My Dream Jobs..............

Date: June 10th 2002
Place: Trivandrum, Kerala, India
Time: 09:00 hours

I was wearing a deep blue full sleeve formal shirt with a silverish-grey colored formal trousers and a chic silver tie. My hairs were neat with a healthy bounce, thanks to the shampoo and my boots had a high shine. I needed to look good. After all who does not want to look good on the first day of your work life?

I wanted to be a software engineer from way back in 8th standard in 1993 when I discovered I was good in programming. On that summer day of 2002 my dream turned into a reality. The next few years were a great ride and it still continues. No, I have not won a Nobel Prize yet, not even filed for a patent yet; but the work keeps me interested and I guess I feel I am very much at the right place.

But then this blog is not about boring you with the details of what I do day in and day out. I am changed from a kid of standard 8th and today if I were to dream about choosing a profession, what will I pick?

Presenting to you, a one of kind countdown! A countdown of my dream jobs….. (Spoiler Alert: If you are already tired of your job, I suggest this is the time you quit reading….)

Rank #3: Wild Life Conservationist

I peer down from the helicopter window. Through the shallow cloud layers I see the river Mara. A great drama is being enacted. The river is muddy and has a sharp current. I look closely and I see numerous Wildebeests at the bank. Among the Wildebeests are many Zebras and Thomson Gazelles.

All the animals are piling on top of each other and their cries and grunts are growing louder and louder. The annual migration of 2 million strong mega herd has reached its last leg. Surely it is the most dramatic phase of the migration and I am in the planes of Kenya and Tanzania in East Africa where the herd of 1.5 million Wildebeests, 500,000 Zebras and 300,000 Thomson Gazelles would cross the mighty Mara River to reach the safe heaven of the Savannah grasslands. But the animals are scared. And there is a real reason for the scare.

As soon as the first Wildebeest jumps into the water the rest make a mad dash for it. From the Helicopter window I see the herd start its spectacular river crossing that happens each year. The heroic herbivores who have partaken in this marathon of over 800 km are now doing the final lap. But not before they get tested.

In blink of an eye a huge group of Nile Crocodiles appear from their watery camouflage. The herd is attacked from all sides by these powerful predators who have been patiently waiting for their turn to sink their dagger like teeth in to the herd’s flesh. As the crocs take a few victims, drown them, tear their bodies apart and chew on the flesh, the mega herd crosses by. The muddy river is now a full continuous line of thousands of animals crossing with their new born calves, mothers, alpha males and other members in search of greener grass. What a sight……

Welcome to Serengeti National Park, Tanzania. I work here as a wild life conservationist looking after this annual mega herd migration and seeing the biggest drama in the animal kingdom unfold in front of my eyes. I deal with lions, hippos, elephants, crocs, cape buffaloes and many herbivores and ensure that the planet never sees a day when these magnificent animals don’t roam it.

The world is full of amazing bio diversity. The outrageous Okavango Delta, the amazing Amazon Rain Forests, the eerie Gobi Desert, the fabulous Gangetic Delta of Sunderbans, the harsh Russian Siberia, the frigid Arctic…. I can never get bored of the wonders and what best I don’t just sit and write stupid blogs about it, I strive to keep them in pristine conditions. I love my job!

Rank #2: Mountaineer

It is -17 degrees outside. The weather looks good. The group leader gets off the radio. It is a go from the Abruzzi Spur base camp! The team gathers around for one last time together. It is 05:00 hours and we may have full 14 hours of daylight to complete the ascent to the summit. We are 600 meters shy of the magic 8611 meter mark of the summit of K2.

The team is an experienced lot. We have 14 climbers from different parts of the world with one mission, to climb the toughest mountain on the face of the planet. The same team did the other extremely challenging climb of Mount Annapurna and the spirits are high. I am not marked a summiteer, which means I am not designated to reach the summit. I would be playing my part in the team so that the earmarked climbers can summit and the mission meets its objective.
Not every climber summits in a challenging climb like these. The team rallies around the most efficient climbers who are the chosen summiteers. You have to respect a mountain which claims one out of every four who try to climb it. You have to respect a mountain which has not let anyone conquer it in the winter months till date, a fate shared by only one more mountain- Mount Annapurna which this team has tamed in the past.

We work with extreme caution. We are at the final hurdle of the climb, the “Bottleneck”. It is an extremely narrow gully (couloirs) with major overhangs of ice columns (serac) that intersect the crevasses of the glaciers. One false step and the whole group’s safety would be compromised. We are now very much in the death zone, which means altitude in excess of 8000 meters, a dizzying altitude!

The view from here is surreal. The sun is bright and I can see white cotton cumulus clouds below me. Also below me is the rugged south face of K2 which goes right down to the Godwin Austin glacier. White snow and blue sky, the vastness of each just mesmerizes the beholder. Around me are the various Karakoram peaks, all wearing white coats of snow.

“We did it. We did it.” The radio shrieked. The voice was shrill and everyone in the team pumps their fists. We climbed K2. 6 of our team summit and finally we retrace our path to the camp. The feeling of achieving the summit is awesome. The dedication and the effort that we undertook dotted with courage and amazing sense of team spirit which made this possible fills me with deep satisfaction.

What next? There are so many above 8000 meter peaks to choose from; Makalu, Dhavalgiri, Kunchenjunga…. I can never get bored of the wonders and what best I don’t just sit and write stupid blogs about it, I strive to summit them. I love my job!

Rank #1: International Cyclist

The team meeting was tense. I come out of the team tent and check my bike. It is a state of the art carbon fiber made one mean machine. I take a final sip of the energy drink and line my bike up with my team. We are in the final stage of the Tour-de-France. Today we are riding from Longjumeau to Paris over a distance of 105 km.

Our team has 16 riders; each one with a mission. Our number one rider is the one with the Yellow jersey, which means he is still the overall leader of the tour. However, he holds a wafer-thin margin over his closest competitor. Our team’s job is to ensure he protects his lead and reaches Paris as the winner of the tour. We have to put a good show against our closest opponent.

Our opponent team starts in great pace. 4 of their riders storm out and start at a brisk pace. Some of our riders go on hot pursuit of them. I continue in the peloton (the large group of riders riding together) riding just ahead of our number one guy. This ensures that I take the wind resistance and he rides with relatively less wind resistance. This is called drafting and it helps our number one conserve his energy for the final showdown in Paris’ cobblestones and tarmac.
We are cranking a decent pace and overall there is nothing to choose between us and our competition. I and my team take turns in staying just ahead of our guy giving him the benefit of drafting all the time. As we near Paris, the rural France is eaten up by the bustling metropolis’ suburbs. 20 km to finish!

The tempo rises steadily. Some teams drop behind. We are riding strong and fast. The race is reaching its finale. Finally at 2 km to finish line, our number one launches his final assault. He darts from the peloton towards the finish line. I along with a few more sprinters join him to protect him from the sides. Our opponents immediately launch their counter attack.

Everything becomes a blur. We ride like wind with the pilot car blaring its siren just ahead of us. The last 500 meters are hellish. Our number one torpedoes ahead of us and a one on one fight ensues with his rival. A huge crowd has gathered at the finishing line but all I see is a haze of colors.

As I cross the line and get off the bike I hear the cruelest words. “He lost it.” The words hit me like a sharp blow. But amazingly the man is smiling. He must be aching inside. After years’ training, laboring through 21 days and over 2500 km and coming so close and yet remaining so far…. But the man is still smiling, congratulating the victor, sharing a few light hearted words with people, thanking and crediting his team….. That is sportsmanship! You lose some, but you never lose to lose.

International Sports is amazing. I can never get bored of the wonders and what best I don’t just sit and write stupid blogs about it, I strive to compete and learn the spirit. I love my job!

The Reality

By this time, I am sure I have lost a lot of readers.
“This is a rant of a real procrastinator”.
“This is stupid”.
“This is not a blog but a teenager’s fantasy.”
“This is one pathetic attempt of mixing dreams with words”…blah blah……

I am sure I can never ever measure up to what I have put down as my dream jobs; that is why they are DREAM jobs at the first place.
Sure I can not do anything to get these jobs. For a few I don’t have enough knowledge, enough mental and physical fitness and for most due to abject lack of talent. But can I do something to make my job look a little better? I think, yes I can.

For the start, I can definitely take over the leaf of understanding the environment better from the dream of being a wildlife conservationist. I can surely connect to people better and try making the lives for all better by abstaining from petty issues and keeping the focus on bigger goals. I can surely strive to conserve the bests for everyone around me.

From the Mountaineer’s dream I can surely learn to respect the adversaries and prepare myself for them. I can learn to be a great team man and keep my team interest ahead of personal ones. I may not summit, but as a team we must!

From the International Cyclist’s dream I can learn how to lose. Life is not a one way traffic and losses are commonplace. Learning to lose is a great art and being gracious in defeats is the hallmark of the best.

Since you are still with me, let me tell you I do not believe in “Dream Jobs”. Just the way I don’t believe in the fairies and daemons. I think there is nothing as a dream job. Every job has its shares of good and bad, potentials and pitfalls. It is how we absorb them makes it a rich experience. How you will do that is purely onto you.

As far as I am concerned, I see there are numerous avenues to get better. I can never get bored of the wonders and what best I DO sit and write stupid blogs about it. I love my job!

Shop....Shop....Shop....SHOCK!

So, my cousin arrives from a different town to attend a marriage.
She is a vivacious young lady, well read, well dressed, well pedicured-manicured, well mannered and well to do……
So, when she said if I would like to accompany her to the shopping mall for picking a few lipsticks for the marriage function, I said “Ummmmm….AAhhhh…Eeeehhhh….”

Soon I found myself in the parking lot of this uptown mall with my cousin beaming in the co-driver’s seat. I park my car, take the lift and come to this mega shop floor of Spencers.

Before I proceed any further let me make a very honest confession that I am not the kind who enjoys shopping at all. In fact I often fantasize about a great world where you could buy everything online and get them delivered at home. I defer my visit to market places and malls till the time a small trivial need has just started to metamorphose into a full blown panic situation, like if you don’t buy the toothpaste-tomorrow you won’t get to brush your teeth!

Then again, I always find that inside a mall your life seems to go into an algorithm.

Step1: Park your car
Step2: Get frisked and discover hidden wonders in your pockets/jacket linings
Step 3: Take the lift
Step 4: Reach the top floor
Step 5: Loiter around aimlessly at each floor
Step 6: Stop at PlanetM / Musicworld / Book Café etc (probability of a buy is 50%)
Step 7: Force your wife to try a few outfits knowing she won’t buy them
Step 8: Use the escalators for going to lower floors for maximum laze
Step 9: Finally arrive at McDonalds / Subway / Cookie Man / Juice Bar.
Step 10: Eat hastily as if a gun was pointed at your head
Step 11: Take the lift
Step 12: Take you car and go back home with happy memories

Therefore I am a real anti-mall person and my visits to the malls are strictly for three reasons.

Reason 1: Buying ration for the fortnight
Reason 2: Getting a hair cut (blame it on my long hairs which can not be cut in local barber shops)
Reason 3: Watching a movie

In fact none of my last 10 mall visits have been for more than 1 hour. Generally, Mausmi, my wife, and I always fan out at the shopping floor each one with our own agenda of procuring groceries independently. Years’ of experience has taught us about who has an eye for what and therefore we divide the labor and do it in parallel to save time. Thankfully Mausmi is not a mall person herself and we just rush through the ritual in an impressive timeline. So, when I entered the Spencers store with my cousin, I was gearing up for a short brisk stint.

Right at the entrance was this counter of some anti-ageing cream. She stops.

I: “Why stop here. Surely you don’t need these. You are just 26”.
She: “It is for mom.”
I: But we came here for lipstick.”
She: “So, if we buy anything else, will that be a sacrilege?”
I: “But then you can come with your mom. May be she will have a better idea.”
She: “I want to surprise her.”
I: “mmmmm…….”

The lady on the counter was quite attractive, so the 10 minute discussion did not seem too dull! Did we buy it? No.

So, we left that anti-ageing counter and were sucked into appliance section. There was everything on display. Refrigerators, televisions, mp3 players, microwave ovens, dvd players…. She stopped.

I: “Why stop here?”
She: “Are baba, we are in no hurry are we?”
I: “No. not really”
She: “Then let me look na.”

At this moment, a handsome bloke approaches us. He completely ignores me and says: “Good evening ma’am, are you looking for something…..”
She: “Ummmm actually we are looking for….ummmm….”
I: “We are looking for lipsticks”
My cousin turned to me with a look which said “#%$&%*%&*^*(“
The salesman was puzzled. “Ma’am lipsticks are that side.”
I: “Oh thanks a lot.”
Then I tucked at her arm and we left the appliance section.

They say a scorned woman is worth a thousand foes. And I was to learn that.
We stopped at the luggage section.
Soon there were three salesmen enthusiastically demonstrating the various sized trolley cases to her.

“No no no no…. this is not the right size.”
“That will never fit my jackets without folding them.”
“Who carries a black suitcase?”
“This handle will surely break in no time.”
“This will never get inside the trunk of my car…..”

Soon the three salesmen are panting as if they have been fielding the whole day without any success of catching a cricket ball.

Next victim was the grocery help.
She picked up a chocolate doughnut and demanded:” How many calories are in this?”
The saleswoman looked as if you had asked her the capital of Djbouti.

After repeatedly making mince meat of the utensils’ section, food section and clothes section, we finally arrived at the make up desk.

I: (trying to extend an olive branch) “I think this dark brown shade will look good on you; after all you are a fair lady.”
She: (curtly) “I am wearing a pink saree in the function. Brown with pink, how juvenile.”
I: ?????

She turned to the ladies in the counter (who were Northeastern girls) and said “Show me the pink shades please”.
In moments the counter was filled with all kinds of pink.
“Too light”
“Too dark”
“Not glowing”
“It is not water proof”

Then she turned to me and asked; “Dada, what do you say about this one? Isn’t it better than that one?”
To me, this one and that one and the one previous and the one next, all looked just pink and with every passing minute I could sense that I was not in the pink of my health despite being mobbed by chinks showing pinks (no racial abuse intended). I was about to sink.

I: “Ummmm yes it is nice, you know this pink.” I said with a wink.
She: “No, I don’t think so.”
She went back again to the ladies.

I excused myself and went to the men’s room and splashed my face with some water. The mirror reflection looked like a pale replica of my usual upbeat self.
So, finally I started my journey back to the lipstick counter hoping she has picked “her kind of pink”.

50 feet from the counter, my cousin saw me and started waving and king of jumping up and down.
I was relieved. “Looks like we got the stuff.”
I reached with a genuine broad smile.

She: “You know dada, I picked an amazing shade. This is just going to be fabulous. No one in the marriage function is ever going to come close to me…..”
I: “Wonderful.”
She: “Yes, this one has glitters on it, is water resistant, topped with moisturizing elements and the best part is that it offers sunscreen too.” She showed me the lipstick encased in a black sleek looking case.
I: “Wow that’s great. So what shade of pink is that?”
She: “Oh no, this is not pink. This is magenta. See…” She showed me the color.

By now I had started to get scared. A nagging doubt, a chilling suspicion was creeping up my spine.
I: “But your saree is pink right? Will this match?”
She: “Of course not. Are you crazy?”
I: “Then?”
She: “Now we need to pick a magenta saree.”
I: “*##^%*%&^(&^*&&()***&%%&^$”

“Manasij” vs “Monosheej”

Tintin was one my favorite cartoon characters during my childhood days.
I absolutely loved them and enjoyed flipping through the pictures much before I could actually read the English and comprehend the storylines.

Tintin’s talking dog Snowy was a very loveable character and time and again a situation would arrive when Snowy would have a critical choice to make.
Like the picture above, Snowy gets torn between two choices; one delivering the letter to Tintin and two enjoy nibbling the bone…..

The “good” Snowy (as denoted by the white fairy) and the “bad” Snowy (as denoted by the red devil) would wage a battle till one emerged as winner.
And, just in life, so in the comics, the battle of alter egos was really interesting.

This blog is dedicated to the battle of two identities within me.
“Manasij” is a cosmopolitan youth who believes sky is the limit where as the alter ego “Monosheej” (the real Bengali pronunciation of Manasij) is a more anchored to traditions guy- a little fastidious to accept new things, a little frightened of changes and wants to weigh down his alter ego “Manasij”.

Let the battle begin………….

I was born in Kolkata, brought up in Patna, did my engineering from BITS Mesra Ranchi, worked in Trivandrum, Kolkata, Delhi NCR and Indore. Being born as a bong, it was just a matter of time when I started speaking absolutely hilarious and sometimes outrageous Bengal-ised Hindi, like Mamta Bannerjee and Pranab Mukherjee do all the time.

However, my parents sent me to a Hindi medium school, for they wanted me to speak fluent Hindi and appreciate the linguistic richness of Hindi. I grew up reading Nagarjun, Nirala, Premchand, Dinkar and loved them. We used to get the Hindi literature magazine “Hans” at our home each month and that kept me glued to the new age Hindi writers like Azgar Wazahat, Rajendra Yadav et al.

Side by side, my mom was extremely particular about me learning Bengali. So I read all the contemporary and classical Bengali writers ranging from Ravindranath to Satyajeet Roy. And of course, I was reading Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie even before majority of my schoolmates ever new their names; blame it on the Hindi only medium of teaching and thanks to my mom’s English lessons at home.

This exposure to multiple languages paved way for the appreciation and respect for every language and their identities. Advantage to the cosmopolitan “Manasij”!

My childhood days saw the biggest shame of the free India enacted right in front of my eyes. On Dec 6th 1992, we pulled down the Babri Masjid. My family was politically aligned to the left ideology and therefore naturally I disliked it, as a direct result of home grown political beliefs. I would have long debates with my mates, who would defend the destruction and that would bewilder me. The fact that I was brought up in Patna, a deeply casteist society and equally fanatic and that I was swimming against the current, made me appreciate the “different” religions and their customs. Another advantage to “Manasij”.

I ended up marrying a girl after a long standing affair in Dec 2004. She is neither my caste, nor speaks Bengali. But I know you don’t need a linguistic pretext to connect to someone. Advantage “Manasij” once again.

By now, it seemed as “Manasij” was winning all battles hands down. But then on June 10th 2002, I entered a new phase of my life. I joined the beeline of the worker ants of the Indian Software market.

I had entered the software sector dreaming of creating bold software products hitherto unheard off. Soon, I realized that Indian software services scene is a tragedy than a heroic tale of success. Mediocre mundane tasks dominated the scene with ferocity. For the first 4 years of the journey, I largely surrendered to it. I quickly learned about the charms of going abroad, owning flat, driving cars, craving appraisals, anticipating hikes…… “Monosheej” was getting back on track.

If not for an unanticipated governmental dictum of January 2006, may be “Monosheej” would have crushed “Manasij” under its wheels. In Jan 2006, I did a land deal and “Monosheej” was smiling, for finally “Manasij” had succumbed to the peer pressure of buying a land/house/flat. However, a governmental decree sublimated that victory. A six lane highway was to be constructed where “Monosheej’s” kitchen would have been erected.

I don’t know why, but I was gripped by euphoria about this cancellation of the land allotment. I suddenly felt free and save one botched attempt of buying a flat- never again treaded the path!

By then I had moved to a new company, which made software products. Innovation, striving for inspiring ideas became a way of life. The next 3 years, I did some of my best works in the office and met people who seemed very satisfied. As the CTO of the company said: “the pull towards making more money is real, but not at the cost of sacrificing the innovation”. “Monosheej” was in trouble again!

Then, by a quirk of fate, I happen to pick up a mountain bike one day in Oct 2008. That changed the game for “Monosheej” for ever. Now “Manasij” was travelling all over the mountains on his mountain bike and meeting people who turned a mild infection of “zest for life” to a full blown pandemic. I met people who were travelling round the world, meeting people- seeing places- seeking diverse experiences- building friendships- not worrying about an uncertain future but living the present to its best.

Risks exist in life and surely exist in the future. But, the fear psychosis of risk is more paralyzing. Status quo is seductive and always attempts to capsize the voyage to the unknown. As far as I am concerned, “Monosheej” is dead for all he does is psyche “Manasij” about the uncertain future and pulls the strings to walk the path treaded by almost everyone.

Now, a career break for 3 months does not sound scary at all. It appears as an option to pursue an interest with vigor and return to work with more intensity. Neither does a decision that I will not buy a house puts me under any duress. The fascinations of going onsite are long dead and promotions and appraisals have started to look just as mundane as shaving and shampooing.

Life is a great journey and I am surely a very late starter. The fact that it took me so long to embark on it is itself atrocious but then when you have so many “Monosheejs” around you, it was just an imbibed pathogen.

So who wins the trophy “Manasij” or “Monosheej”?
My answer is simple.
I am “Manasij”.