Now – I’m 64
This is the end of my 64th BirthMonth. Consequently, I’d like to share some elements of my life and myself.
First things first: I was born.
I think we can safely say that that is an established fact, a true fact, not a hypothesis, or even a scientific theory that may be open to future examination and modification.
I exist, therefore I was born. Whether I am or not is a question we shall not get into. For what am I? I examined this question way back in the past, in an effort to understand what I am. You can read it here, if you’re bored, filled with the essence of ennui, and/or needing a soothing balm to put you to sleep.
So let’s get on to read the rest of this essay about me, written by me. That should absolve you of the need to write an essay about me for my birthday – for I’ve done the needful, as they say in India, land of my birth.
The 1960s
The opening line of “One Bluish Egg – A Faded Memory”, so far unpublished, possibly due to a surfeit of indifference from my fans and an overall lack of enthusiasm in all directions, goes like this.
I was born in Karol Bagh, in an hospital on Ajmal Khan Road, on my mother’s birthday, at a highly symmetrical 11:11:11 am.
As my very Punjabi mom would say “gyaran baje, gyaran mint, gyaran skint”.
This clearly indicated that I was destined for great.
Great what?
Well, let’s look at that.
1960-66
This was spent in New Delhi in itchy wool pants (in winter). Summers consisted of water sprayed on coir curtains to alleviate the dry heat of the plains. Very little is known, for now, about this part of my life.
Why, you ask?
Well, you’ll find out when you buy “One Bluish Egg” at astronomical prices from a bookseller near you. When? When I finish writing. And editing. And agonising.
For now, all we (!) can tell you is that we were born, we wore hand me downs, ran around snotty faced, burned our hand, spilled lime dust into our eyes, and had our head split open by a fight in the ditch with another boy of my age. This caused diplomatic relations with “that family” to be broken off. We had a dog, an Alsatian, who was handed over to another family. The loss of this dog probably caused some more damage to the brain department, to add to the injury suffered during that fight in the ditch. I shall have to devote a chapter called “The Fight in the Ditch” in that memoir, now, I do believe, no?
Schooling started here at Frank Anthony’s Public School in Kindergarten.
1966 to 1969
Very little is known about the time in this place, also. See explanation above. It was spent in that very model of a modern city, Ahmedabad, before the “Pirates of Progress” took it over and converted into one. This segment of my life was about learning things. For example, how to fly kites, how to coat kite strings with glass, how to indulge in kite fights, how to ride a bicycle, how to roller skate and how to water plants.
I’m good at watering plants, now. I know exactly the correct angle to hold the pistol grip to ensure an even flood. I know also where to aim. I may not be regular at this activity, because I spend most of my time these days in my basement writing crap like this, but I know.
There was also another head injury, sustained in school, which allowed me to play with the principal’s pet turtles. This head injury, (I seem to have them on a regular basis, don’t I?), was caused by a stone falling off a tree, while we indulged in a simulated kite fight, by tying a rock to a string and running around trees.
School was St Xavier’s (Mirzapur and then Loyola Hall).
The 1960’s ended with a move to Calcutta in the summer of ’69, where schooling began at Don Bosco, Park Circus.
The 1970s
I missed 0.5 years of schooling, which accounts for my lack of academic prowess, my deeply rooted feelings of inadequacy and which, coupled with 6 years of isolation from anyone outside school in my age group, made me the person I am today. Unfit for human association, prone to long sentences, proliferated with commas.
This lack of schooling and the head injuries are, probably, instrumental in making me mental. The finished product, aged 64, now sits here, typing away merrily, while trying to extract the stringy bits of the orange from between the gaps in his teeth. Drat, where is that toothpick! It was here somewhere…
I won zero (0) academic awards, in all the years of schooling. I did win a debate once, was almost picked for the school quiz team for a national quiz competition, and did get named in the Cricket First XI, but never played a game for the school.
The dating game was just as (un)successful. For evidence please see Episode 1 and Episode 2.
About the only actual recognition I had was being asked to write an essay to help the School Debate Team prepare. It must have raised some hell somewhere, because two days later, the Hindi teacher wiped his chalky hands on the curtain in the window, peered at me over his glasses, cocked his head, and said “I hear you write essays, Sharmaji?”
Oh, I forgot to mention, I wrote a 1-act play that was banned by the Jesuit Rector! Banned even before the first performance! Yes, yes, did you think I simply started writing plays out of nowhere, did ya?
I have great experience in having my plays shunned by the public!
Sniff! These allergies…
1978 to 1980
This is best ecapsulated by the first ever thing I had published. The college Alumni Magazine commissioned this piece, and it sums up my college life.
College was alternately interesting and wondr’ous. Here are the highlights.
- Accounting – boring as hell
- Alcohol – interesting
- Other plant life – very (very) interesting
- Romantic life – oh my dears…
I ended the decade completely broken and burned out in exhaustion, buried in the haze and had the doctor prescribe Vitamin B injections every other day. This caused (very) sore buttocks. When I complained he said “How many have you had?”
“Six already,” I said.
“What? The correct doze is ten!”
So four more shots in the bum for the young lad.
But, this period has its highlights!
1980s
1981 to 1984
See accounting above. I wasted 4 (four) years of my life desultorily trying to be an accountant. I spent 6 disastrous weeks as a Management Trainee in a glass manufacturer’s purchase department.
I then drifted into programming, and spent three (3) years running around designing systems for a variety of clients. There was the HO of a company manufacturing pots and pans, filled with giggly young married women, the company that made assorted parts for the Indian Railways, like suspension coils, rubber matting etc. There was also a plethora of computer “data centres” which had me fill in a “visiting loony” role.
There was also the rooftop office, the boss in a dirty white shirt and tie, and copulating lizards.
All this ended in a Very Memorable, yet Boring Marriage.
Then one day, I talked myself into a job that had me living in strange hotels in strange cities doing strange things for strange clients, and fighting lizards in small towns by the banks of the River Hooghly.
This ended in despair, desperation and in a fit of pique I quit to join a startup as “resident loony”. This startup shut down owing me three months of pay, but not before I learned the technology behind ‘Hello World!’
With a baby on the way, I was reduced to making ends meeting by <gasp> teaching.
Can you imagine? Me, teaching. Adults! Things like programming in BASIC and COBOL, (in Bengali!) wordprocessing in Wordstar, spreadsheets in Supercalc etc.
Part 1 ended in debt, large giant, humungous tracts of debt.
The highlight of this period, however, was the arrival of my first born.
1987 to 1990
One morning, I was heading out to do grocery shopping. I was about the close the door, when the phone rang. I decided to answer the call. This ended in a tryst with dBaseII which, in turn, caused much bread to appear on our table, after months of eating air and water. It also brought forth butter, jam, eggs and other aspect of financial stability. And much respect from some of the biggest companies and organizations.
I saw much of the making of cooking oil, wax, aspirin, lysol, cigarettes, biscuits, aluminium, boilers, pots, pans and assorted other items. I was able to take a holiday or two.
1990s
1990 to 1997
This was a busy portion of my career. I rose to the role of Chief Technology Officer and Head of Products, by dint of being married to the boss, the mother of my children.
Yes, the highlight of this period was the arrival of another child!
This period saw me traveling around around India and Nepal. The first trip to Nepal was one of the early tales I wrote about, a terrifying tale of poor management and quick thinking (agility!) to defeat the fates and the border guards.
But, Change, with a Capital C, was around the corner.
A few months after my brother’s death, my wife and I found something that had been sorely lacking thus far in our 24×7 operation. Free time. I decided we would drive out into the city and sample a pizza, or a chai or something. And we came upon a banner that said “Immigrate to Canada”.
The Immigration file was speedily processed because it was felt, by some lunatic in the gormint, that I was eminently employable, given my 15 years of experience dealing with large companies and the high powers that led them.
And so in 1997, I arrived in Canada with 550USD in my pocket.
Corporate Canada said, “What? You said you arrived here just weeks ago? How can you speak English so well?”
The inference I leave to your imagination.
I spent 6 (six) months, living in a a single room of a boarding high school sandwiched between the large hospital and the funeral home. The room was small, the bathrooms and toilets were shared and the kitchen was a communal affair half a floor down.
I was, once again, down to a negative financial state, also known as “being broke as anything ever broken into teeny tiny pieces”.
1997 to 2000
As winter set in, I found myself working across the border in the USA. I crossed the border every day for two years working for an American consulting firm. The Americans, may they find peace, had no issues with my lack of “Canadian experience”. I got three (3) raises in pay in the first year, giving me some belief in my badly-shattered ego.
Reunited with the wife and kids, I found myself in charge of the team that maintained all the systems across the five plants in Canada and became known as the “guy who can coin new words by suffixing ‘able’ to words while making perfect sense”.
2000s
From there to the mutual fund industry, was an interesting jump. This didn’t last long. I became known as the guy who wouldn’t produce a straighforward version of that thing they prized and the thing was the thing they ignored in all directions. The Weekly Project Status Report. My suspicious nature led me to believe that nobody actually read it. I tested this hypotheses by reporting that “We are going to be delayed because the team is having a baby”. I got no calls from my boss, her boss, the COO, the CIO and the rest of the Steering Committee with whom I met every week to discuss “status”.
I moved to another company, in the December of 2005 and in early 2006, I produced a brief article on dressing up Microsoft Project for visual appeal, which prompted guffaws anch chuckles among the team. It is an early attempt at publishing articles, and is useful now, not just for the knowledge it imparts, but, more importantly, it serves to show us an early glimpse into a writing style, a style that you, dear reader, have come to love (or not).
Trouble at the mill!
This method was also presented by me at a few PMI Chapter and SIG sessions. The presentation is called “The WBS as an Art Form”. It was successful in agitating some, boring many and causing a couple to get some much-needed nap time.
(I got paid for some of them!! Imagine!!).
Eventually,
- I almost got fired, (for not having proper MS Project files!),
- was moved to a new department,
- promoted to run the Project Methodologies, (there’s a bigger story there…),
- became Agile,
- led the first Agile Transformation program.
As boss of Enterprise Methodologies, I added a button to the ribbon in MS Project to “Validate” the plan. Clicking that button would cause all your tasks, resources, dependencies to be analyzed into a beautifully formatted Excel sheet that showed you where your hard coded dates were (Spoiler Alert: MANY!!), where dependencies were faulty, conflicting, or missing (How could you!! Tsk, Tsk!).
But meanwhile, back at the ranch, trouble was brewing! Soon, I found myself walking to my car in the garage, minus one Blackberry (hooray!), one laptop (oh yeah!) and no revenue stream (oh hell!).
2010s
I spent the next year or so getting in trouble as a consultant, as a teacher (again!), until finally I ended up in Saskatoon where in the fall of 2014, I wrote a poem about Autumn. It remains, to this day, the piece of writing most admired by two friends and many strangers.
Then one fine day in the spring of 2016, I saw a job ad. I saw that it fitted me like a sock in a shoe. I would be a shoe-in, in other words. Since I was happily consulting here, there and everywhere, I let it go. Two weeks later it popped up again. There were 4 applicants.
For a lark, I applied. A week later I found myself employed as indentured labour at a large insitution of a variety I had sworn early in my career I would never work in.
Writing
I finally hit the “Publish” button and my play, A Couple of Choices, became available to many. The feedback I received before and after this event was um varied. I talked about this recently as I put out a “Second Edition”, this time also producing a print edition.
2020s
Work, continued as work has always been for me, until in the early months of the Ye Pandemic, employer and employee parted ways in a very brief and very legal ceremony.
I took to traveling and writing. And this period has been marked by extended bouts of travel.
Rabbit Season 24
Rabbit Season, known formally as The Irregular SloWord BirthMonth Festival, comes around every August. This season was the fifth edition and it saw, for the first time, strangers contributing to it. This is due to my having found the gumption to promote and advertise it, finally.
I have always enjoyed reading what comes in. And this year was no exception. I marvel at the way people conceive of plots, the use of words, and the imagery. It makes me consider my own strengths and weaknesses as a writer. (Plots bad, sentences long more or less sums it up).
Duck Season 24
I live on, now, writing desultorily.
I now have
- One Bluish Egg – stagnant, requires two new chapters and much editing
- A Long Strange Trip – stagnant, requires many new chapters and much editing (and an ending….)
- Slide 16 – stagnant, requires a rethinking of the narrative, a middle and an ending
- The Lake and other Stories – stagnant, twenty short stories of various types, requires editing
- Strangers – stagnant, but still fresh and holds much promise
These are all in various stages of flux (stagnant!) and this is the cause of Duck Season.
I shall be ducking out from social media for an extended period as I struggle to break the deadlock and bring some of that ^^ to a state not equal to “stagnant”.
I may post to Sloword.com, actually, I probably will.
So check in here periodically! Subscribe for the latest to be sent to you via email! Fresh!
Oh, you want to know about why August is Rabbit Season, eh? Well, someday, sometime.
Oh reservoir for now!