Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Abort, Retry, Fail?
It seems many people started using computers only after Windows 95 had come in, and don't have any clue as to what the earlier OS (the ubiquitous MSDOS) was like. I had started out using Windows 3.1 which had to be run as an executable file - C:\WINDOWS win [enter]. While working on MSDOS, often the drives couldn't detect media (e.g. floppy drives) and the following message would appear: Ab0rt, Retry, Fail?
What you then did, and which option you chose has an interesting correlation to what sort of a person you are, and how you would react during relationship crises!
If you were the "this is done - let's move and look for something else" kind, you would say "Fail", and then go and try to look for something else which would run the application. In relationships, these are people who can rebound from one to another quickly, without any emotional baggage.
If you were the "I'm done for - this the end of everything" kind, you would press "Abort" and get out of the mess. Such people aren't able to take heartbreaks easily and take a lot of time to come out of the hangover.
Lastly, if you are the "main fight maarunga" kind you would press "Retry" again and again, and despite knowing that most likely nothing in the system has changed and the probability of the thing working after a retry is minuscule, you would keep on retrying. The analogy is pretty clear and doesn't need an explanation.
Now, yours truly considers himself a fighter, and it is pretty clear what my attempts during relationships have been. There are times, however, when the realization sets in that enough is enough, probably pressing 'R' again and again is just going to hurt your fingers; and however much you might wish that the drive works; you realize that some drive and media are just not meant to be mutually readable.
After several retries during five years (and three junctions in life); it is finally time to say "Fail", and as much as a failure hurts you, it is sometimes the only thing to do to avoid a system crash.
C'est la vie!
What you then did, and which option you chose has an interesting correlation to what sort of a person you are, and how you would react during relationship crises!
If you were the "this is done - let's move and look for something else" kind, you would say "Fail", and then go and try to look for something else which would run the application. In relationships, these are people who can rebound from one to another quickly, without any emotional baggage.
If you were the "I'm done for - this the end of everything" kind, you would press "Abort" and get out of the mess. Such people aren't able to take heartbreaks easily and take a lot of time to come out of the hangover.
Lastly, if you are the "main fight maarunga" kind you would press "Retry" again and again, and despite knowing that most likely nothing in the system has changed and the probability of the thing working after a retry is minuscule, you would keep on retrying. The analogy is pretty clear and doesn't need an explanation.
Now, yours truly considers himself a fighter, and it is pretty clear what my attempts during relationships have been. There are times, however, when the realization sets in that enough is enough, probably pressing 'R' again and again is just going to hurt your fingers; and however much you might wish that the drive works; you realize that some drive and media are just not meant to be mutually readable.
After several retries during five years (and three junctions in life); it is finally time to say "Fail", and as much as a failure hurts you, it is sometimes the only thing to do to avoid a system crash.
C'est la vie!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Metamorphosis
I have been working (or atleast getting away by looking busy) for around 8 months now, and have come to know many people, primarily the superiors in my firm, who are successful, who have so-to-speak, made it in life. Almost all of them of them belong to the usual meritocratic class - strong academic performances - IIT/IIM, fighter spirit and the ambition to go ahead. I work hard to learn from them, emulate them, and when I see signs within myself that I am slowly becoming like them, I feel great. All such signs, except one.
During my stay here, there have been several instances where I have seen them being rude, abusive and (at the least) condescending to people who are in a lower economic strata than they are. This includes taxi chauffeurs, waiters, liftmen, peons and the like. I find it terribly disgusting when I see them shouting at them, knowing the other can't get back at you. Seeing them thus, I have told myself several times that I would never stoop to such a level, would always try to look at things from the other point of view, and would maintain my dignity, and believed that I would be able to do this. Until yesterday.
I happened to be at the Old Delhi railway station yesterday afternoon, and it was raining heavily. I had left the car on the main road, and when my business at the station was done and I had to leave, I asked the car to come in and get me. Either my instructions were not clear enough, or the traffic was very heavy; in any case neither my driver or me were able to locate each other. So being the impatient man that I am, I came out into the rain and started looking for it outside the station. As I was getting drenched (I haven't seen it rain so heavily in Delhi in recent memory), I started shouting at the driver on the phone. The mental image of him safely ensconced in the car, while it poured, was flashing through my head and I launched into a long tirade, all the while getting more worked up (and wet!). After about 10 minutes of this, he finally located me and I got in.
Then it occurred to me; I was behaving exactly like I had seen one of my superiors behave with his driver. And I had hated him for it. I felt really bad. I apologised to the driver and completed the rest of the journey in quiet introspection.
As I have grown, I have always prided myself upon the fact that I could relate to most people, had my feet firmly on the ground and didn't discriminate on artificial ground. But this incident shook me. Was I acquiring the good with the bad, would I really become arrogant and vain? And that scared me. The fact that I was conscious of this made me hope that this was a one-off, a momentary lapse in the heat of the moment and nothing concrete. However, the verdict is still out on this.
As I got out of the car, I apologised again. I went upstairs to my room, put on "Snow" by RHCP, and tried to forget about it.
During my stay here, there have been several instances where I have seen them being rude, abusive and (at the least) condescending to people who are in a lower economic strata than they are. This includes taxi chauffeurs, waiters, liftmen, peons and the like. I find it terribly disgusting when I see them shouting at them, knowing the other can't get back at you. Seeing them thus, I have told myself several times that I would never stoop to such a level, would always try to look at things from the other point of view, and would maintain my dignity, and believed that I would be able to do this. Until yesterday.
I happened to be at the Old Delhi railway station yesterday afternoon, and it was raining heavily. I had left the car on the main road, and when my business at the station was done and I had to leave, I asked the car to come in and get me. Either my instructions were not clear enough, or the traffic was very heavy; in any case neither my driver or me were able to locate each other. So being the impatient man that I am, I came out into the rain and started looking for it outside the station. As I was getting drenched (I haven't seen it rain so heavily in Delhi in recent memory), I started shouting at the driver on the phone. The mental image of him safely ensconced in the car, while it poured, was flashing through my head and I launched into a long tirade, all the while getting more worked up (and wet!). After about 10 minutes of this, he finally located me and I got in.
Then it occurred to me; I was behaving exactly like I had seen one of my superiors behave with his driver. And I had hated him for it. I felt really bad. I apologised to the driver and completed the rest of the journey in quiet introspection.
As I have grown, I have always prided myself upon the fact that I could relate to most people, had my feet firmly on the ground and didn't discriminate on artificial ground. But this incident shook me. Was I acquiring the good with the bad, would I really become arrogant and vain? And that scared me. The fact that I was conscious of this made me hope that this was a one-off, a momentary lapse in the heat of the moment and nothing concrete. However, the verdict is still out on this.
As I got out of the car, I apologised again. I went upstairs to my room, put on "Snow" by RHCP, and tried to forget about it.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Remember these Ads?
http://bellurramki18.wordpress.com/2006/10/27/
My favourite was the Dabur Lal Dantmanjan one in the classroom, "Raju, tumhare daant to motiyon se chamak rahe hain"
My favourite was the Dabur Lal Dantmanjan one in the classroom, "Raju, tumhare daant to motiyon se chamak rahe hain"
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Holi-er than Thou!
My relatives who live 10 hours from Delhi had called me up on Tuesday, inviting me over for Holi. I procrastinated till Thursday afternoon, and then tried getting tickets. Unfortunately, it was too late and I couldn't get any; and I was left to spend Holi alone, since both my roommates had also gone home.
When I was small, Holi used to be a yearly nightmare for me. I lived in a colony that was separated by a small distance from a large colony and every Holi a large crowd of people from the other colony would emerge on our grounds and would shout out the names of each and everyone in our colony to come out, with dire threats if any of us tried to stay inside. And everyone who ventured out was inundated with the collective enthu of fifty people. To reduce the overall effect, my entire family would venture out together. Except me, the rest of my family seemed to enjoy it, but it was quite an ordeal for me, and I remember crying on more than one occasion. Slowly, interests waned and as the young crowd left for higher studies and jobs elsewhere, Holi slowly became more of a polite 'gulaal lagao' affair; of middle-aged people sitting in the sun and talking of old times or their children.
In college, Holi was completely different. I don't think colour was much used; people were more interested in drenching each other, and tearing the clothes off (and on one occasion, photographing them thus!). It used to be riotous; one would run from one corridor to another making alliances and fighting with others to bring people out of their rooms; slowly floors and corridors were conquered at the end of which everybody in the hostel was completely drenched. It would end only when all the water in the tank finished, sometime before people could wash off the colour. People carried the colour for days and as I remember today, people would forget temporary differences and come together in this very, for want of a better word, "primal" celebration of youth, because that's what Holi always symbolised to me, a concession by the otherwise straitjacketed conservative society to the youth to go out and go wild.
As we grow older, with more responsibilities and fears and prejudices, one needs such occasions just to be free for once, just to let it go. In the morning, I watched people, of all ages, playing Holi with their near and dear ones and I felt good. Sometimes, the world seems so drab and lonely but then I guess some colour can just do the trick. Soon, I came down too, and put some gulaal, to 1/2 people I knew, and as a kid pointed his pichkari towards me, I shooed him away though later wishing he hadn't done so. It was good.
After some time, as I was going with a friend out for lunch, he looked at the people on the street, multicoloured, and dancing; and made some rude comments. I was feeling so good, I didn't even bother to rebut.
Happy Holi, everyone!
When I was small, Holi used to be a yearly nightmare for me. I lived in a colony that was separated by a small distance from a large colony and every Holi a large crowd of people from the other colony would emerge on our grounds and would shout out the names of each and everyone in our colony to come out, with dire threats if any of us tried to stay inside. And everyone who ventured out was inundated with the collective enthu of fifty people. To reduce the overall effect, my entire family would venture out together. Except me, the rest of my family seemed to enjoy it, but it was quite an ordeal for me, and I remember crying on more than one occasion. Slowly, interests waned and as the young crowd left for higher studies and jobs elsewhere, Holi slowly became more of a polite 'gulaal lagao' affair; of middle-aged people sitting in the sun and talking of old times or their children.
In college, Holi was completely different. I don't think colour was much used; people were more interested in drenching each other, and tearing the clothes off (and on one occasion, photographing them thus!). It used to be riotous; one would run from one corridor to another making alliances and fighting with others to bring people out of their rooms; slowly floors and corridors were conquered at the end of which everybody in the hostel was completely drenched. It would end only when all the water in the tank finished, sometime before people could wash off the colour. People carried the colour for days and as I remember today, people would forget temporary differences and come together in this very, for want of a better word, "primal" celebration of youth, because that's what Holi always symbolised to me, a concession by the otherwise straitjacketed conservative society to the youth to go out and go wild.
As we grow older, with more responsibilities and fears and prejudices, one needs such occasions just to be free for once, just to let it go. In the morning, I watched people, of all ages, playing Holi with their near and dear ones and I felt good. Sometimes, the world seems so drab and lonely but then I guess some colour can just do the trick. Soon, I came down too, and put some gulaal, to 1/2 people I knew, and as a kid pointed his pichkari towards me, I shooed him away though later wishing he hadn't done so. It was good.
After some time, as I was going with a friend out for lunch, he looked at the people on the street, multicoloured, and dancing; and made some rude comments. I was feeling so good, I didn't even bother to rebut.
Happy Holi, everyone!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
A Stray Thought
What you are, in a lot of ways, is reflected by what you do in office when you don't have any work!
I, for one, browse wikipedia. Don't want to get into what that tells about me.
There's been a temporary lull in work for a few days. Am not used to it now. Am slightly uncomfortable. Hope life resumes its hectic pace as was before.
I, for one, browse wikipedia. Don't want to get into what that tells about me.
There's been a temporary lull in work for a few days. Am not used to it now. Am slightly uncomfortable. Hope life resumes its hectic pace as was before.
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