The Butterfly Diaries 16 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge was the first movie I watched with my mother when I returned to Bangalore two years earlier. Now as I was all set to leave for Europe, I remembered the scene in the movie where the heroine requests her father for a vacation in Europe before settling into a life as per his wishes. I too was flying away to Europe promising to return for a second shot at the MBA.
The onsite assignment felt more like an extended vacation to recover from my broken MBA dreams than a career advancement. Of course, there was a chance to make money. The work I was supposed to do seemed simple enough from whatever I had learnt. My predecessor was the front-end developer who had taught me client-side programming. He would return once I took over.
This was a time of various firsts. First from the family to go abroad. First time travelling by flight. First time going so far that I could not come home for a short break at will.
The domestic flight itself was such a fascinating experience; the international flight literally took my breath away – it felt like a palace in the air, with a television attached to my seat and attendants serving exotic food.
The safety demonstration however scared me. It felt so complex I wondered how I could possibly remember all of it and follow it in a real emergency. I prayed there would be no such emergency this time, promising God that I would learn it properly the next time I flew. And then three or four hours into the flight, it seemed as if God had not heard my prayers when the airplane began to wobble scarily midflight. I did not want to die. But luckily, my shaky safety skills were not put to the test.
As the destination neared, I was gripped by fear. Whatever was I going to do? Folks had said things would be taken care of. But how? The heroine in the movie had her friends and later the hero. I had no one.
My first step on non-Indian land felt like a great leap into the abyss. But I managed to get past the stern customs officer and to retrieve my baggage when someone called my name. It was my old team lead, Mr. Dependable. Feelings of relief surged through my heart.
It was not long before we were in a taxi headed for Mr. Genius’ home where I was to stay. I would be taking the place vacated by his previous housemate Mr. Systematic.
When I reached home, I found the whole team waiting to welcome me. So much for my fear of being a stranger in a strange land. It felt more like a homecoming. Soon I was tucking into a sumptuous lunch consisting of roti, dhal, rice and vegetables. Miss Sincerity played the perfect hostess. Though technically, given I was to stay here, she was the guest, and I was the host. But I did not complain.
Once again, a feeling of loneliness began to return when everyone started to leave. I did not know Mr. Genius that well. I had last seen him over a year back at the smoking spot. He had a reputation for having zero tolerance for any kind of nonsense.
Whatever was I going to speak to him about? He himself broke the ice. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
I was on my feet in a trice and outside the house marveling at the clean organized German boulevards. And the magic of bright sunlight so late in the evening.
“Good to see you here,” he said. “I had really liked how you brought to light the most hidden bugs in my code back in the testing days.”
I had never known that. I learnt that he too had studied civil engineering like me but had a passion for programming. It looked like I was going to have one more role model in addition to Mr. Dependable and Mr. Systematic.
Soon we stopped at what looked like one of those office ATM machines. Only the slot looked too narrow for a card. But what he inserted was a coin. It fell in with a clink. He pressed some buttons. He then bent down to pick up a small cardboard box.
“Cigarettes?” he offered me. I had quit but somehow did not think it appropriate to say that at this moment. I took one and let him light it for me. As we puffed away, I told him of my MBA plans and how I was to return soon after seeing a bit of Europe and making some money.
He replied, “Everyone comes with such resolutions. But then they get caught in what we call in Hindi the trap of the ninety-nine. They keep waiting to earn that one extra bit of cash to reach their target. But the target only keeps moving.”
It did make me think. I mean if one enjoyed the job and earned lots of money, why did one have to do an MBA? We were soon back home for a quick dinner. The moment I hit the bed, I fell asleep, dreaming of my mother entreating me to return in time for the MBA entrance the following year, while I wished she would say, “Ja, jee le apni Zindagi”.
The onsite assignment felt more like an extended vacation to recover from my broken MBA dreams than a career advancement. Of course, there was a chance to make money. The work I was supposed to do seemed simple enough from whatever I had learnt. My predecessor was the front-end developer who had taught me client-side programming. He would return once I took over.
This was a time of various firsts. First from the family to go abroad. First time travelling by flight. First time going so far that I could not come home for a short break at will.
The domestic flight itself was such a fascinating experience; the international flight literally took my breath away – it felt like a palace in the air, with a television attached to my seat and attendants serving exotic food.
The safety demonstration however scared me. It felt so complex I wondered how I could possibly remember all of it and follow it in a real emergency. I prayed there would be no such emergency this time, promising God that I would learn it properly the next time I flew. And then three or four hours into the flight, it seemed as if God had not heard my prayers when the airplane began to wobble scarily midflight. I did not want to die. But luckily, my shaky safety skills were not put to the test.
As the destination neared, I was gripped by fear. Whatever was I going to do? Folks had said things would be taken care of. But how? The heroine in the movie had her friends and later the hero. I had no one.
My first step on non-Indian land felt like a great leap into the abyss. But I managed to get past the stern customs officer and to retrieve my baggage when someone called my name. It was my old team lead, Mr. Dependable. Feelings of relief surged through my heart.
It was not long before we were in a taxi headed for Mr. Genius’ home where I was to stay. I would be taking the place vacated by his previous housemate Mr. Systematic.
When I reached home, I found the whole team waiting to welcome me. So much for my fear of being a stranger in a strange land. It felt more like a homecoming. Soon I was tucking into a sumptuous lunch consisting of roti, dhal, rice and vegetables. Miss Sincerity played the perfect hostess. Though technically, given I was to stay here, she was the guest, and I was the host. But I did not complain.
Once again, a feeling of loneliness began to return when everyone started to leave. I did not know Mr. Genius that well. I had last seen him over a year back at the smoking spot. He had a reputation for having zero tolerance for any kind of nonsense.
Whatever was I going to speak to him about? He himself broke the ice. “Do you want to go for a walk?”
I was on my feet in a trice and outside the house marveling at the clean organized German boulevards. And the magic of bright sunlight so late in the evening.
“Good to see you here,” he said. “I had really liked how you brought to light the most hidden bugs in my code back in the testing days.”
I had never known that. I learnt that he too had studied civil engineering like me but had a passion for programming. It looked like I was going to have one more role model in addition to Mr. Dependable and Mr. Systematic.
Soon we stopped at what looked like one of those office ATM machines. Only the slot looked too narrow for a card. But what he inserted was a coin. It fell in with a clink. He pressed some buttons. He then bent down to pick up a small cardboard box.
“Cigarettes?” he offered me. I had quit but somehow did not think it appropriate to say that at this moment. I took one and let him light it for me. As we puffed away, I told him of my MBA plans and how I was to return soon after seeing a bit of Europe and making some money.
He replied, “Everyone comes with such resolutions. But then they get caught in what we call in Hindi the trap of the ninety-nine. They keep waiting to earn that one extra bit of cash to reach their target. But the target only keeps moving.”
It did make me think. I mean if one enjoyed the job and earned lots of money, why did one have to do an MBA? We were soon back home for a quick dinner. The moment I hit the bed, I fell asleep, dreaming of my mother entreating me to return in time for the MBA entrance the following year, while I wished she would say, “Ja, jee le apni Zindagi”.
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