted me awake.CWG opening ceremony lights are fading off. Prince 'Shah Jahan' Charles and his Mumtaj along with Kalmadi 'Chacha' going down off the VIP enclave. Bapu went back into the 'Gandhi note', still smiling. Back at home , I fell asleep with the Tansen lyrics still swirling in my ears -
'Lat's go
Jiyo utho badho jeeto
Tera mera Jahaan let's go
Oh yaaron, yeh India bulaa liya
Diwaano yehIndia bulaa liya...bulaa liya'
And then the electricity failed. A collective sigh rose into the air . And the great architectural work of Mughals around me plunged into darkness. The darkness abruptly swallowed the busy world around me. As if it plucked off the dark night and descended onto the streets. The moon hanged high and round above me like a sole surviving streetlight, beaming down its chadni.I closed my eyes and turned my face towards the sky and opened my mouth as if I could catch the chadni like rain. I stood there , observing the bustle of the street. Moonlit arches of red fort rose from the twilight ahead. I wondered if I could live in the days of Mughals. I wondered what it would feel to be inside the royal courts? I imagined Shah Jahan and his empress Mumtaj reclining at dusk. Mughal soldiers saluting in sync. Shah Jahan sashays past slowly with his Mumtaj, feeding her grapes, in the fort on the cushioned interior of the sheesh Mahal, followed by his musical entourage. Tansen came to life and descended singing from his poster , his lyrics ushering in the evening candles, one by one, each flame igniting a thousand images, in the mirrors embedded in the ceiling and walls. The bricks of the red fort light up like day.
Floodlights started coming on all around the floor. Then came the sound of a soft explosion from somewhere behind the fort. A single rocket rises silently into the sky.Its plume leaving a white trail against the blue-black night. An instant later a galaxy of sparks lights up the sky. More rockets begin to climb lazily, like fire stalks scaling the night and blossoming in bursts of orange, green and white.The flag emerges from its seclusion of night, its stripes rippling under the national colours unfurling above. 'Testing testing' someone said over a loudspeaker. The Nehru's voice cracked through the air, reprising his 1947 independence day speech. Gandhiji twirls his stuff and comes dancing right after. Sandstones lit up in patriotic cascades of white and green and orange.
And here we are, from the Mughals and the British to Gandhi and Nehru , all lined up for the grand final.The scene burst into Eastman color, the sky stretched to cinemascope . Gandhiji tapped his cane to the tune of the music, first at his feet , then at me , then at Mumtaj, then at the explosions above the red fort.I turned into shahenshah Mughal-E-Azam Shah Jahan, Rintu winked under the red and gold bridal regalia of Mumtaj.I looked down at Darya Ganj. For a moment I simply stared at Old Delhi. Trying to digest what happened.Flashes illuminated the arches of the fort as cannons being fired in salute from behind the wall. Lyrics of Tansen swelled up around us once again.
Cut to 2010. Perhaps I actually dozed off at the backseat in the JN stadium. Perhaps the karims lunch at Darya Ganj was little intoxicating. Rintu jolted me awake.CWG opening ceremony lights are fading off. Prince 'Shah Jahan' Charles and his Mumtaj along with Kalmadi 'Chacha' going down off the VIP enclave. Bapu went back into the 'Gandhi note', still smiling. Back at home , I fell asleep with the Tansen lyrics still swirling in my ears -
'Lat's go
Jiyo utho badho jeeto
Tera mera Jahaan let's go
Oh yaaron, yeh India bulaa liya
Diwaano yehIndia bulaa liya...bulaa liya'
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