Saturday, July 30, 2005
Some F***ing Poetry, This
It's f***ing eleven thirty at night
Yet there's no f***ing end in sight.
Against this machine I'll f***ing fight.
But I still won't get it f***ing right.
Such is its f***ing overbearing might.
What am I doing, I've no f***ing clue.
The f***ing machine says False, it says True.
And also f***ing beats me black and blue.
What the f*** am I supposed to do?
Except hold my head and f***ing rue.
Me, alive, this machine will f***ing flay.
Let me just f***ing run away.
And f***ing live to fight another day.
On my bed, it's time to f***ing lay.
But what will these people f***ing say?
Maybe something like: "You f***ing wait.
Or else we will f***ing escalate.
We'll rat to the devil f***ing incarnate."
F***ing expletives seems to be in spate.
But know what, getting f***ed ain't my fate.
Management Class : Idylls of the Wannabe
Yet there's no f***ing end in sight.
Against this machine I'll f***ing fight.
But I still won't get it f***ing right.
Such is its f***ing overbearing might.
What am I doing, I've no f***ing clue.
The f***ing machine says False, it says True.
And also f***ing beats me black and blue.
What the f*** am I supposed to do?
Except hold my head and f***ing rue.
Me, alive, this machine will f***ing flay.
Let me just f***ing run away.
And f***ing live to fight another day.
On my bed, it's time to f***ing lay.
But what will these people f***ing say?
Maybe something like: "You f***ing wait.
Or else we will f***ing escalate.
We'll rat to the devil f***ing incarnate."
F***ing expletives seems to be in spate.
But know what, getting f***ed ain't my fate.
Management Class : Idylls of the Wannabe
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Riding in the Rain - III
I smelt rain in the air -
Time to leave my lair.
My bike was waiting for me -
So that we might flee.
The road lay ahead -
"Let's go", he said.
As I always choose -
I let him loose.
I heard him roar -
On the road by the seashore.
The clouds looked dark -
There was thunder and spark.
The wind was strong -
But it sang me a song.
The coconut trees did a dance -
As if in a trance.
The first raindrop -
I told him to stop.
It started to pour -
My spirits did soar.
Standing by the beach -
I felt beyond reach.
Me and my bike -
From others, quite unlike.
I stood there still -
In the rain and the chill.
We started to cruise -
The rain's a good ruse.
I got drenched to the skin -
On that neat little spin.
As the path I did trace -
The rain kept hitting my face.
I was not riled -
I just smiled.
Because all I wanted to do -
Well, I really don't have a clue.
I was just told by my brain -
"Baba, go ride in the rain."
Management Class : Idylls of the Wannabe
Time to leave my lair.
My bike was waiting for me -
So that we might flee.
The road lay ahead -
"Let's go", he said.
As I always choose -
I let him loose.
I heard him roar -
On the road by the seashore.
The clouds looked dark -
There was thunder and spark.
The wind was strong -
But it sang me a song.
The coconut trees did a dance -
As if in a trance.
The first raindrop -
I told him to stop.
It started to pour -
My spirits did soar.
Standing by the beach -
I felt beyond reach.
Me and my bike -
From others, quite unlike.
I stood there still -
In the rain and the chill.
We started to cruise -
The rain's a good ruse.
I got drenched to the skin -
On that neat little spin.
As the path I did trace -
The rain kept hitting my face.
I was not riled -
I just smiled.
Because all I wanted to do -
Well, I really don't have a clue.
I was just told by my brain -
"Baba, go ride in the rain."
Management Class : Idylls of the Wannabe
Friday, July 08, 2005
A Doc(k) Tale
I've lots of work tonight. But I don't like work. It's nothing personal really. It's just the way that I'm wired. As Col. Courage of Spiral Zone. As Huey of Duck Tales. As Lt. Mutley of The Amazing Race. But not as Mr. Dumb-Ass Programmer of a Global Top 10 Company. Bullshit.
So there I was, merrily chatting (with the hardcore Mr. D) on the messenger when I noticed something at the bottom right corner of my screen : "You've got mail."
I mumbled something like, "Onsite c****** !", under my breath. Opening the inbox, I found a mail from His Revered Hauteur, Client Manager IV, Duke of San Antonio (and suburbia). Now, obviously, it's not everyday that a commoner like me gets mail from royalty, specifically addressed to me (unless you count mails sent by The King and by The Emperor). Just hang on for a second while I have my spleen stitched. The King and The Emperor (two 'gentlemen' I know who prefer using those nouns to refer to themselves) ! Man, damn ! Don't tell me I need to have that done again !
A terse one-liner :"I'm getting concerned we will not be ready by Monday...are my concerns warranted ?"
I kind of wanted to say, " Yes, they are. "
Before I could even reply though, the little eyes at the back of the Great Eye sent warning signals : " May day! May day! May day! Project Manager aboard ! Project Manager aboard ! "
I turned around to confirm the gravity of the situation. And yes, there he was, standing with his arms akimbo, with a frown on his face. But hey, I like this guy. I mean, how the hell can I not like a manager who rides a Bullet to work (with goggles and other paraphernalia in tow).
He's Mr. Cool. And he's Mr. Fast. With a reaction time like that, he could probably challenge Valentino Rossi.
He didn't look too cool right then. He looked like a man who'd got the ammunition that he wanted. He said, very slowly, " What's happening in Auto Prefill ?"
Like "Wh---a---t i----s ha----pp-----en------ing i----n Au--------to Pr-----e--------fi------ll ?"
I kind of wanted to say, " Nothing dude. Nothing's happening. " Which is pretty much true ! But I did manage to say, with a deadpan expression, "Not much."
He said nothing. Nothing - as in the nothingness of the calm before a storm. And then, " I want to speak you right now in my office."
I bid the hardcore Mr. D (I tell you this guy is like...man. I can't believe this guy) goodbye and walked into the arena. It was an unequal fight - a heavyweight against a lightweight, a PM against a TM, a favourite against an underdog.
The door was shut. Oh...oh...not a great omen.
Let's just say real life is not reel life. Underdogs don't win. They just get knocked out. But look at these censor hounds. They won't let anything through, will they ? I let myself out of the office though.
Whatever, they can't censor my eyes. No, they can't. Damn those incorrigible eyes. Damn them. The very first thing they see and they're practically popping out of their sockets.
Look at her. Damn ! I wish they 'd pop out as well !
"Mamma mia !"
No, wait. I got it all wrong. Let me do it right this time.
"Maaaamaaaaamaaaaamaaaaaamaaaaaa miaaaaaa !"
Yeah, that came out good. That's more like it.
The Great Eye turned away
To feast some other day.
Me and my stitched spleen -
We got back to our screen.
"Mental Baba, surely you durst ?"
Laughing, my spleen re-burst.
"Spleen, there are cows that're milch
But Mental Baba is just about zilch."
"Spleen, just leave me alone
While my sins I do atone."
"Spleen, just go to hell
I'm not feeling too well."
My cube is on a busy junction on the 'highway'. I see our desi Mr. Rossi make a run for it down the 'highway'. He'd forgotten something - he came back, gave me a glare and set off again. Then I saw the videshi kudi check out as well, with the six and a half foot videshi munda. She just gave me a smirk : " You looking at me ? ". I watched the both of them disappear down the hall.
I drummed my fingers on the table, looking right through the screen. The non-plasma screen. The freaking non-plasma screen. A freaking CRT.
And then...it plays. Second string. Third fret. Fourth finger. 'S' Major. Yes, 'S' Major. The most beautiful sound in the whole of this wide world.
"Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream. Merrily. Merrily. Merrily. Life is but a dream. "
Everything's a dream. A pipe-dream. But nobody can take them away. Nobody.
"Play it again, Mental Baba. Play it again."
"O Elbereth! Gilthoniel !" I feel so calm. This place is ulti cool.
Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind
So there I was, merrily chatting (with the hardcore Mr. D) on the messenger when I noticed something at the bottom right corner of my screen : "You've got mail."
I mumbled something like, "Onsite c****** !", under my breath. Opening the inbox, I found a mail from His Revered Hauteur, Client Manager IV, Duke of San Antonio (and suburbia). Now, obviously, it's not everyday that a commoner like me gets mail from royalty, specifically addressed to me (unless you count mails sent by The King and by The Emperor). Just hang on for a second while I have my spleen stitched. The King and The Emperor (two 'gentlemen' I know who prefer using those nouns to refer to themselves) ! Man, damn ! Don't tell me I need to have that done again !
A terse one-liner :"I'm getting concerned we will not be ready by Monday...are my concerns warranted ?"
I kind of wanted to say, " Yes, they are. "
Before I could even reply though, the little eyes at the back of the Great Eye sent warning signals : " May day! May day! May day! Project Manager aboard ! Project Manager aboard ! "
I turned around to confirm the gravity of the situation. And yes, there he was, standing with his arms akimbo, with a frown on his face. But hey, I like this guy. I mean, how the hell can I not like a manager who rides a Bullet to work (with goggles and other paraphernalia in tow).
He's Mr. Cool. And he's Mr. Fast. With a reaction time like that, he could probably challenge Valentino Rossi.
He didn't look too cool right then. He looked like a man who'd got the ammunition that he wanted. He said, very slowly, " What's happening in Auto Prefill ?"
Like "Wh---a---t i----s ha----pp-----en------ing i----n Au--------to Pr-----e--------fi------ll ?"
I kind of wanted to say, " Nothing dude. Nothing's happening. " Which is pretty much true ! But I did manage to say, with a deadpan expression, "Not much."
He said nothing. Nothing - as in the nothingness of the calm before a storm. And then, " I want to speak you right now in my office."
I bid the hardcore Mr. D (I tell you this guy is like...man. I can't believe this guy) goodbye and walked into the arena. It was an unequal fight - a heavyweight against a lightweight, a PM against a TM, a favourite against an underdog.
The door was shut. Oh...oh...not a great omen.
Let's just say real life is not reel life. Underdogs don't win. They just get knocked out. But look at these censor hounds. They won't let anything through, will they ? I let myself out of the office though.
Whatever, they can't censor my eyes. No, they can't. Damn those incorrigible eyes. Damn them. The very first thing they see and they're practically popping out of their sockets.
Look at her. Damn ! I wish they 'd pop out as well !
"Mamma mia !"
No, wait. I got it all wrong. Let me do it right this time.
"Maaaamaaaaamaaaaamaaaaaamaaaaaa miaaaaaa !"
Yeah, that came out good. That's more like it.
The Great Eye turned away
To feast some other day.
Me and my stitched spleen -
We got back to our screen.
"Mental Baba, surely you durst ?"
Laughing, my spleen re-burst.
"Spleen, there are cows that're milch
But Mental Baba is just about zilch."
"Spleen, just leave me alone
While my sins I do atone."
"Spleen, just go to hell
I'm not feeling too well."
My cube is on a busy junction on the 'highway'. I see our desi Mr. Rossi make a run for it down the 'highway'. He'd forgotten something - he came back, gave me a glare and set off again. Then I saw the videshi kudi check out as well, with the six and a half foot videshi munda. She just gave me a smirk : " You looking at me ? ". I watched the both of them disappear down the hall.
I drummed my fingers on the table, looking right through the screen. The non-plasma screen. The freaking non-plasma screen. A freaking CRT.
And then...it plays. Second string. Third fret. Fourth finger. 'S' Major. Yes, 'S' Major. The most beautiful sound in the whole of this wide world.
"Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream. Merrily. Merrily. Merrily. Life is but a dream. "
Everything's a dream. A pipe-dream. But nobody can take them away. Nobody.
"Play it again, Mental Baba. Play it again."
"O Elbereth! Gilthoniel !" I feel so calm. This place is ulti cool.
Management Class : Meandering thoughts of a fickle mind