Time Through the Age

The Hindu : News / International : Digital age loses its leading light

2011-10-06T22:24:00.000+05:30

The Hindu : News / International : Digital age loses its leading light

The Chronicles of Narnia aka Journey of a Tiny Computer Servant

2011-10-02T23:09:00.000+05:30

I tested my first program on dBaseIII-Plus. That was a wonderful experience searching through the two digits telephone directory.
More flexible programming on MS-COBOL and C (first program was copy paste of Ritchie’s Celsius to Fahrenheit convertor)
Mean while learned to use Lotus-123, word star and NDD(Norton Disk Doctor) on MS-Dos 5
Touched with great fear 80286 machine running Unix
Got 35 or 40 floppy diskettes of windows 3.1 painfully installed, a new computing experience – no more unloading running programs.
First overseas assignment FoxPro and VB-4 drilled up many COBOL data files
Manager asked to put Arabic and English text on right and left(I took refuge on MS-Word)
Messy code, programs written for programmers(no matter electricity bills are printing perfectly)
Pompous launch of Windows 95
Acquired first PC with 4MB RAM(working on PC a lighting experience)
Java on the horizon – purchased java 1.1 book by Peter Norton and William Stanek
Started to work on JDBC, XML, Servlet, JSP(some people arrogantly called sun reply to ASP)EJB
Now programming is not simple translation of the algorithm instead it is a process of wiring components off the shelf. He has been transformed to the tiny employee of big aircraft factory and he is collecting several components and sometimes polishing it by pouring little code, and most time running between the web tier and middle tier like a rat in the lumber room of malgudi days.

Irritating Regime

2011-01-16T22:37:00.004+05:30

Yes We all had discouraged by price and scam
Yet My innermost sould ache for riot free India
So,I'am really afraid of a Govt at centre
Who just gaze at bleeding belly and headless body
.......................
Let price soar the sky; I don't want to live in haunting fear!

The boy and the sea

2011-01-12T21:44:00.005+05:30

The boy was seeing the sea first time.
Stunned at the water body,
Advancing and retrieving.
He asked to his mother
who was pulling the sea behind?
It was his mother, she replied

Boy said, Oh! the sea also a naughty boy like me!

Cost of being a gentleman – An encounter with Prof. Subramanian MA, PhD

2010-12-12T20:53:00.001+05:30

My mother was a good reader, that habit was inherited to me. She had read all popular malaylam novels and some translation of world classics by that time. So I was familiar with malaylam authors since fifth standard. I always liked the company of people having some interest in literature. My inclination towards literature was more intense and found its peak during my college days, when most of the science students virtually boycotted second language period, I was very serious and punctual in attending them, It may be the one of the reasons of intact contact with Malathi teacher.

I have vivid memory of PG Wodehouse class taken by Sebastian sir, Shakespeare by Muralidharan sir, Keats and Shelly by Balakrishnan sir, and Shaw by Ramachandran sir. All happened two decade back. After that I didn’t get any opportunity to attend literature classes or acquire friendship of that kind of people. Many times, I longed to get back those days where ‘Shelley’s singing lark hovering at a great height.’

One day really that happened. An old gentleman incarnated before me. He introduced himself as Prof. Subramanian MA, PhD. He talked many things including his career and literature in length. I was really fallen in him. At last he was about to leave asked for some money since ATM was not working(we were talking in front of the SBT ATM. Myself also tried the same ATM). I gave what he wanted with great pleasure. Even though he took my account details, I was not bothered about the amount as I thought It was a great privilege for me to meet and help such a gifted person. Such opportunity never recur. Many days I had complex and mixed emotions - ‘drowsy numbness’. Slowly I forgot that incident as I had to rush to new projects and assignments.

One day evening, I was returning home after hurry purchase. On the way, an old man grabbed my attention. I took little moment to recognize him. He was that old gentleman, Prof. Subramanian. He approached me with a cynic smile and greeted me, and soon unzipped his great vocal power like mark Antony. Mean while he did not forget to pour lavishly praise up on me about my polite characters and enduring interest in classical works. At the end he repeated the same old request, ‘need some money’. This time, sincerely I had very little amount in hand. I gave that to him. But I felt contempt to myself, that has been haunting.

Untold Thoughts of an Anonymous Dog

2008-12-28T22:13:00.005+05:30

I don’t remember where I have born and who my parents are? I was brought here about two years ago. Present master is not bad. She feeds me well that keep my body strong and healthy but she gives nothing to keep my mental health sound.

I was disobedient sometimes protesting against full time imprisonment in the shabby cage. I refused food, I went on hunger strike but she was neither mahatma nor his disciple. So I slowly abandoned my hunger strike and tried to become a dog.

It was in one winter I found my first and last friend. Her name was Betty. My master had taken me to clinic for routine checkup. Betty was lying on the nearby table. Her eyes were weak, she looked at me, and I tried to get away from her. But I could not resist my temptation. I growled at her to show my love, she also reciprocated. Then, I did not know that was the beginning of the end.

I was waiting my master to take me out. But no one turned up; instead the doctor came once again with a syringe. He pushed that on my buttock. I did not remember what happened after that, there had small cut and bandage on the abdomen. I was too late when I came to know the price I paid for showing affection to Betty. On that day I lost my identity and became a real dog.

I knew seasonal changes only when monsoon arrives, clarions of monsoon always thrilled and disturbed me at the same time. Droplets of rain water always made an entry into my dwelling place. So during the monsoon season floor was always wet. When monsoon pour in with her all power and fury, I shown my face near to the window grill and stretched out my tongue to taste oozing virgin drops, when all my grievances and worries washed away along with torrential rain water.

The first floor of my master’s house was left vacant for about one month. She could find suitable inmates only last week. The new family had four members. Initially I was not bothered about them. But one day an incident happened that totally changed my present state of living.

The lady of the upstairs used to burn wastes near my cage, the black smoke suffocated me. None give any attention to my protests. Hearing my continuous barking my master used to say her “I dislike new inmates.” While she is inside the compound they would not let me free. My evening strolling always depends on her. I was compelled to remain in the cage if she was late from office. All these compounded my anger and agony. I was waiting for an opportunity. Finally that happened.

I was outside the cage on that eventful day; blanket of darkness was gradually being unfolded; I found an approaching figure; I clearly recognized her in the dim light. I had neither second thought nor waited for another moment, I quickly leapt over her. My dash was quick and unexpected so that she could not take a defense position immediately, she seemed to be frozen for a moment. She struggled hard to free from me, and kept hitting on me with her carrying basket, and mean while a few from the gathered mob tried to push me away with a fishing rod. The taste of hot human blood agitated me further, and while trying to grab her more tightly in my clutches, I was knocked by a heavy stroke on my head, and I fell down unconsciously. Once again I locked up in the cage where I was totally stripped out of all my little privileges.

May Day

2008-08-29T08:39:00.004+05:30

I was always much concerned with May first because of many reasons. Perhaps, most important one may be my first meeting with my first employer abroad. The incident dates back to 1994. I was living at sharjah. Buying Gulf News and dialing to employers, visiting shawarma (sandwich) shop, and helping sister in kitchen were main activities of those days. Hardly one week gone after my landing on the great dessert city. I got a call from Abu Dhabi, I listened to the tough male voice at other end. It was Mr. Maher Abu Kahdoor , the GM of Markdoor Exhibition Service, Abu Dhabi. He wants Hindi man to maintain his FoxPro system. I was delighted at his offer. I replied positively and agreed to join on May first.

You, readers may wonder why I decided to join on that day when all peasants and workers around the world take rest and renew their pledge and commitment on that day. Then, I was far away from my home land, if I were at home; definitely I would have been the part of a great procession that lead by band of red volunteers of sickle and hammer party. But here at UAE there is no procession, so that I decided to take a one man long march (remember comrade Mao) by taxi to Abu Dhabi. I reached Rolla square to catch a taxi to Dubai creek. It was my first journey to Abu Dhabi; I had heard many fairy tales about Abu Dhabi from my friends. Anyway, Abu Dhabi is a city of many differences, she is quiet, like great sphinx of Egyptian dessert, and she silently watches all the events of Arabian Peninsula. Unlike other emirates, Abu Dhabi has lot of sky scrapers for vertical living, wide and straight roads, less crowded streets, mangroves villages, very long Cornish, greeneries, and expensive cars. It was heard that even sweepers of Abu Dhabi were using BMW cars! There was an amusing story about a Dubai dweller; he owns a small car imported from India. One day, he was about to cross Al Maqta bridge in his car; but, at the entrance itself the traffic police intercepted his route saying that his car look like an ugly spot on their beautiful green city and would damage very concept of clean and beautiful city, so please go back.

It took about four hours to reach the city of Abu Dhabi. I was dropped near the Al Salam Street signal. I could easily find out Juma Al Majid apartment where meeting was scheduled. It was a brand new building situated near Le Meridian and ADMA OPCO. Most of the inmates seemed to be either British or highly salaried employees of oil companies and banks. Surroundings created in me pretty best impression.

I pressed door bell. The door opened noiselessly after a few minutes of silence. A man of age forty with diplomatic nose and silver lines on beard drew it back to let me enter. I introduced myself without entering inside:

‘I’m musthafa, coming from sharjah, today I have an appointment with Mr. Maher.’

He stretched his hand:

‘ Ahlan Wa Sahlan, I’m Maher Abo Khadoor, please get inside.’

It was a well decorated room; pictures of UAE president and Syrian president were hanging on the wall. So, Maher might be from Syria. There was big urn on the corner; strong smell of tobacco was floating in the air. A tobacco tube and apparatus lied on the middle of the Persian carpet and there were half burned cigarettes scattered here and there. I sat in one of the sofas. There were several other antiques, all these created an atmosphere of Arabian nights. Maher came back pulling a vacuum cleaner and murmured in low voice:

‘Get up Eassa.’

I surprised by that name. But it was my mistake. There was another man sleeping in the opposite sofa. When I turned, I found a man in underwear slowly getting up. The scene was irritating and caused nausea in me. But I sought solace in the thoughts that was their place; they had all the freedom of sleeping in any form, with or without clothes. He handed over the vacuum cleaner to that half sleeping man. Mean while I watched his work on the carpet, thus half an hour might gone, a pretty looking, sparingly dressed lady with golden hair entered and asked me to follow her into another room.

I found Maher and another man there; I sat in a chair pointed by the lady. Maher introduced the man sitting beside him:

‘This is Mr.Hussam Al Turk; and she is, Safa Majed. We are business partners. Hussam manages Damascus office and Safa here…’

Mean while Eassa entered into the room with a fax sheet; at that time he was covered with a bath towel reaching to his knee.

When Maher explained about his business and my role; all my spirit and enthusiasm were evaporated. It is better to say I was on the verge of faint. The very offer, FoxPro programmer job seemed to be a mirage in the Arabian dessert, hundreds of kilometers of journey in futile. I was thinking of ways to escape. As if read my face, Husam interrupted Maher:

‘You seemed to be in total confusion?’

I replied:

‘I am not in confusion, but I came here without much preparation; I mean dress, money and finding a place for staying…;’

Maher replied:

‘Look, that’s not a matter at all, you can stay here with Essa, and just opposite is Abu Dhabi Co-operative society for your shopping needs.’

He instructed Safa to pay advance amount.

Maher had offered a very good salary that was unimaginable for beginners like me. But I had no work to do in programming. He was looking for an all-rounder so that his business would go smoothly and my career in FoxPro would be sidelined and at last perished. All my days would begin in kitchen preparing Turkish coffee and bringing food from Kentucky and Lebanese restaurant.

I didn’t wait for Safa to come back. I reched back my Sharjah home by seven at night where my sister and brother in law were eagerly waiting. “Every marcher who set out for May Day march should come back at their home by night.” This was my promise to my parents that I had never broken!

The magic point in men’s life

2008-07-28T09:22:00.003+05:30

About nineteen years have gone since the death of my great grandma. She was really great in all aspects. Her life was colorful but was less eventful. She had lived her life at a calm and quiet village where people only knows to love. Now I remember one incident: I was a small child at that time. She used to take me for bath every evening. I was always taken beside the well attached to my house. She would apply coconut oil all over my body half an hour before the bath and gently stroke my limbs. On one such an occasion; she pointed at a man crossing to the opposite shore by a ferry; my former husband almost looked like him. I came to know that my mother was born from her second marriage. But, as a child I am not much bothered about these kinds of matters. But this time, an example like this put me in a totally different perception that sown some kind of childish arrogance in me, because my grandma is sharing big things with me.

She had three brothers, my grant uncles. The eldest one was a singer who performed in marriage ceremonies and local functions; the other two were school teachers. The last uncle was small time trespasser in social life. So there always would be some talk about him in the family gathering. Whenever talk turns against him grandma get involved and deviate it very diplomatically saying he would be good after his forty, so please forgive him. This was occasional uttering of grandma whenever negative talks come against any one.

One day I asked about the secret of forty. She said: “oh son; do you know all prophets got prophet hood in their forty. Why angel Gabriel didn’t visit them up to that age? There was a great secret behind it! Men start true living from this age; his perception about life under goes dramatic changes. If he had lived for the moment before forty, now everything from him is for his soul and eternal truth. Earlier, all his action and reaction were for the call of his stomach now is for his heart. So what you acquire, what you learn, and what you earn could not be validated till you pass forty.” When I raised some doubts; she cleared it with one example: “you know some trees they produce fruits in its tender age. But it is not as good and tasty as one from old aged one. Thus one cannot keep a distant hope about a person, who lives in total darkness after passing forty.

Yesterday, I read one report quoting a British science magazine, “…so the studies shows that men start their actual living after their age forty.” I remember yesterday was the death anniversary of my great grandma. Now I am also hopefully see my approach to point forty after few years. So my great grandma, I am fully optimistic about your vision; and believe all my present state would be changed once I touch that magic point.

In search of Phila

2008-05-29T17:10:00.002+05:30

I had spent half of my childhood at a place where nature blends all of her eternal beauty in abundance. Eight kilometer long and hardly three kilometer wide was my birthplace. I could watch both sunrise and sunset without moving anywhere. I used to wakeup to the nostalgic view of Western Ghats and Valapattanam river. The river Valapattanam joins with Arabian Sea just one kilometer away from my home. My school situates about five hundred meter away from this estuary.

I had met several teachers during my long pursuit of knowledge. But Phila was one of the teachers still I have been searching to meet again. She was one of the rare beauties. Her way of teaching, her way of dressing, her way of walking, and anything and everything from her had a buoyant charm. She wore a new saree everyday, that was astonished me; so I thought and still thinking she might had more than three hundred sarees, and beautifully and artistically stitched blouses. She used to wear high-heel sandal even though she is pretty tall. Her curly black hair was beautifully clipped each day in different style.

One day, social studies teacher announced Phila’s engagement and her long leave. She came back and started teaching after one or two months of her marriage. But I noticed much difference in Phila of post marriage; she had lost her earlier agility, she tried to smile as before but it seemed to be failed attempt. As eleven or twelve years old boy I could not grasp the meaning of these sudden changes.

On that summer vacation, after the completion of my seventh standard; our family shifted to new house at new place where I could see neither sun rise nor sun set. I had new school and new friends; I gradually began to forget about Phila.

One day, after twenty years; I found a young girl on the street; all my deeply buried memories about Phila suddenly turned green and got new life. Now it has become my restless habit to enquire about Phila with these girls having Phila’s look.

Children's Wisdom

2008-05-22T17:19:00.003+05:30

I was late today too; my children surrounded me prohibiting my entry to study room. This time, the female goon wants some explanation from me that is very clear from their rebellion mood. Elder daughter, Shibila wants to know the reason for lateness. I repeated same old story once again. They are not ready to accept that. Next was Hanna’s turn, she smelled my hand as she wants to know whether delay is due to the restaurant visit. She declared; “this time no outside meal”. The third one, Shazna made rejoicing noise as if she is sure about her dad’s honesty.

Shibila started her argument (you may refer the famous book by Amartya Sen, The Argumentative Indian ): “Dad is working too late so you might be getting too much money, why don’t you get us new pair of shoes?”

Mean while Hanna supported Shibila’s argument: “I too want shoe!”

As usual Shazna turned down their argument: “only three months back they got multi-coloured sandal; so I am really in need of a new frock; I always use same frock while going park”.

Shibila took the scene: “…Dad; now you may say; I don’t have money; I have solution; Reshma’s papa is a loading and unloading worker he is earning too much money; look at Akhil’s papa he is a driver; why don’t you take up that kind of job? I think that job is better than teaching work”.

I interrupted Shibila: “.. you know status and dignity of teaching job?”

Shibila: ”what is dignity and status?; your daughters have no clothes, no shoes and you are not even getting us children’s magazines? So, please dad; resign this; and at least take up a carpenter job”

Simple Living

2008-05-19T15:08:00.004+05:30

Today is 3^rd day of my simple living. It is not exactly like Thoreau’s Walden (http://thoreau.eserver.org). Here, I have been leading a solitary life as my wife and children left to hometown for their vacation.

I was taken food preparation as a challenge. Every day, I try to open new ways to same thing to defeat my wife. My debut was a great success. It was preparation of UPMA. It was a successful implementation of new iterative style (not only in software).

First I mixed all ingredients like rava, sliced onion, Sault, Ginger, carrot, turmeric powder, and green chilly and then poured in to dancing mustard seeds hot ghee pot; and stirred continuously by adding little water (iteration). So it produced a great upma with fantastic flavor. Only disadvantage I found was my fulltime presence.

As a great enthusiast and winning flag carrier I took the next great leap (remember Don Quixote). This time my effort was channeled to a wonderful curry. I went to market, there found fresh mackerels, bought half dozen, on the way; I noticed sardine eggs that also hauled into the bag. I proudly rejected cleaning offer by the fish selling lady because I want to master the art of fish cleaning so that I could defeat my wife in that sphere too.

Thus two and half hours effort fulfilled my task. Good aroma was emitting out of the pot. I quickly took a shower and then served all on plates and sat in front of it. But I could not swallow even single morsel. I really had remembered my mother and wife who used to spend most of their time in kitchen, still they manage to eat food they prepare!

The failed hero once again started (depended) bread and jam verities. Simple living with simple and limited supplies.

Here is my grand salute to all mothers, sisters, wives and rest of the kitchen folks.