LOVE, LOGIC AND THE GOD’S ALGORITHM
(A story how Innovation surpassed CTRL-C and CTRL-V in Indian I.T. Industry)
"In his debut novel, Saptarshi ventures into an untouched arena altogether with unique style of writing. A beautiful tale of a person's search for his inner self. An Inspiring story for today's youth"
- Kunal Bhardwaj, Author of the best-seller 'Love was never Mine'
“Basu writes in a suave and candid manner, portraying the shades of the IT industry and covering it with a tale of an individual's search for his identity, his soul
- Faraaz Kazi, author of the best-seller 'Truly Madly Deeply'
To my parents and Lopa,
My sole reason for happiness
&
To Mr. N. R. Narayana Murthy,
My sole reason for being in IT
Acknowledgements
Something, somewhere is very much divine.
That’s what I had always felt while me doing mistakes in every facets of life and someone helping me out from troubled zones. I feel this is because I am blessed to stay with two living God, My Maa and Baba.
No creation in this whole world is a single-handed effort and what’s more, if there were not some people who always influenced the flight of my life, this novel was a distant possibility.
I would like to thank my wife, Lopamudra who had sacrificed many a night’s sleep to see a writer in me. She is and always was the first reader, editor and critic of my work. It’s only because of her constant encouragement that today you are holding something creative.
I am indebted to my adorable and highly qualified (she is a PHD, make me feel so illiterate at times) sister and my Jiju.
I would like to thank my friends and fellow Infoscions - Amlan, Arun, Priyo for having faith in me and believing my book to be a best seller even without reading it.
I am really indebted to my seniors and Supervisors in TCS like Subhram Da, Gobindo da, Abhijit Da for helping me roam around the world and even ignoring my mistakes while I fumbled with the codes. Thanks for your enormous help, at least I got some time to write while watching the Thames.
My team - Sumona, Rupsa and Sumon for their valuable editing and inputs.
To fellow writers like Kunal, Faraaz, Abdullah, Durjoy, Nikhil and others for constantly encouraging me. My association with all the budding talented writers through Facebook has been a very enriching one.
To the readers of Tataworld who encouraged me to move on. I would like to specially thank the readers of my blog for their wise comments and support.
Prologue
As the patrolling van’s suffocating thick soot slowly died, Nabo silently stalked the van disappearing into the shadows of that gloomy night. Horrified and timorous, for a few minutes, his brain sank into a total logjam.. Drilling deep into his trouser pockets he mined for his mobile. His shivering fingers botched on the mobile’s keypad, confused about whom to call first. Saptak’s dad? He thought. However, he buried that thought presuming the news may not be tolerable for that man’s feeble heart. Srini? Second thought pounced upon Nabo’s clustered mind. He allowed that thought too to drain out. He felt like blowing up Saptak’s nose with a hard punch. Nabo quivered as he scrolled top to bottom, and top again through his contact list – Aisha, Anand, Antara, Bijoy, Bishnu, … Chandru… ‘Oh yes, yes yes! Chandru can save us,’ Nabo cajole his soul.
---------------------------0-----------------0-----------------------------
The police station at Kestopur had merrily drowned in the drowsiness of a catnap when the police officer Narayan Seal, thundered into the room, holding Saptak and Oxy by their collars. Saptak was completely out of his trance by now. A firm blow had miraculously evaporated the intoxications of whisky and grass. Falling at the officer’s feet, he moaned, ‘please sir, extremely sorry sir, r konodin o korbo na sir, please sir. (Please Sir, forgive me, I will never do it again)’ ‘Chop Saala,’ Narayan roared hurling another slap at Saptak. ‘Put these bastards in the cell,’ he ordered a drowsy constable before angrily storming out of the room.
Chapter One
The Performance Appraisal Cycle
Quarterly Performance Appraisal Meeting
What bull shit! I know I will be getting a rating 1, UNSATISFACTORY, anyway.
Attendees: Srini, Chandru, and me.
Value addition towards the organization in last quarter!
Errrgh, I have learned to copy-paste faster. Ah! But I can’t say this to Srini. Damn!
I flunked in the Six Sigma exam.
Srini’s Comments – Needs to improve
Project performance:
Highly unsatisfactory. Commented Chandru, the sick dick who bums around with girls most of the time.
Srini’s Comments – Needs to improve
Communication Skills
Chandru’s Comments – Doesn’t communicate properly with team.
Srini’s Comments – Needs to improve
Leadership Ability
Nil, he demotivates people - Chandru
Srini’s Comments – Needs to improve
Targets for next quarter – Need to clear the six sigma exams, take up some of Chandru’s work as he is over-loaded (over-loaded??? He is always playing bantumi in his mobile.)
The sudden darkness kissed the night,
Flashes of beam going past,
Swirling bees all drooping in,
The honey dew petites curl within,
Shaking deeply in tequila blast.
“Shimmer and Swirl” was shaking heavily in that grave punk music.
It resembled a ghost house with dancing lights flashing randomly all across the room and continuous shrieks that very distinctly aural from outside.
‘Repeat,’ yelped Captain Oxy passing his glass to the bartender. He smiled at Oxy while replenishing the glass with Smirnoff peg. . Oxy sat on a tall bar stool near the bar counter relishing the petite beauties with his eyeballs and vodka with his lips. Friday nights were to repose – a principle that everyone on the dance floor obliged to.
Like the usual Friday nights, this one too was raucous.
On the dance floor, a chubby middle aged man, like a snake charmer, swirled his belly to the hip Eminem rap. His deep pink shirt shabbily tucked in an ostentatious yellow trouser amused Oxy.. A frivolous fair girl with large, perfectly shaped breasts danced closely, caressing that brazen personality at times. The rainbow coloured beams from the chandelier above flashed randomly, that continually lit the dance floor and the girl’s hair look auburn. Quite appealing, thought Oxy as he finished his Smirnoff bottoms-up. Whilst the alcohol flowed, the girl started to appear more appealing, as Oxy could not control taking his inebriated eyes off that girl’s bust and heart shaped behind; truly making it a “Night to Remember”, as the Bryan Adam’s track aptly played in the background.
Not able to control further, Oxy hurtled to the dance floor. Not able to find any partner, he enjoyed in one corner of the dance floor, all by himself, tapping to the music. .
Oxy had noticed a girl dancing alone in the crowd. To his delight, that shimmering hot girl in tight tank tops turned towards him Oxy and started dancing closely. He had been a regular to “Shimmer and Swirl”, as it provided an excellent opportunity to hook on to hot babes. Besides there was no risk as those frequenting “Shimmer and Swirl” were of noncommittal types, believing in one-night-stand.
Gradually the distance between Oxy and that girl was waning. He could smell her mildly erotic perfume interspersed with exotic hair odours. His spectacle traversed down from her eyes to her lips, and then to her bosom, where he could see her comely breasts rhythmically popping to the musical tunes.. Oxy tried to exchange few smiles. She returned them with an inconspicuous gesture and continued dancing.. She must be too drunk to understand anything, Oxy thought.
The DJ hollered few lines in rap style and played a Pink Floyd track. The crowd reciprocated with deafening applauds.
A group of youngsters, mostly teenagers, were engaged in a Tequila competition. A thin girl of tiny stature from that group whirled around and jeered aloud, totally uncontrolled gulping down taut shots of Tequila one after the other. They must be the Call-centre ones working next to my Office. Oxy could recognize few girls from that group; they seemed familiar. “Perhaps they are from the call center next to my office,” Oxy murmured and continued his mild dance moves.
Suddenly the Tequila shooter girl collapsed to the floor and barfed. The drunken lassie had become the center of attraction.. A hefty pink-turbaned Sardarji hurriedly carried her to the washroom.
The music paused. Only for a moment though. Hooting, shouting, hopping, jumping began immediately. No one cared a fuck, as if.
Oxy’s proximity to the auburn haired beauty had reduced to micrometers now. He slowly moved his hand around her waist and tightly gripped her, pulling her so close that he could now feel her Old Monk flavoured breath. She looked up at Oxy for a moment. She tried to say something. However, her decibels were too low to beat the thumping music that night. She continued boogying to Pink Floyd tunes. She drooped on Oxy at times. Trying to maintain her balance, she tried to get hold of Oxy. Her voluptuous breasts rubbed against Oxy’s chest. He felt pleasured.
‘Hi, I am Kuntal. What’s your name,’ Oxy shouted in her ears while shaking his legs in sync with her. ‘Nita, Nitashree’ she rumbled. Do you want a drink? She gestured Oxy to stoop down closer to her mouth and then she whispered something inconspicuous into his ear. ‘You want Vodka?’ Oxy cross checked while she nodded and went back into alcoholic trance.
. Oxy ordered his drink and waited his time gazing a couple that was passionately lip locked, happily enjoying their waiting time.. The crowd was increasing in number. Numerous legs were now grooving to the dance tunes. ‘Two Smirnoff large with Lime cordial’, Oxy shouted at the bartender who astonished the crowd with his juggling genius. Neatly balancing the glasses, Oxy cruised through the dancing crowd, making his way straight to his new discovery, Nita.
Lot of new faces had now crowded the dance floor. Oxy rifled for the squint eyed girl through the flashy dancing lights. He could notice few known faces enjoying with their respective girlfriends.
Precipitously Oxy spotted a bald head blazed with the rainbow shades of the disco beams. It was Srinivasa. Oxy was quick to recongnise him. Chandru accompanied Srinivasa. Oxy had met them several times at “Pick and Stick Technologies” parties. To save himself from troubles of cooking, at times Srinivasa accompanied Nabo and Saptak. Oxy looked at them suspiciously wondering what those brats were doing there.
What Oxy witnessed next literally shocked him. His newly found lust lady was shaking hands and exchanging licentious smiles with Srinivasa group. Oxy quickly positioned himself within millimeter range eavesdropping on their conversation.
‘Srini, this is Nita. Meet my Boss, Srini,’ Chandru introduced them.
Chandru apologized for being late blaming it on the city traffic. Nita pardoned him. How long have you been here?’ Srini enquired.
‘I came around 9. ,’ Nita replied smilingly.
Oxy was in extremis as it was evident that Nita and Chandru knew each other.
‘So, where are we going tonight?’ Nita asked, ‘we can’t go to my place, as my roommate is back from Delhi.’
Looking at Srini’s nervous face, Nita got into a mischievous mood, ‘is this your first time?’ she queried impishly. ‘Damn fuck! The deal is already done. You moron, Oxy, you have lost the chances for tonight,’ Oxy cursed himself. . He had rosily visualized fantasies for the night while getting her vodka. All dreams were slashed now. His heartbeat went into diminishing notes, a typical heartbreak like. It pained a lot. Not in his heart though, much below it, right in the center between the thighs.
Angered Oxy gulped down both the pegs, bottoms up. Vodka shots didn’t help much though. The heat made his eyes water. No, he wasn’t crying. The shots drizzled straight down his throat nearly burning it and sank into his belly charring the intestines. His experience of one night stand at Shimmers was always accidental. He had been lucky most of the times to hook onto someone but it never went beyond that. This frustrated Oxy all the more. And this time here, everything was happening in front of his eyes, right from the planning of the game to its implementation, who, where, when, discussed very neatly. He felt like kicking Chandru in his balls. ‘That wily bastard has snatched my prey, my pleasure of the night,’ Oxy murmured with his vodka soaked heavy tongue.
It was known to all that Shimmers also doubled up as a pick-up point at times. Oxy had heard about that in his close circle. Most girls from the eastern border of the country who came to study in city colleges were into that business to accommodate their leisure expenses. However, Oxy had not been propitious as yet to find such a girl who could grace his male libido. As he recovered from the cycle of his misfortunate thoughts, Oxy saw that Nita, Chandru, and Srini were leaving. ‘Ah! So threesome tonight,’ Oxy thought to himself. He decided to follow them, a temptation her could not resist. Srini appeared very happy as he walked close to Chandru with his hand around Chandru’s shoulder. A faint hawkish smile spread all over Oxy’s face looking at Chandru’s all out effort to please Srini. ‘Bloody ass licker,’ Oxy’s brain was clouded with all sorts of thoughts as he kept following them, ‘at times an IT engineer has to stretch more than his accustomed scope of work to get things done’.
How the Enterprising Software Engineer does earn a Promotion?
Never leave behind a single moment to praise the appraiser, who will be most likely your reporting manager. Appreciate his hair style (even if he is bald!), his dressing sense (a bright yellow shirt with a pink trouser) and every nitty-gritty details of his existence.
Appreciate his tremendous hard work at all the meetings although you know he plays FarmVille all the day and was just snoring off in the meeting.
Follow his shadow everywhere he goes, even to the loo. (but don’t look into or start praising his size, it might send some wrong signals)
Look deep into his interests in the girl (or girls) of your team and try to fix them for a Café-Coffee Day conference.
At times lateral thinking helps, like looking into his likes or dislikes (e.g. a particular brand of cigarette or scotch he takes) and fetching them to him.
Have at least four to five birthdays in a year, which gives the opportunity to take him out and let him drink on your hard-earned money.
Show yourself busy (even without business) at all times in front of your manager.
When the appraisal time comes, repeat the above points religiously each and every day.
The wild chase through the deserted roads of Kolkata with its melancholic swirl infused a sudden life into the dying night. Srini’s Honda city was cutting through the haunted roads. Oxy had hard time keeping pace with them in his 160 CC Apache. The sudden red light at the signal came to his help. The Honda city came to a sudden halt with a shrieking noise.
A shrill laughter could be heard from inside the car. It must be Nita, Oxy thought.
Chapter Two
The Present Perfect
For
all your days prepare,
and
meet them ever alike,
when you are the anvil, bear,
when you are the hammer, strike.
-
Charles
Edwin
Anson Markham
(1852 - 1940)
Jan
07, 2011
10 AM at TechnoPolis, Innovation TechLabs Pvt Ltd. Office Boardroom.
The boardroom, although small, literally sparked with energy and vibrancy.. Around the table sat four men and two women, all clad in business attire and trading serious stares with each other. The Harvard Business Review, with its flickering pages, sat on top of the table watching everyone. Outside, the cold breeze has spread its wings sending chill waves of excitement throughout Kolkata. Sipping hot coffee in such weather is imperative. The smell of hot coffee filled the room. On one wall of the boardroom had a poster clung to a big red nail. The poster read:
When the heart meets the mind,
When the unbreakable sails through,
When devotion meets labor,
All the dreams come true.
The room had a closet at one corner. The fresh Mauve Berry coating on the walls had given it a smart new look.
Having exchanged few smiles with everyone present, Saptak stood up to speak.
‘Very good morning to you all. You might have surmised why I have called this meeting today. Primarily it is to synopsize how we have contoured in last 3 years, what have we accomplished and most importantly envision our future steps to keep the momentum going. We have had astounding ride coupled with perseverance and dedication, which has brought us to this position and helped us grow to this size in such a short span. We are one of the most exciting companies among the new ones in our industry today, all attributed to our all-round efforts, concrete vision, and teamwork. . It indeed makes me feel proud and I am sure you all feel the same. This very boardroom has had extremely nostalgic moments, remember Nabo,’ Saptak took a pause looking at Nabo. Nabo returned the gesture with a cherished smile.
‘We, Nabo and I, started our respective IT careers in this very boardroom. Yes, this building once belonged to “Pick n Stick Technologies Pvt. Ltd.”. Today, after acquiring PNS, Nabo and I have materialized our dreams. However, we still have miles to go. In last three years we have managed to increase our revenue twofold, we are growing at 200%, I can very well say that. Nonetheless we can neither afford nor dare to be complacent, as the whole world has its eyes set on us. This New Year brings with it lot more challenges as we position ourselves among the top players. The competition is getting stiff.
Saptak paused. His looks were so intense, full of inspiration. He infused encouragement as he spoke. He looked obsessed like an explorer who has just landed on the shore of a new world, dying to unearth what lies ahead. He hurriedly took a sip of coffee. As he took his hand near the mouth, his diamond studded Rolex sparkled from beneath the cuffs.
‘In the coming year, our principal objective will be to sell our financial Business Intelligence product ‘IntelliStatics’ to a wider customer base and to expand further into new geographies. Our target is to go global. We will need 200 new professionals, highly skilled, to achieve this goal. We will have to be sure that our new talent makes us stronger, wiser and bolder so that we don’t miss on our target and commitments. Remember we have set very rigorous targets and tight deadlines for ourselves,’ Saptak had arrived at the trail end of his speech.
Saptak asked Nabo to send the list of new customer prospects. He requested everyone to meet again on coming Friday to finalize things further for the year and chalk out a detailed success plan. He thanked everyone looking straight at his richly experienced team, and took leave from the boardroom. The team thanked Saptak in return. The silence then broke into hustle bustle of chairs, whispers, smiles, giggles, and sighs.
Saptak carried his coffee and the Harvard Business Review with him to his cabin. Saptak slowly finished his coffee taking pleasure in his own personal space. He became contemplative of those rare moments of the journey he took to come to this level. He flipped through the Harvard Business Review, made some sharp observations and parked few pointers in his mind. Looking out through his glass cabin, he could see people going about their work. City of joy was booming with its billions of inhabitants all out on their way. A shivering kite flew past his sixth floor window. His eyes wandered until they settled on the bus stand. People herded at the bus stand. School children with their mothers, men eagerly waiting for the bus, hawkers plying their wares – all were there.
Saptak smiled. A swarm of past memories blew past him.
‘It was there my journey started,’ Saptak mumbled.
Chapter Three
The Past, but not so Perfect
/// <summary>
/// this class performs an important function. What?? God knows // feeling very sleepy
/// </summary>
Private void SendMail_Click (object sender, System.EventArgs e)
{
PicknStick.killMan KillMan = new PNSTech.killman();
// Srini is a kill man
KillMan.UnlockComponent (‘you have to do it!!!’);
Mail.Subject = ‘This is bomb’;
Mail.Body = ‘You are dead’;
Mail.AddTo(‘PNSTech Support’,’support@PNS.com’);
killMail.From = ‘SrinivasaPk < SrinivasaPk @ PNSTech.com>‘;
if (!KillMan.SendMail(Mail))
{
KillMan.SaveLastError (‘ErrorLog.xml’);
}
/// Aisha
is hot, Nabo thinks
The dimness of neon echoed,
As he sat there,
All through the night,
Toiling hard through the lines of code,
Laid out like lines of saluting Knight.
Not a sound could be heard,
Except his fingers relentlessly
Tapping at the key board
Like monsoon on an iron roof.
Deep inside, he was bored,
He looked up and the neon laughed at him,
The code danced before his eyes
But just at his lowest point
A sudden sweet breeze blew past him,
No one knows from where it came,
But it whispered in his ear,
What are you doing here?
July 07, 2007,
9:30 AM at JyotiNagar
A gigantic pang gripped his heart. The tremors were felt a little below his belt though, between his pair of hairy legs, to be particular. He desperately tried to do something; however, the situation did not allow him to do anything. Holding his crotch firmly with his left hand, he signaled for patience with his right hand. But desire had clasped him in its trance and as the time ticked, his urgency kept rising.
Sitting at a window seat in the first row of the bus he could see the driver plainly. ‘How far is it?’ he asked the driver. The bus driver appeared familiar. After a few moments he recognized him as his project manager at the IT organization where even he worked. ‘What is the project manager doing here?’ he asked himself. At least he was on time for once.
The bus was speeding up the rough road, jerking severely. Looking outside, he could see plumes of smoke gliding lazily over the path. In the greeneries by the road sides, men answered their nature calls.
‘It’s only a few kilometers away,’ the bus driver aka project manager grinned at him rocking his head and torso back and forth in sync with the movement of the bus - so much so that it looked as if he was dancing to an unheard tune. He twisted and twirled the steering wheel frequently as if he was on a fair ground but not once did the passengers raise their voice in discontent against his ridiculous behavior. At times, it even felt like they would be thrown out of the bus window.
Saptak felt uneasy, overstrained, and grew more and more melancholic with every passing minute. He could see many co-passengers standing by his side holding on to the rods overhead. One among them, with a knife in his left hand, was staring at him for no particular reason. ‘If I get up from this seat, I might lose it and will not be able to sit for the rest of my journey,’ he told himself and asked the driver again, a little louder this time, ‘How far is it?’
‘Only a few kilometers more,’ repeated the driver loudly while he continued spinning the steering wheel like a child’s toy.
A co-passenger, who was watching him, told him reassuringly, ‘It is fine that you attend to your need from the bus itself. Go ahead, do it through the window.’ Thanking him with a nod, he pushed aside the window pane and relieved himself. The force of his pee resembled water gushing out of an open dam. Luckily the window was low enough for him to do it sitting on the seat. Occasionally he looked behind to ensure everyone else on the bus was sleeping. After a while, he zipped up his pants and said ‘Cool…’ with a ear to ear grin as a sign of great satisfaction.
Having accomplished the job, he fell sound asleep within a minute. The relief did not last long enough though. Now that he was comfortable he wanted to micturate again. It puzzled him when the bus conductor called out his name: ‘Saa-ppp-taa-kkk...’
‘Fuck! The conductor has identified me. I need to wind up,’ he thought.
But the unpleasant liquid didn’t seem to stop. Contrastively, it regenerated itself like the river water replenished from an unknown source in the Himalayas. As he tried to zip up the fly, he could see the salty water getting sprayed in the air bedewing many places on its course.
‘Hey Sapta,’ the voice came closer.
‘It seems the conductor knows my nickname too,’ he murmured.
The conductor tapped him on his right shoulder.
‘Get up, you idiot. Aren’t you ashamed of sleeping like this?’ shouted Bimal, who stood by Saptak’s bed staring straight at him with an expression that would make even a tiger turn tail and run. He was seething with anger at his son who lay curled up in bed, wrapped in a beautiful dream, while rest of the world was up and awake.
The frown on Bimal’s face matched the folds of the bedspread on which Saptak slept. Without waiting for his son’s answer, Bimal pulled the cover with such force that Saptak fell off from the bed banging his butt on the floor. Bimal in all his 56 years and 201 days had always rose at dawn. Blind with anger, he hurriedly folded the lower portion of his candy-striped lungi and stormed out of the room, without issuing another word.
But just as his foot crossed the room’s threshold his conscience assailed him: ‘You are the one responsible for his carefree nature.’
‘What? I didn’t do anything. How can you say like that?’
‘Yes, you didn’t do anything. You didn’t tell him your story.’
‘Stop! stop! That is not my mistake,’ Bimal tried to defend himself, ‘I felt that I should not burden him with my sorrows. I wanted him to be happy. But that doesn’t mean he can forget his responsibilities.’ With that statement, the conscience saw Bimal’s blood pressure rising. Having achieved the intended result, the conscience stepped back in search for some more means to trouble Bimal, who by this time was striding outside to draw fresh air and clear his mind.
The first thing that Saptak had seen that morning was his father’s furious eyes, followed by his bulged out waistline hidden under the white vest. Saptak reacted little to his dad’s anger. He was simply more relieved that the whole embarrassment of peeing from the bus window was just a dream. Little did he know that the dream, which he took so lightly, reflected his personality – in times of strife, he would do anything to maintain his inner harmony.
‘Did I wet anywhere?’ he asked himself while he checked his bermudas and the mattress carefully. After ensuring the bed was indeed clean and dry, he pulled himself up to the table by the bed. The table had a couple of drawers and stood elegantly near the window that faced Debaroti’s house.
The town of JyotiNagar, where they lived, had lots of Banyan trees. Bimal was proud of his furniture made from the wood of Banyan that grew in his own backyard. He would often be heard boasting loudly about the furniture to his friends. By now, Saptak had got used to his words. ‘Did you see this?’ Bimal would call his guests’ attention to his furniture. ‘I designed it myself and personally instructed the carpenter in every step of its construction. I picked the right wood myself. You know, it isn’t easy.’ The guest is then expected to look the furniture over admiringly and exclaim, ‘Hey Bimal, this is marvelous! You are a great artist.’ If that description didn’t suffice, leaving the guests unimpressed, Bimal would add some more points, ‘This is genuine wood. You will not see this type of wood anywhere other than JyotiNagar. It has special properties and is much cheaper too.’ Bimal would continue to add a long list of features about his wood until eventually the guests feel forced to agree with him and nod their heads in appreciation – after all no other furniture in the world must have been so repeatedly and lovingly polished by so many superlatives.
On that renowned glorious table, Saptak found his black Sony Ericson between his personal file and Harry Potter. The phone displayed 10:40 AM, Saturday, July 07, 2007.
There was an unopened sms in the inbox. He opened it and it read:
TD-Jotish
Good Morning. Today is a great day to win love, affection and respect.
To know more, dial 033-44443333
He jumped out of his bed and rushed to the restroom making a distinct thumping sound with his footsteps. ‘The damned Project Manager, Srinivasa, troubles me in my dreams also,’ he murmured.
------------------------0-------------------------0-------------------------
The City of Joy had woken up much earlier. It stirred endless whirls of honking buses, smoke clouds puffing out from the chimneys, school children and their mothers running on the road, city trams moving lazily, beggars howling and hawkers shouting. Few health conscious guys could be seen running on the road meandering past the horny auto-rickshaws. A thick plume of dust glided away as the sweepers started their morning chore.
The air filled with burning petrol smell tried to pluck out the last bit of oxygen from the lungs.
In that small, inconspicuous office in Technopolis, Srinivasa Padukonda was drowned in thoughts while sipping his first coffee of the day, sitting in the boardroom. The white plaster had popped out at places making the brick work within clearly visible, which looked very shabby making the room look more like a “boredroom” than the boardroom.
The words ‘Let our motto drive us to our goal-Creating the Stick that beats its Pick’ bright yellow and red were inscribed on the black coloured poster neatly designed inside a wooden frame that loosely hung on the wall.
Srinivasa was staring out of the window resting his left palm on one edge and tapping his right hand finger nails on the window glass. The sky of Technopolis looked dark and gloomy. . He conjectured that it might rain heavily.
‘May I come in, Sir’, made Srinivasa’s heavily brooding clouds evaporate. He was back from his ecstasy to business and Pick and Stick Technologies. He saw Chandrasekhar better known as Chandru standing in front of his chair. With him, a new face, whom Srini did not recognise. ‘Sir, he is Soham, our new recruit. He has joined us a trainee Software Engineer. I think he can be a good replacement for Saptak,’ Chandru introduced the new guy to Srini. Srini looked deep into his eyes, as if he could pierce right into his soul and check the new guy’s conscience. The new recruit was trembling a little. ‘That’s a good sign. Nothing like a little fear can motivate one to work hard,’ Srini thought to himself. Srini liked that, the feeling of power and control, the fact that his words and actions could change lives and he always wanted his employees to know it.
He smiled.
‘Welcome to PNS. I think you must be proud to be part of one of the finest IT companies out here. Chandru, I hope you will make him productive as fast as possible,’ Srini spoke as if he was talking about an expandable memory drive or a new processor upgrade, ‘Ok I think we are done. I have a call now with a client. Best of luck Soham,’ Srini ended the conversation and signaled them to leave.
And without another glance in his direction, Srini reached for the telephone receiver and turned his back. Soham was left bewildered with his hands hanging loosely by his sides without a word to say. The expandable memory had already lost its drive.
Chapter Four
The Past, Continuous
A shiver ran down his spine,
He looked everywhere
But no one was there,
Still he heard the whispered words
What are you doing here?
In the luster of a 60-watt bulb, the restroom mirror reflected the image of an averagely built man with a face shaped like cucumber, curly, uncombed hair and wheatish brown complexion clad in a light yellow T-shirt. Saptak had looked better, but who wouldn’t have looked their best after the awakening he had had. The cobweb weaved thick bait across the corners of the mirror. Now safe from his father’s wrath, at least for a little while, his thoughts returned again to his nemesis, Project Manager Srinivasa, and he went into moody silence.
In the restroom mirror, he also saw all the known faces in TechnoPolis where he worked and lived. Srinivasa Padukonda, a man with tight upper lip and bald head accompanied by his Man Friday Chandrasekhar Pattavaiya aka ‘Chandru’. His colleague-cum-roommate, Nabo, a studious guy, usually seen with his spectacles gliding down his nose, and who would later turn into his rival. A beautiful colleague, Aisha. Many of his male colleagues had tried to woo Aisha. And finally, the ‘joint man’, Captain Oxy, a tall and lean roommate, who use to often hang around with Saptak and Nabo. Yes, they were all part of his life. As were the silly talks at night, playing football in the rain during holidays, enjoying porn movies together on Nabo’s laptop in silent mode, in order to maintain their sophisticated IT ‘GOODS GUYS’ impression with Mr.Nimai Lal, the mess-owner, and the “joint-sessions” with Captain Oxy, in which Captain exhibited his exceptional grass rolling skills). A life he had lost faith in. A life that was now behind him.
As he wretchedly searched through the debris of memory, it only churned the filth and dirt, along with the package of pain in his wounded soul.
Saptak flashed back into the memory and remembered the day he had his first bitter experience with Srinivasa, his manager. ‘It was a Monday evening in February...’ he recalled. However, as soon as the clouds of past events raged his mind, a rude interruption asked him to refrain. ‘Hey wait, proceed no further. I don’t like to revisit the past now,’ his heart begrudged painful memories, for it always wanted to remain calm. By then however, entire thought process had taken shape, the picture was forming rapidly – first an outline, gradually drawing into figures gently getting filled with colours, the entire setup lacked only lights, sound, action and the story could be relived.