Why I Do What I Do

I work as a Product Guy in a fairly well established tech startup in India. I landed up here after several twists and turns in career aspirations - some planned and some unplanned. As I pause to reflect on how the last 8 years have gone by, I can only say I've been lucky to be here. 

There is a genuine desire among the many new Indian companies to build products for us Indians & take them to global markets. And it is exciting to be a part of this crowd. It feels liberating in many ways. 

The desire to build software that works at home and works across the world is my raison d'être. 

Captain Vijayakanth & Obama Save the World - 1

This story was partly inspired by the picture below. Is there a parallel universe where Captain Vijayakanth and Obama are actually friends? What would such a world be like? What follows is a story in such a world, with elements drawn from the current political system in India. 

Part 1   

                 

In planet Krypton, there existed a country called ‘Isthamalia Kalakal Asia’, shortly known as IKA. IKA had a long generation of rulers belonging to a clan called ‘The Dynasty’. They were good at one thing and only one thing – eating, sleeping and procreating. Well, they may be three different things, but they involve the same skill – the ability to do nothing. But the 37^th king in the dynasty had a problem, which if badly handled could mean the end of his dynasty. The problem was caused by a fast rising young leader called Captain. Captain held the secret to unlock the long and carefully spun hair of the turban-clad rulers of IKA. And according to tradition any person who had the ability to do so would automatically become the leader of IKA. 

Captain was a dashing young man with a belly that anyone in IKA would have been proud of. Captain’s belly, nurtured by eating curd rice and chicken gravy for years, and the rest of his body now weighs a little over 120 Kg. His dark complexion, unkempt mane combined with his pot-like belly made him a darling of the ladies of IKA. But Captain was not a man at peace with himself. Having lived on the streets for the most part of his life, Captain knew that he had to fight for his bread and whiskey. With little money in his partially-torn pockets, Captain was a man flitting about the streets of IKA without any goal. But all this changed when he met a bright young man, Obama.

To understand about the bonding between Captain and Obama one needs to know about the life of people in this country. It was one of hardship and acute poverty. Yes, acute poverty. To earn 100 Rajas (currency in IKA) one had to spend 12 hours doing telemarketing and calling up people, soliciting them with credit card schemes and internet plans. It didn’t help that 1 Kg of rice cost 50 Rajas. But not all happenings in IKA were contrary to the rules of normal life; the fundamental laws of supply and demand did apply in this place – any variety of alcohol costs just 10 Rajas per liter. But here too there were signs of oligarchy. After purchasing any quantity of alcohol, every man had to hold his balls and shout “Hail Mijay Vallya” (a liquor baron of IKA with considerable influence among the ruling class). Concessions to this rule did apply and women were exempted from this sexiest rule. After all, IKA was a place where feminine soft power wielded considerable influence.

Life was far from rosy and Captain felt the brunt of it. He had been abandoned by his parents when he was still learning to count. Having to live all by himself Captain knew about the gross inequalities of life. Despite hardships in life, Captain made something out of his life. He joined the army where he performed exceptionally well. In a short span he became a one man regiment. He was famous for his heroics with terrorist groups and his unique one-legged move. Now, you guys don’t try this at home. It goes like this – one leg on the ground and another one on the wall in such a way that it makes a 90 degree angle with the leg on the ground. Captain’s hands would swirl so fast that they resembled chopper blades. But the secret behind this move lay in the manner in which Captain’s belly moved in a multitude of directions that made it difficult for any radar to map. However, despite his exploits Captain quit the armed forces because of the lack of probity among higher officials. But his stint in the army did have one positive impact. It was there that he met a certain individual called Obama, a tall dark man whose silence was very mysterious but spoke eloquently. Obama commanded respect in the ranks of the army. But Captain sensed a deeper meaning in Obama’s silence. He vowed to find out about it.

Captain and Obama hit it off instantly. They both had a tough upbringing and had once fought on the same side in a pub brawl, without actually knowing it. They shared the same opinion on the way of life in IKA and decided that things must change. It was during one such conversation under a Bodhi tree that Obama revealed a secret that his family had kept for generations – the secret to untie the knots of the mane of IKA’s rulers, or the ‘Paramananda’ secret. As soon as Obama passed on the secret, lightning and thunderstorms marked the occasion. The information that Obama gave to Captain was potentially life altering, not only for the Captain but for the entire populace of IKA. Captain looked up to the sky and raised his hands. He felt a strong pulse pass through his body from the bottom of his foot to the top of his head. His body shivered for a second and he stood looking up to the sky. Captain realized that he had found his calling in life. Service to his motherland would be his life’s definition. Seeing the smiles on the countless children of IKA would be Captain’s calling. “Yes, my lord. Yes”, said Captain with his customary sly smile. A new fragrance pervaded the air under that Bodhi tree. It smelled of success. Obama smiled knowing that Captain was the right man to pass on this divine secret. For generations his family had waited for a man like Captain. With a smile on his lips and contentment in his heart Obama breathed his last right there under the Bodhi tree. Captain performed the last rites of his friends and set forth to accomplish the task at hand – implementing the ‘Paramananda’ secret. Life in IKA would never be the same again. 

A revolution had begun.

The Flying Heart.

The bright morning sun competes with the girl who shines as bright,
the girl, whose stealthy gaze finds me in places where the sun can't. 

Far from the place I call home, there is reason for me to smile -

a reason driven by wide eyes piercing through blonde hair.
And, ooh.. my heart flies.

The flying heart is mine, but its destination is never my choice.

Out goes the flying heart, asking "Am I the one?. Am I the one?".

With every flight, gaining in happiness.

Words and days stand between the flying heart and its desire. 

As I watch the flying heart return,without reaching its goal, all I ask is,
"Why again?".

For the million beautiful women out there, the flying heart may fly again.

Sometimes it pains to be flying once more, at another place, for another girl.

But that's my life and that is my deal. 

To The Girl Of My Dreams

The poem, like the picture, will be a little coarse, but that's how I felt in the morning, after a sleepless night. This post is another one inspired by a girl I couldn't get the guts to talk to. But did she leave an impact, eh..

Hey, Girl of my dreams

Let me get some sleep.

I remember how beautiful you are.

You don’t have to remind me.

It’s hard enough being teased

By you, when the sun shines.

But to do the same thing

With the moon around ain’t cool. Ain’t cool.

A man is a slave to his habit.

But to your habit, why am I a slave.

You waltz in and waltz out.

Sweet to look, even with sore eyes.

Each night you enter my dream,

And wave a casual 'hi'. You do. You really do.

But by the time I raise my hand,

You fly away with the wind. Sly.

You had me, the day you stood

Leaning gently against a tree.

So why the mystery appearances at night?

Look at me baby. Don’t you think I could use some sleep?

Let me suggest a thing dear.

Avoid me in the nights and

Flirt with me in the days.  

I will get some sleep and you, some love.

Am I an artiste?

Like all people obsessed with art and are no good at it, I am struggling to find something that motivates me to write. On deeper analysis, I am convinced that there are two reasons why every writer or an artiste, be it a musician, a sportsman or a painter, struggles to keep improving himself.  This post is about the two things that distract any artiste. Continue reading if you are one of those who are obsessed with the idea of constant self improvement, but are no good at it.

The first is sheer lack of inspiring moments in life. Actually, let me re-phrase that; the inability to see moments of human passion and struggle all around us. Stories worth writing about are present all around us. Tunes worthy of a song abound us and the option of perfecting a cover drive is available every time you pick up a bat. But the pressures of everyday life and the fast paced thinking, that we are so used to, make it hard to see and appreciate these moments.

The second reason is a more sublime one. It is the smugness that you get after you have done something that you are proud of (And invariably its only a trivial thing). And from my experience, this effect definitely causes an artiste to plateau. Getting it right once is good, but it is just a start. The ability to repeatedly achieve mastery over an art is what makes an artiste. Even a monkey can pull off a Prabhu Deva like movement, if it kept repeating the movement a thousand times. But will it be able to do it again in lesser attempts? That, in my opinion – the desire to keep getting better constantly, is what makes an artiste. And smugness has no place in this endeavor. 

So, coming to the main question - Am I an artiste? Well, I have only one answer to the question and there are no two ways of telling you this - "Check the picture above". (Hope the hidden metaphor in the picture strikes you..!)

Adios..!

Talent is a Four Letter Word



Talent is the most useless thing to have. Because being talented doesn't encourage you to change yourself and adapt. But it still gets you the results. But what happens when things change and require you to adapt. The results stop coming and then an amazing realization dawns upon you - 'Change is very hard to make'. To put it short, you are in the middle of nowhere and stuck without a map or a compass.

So am I arguing that talent is totally not required? Not at all. All I am saying is that talent is over-rated. Take a cricketer as an example; you don't have to master all the shorts to become a good batsman. Sourav Ganguly mastered the drive and the cut and ended up scoring more than 10,000 international runs. His talent wasn't even comparable to Sachin's or Dravid's, but he was as popular and successful too. His attitude led him to cover his weaknesses and use his strengths. His success only proves that talent is useless unless you know how to use it.

Nothing drives home a point than a comparable analogy. Here is one for this. Talent is like water in a bucket and attitude is like the bucket that gives shape to the water. A bucket without water is of no use and water without a bucket is lost. My point: even a small drop of water needs a bucket to give it shape.

This article was inspired after watching this video by Harsha Bhogle.

The Vanilla Theory And Carnatic Music

The book Freakonomics inspired me to think of reasons beyond the obvious for everyday phenomena. And as an amateur classical musician I often wonder why Carnatic music, arguably the most evolved art form in the world, is not popular with the masses. Interestingly Steven Levitt (author of Freaknomics) and Thomas Friedman (author of ‘The World Is Flat’) combine in ways that they not of to offer a solution to this phenomenon.

The obvious reason that any Tom, Dick and Harry would give for this trend is that Carnatic music is boring to the average listener. While empirical evidence would support that view, it is my opinion this is only half the truth. And you know what they say about half truths?

“Vanillas simply don’t sell in today’s world”, goes an expression used by Thomas Freidman in ‘The World Is Flat’. Simply put, it means that you would rather gas up your car at a station where your car’s glasses are wiped for free, where the air is checked for free and where you can have the option of shopping or guzzling down a pizza, than at a station that only fills your tank. The latter variety of petrol bunk is simply a vanilla. The former is like vanilla ice-cream mixed with black forest and with chocolate sauce and nuts as toppings and also served in a fancy cup that carries the logo of your favourite actress. Should I even ask which one made your mouth water?

Apply the same analogy to music. Carnatic music is a vanilla - plain, simple yet delightful to taste and something that is easy to relate to. And film music like the ones made by geniuses like AR Rahman and Ilayaraja resemble the second variety of ice-cream – it has vanilla and a lot more. Go back to what Thomas Friedman said – “Plain vanillas don’t sell in today’s world”. And that, I believe is the reason why the high degree of evolution in Carnatic music does not add up to popular appeal. There is no problem with the vanilla; it is simply that the vanilla doesn’t sell by itself anymore.

This is just my view on this issue. It may be correct or it may be wrong, because it is just a hypothesis.

So where do I stand on my own explanation? Obviously the second form ice-cream with all the chocolate sauce and nuts, appeals to me. But the taste of the simple vanilla is lost in this. And nothing beats the simple vanilla ice-cream. Vanilla need not be a hot favourite for it to be mine.