About Code

Had been longing to write something, but pityingly, either my fingers are too engaged in holding a cigarette or my brain is too engaged in stroking thoughts of infinite stupidity. But today I feel it is different, I feel I can do a seamless integration of all and produce some sanity out of my stupidity. Like some people who are born with the gift of the gab – which I have not; like some people who are born with the gift to write – which again I have not; like some people who are born to do smart programming – which again I have not, yet sometimes I feel the spirits of all these people come inside me and, my speech, my thought and my code flow naturally like a falling stone under the effect of gravity.

At 9:00 PM in the night, as I watch the aimless Siddharth of the Wake up Sid fame, I find myself in my four walls echoing with the same thoughts, squinting hard, and deafening myself at times only to filter out the worthy ones from the baser ones. And I think I have conjured up something amidst all the discordant.

My first encounter with programming language was when I was in standard 8, one of the dreadful years, and I thought, at that time, that I would repeat to have a more firm grasp on the subjects which are being taught. But powered with some last moment tricks, with some backings, with some almighty’s laziness, I was pushed on to standard 9. And with that, came the demise of my desire to successfully write a palindrome program, the only program in our course, all by my own.

The beautiful smiling class teacher of Standard 9, with her smiles and with her cane welcomed us with the option to choose subjects, to choose between computer programming and economics. Without many hesitations I chose Economics, the decision was the only outcome - interpolating from the standard 8 experiences. Economics closed all doors for the world of pacman and palindrome (MADAM) always remained a one sided love story for me. With time, everything heals, to the extent that even the long lost sweet heart is forgotten or even the deepest scars are obliterated from the minds. My love or my scars whatever may it be, it was all bygone, all lurking in the dark alleys of the cranium neither irksome nor pleasurable. Until in 2002, strangely a palindrome year, in the second year of my engineering career, computer programming in C was introduced as one of our semester subjects. Programming came back to my life again and with trepidation I once again went on a date with Palindrome. But this time it was different, there were no hurdles, there were no misunderstanding, there were no stopping and nothing indeed stopped me from having the same output as the input!

My experiments with C and plus plus version of C lasted for full 1.5 years and yet it had to end. It ended with a divorce as I couldn’t manage to grab a job in top notch IT companies visiting our campus rather I was embraced by a petrochemical plant. Then one day, a fine day or a bad day which I am not in a position to determine, I quit that industry. Packed all my paraphernalia and came back home and came back in the arms of the palindrome without the expectation of anything in return. This time I was purer than ever. This cocktail of part purity, part sanity, part insanity, part logic, part common sense, part technical, part cribbing and last but not the least part a friend (Anubhav Singh) helped me find a job in IT, my first and current IT employer, SOAIS.

Today, I am 3 years old and I am into ERP, peoplesoft, a product from the stables of Oracle. Here I am designated as a consultant and I also say the same to others when I introduce myself to the others, but when I introduce to myself, I prefer saying, I am a bloody coder and that is what I love to call myself.

Crime and Punishment

I was in my young days and I was traveling in a bus reading a book. I was innocent and absent from the world, completely engrossed in the captivating read the author was presenting word after word, sentence after sentence. No sooner I raised my head than the fellow passenger sitting in front of me caught my attention by saying, "You wouldn't be able to finish the book!"

Days passed, weeks passed to that conversation and it is running in months now and yet, I am struggling to finish the book, Crime and Punishment. As per my fellow passenger, the book grows on to the reader and can take the frolic away from the soul with every turn of the page, until voluntarily, the reader seals the book, forever.

Retrospecting all the grueling days, I get an heightened urge to quell the read every time I pick it up to read. But, only 100 pages are left, and I will put myself through the litmus test. It is indeed a punishment to witness the Crime and Punishment. I am testing my endurance. I am not going to break in middle. I will finish it tonight, even if I have to punish myself the entire night by not sleeping!

On the Kill

She had her hands on his neck; he had his hands on her neck, not in a way to form a loving embrace but in a way to suffocate each other and free each other from each other’s life. She had blood in her eyes; he had blood in his eyes, they both wanted the blood of each other to adorn and color their hands in red drawn from each other’s skull. She was groaning in pain; he was groaning in pain, but the groans of each were falling in the ears of the other and were pushing each of them to go further and bring the ultimate wish true – the death of the other.

Blood was already flowing before the penultimate match began, she had ruptured her lips; blood was spewing out and had colored her mouth and her teeth, making her look like a lioness after a mighty kill. He had cracked his head; thick, dark blood was flowing down smearing his face as if a clown with a colorful face is up on the stage for his last performance.

Like every war, the world has witnessed; like every fight, the eyes have witnessed, this war, this fight was no different. It was replete with destruction, with devastation, with loss, with stubbornness, with arrogance, with pride, and a point of no return. Everything that was created by their hands; the love, the bonds, the home, the beauties and even their most prized possessions has been destroyed by their fighting hands. His best ever gift from her, the twelve string guitar is in pieces and beyond any redemption and restitution. Her best ever gift from him, the painting of Salvador Dali has a gaping hole and oddly splashed in color of red.

Like every small and big landmarks of their lives they had Pink Floyd played for themselves. No different was this gravest moment, Pink Floyd was lucidly playing at its best. They met when Pink Floyd was playing at a concert in London, they dated when Pink Floyd was played at a Bar in India, they made heaven and alongside Pink Floyd was played and now when they are making Hell Pink Floyd is again played. So much is the contrast that the greatest ever Pink Floyd song is being played now, “Wish you were here”, fitting to their lives, where David Gilmour sings –

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil? ....

Now that everything is lost, there is nothing more to lose, only a trifle that is life, is needed to be lost. This will be lost too, in a moment’s time. The life of each is firmly in the other’s hand, it is just a squeeze away. The grips are tightening, the faces are turning paler, the brains losing sight, muscles starting to twitch, there is no breath to breathe, the chest is empty and the hearts are beating faster and faster and making its last leg of the run on the mile. And with perfect co-ordination, with perfect timing, with surgeon’s precision, and as if they were on a countdown they pull out the life of each other at the same time.

With Pink Floyd still singing in the back, slowly was soothing their departing soul. Nothing could have been more perfect than this. They sang each other this song when they were away and now when both of them away forever, the same song is being sung. Nothing could be more perfect than this. They lived for each other, they died for each other, and they died in each other’s hands as they had wished. And now when there is no life in the bodies, there is rigor mortis setting in, they had fallen in a loose embrace while making their final fall.

And I sitting on the high chair, the creator of the contest, the sole witness of the contest, await for their souls to come at my cove.

Faces

I see faces, faces everywhere, good faces, sullen faces, dark faces, fair faces, lovely faces, and faces which do not say anything. I see faces when I am asleep, I see faces when I am awake, I see faces when I am in a crowd of people and I also see faces when I am alone. I drink to drown the faces in a pool of drowsiness; I smoke to hide the faces behind the haze of dense clouds. But besides all these antics, I still continue to see the faces, faces which form shape in the clouds of the smoke and on the layers of the alcohol that I drink.

Then came a moment, a time, when I decided to live with it. I see both familiar faces and unfamiliar faces. Sometimes I feel joyous and quite exactly overjoyed to see the familiar faces and sometimes they make me morose. Those familiar faces which make me morose are the ones who in a distant past I liked the most, but now all of them have left me only visiting me in my hallucinations and I whispering to them, begging to them and shooing them ignominiously to leave me alone and let me live in my loneliness.

I had been seeing faces all my breathing life, both when I am conscious and when I am unconscious. I never understood whether the faces are in pursuit of me or I am in pursuit of a face(s). Over the years the difference has faded, like the fading breath of a dying man on a sick bed. There wasn’t a day that I haven’t seen a single face, and now, there isn’t a day that I would miss seeing a single face. Now, it has become an obsession, it has become a recreation, it has become a reason for me to live.

I could never speak about these faces to anyone. In my tender years, I was scared of being reprimanded; in my innocent years, I was scared of being put in an asylum; and in my mature years, I am scared that no one would believe. I could never understand why I saw the faces. I thought, I read, I analyzed, I wondered, I meditated, but, whatsoever I did, I never lost a face and I never understood the device for which the creator made me to see the faces.

Until one day, sitting in my cell, seeing the faces pass by my eyes and I taking a cursory notice of the images in my mind or in front of my eyes, I realized, I saw a face without a face at all. I concentrated hard on that no face. The no face as I would like to call was no way close to any of the faces that I have seen in all these multitude of days and nights that I have passed watching silently, speaking to no one. The no face’s face was without any life, it was as white as dead man’s face; it had two dots as eyes, with no expression in them; it had no lips, all one stretch of skin from head to the neck. No face was like a child’s craft, making a face out of a sheet of paper with his scissors by cutting out small pieces of paper from the middle for the eyes, nose and mouth. Why I call this no face and not ugly, because a face has to have a face to be called ugly or beautiful, this was beyond any compare, it was simply faceless.

Then whose no face is it? And how is this no face related to my ability of seeing so many faces all throughout my life? It only took me a moment to realize that it is compensation, a consolation, a divine intervention to compensate something which I never had. I am the man with a no face. It is my face without a face. From that moment on I stopped seeing any more faces, everything vanished, like the coins in magician’s hands, vanishing, vanishing forever. And I, continue to live with the memory of my own face, the no face for the rest of my life.

Perspective

This is not just a feeling; this is more than a feeling. This is not a moment’s feeling; this is the feeling of a lifetime, where even the age of the Earth would fall short, and would make it look as if it is in its infancy. The past is big, the future is even bigger, but the present it is just a moment. We take decisions in the present trying to interpolate from the past and extrapolate it to the future and all standing on the ground of what we call is present.

In the jungle of the past, in the wilderness of the future and in the garden of the present, it is the present which counts the most. This is where the birth of everything happens. The past and the future all originate from the present moving equally in both the direction, something similar to a stone dropping on a still water and the ripples moving outward. There will be no ripples until the stone drops on the river and there will be no past and no future until there is a present. As the ripples on the water grow, we humans grow too, broadening the past and the future but the present always remaining the same – a moment, a point.

In this stage of growth we come across many vistas, many people, many events, many addictions, many frustrations, many successes, many failures, many joys, many sorrows, many laughs and many cries. Some remembered some forgotten forever and that what accumulates entirely to be called as Life. Then life again is an accumulation of memories. It is replete with memories. Memories, which never go, it only goes deep inside the layers of more recent memories. Memories behave always strangely, remembering an old memory which brought tears in the past brings smile in the present and remembering an old memory which brought smiles in the past brings tears in the present.

I am confused; I am not able to understand where to go. Shall I go to the past? Shall I go to the future? Or, Shall I stay put in the present? But I can’t go to the past that will be retrograde. I can neither go to the future that is utopia. So, I am left with present, and if I have to live, if I have to be happy, if I have to be satisfied, if I have to trust, if I have to give, if I have to love then I must choose the present and I must live in the present and broaden my wings like the wings of the Kite, flying high in the sky.

Peter Mukherjee

Peter Mukherjee

Peter Mukherjee, is just any other young man in this world. The World that may be too big a place to put Peter into for a comparison, a little smaller place would do adequate justice for a man like Peter Mukherjee. Peter Mukherjee was born in Calcutta in the year Nineteen Hundred and Eighty, on the twenty eighth day of the month of November, a date only important to few. By the time Peter outgrew his adolescence, and stepped his foot into youth, with some reasonable amount of maturity, the city had also changed a lot since his first steps as a toddler, the city was no more Calcutta; it was Kolkata, the city was no more the fireball of revolutionary youth; it was now the city of magnetic youth, the city was no more the charitable city of joy; it was the city of mirthless mercenaries.

Peter was the second offspring of his parents. Peter’s father was in Italy when, Peter was Born. Peter’s Father was so much in awe by the Saint Peter’s Church that when, he trunk called his wife from Italy, he playfully named the young one as Peter. This name stuck with Peter for the rest of his life and he had a subliminal sense of pride every time he would say his name to a stranger, his head would slightly move up.

Peter’s life was going to change after his marriage. Funnily, Peter was completely bamboozled with the all new helm of affairs. But he loved it, he loved his wife, he loved the petty squabbles and also loved the sequence of events that followed to console her, he loved the furtive snatch of glance amidst his parents and all the relatives in the house. Peter was having the best time of his life and was sincerely trying and was also succeeding in giving a joyous, ceremonious, and contented life to everyone in the family.

Like the beauty and the beast, like light and dark, like matter and antimatter, like The God and The Devil; everything has two faces, two sides. Similarly, life too has both happiness and sorrow. It is important to realize that what follows the other, as the one which comes later always has a stronger influence, but also the former leaves an indelible mark behind, influencing the latter in every form. Peter’s marriage was an arranged marriage. Peter courted his wife for five months before finally both making a nod for the marriage. The marriage was consummated in full glory with many relatives, friends, and well wishers attending the marriage to bless the newlyweds. An air of piety and blessedness hung around the couple for many days even long after their souls were united over the holy fire and in witness of all the Gods.

Peter had already celebrated five marriage anniversaries and both the husband and the wife had grown into each other to such an extent that they were not only one soul, but also, it was one body. Sooner or later, every parent has the desire of becoming a grandparent; Peter’s parents were no exception, every now and then, they yearned for it, often by drawing comparison with the neighbours or with one of Peter’s friends. As the days passed into weeks, weeks passed into months and months passed into years, yearnings kept on increasing. Peter was increasingly becoming restless with every passing day and it was affecting his peace of mind, yet no moment of un-equanimity was shown on the exterior. On the inside, even Peter desired to become a Father and wished to bring the child in himself once again, forgetting everything in the cryptic babble of the infant and in the tantrums of a toddler.

Peter’s unborn fatherly love was not having respite and was becoming fast impatient. Suddenly everything was deprived of tranquility; just like a child, when sees a nightmare, wakes up shaken, and no amount of comfort of the mother’s bosom gives warmth to the harried child. To break the monotony, Peter decided to consult a Doctor and seek an expert’s advice. The Doctor Peter and his wife, Bhavna visited received them very warmly. The Doctor gave her full attention and consoled them earnestly that there is nothing to worry. She also mentioned with élan that she often receives such cases and couples go happily out of her clinic. She referred for a few tests on the couple, and bid them farewell. Peter’s demeanor was much relaxed after the visit and was quite hopeful for a positive outcome.

Three days later, Peter and Bhavna again visited the Doctor. The Doctor once again presented a gentle, homely welcome. A chill went through the spine of Peter as the Doctor opened the detailed report from the envelope and started with her diagnosis. Peter with a detective’s sharpness was trying to gauge the expression on the Doctor’s face as she flipped through the reports. But, the Doctor was equally composed all throughout. The Doctor returned the anxious couple with a charming smile and asked for one more test for his wife. It was an Ultra sonography test and apprised them where it can be done. Peter was getting restless again, he held his wife’s hand and asked in trepidation, “What is the matter?” The Doctor, this time, with a gentle thick voice replied that, she will be able to confirm with certainty only after the final test and returning immediately with her professional and trademarked smile, “There is nothing to worry.”

There was no sleep for Peter in the night. He tried to comfort Bhavna, but to little success. She was silently rolling out warm tears in Peter’s arms. The next day, the couple visited the Doctor again and found the Doctor in the same disposition as they had left. Peter and Bhavna were eagerly waiting for the verdict, like an innocent convict waits for the Judge to declare the decree for which the innocent is falsely indicted. The Doctor opened the file and curtly addressed the couple, with some professional sympathy, with some womanly empathy, with some agonizing gravity and said that they will not be able to conceive ever in their life. The reason as stated was partly because of Bhavna and partly because of Peter. Their conjoined biological deficiencies magnified their chances of an unsuccessful conception.

The same night it was again a sleepless night, but this time, it was a sleepless night for the entire world of Peter. Like the God’s World which had small small boundaries, Peter’s world also had small small boundaries as walls. Inside the walls, there were walls, and there were walls inside to that. It was like a maze to Peter. Peter could listen to many voices, all the voices known to Peter. Peter ran for one of the voice, frantically searching for a door, opens it and opens the eyes to find Bhavna back to fulfill the daily chores. Peter wakes up with confusion, like walking in the walls inside walls and listening to many voices and trying to identify who spoke. Peter walked in the maze of walls for months together, listening to people with opinions and listening to people with no opinions, only failing every time to understand what they meant, both the candor and the reticence. Amongst all the voices, there was a voice when no mortals spoke around and it was annoying. Annoying to the extent which it can make Peter annoyed. But, that annoying voice is the one which knows one the best and always gives a direction. This ever speaking inner voice leads Peter to shower his fatherly love by way of adoption. Peter and Bhavna, happily adopts a baby girl and were completely mesmerized by the charms of their daughter, Pristine Mukherjee, for the rest of their life.

Leaps to Primitiveness

Leaps to Primitiveness

Earth is Flat; Earth became round; Earth became a sphere; Earth further became an oblong shaped object flattened at the top. Sun revolved round the Earth, and then Earth started to revolve round the Earth.

Are we still waiting for more corrections to happen or to further simplify, are we still waiting to become more primitive? With every discovery or invention are we actually making any progress or we are just making leaps into the primitiveness? Essentially, all that is there around us, known or unknown, was there, is there and will be there. So taking a cue from there the big nagging question that irks my head, are we, at all making any progress?

A routine look into the past, dating may be any length of time, one can easily concur that at first any discovery is always based on elementary levels – something which is more obvious to the eyes or more simpler to reason. That obvious visual or reason then becomes a Law, a Theorem or a Theory and then into a regular scientific fact as the findings becomes more acceptable to the masses. A simple example, to substantiate the statement, will be gravity. Before Sir Issac Newton, no one in particular had conceived of anything called gravity, yet, it surrounded everyone’s life. The apple as usual fell, and translated into the most famous three laws of Newton, which was the fabric of every discovery for the next 300 years. Newton’s laws and Gravity became a scientific fact. Until, some another nondescript being was lurking somewhere to find something more elementary. Albert Einstein, was that another person who, gave a serious competition to the Newton’s findings – not to prove it wrong but by identifying something more basic, something more elementary which binds the nature and its mysteries in a far more convincing way. His historical work and his two fundamental theories, general relativity and special theory of relativity changed the answers to the entire gamut of questions which Newton’s eponymous laws were failing to answer. Einstein’s fundamentals pushed Newton’s ideas into classical dimension bringing his laws into the realm of the new scientific frontiers. Einstein’s Theories became scientific facts within decades and opened the doors for a galactic leap. Until, yet again, someone was crawling its way on to the points of singularity, someone who had an eye inside the layers of obvious. Roger Penrose and Stephen William Hawking gave further insights into the Einstein’s laws which Einstein’s facts were failing to answer. The scientific duo are still trying to quest a simple question, how it all started? Their seek has taken them to black holes, singularity (a point in black hole with high gravity and density), String Theory and probably the next biggest scientific discovery, Theory of Everything.

From gravity to singularity, things had always been there and they will always be and we will always discover the things in an outside-to-inside manner and thus, in fact, making our journey further into the depths of primitiveness, by scraping off the layers one by one. And despite how deep we may go, how primitive we may become in our search, the outside will always appear to hold good. Like, The horizon always looks flat and Relatively speaking, the Sun does appear to move in the sky.