Sunday, May 18, 2025

Transient Friendships

Our Satyam Days, part XXVIII

Friendships at work do not necessarily last a lifetime. Put differently, workplace friendships often do not endure after a certain point. That's usually the case.

For all one knows, they endure, seeing as I believe that we instinctively understand that remaining curiously incommunicado all through the time passing is perhaps the most reasonable recourse to cherish the familiar relationships still going strong as they are. When our interests and needs change owing to life’s social circumstances, we find ourselves unable to connect in the same way as before when we were in Satyam — not because we intentionally seek disconnection from each other, but because we feel in some way powerless to do otherwise.

Contrary to what the preceding para might suggest, there has never been any attempt to foster a casual air of distancing between us team members during or after our considerable time as workplace acquaintances or, better still, friends, lifelong friends, Satyam friends. However, as time transitioned to a different realm of unexperienced reality and its apparent effect on our professional and private lives, our individual lives and all the ensuing responsibilities associated with the life that surged in like the pull of high tides afterward changed invariably. Consequently, since our last day of work at Satyam, all those beautiful Satyam friendships began eroding or abandoned if you like.

The bonds we made and lost over time.

That realistically is what has happened to everyone, with the possible exception of Mandeep, who, for a few prolific years after leaving Satyam, had maintained contact with me, while Devi and Suresh promptly stayed in touch with each other through the post-Satyam years but couldn't do so neither with me nor Mandeep. With other ex-colleagues such as me or possibly even Mandeep, as time went by, they never managed our unmissable good friendship going strong.

I kept an eye out for them, and on many occasions, Mandeep and I were conversing about their whereabouts. But we couldn't do the same for Renju, Shiv, or others after some time since we knew that, like her teammate Gnana, Renju would switch projects and possibly even relocate to a different city, and there would be nothing to reach out to.

Her strong-willed ambition to make for herself in the global IT world, in the U.S. or the E.U. she worked so hard for when doing projects in Satyam and post-Satyam years of IT experience, in her original brightness, finding a balance — friends, family, personal likes, and (maybe) dislikes have solved a lot of problems for her while others get created no doubt. Life cannot be a bed of roses for anyone: you have to work at it, and not many of us are born with a silver spoon in our mouths. Renju, by extension, all our former Satyam friends, had faced her share of life's typical and not-so-typical challenges, like staying on what matters without losing focus while knowing that it's even harder to learn whom to trust. Although there were difficulties or challenges—unavoidably, of course, that was to be expected—her life's journey through the passing years, post-Satyam, may have been safer and sweeter than she had imagined. Renju had brilliant joy and energy that most wouldn't be so lucky to have. Likewise, Gnana, too, I am sure, handled the purpose long enough to be fully ship-shape in the emerging IT world, sustaining a professional life that'll ultimately be for the world something to get talking about, I am sure.

As I write these words, an intention so deep, I place a quiet invocation of revival into each letter, as I believe that the nostalgic warmth of our Satyam friendship hasn't faded and never will because even though our Age of Innocence is long gone, we will maturely go on living with our fond memories of the teamwork we all performed at Satyam Computers, now a long time ago. It is impossible to forget the permanence of a memory of our profound experience at Satyam. Satyam gave us so much to remember.

From their vantage point in life, it is easy — conveniently forgotten, to not dwell on what is now a thing of the past, so that is what some people do. It's hard to believe they've sunk into such a surprising inward viewpoint.

+*+*+*+

Mandeep and I talked to each other intermittently, periodically going to the forthcoming movies at the Imax or having buffet lunches: Indian and Continental at one Jubilee Hills eatery or Mexican nachos at a chic Banjara Hills restaurant. We would order a big round pizza (with unlimited toppings!) from a newly opened Domino's Pizza on Raj Bhavan Road on the weekends. After leaving Satyam, we once or twice met up at a Pizza Hut on the hills of Banjara to have a go at their flatbreads with various topping choices alongside an oversized jar of cold drinks: I think it was Pepsi.

In these chaotic days, the fond remembrance of the Satyam friendship story is very significant, grounded in history, for all of us former associates or ex-Satyamites if you like: it is always my go-to for some of my best professional days. And will never outgrow a place in my heart. Today, that lovely old, familiar association is no longer there, lost in time as it has. And while the passing years haven't been able to erase the treasured recollection of those euphoric times, they have ultimately forced an incomprehensible amount of time and distance—the gap of incommunicative aloofness—between us dearly beloved pals of Satyam.

While I often find myself engrossed in the easy-going days of my youth and reminiscing about the wonderful times I had working at Satyam, I have yet to come to terms with the fact that so much time has passed without anyone noticing. Who among us, if anyone, could conform to the ever-evolving standards of a lasting friendship in the current millennium, post our Satyam experience? Am I the only one who is nostalgically inclined, or are we all sailing in much the same boat, experiencing similar things along the way? Do tell me.

+*+*+*+

After leaving Satyam in the mid-2000s, I sojourned in another city for around a year, working for Wipro. I met new friends and led a somewhat self-deceptive aspirational life until I realized over time that returning to the asphalt jungle of the city where I grew up would be preferable because this was not going as I had initially planned.

Though I had a super time at Wipro working with a wonderful group of people, I was growing inchoate and lacking focus as anything I would do would not bear fruit of even a rudimentary feeling of success for settling down in the city where I believe my roots were still intact. I felt as if I had been doused in self-delusional grandiosity of my own making, as my naive way of handling things had led me nowhere solid in the foreseeable future, not career-wise, of course not, but life-wise. Whereas, after working for a few years with a GG-headed IT division, Mandeep finally said goodbye to a French-cut (of beard style) maverick who replaced GG and resigned before joining a multi-national IT firm back again. I had a strong impression that Mandeep missed our Satyam days on the 5th floor of the Raj Bhavan Road office branch, and I never got the chance to ask him, but I wonder if he still does. Devi, Suresh, and Shiv would respond with the same feeling as him or me, Renju, and Gnana — who can forget the glory days of our early careers?

Even our violently arrogant and unfriendly boss, GG, who was known for being a narcissistic and controlling bully, would be missing those Satyam days. We all miss Satyam, and those brilliant, bright young days are over and won't return. Those days have passed. There will never again be "Satyam Computers." It's lost forever.

By Arindam Moulick

Sunday, May 11, 2025

The Silent Drift

Our Satyam Days, part XXVII

Friends have reasons to part. They may not feel like staying in touch. One possible reason could be this: I got a promising job somewhere, so I am moving on, going off the radar altogether if you fancy the term, and losing touch entirely. In the pre-mobile phone era, let alone the landline, to get in constant contact was becoming a challenge, a tough call.

So why did we abandon a trustworthy company of one another when nobody had done anything "disappointing" or "unpleasant"? Why this complete absence of social interaction, then? I wonder why I feel this sad sense of being left behind now, weighed down by nostalgia, which is, confessedly, had been largely self-inflicted upon my senses. Things were so wonderful when we were younger, more ambitious, and more driven (GG had no idea!). We worked well and made a good team (GG was instrumental in this, at least!): more like lifetime friends than just merely like workmates working as a team at an office.

Do you remember the discussions we've had in our cubicle? The booming GG-led Monday-morning meetings? Those hilariously candid conversations? Think back to those coffee breaks that sparked more humorous conversations, our sense of good humour: really about anything our apparent enthusiasm welcomed while working collaboratively on our functional tasks and coping with our demanding taskmaster, and not to forget mentioning our conduit of personal creativity and jovial collaboration in pulling up GG's huffs and blow-ups like Ongole Bull almost daily. Those unforgettable moments shaped our journey as a team together at Satyam! But we all ended up quickly drifting away. I know priorities shift. But still.

Not long afterward, marriage occurs, a kid or two, and then settling down in life, romantically and financially. Learning and mastering the craft of family life while working to keep everything coherent day in and day out causes one to fall into a traditional routine, perhaps resulting in a 'peaceful' family circle in a by-now familiar household domain but, alas, with old friends long gone and their relationships left to fade, life had turned a different chapter, met new friends maybe, and it goes on.

Communication, circumstances, and these days, some well-meaning individuals don't hesitate to reiterate personal growth endlessly. Everything indeed changes. Friends change, too. There's no sacred promise, is there, that we will stay in touch forever. Nobody keeps their word. I understand that now. What better reason could there be to pursue new opportunities and move away, even if it makes us reluctant to communicate? Priorities do shift. And some friends never look back.


When Friends Drift Apart

After my years in Satyam, I have often looked back with nostalgic awe: the memorable friendships I made with the colleagues I worked with; we all have tried to embrace the change that didn't seem to lurk around the corner but eventually made their icy presence felt: GG jumping ship first.

I embraced change (did I really? I have my doubts), as anyone would (but with great reluctance and unhappiness) in the face of new changes. I joined Wipro after leaving Satyam. Later, after returning to the city, I moved on to a New York-based IT organization for a few years, followed by a position at a U.S.-based IT group company. Life has evolved this way for many of us in the software industry. As a result, hardly anyone could be concerned about keeping in touch with old Satyam colleagues who have gone on to make a difference to the world beyond Satyam.

Life of a whole other kind took over our lives, wholly and completely, casting off old friendships as if they were enough, slowly falling away as some of us were too quiet and aloof to reflect on the past.

Devi and Suresh, the finance wizardry that only they could handle in the GG-helmed roaming division, never tended to stay in touch, except with Mandeep perhaps, as did Renju and Gnana, who have similarly forged ahead to other, newer, growth-oriented IT vistas: at large somewhere in the messed up, global crisis-laden, AI-driven disruptive world of IT software industry, scaling up the career totem pole while also losing contact permanently with every one of that old beautiful time we have all loved so dearly at the Satyam Computers on the Raj Bhavan Road.

Shiv and Shahnawaz have also disappeared, permanently out of reach—more than 25 years have passed—since those beloved days at Satyam. Thanks, guys.

GG never enquired after us. Has he ever? Ha-ha-ha. Can he ever? He will never stoop to the level of doing such a menial thing in his life of a (un)Holy Man of... Hell: GG the Great Dope, and that's understood. To be sure, 95% of the ex-bosses like him feel less important to do so. For these forever accursed individuals, nostalgic memories of the distant past don't recur as they don't let them enter their present — no one can expect anything like that from this rude narcissist who had damaged our innocent days of the first IT experience.

Mandeep and I maintained our friendship for a few years before letting ourselves abandon it altogether, ultimately drifting apart as some people do, no longer in tune with each other's company — perhaps having less interest in the life of the other. Kavitha was gone, escaping—just like anyone having slightly more grit and guts than the thousands of ducky also-rans and has-beens—to the US all those years ago: the profoundly exciting years she missed out on living and longing in this very city where she belonged to. That's her life, her choice. She was too far away for Mandeep, me, or anyone to renew or fully understand or establish the bonds of friendship that existed only for a little while among us when we worked as a team at Satyam, after which, sadly, it had to taper off as there was no forward momentum in the ordinary flow of friendship, albeit more professional than personal, none that had even existed ever since she went away purposefully choosing to live an ambition-scarred (or is it?), too-much-of-too-soon, gravy train of life that certainly had to be less ordinary there than it afforded her here if she continued in the same usual oh-no-not-again Indian mode, so to speak. That is all there is to this touching tale of friends and friendships that had, many years ago, taken place at a renowned company called Satyam Computers, our former office on Raj Bhavan Road, which regrettably went out of business (due to a sensational financial bungling in 2009 and the economic recession of 2008).

But Kavitha, now a veritable Half-Indian-Faux-American (HIFA, my coinage), had missed out on a great deal of that exquisite Satyam experience. The choices she had for herself differed from those that we had taken for ourselves: we continued to work with Satyam while she chose, rather determined, to move to the U.S. Every person's life is different from that perspective.

It is a bittersweet feeling, leaving behind something unforgettable and a lovely environment filled with numerous memories and camaraderie meant for the fortunate few. I still consider myself to be born under a lucky star to have been in such great company of friends at Satyam, for the incredible friendships I forged during those years that shaped my personal and professional life. It is no small miracle that my fate took a proverbial leap of faith to that level of what life could give me as a blessing as we supported each other and celebrated each other’s successes, making it all the more worthwhile memories that will last for a lifetime. Speaking from the point of view of an ex-Satyamite, for those of us who worked with Satyam, two eras will characterize our professional life: The Satyam era and the post-Satyam era.

In the storybook of my life, my friends have carved out a significant niche for themselves in today's fast-paced world where friendships are difficult to make, and the freedoms that once fostered camaraderie seem to be dwindling. It is rare to find friends these days, nor are they found in many places, especially when they like to move on, leaving everything behind while aspiring for a new life ahead. Memories are rarely made, often slipping away unnoticed, uncared for, and unloved by many who have no, as it seems to me, inkling about the significance of your life's work: your memories for the soul. For some of us, this is how life has turned out to be. Even though the mildewed pages are wasting away and my thoughts are as scatter-brained as autumn leaves lately, they remain etched in my mind even as the relentless march of time, a blessing or a curse, happens along swiftly, year after year and era after era.

Yet, I hold on to nostalgic memories of the past Satyam years that I will never omit from my present and continue cherishing no matter the changing circumstances I am dealt with, time after time, unravelling the mystery that life is.

So let’s pick up where we left off.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Sunday, May 4, 2025

The Bonds We Left Behind

Our Satyam Days, part XXVI

Maybe it is better to remain forgotten than to be remembered. This solitary thought lingers fondly as I reflect on the penultimate chapter of my second memoir about our Satyam days. (Between this and the last piece, there may be two more parts.)

I humbly confess my eager heart doesn't know how to let go of those lovely memories, but in the desirable end, I'm sincerely convinced I'm not the last one standing, so to speak, who is totally into this. My former friends, too, I am sure, retain a happy recollection of those memorable Satyam days just as I do, and it would be wondrous to know what they recollect about those glorious days of more than twenty-five advancing years ago.

Even though ample time has passed, the nostalgia for those heady times stoically endures. After all, it is a compelling story filled with exquisite moments of profound self-reflection, lasting memories of my beloved friends from Satyam, and brief revelations about specific emotions I had previously been unaware of. These cherished memories have occupied my private thoughts ever since I left Satyam. Written prolifically over several months, I admit thoughtfully that I didn't even realize how self-indulgent I had been while writing my Satyam memoir.

But I still can't make myself forget the eclectic recollections of those Satyam days, which have been deeply ingrained in my thoughts, never fading from memory ever since I left Satyam. Today, as I get older, I still feel like devoutly clinging to the past (foolishly? Maybe not) in a way that I'm unable to let go of my earlier memories about my Satyam experience, contrary to what rational people opine that one really shouldn't.

(But I can vouch for the fact that among all my Satyam friends, I may not be the only one who is into the business of recalling memories, that is, recalling past experiences into one's close conscious awareness; others are just as nostalgically inclined about it as I like to be, more often than not.)

Unable to shirk free of the cherished times that ultimately exist as prized possessions, my heart longs for every waking day of its little-known history, as it were, trying to remember everything of those extraordinary IT years, forgetting nothing. Having had the good fortune to share with you, I'm overwhelmed by nostalgia for a sweet old time that has faded into the unknown, anonymity—being (needlessly?) nostalgic for a lost time that had phased out and gone forever into history unsung, destined to be slowly but surely forgotten and remain unrecalled perhaps for all time to come. Hopefully not.

[
However, perhaps old memories die hard, and the powers of recalling those that gently let us reflect on the glory days we held close to our patient hearts for so long and for great reasons known and unknown after we left Satyam in the early two-thousands. After all, there are some unbreakable bonds we leave behind, never mind that all my super social Satyam friends have moved away: some to foreign countries while others continue to be incommunicado, married, and have their kids, living a family life. Now, it's only me and my strange forlorn thoughts (and my usual cup of tea!) keeping me company, spoiling me rotten while I attend to my family. But those friends are not coming back; they are gone away and will not return, broken free from the shackles of the past times we have shared so much of. None of us can forget anyone, as we all have left our bonds behind at the juncture from where we parted one by one: the bonds of enduring desire for each other's friendship we had at our former company, Satyam Computers — the name itself is enough to bring back memories. Each of us has gone to battle with the world; perhaps I ought to follow suit the way they do. It has become increasingly nastier for everyone to pick their own battles and face the hard realities of life. They say: The world is your oyster. Is it so? I seriously doubt it, though. But at the end of the day, we are all in this together, aren't we?

Reminiscing fondly as a former roaming division team as if still going strong, just like in those days, all the wonderful days we have been privileged to experience deeply. These are barely spoken words, a heart's quiet echoes, for what's left behind, for what's to carry forever into the coming times and the future beyond, which is moving away from the past even as the present appears to be in a constant abysmal stupor that doesn't feel quite relatable. Words are all we possess, and all those memories, I promise, will last for a lifetime.]

True, it is better to remain forgotten than to be forced to remember. Now I understand perfectly fine. We all parted, I think, forever, but we did so happily, knowing that friendships ebb and flow and have had their seasons, just as people's lives change and adapt to new stages as and when they come. So, let's be happy for each other because the feeling of continuing a lifelong friendship matters more than the years we've lost contact.

As for me, letting go of the past has always been difficult and impossible even to think of. Hence, I shall carry on remembering the fallen leaves in the garden of whispering memories, having a nostalgic bent of mind and a heart full of memories that never relent. I'd like to believe that I'm not alone in feeling this way, despite being solitary right now, in this quest for an inner yearning for the times we've yielded to the world's goings-on: to go forward in time as each year goes by. Time passed, and everything changed. For as long as I can remember, remembrances of our Satyam days have shaped my thoughts and emotions like tiny whispers of dreamy, melodic beauty echoing through all my days now, twinkling down in love, hidden forever in the stardust of the past times we once shared all those years ago.

“Kisi baat par main kisi se khafa hoon
      Main zinda hoon par zindagi se khafa hoon
          Ho khafa hoon, khafa hoon, khafa hoon…”

An Afterthought:

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, many parents hoped (sometimes even hunted for some) that their daughters would marry software techies, resulting in software engineers or IT professionals (hardware techies, poor fellows, had no chance for consideration!) becoming highly sought-after marriage potentials. However, this dynamic, not without the usual high drama accompanying it, mind you, had been altered significantly in the twenty-first century.

But still, the concept of matrimonial alliances has become more than anything you can comprehend or relate to: software engineers are no longer the hot potato they once royally were. These expectations now have become fearfully extreme in setting unrealistic expectations for the grooms before and after marriage, such as substantial salary earnings, owning a lavish house or luxury apartment: preferably a condo, well-furnished to the teeth, and the intolerable preference for the newly married couple to live apart from the groom’s parents right away!

This all-or-nothing approach has eliminated the fairy tale aspect of "the marriage of true minds," creating a false sense of security for grooms seeking a life partner, only to be disillusioned when reality catches up with them. That’s just how it is.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

“Khafa Hoon Khafa Hoon” song from the Bemisal (1982) film is voiced by Kishore Kumar.

Sunday, April 27, 2025

The Beauty and The Gentleman

Our Satyam Days, part XXV

GG, the greatest of all compulsive Dumbledores/Gargoyles ever lived, or the Satyam world has ever known, directed, not just directed, but thunderously ordered his financial proselyte Suresh to escort the stunningly beautiful Michelle for an official outing around town after the 2000's annual conference at STC.

Since Suresh, possibly in his entire life, had never taken a lady out, he initially became nervous (but perhaps not lacking the desire) about taking a breath-taking beauty out in the town. Hence, his tensed face was a magnified example of how to show a woman around the city.

Saying no to GG would be tantamount to wishing for his extinction from the planet right at the very moment if he sounded negative by any chance — so Suresh, come what may, will accept the challenge because he never thought he would be so daringly brave as to disobey GG's commands! He did not. Luckily for him, he was in sublime company: Michelle's, so he had nothing to complain much about. In the company of someone as beautiful as her, who wouldn't want to bask in the joy of that experience? Suresh definitely would.

Suresh's Day Out with Michelle

Upon hearing about Suresh's unexpected escort assignment, I jokingly teased, "Wow, Suresh ke mann mein toh laddoo phoot rahe hain!" Looks like Suresh is on cloud nine! Bubbling over with joy!

Mandeep laughed pleasantly in response, even as Suresh felt deeply anxious about how to take a stunning woman out around town in a company-hired vehicle.

Devi flashed a grin at Suresh and encouraged him earnestly, saying in a light reprimanding tone, “Come on, Suresh, go re! You’ve got this! Go for it!" However, Suresh couldn't shake his concerns about the unexpected assignment GG had handed him. He wished someone could join him on the trip, but GG had turned down his request for any company.

+*+*+*+

Back at the office the next day, after our annual client meetings ended at STC, Suresh faced a perfect quandary: how to show Michelle about town. On GG's orders, our financial pro, that is Suresh fell into a romantic tizzy. It must have been a rollercoaster challenge, a thrilling experience no less for him to go from his cubicle to the city with a stunning companion like Michelle, balancing his anxieties on the one hand and avid admiration for her captivating beauty on the other for an outing he had never done before, let alone with a woman outside of his household maybe. Suresh's day out with Michelle was an adventure he never anticipated would come by. We thought that GG had handed him a lovely anxiety, a delightful task, to manage, and Suresh would do well to work it out nicely.

The problem wasn't just taking out a woman; the problem was taking out a stunningly beautiful woman! The difference between the two perspectives ate Suresh up from the inside. How could he be expected to take a stunning woman on a local city tour when he had never before taken anyone out? Suresh demurred by half. As a result of this highly official obligation, he started the day slightly anxious, getting restless even. He drank several cups of coffee while surveying the floor of his cubicle and looking askance this way and that, contemplating long and hard and asking us ad infinitum, "How do I get this over with, alone?" Because of that imagined tension eating our office’s Gilbert Grape, he became a little nervous and jittery about the impending expedition that GG had imposed on him. Fair and square, it was now Suresh’s responsibility to see it through. The proverbial ball is firmly in his court. We could hear GG implore: Good luck with that!

A "No," even if it were a tame-lame "No" from Suresh, would mean his continued employability in Satyam would be at stake, besides a horrible unleashing of GG's rage no man had ever witnessed. So Suresh — hair nicely prickling on the back of his neck and raising goosebumps of all different shapes and sizes upsetting all his facial lines in the process, tragicomic perils of the age we are living in, more of GG-instigated tragedy than of Mandeep-improvised comedy — could only react, very very cautiously by saying something two-worded: “Yes GG,” and got on with it.

Not that he did not want to sound a categorical "No" to GG's explicit directive, but still, showing Michelle around the city would be more comfortable if someone could tag along with him, for heaven's sake. Suresh wanted me to join him on the short excursion with Michelle. Eager to see some historic landmarks before returning to London, she made hotel reservations at the Grand Kakatiya and extended her stay by two more days. Our team's responsibility was to ensure she had a memorable experience that exemplified the best of our hospitality — from the warm greetings to the personalized touches. However, GG put the kibosh on our action plan and insisted that only Suresh accompany her. Period.

GG derived altruistic pleasure in reprimanding us every step of the way; saying 'No' to almost everything became known as his forte, his signature response to everything that his subordinates might score a brownie point or two over his wish and will. It was his way or the highway. Because of this, a certain sort of stubborn bone-headedness was writ large on his person all year round (in fact, for a little over two years at a stretch that we worked under him, we always found him to be in a hedonistic chauvinistic disposition); it was almost pathetically entertaining to observe as it spiralled around him day in and day out creating an atmosphere of tight-ass oppressive intensity much like being trapped in shackles and making others who reported to him see the trifling frivolity of it all. Good grief!

Now, Suresh was a cheerful, down-to-earth, temple-going, God-fearing finance professional who preferred his clothes nicely tailored. Readymade garments did not quite appeal to him much as he wanted the old-world, vintage charm of going to his same old, seasoned tailor shop every few months for stitching, particularly when Dussehra or Diwali festivities were approaching. “Proper fitting” and "comfortable fit" were always the common issues with the brouhaha about the new-age readymade garments such as Arrow, John Miller, White House, Newport, Pan America, Independence, Wear House, Peter England, et alia, which were beginning to be every IT professional's wardrobe in Hyderabad; part of this sentiment Suresh and I had absolutely abhorred while Mandeep swung between having his dresses sourced by readymade or by bespoke tailoring.

+*+*+*+

On a related note: Mandeep got his clothes tailored at Yeomen Tailors, his favourite tailor, while I got my clothing custom-tailored at Visa Tailors. Afterwards, I moved on to Superb Tailors, which I had quit going to many years ago, though I still love to get my clothes stitched at a professional tailor's. But soon, new businesses sprang up like mushrooms among the slowly forgotten old-fashioned, traditional shops to vend readymade garments — more the prettier and get to be called modern or developed mindset; less or nothing, then be dubbed under-developed or not so forward-looking and backward class. That is how the world works and sounds and aligns with those realities. Talk of being spiritual!

The prêt-à-porter quickly dominated and monopolized the stores and malls that surfaced everywhere almost overnight, old ways giving way to the new. And I could not say if I appreciated even an iota of that kind of new-age development. Anyway, hardly any bother for the world (read marketplace) out there who welcomed and fell for it immediately. (I suppose when times change like that, you realize it and accept it even if you do not fall into the trap of fancying it much.) Eschewing bespoke tailoring, the trend of buying readymade clothes had already caught on — confounding effects, I am sure, of rampant 'CORPORATIZATION' and 'GLOBALIZATION' of all trade and business.

Mostly, we were just content savouring the occasional Burger or Hot Dog—Mandeep hilariously referred to it as "garam kutte"—alongside some potato chips and a refreshing bottle of Thums Up (at Universal Bakery). Our favorite snacks included the delightful Samosa Chaat, Sev Puri, Pani Puri, or Dahi Papdi Chaat at Park Lane. On certain days, we would indulge in an Egg Puff or Osmania biscuits paired with a cup of Irani Chai at either Garden Restaurant or Paradise Cafe. Life was what it was: simple and truly beautiful.

(Unfortunately, those beloved friends have left, and the joy we once experienced moving around or passing through the city, especially during Dussehra or Deepavali, has diminished. The twin cities have changed; political and economic masters claim to have 'transformed' them, 'putting them on the global IT map.' Yes, but beyond recognition or feeling. If this is what transformation truly is, they made it difficult for those who relate to or remember their former charm and character. Coping with this sense of loss, for all the old things and old times, will always be there to bear. But will brook no love. And as time passes, the pain will never lessen, ever.)

Nevertheless, I noticed that Mandeep was increasingly choosing to purchase readymade clothing. He would fly to Delhi to kill two birds with one shot: he'd meet his relatives and get some shopping done from that place up north. A pair of Levi Strauss jeans was one of his numerous must-haves. Devi moved on to buying off-the-shelf, ready-to-wear shirts and trousers from a departmental store called Chermas, his watering hole for complete family shopping.

+*+*+*+

When GG, our boss who does not listen to anyone, puts it on him straight to escort a London beauty like Michelle, naturally, he becomes squarely nervous than he thought he would get if someone went with him. Devi found no mention, and neither did Mandeep. Shiv was… denied access. None of us talked about it much except Suresh, who had wanted me to accompany him.

GG—with the hard carapace of a Dung Beetle for an attitude—turned down Suresh's request to have me also on the task of showing Michelle around town. He wanted only Suresh to perform this official function, no questions asked. And to suggest what he thought he needed to do, he flared up into a volley of abuses and hollered at Suresh,

Suresh! Tell me, what part of what I said didn’t you understand?

Suresh looked at the floor and calmly said, “Yes, GG!

GG spoke back: "Do as I say."

(But here is the thing. Nothing exists as an antidote (ha-ha) — in the challenging world of rude bosses who enjoy nagging their employees simply because they can: should you ask anyone, including those of us who worked with GG, our former crooked, bad-to-the-bone, techno-bull corporate manager — against the daily emotional lacerations we faced. It often felt like enduring vicious scorpion stings, Ram-packed with dreadful horns of fear and intimidation. (Check with Kavitha; she possesses an incredible grasp of the topic discussed in this paragraph! She was in copious tears: salty lacrimal secretions from the eyes that never softened GG's heart, not even a wee bit. After surviving for a year or so, she vamoosed to the U.S., which was far better a proposition than to face a boss who came from hell). If you have a death wish to risk an early premature termination of your life and career, then you can harbour the gumption to refuse his orders but proceed with caution. Likewise, you can let your bad manager know — you don't have to say anything drastic, but your actions should speak louder than words — that his authoritarian style (bordering on pathological narcissism) won't dishearten or dissuade you. Unless you haven't learned to assert yourself and say a friendly "no," you may feel compelled to comply with your manager's requests.)

Primarily, it was Suresh's responsibility to ensure Michelle visited the places she wanted to see in Hyderabad. And GG wanted it that way, with no additions to the two-some party. Knowing that you and I do how GG is, you better do what he says, or things will be knocked off their stack at once, leaving you to handle an avalanche around you later, I reasoned with Suresh. Thankfully, Michelle was a sport. And like a companionable associate, Suresh showed Michelle around the city. On finding that she was unpretentious and not as level-headed as had been innocently presumed, Suresh revved up his enthusiasm so much that it looked like he was going on a date with her! Good on him, though.

While Suresh was out of the office with Michelle, Devi returned to his cubicle positioned inconveniently across GG's 'see-through' glass-walled cabin in the West Wing, focusing on organizing his all-important monthly financial settlements that would get dispatched to all the finance managers across the country. In the meantime, Mandeep and I grabbed a cup of coffee in the hallway, just a short distance from the roving eye of Ann Mary R's reception lobby area on the green-marbled 5th floor.

It was Friday. Returning to our workstations, we set out to make plans to order a Domino’s pizza delivery to the office on the upcoming Saturday shift. And that was tomorrow. While we were at it, Mandeep started composing daily operations emails to send to Susanna in Denmark, and meanwhile, I began putting together marketing reports, including updates on file processing status, which were to be delivered to our domestic partners at the EOD.

+*+*+*+

Dressed simply in dark trousers, a light-coloured matching cotton shirt, and black Bata shoes, Suresh went on the city trip with Michelle. Clad in denim blue jeans and a white flannel shirt, Michelle was killing it — as she gracefully walked down the 5th-floor hallway before grabbing a cup of coffee from the Nescafe dispenser and entering the West Wing conference room, which was close to Devi and Suresh's finance cubicles, with GG's glass-cabin facing them.

Michelle and Suresh likely visited the Birla Temple and the Salar Jung Museum and then went to the Charminar area to shop for the famous lacquer bangles. A difficult situation for Suresh came to a close, and despite the rollercoaster of a day, everything turned out to be just fine for him. Fortunately for Suresh, his day with Michelle went perfectly.

All of us at roaming division were sure of this: Wherever she went as she strolled through our humble metropolis, people must have stopped dead in their tracks ogling at her, forgetting to breathe or wink, in complete arrest of her extraordinary whitish beauty. Michelle's golden, milky-white complexion was dazzling to behold, and naturally, Suresh, as was everyone else in our company, was in the absolute trance of her astonishing heavenliness. She walked in beauty, absolutely slaying it. That was the first and the only time a sublime beauty like Michelle had ever walked on this part of the Satyam earth.

Devi spoke with a naughty grin, “Wow! She is just too good to be true!” “Absolutely. They don't make them like her anymore. Oye! I can't blink my eyes re!” Mandeep chimed in, who was in absolute awe of our stunning guest. We all shared a laugh, and when Suresh joined in later during the coffee break in the evening after dropping Michelle off at her hotel, it added to the joyous atmosphere in the cubicle.

We all couldn't agree more that Michelle was a masterpiece of extraordinary beauty—"breathtakingly beautiful," as Suresh said before he took her along for an official tour around the city—with the power to alter the course of history for all time to come. A beauty that captivates not just men but, most certainly, women as well.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Alternative titles considered for this blog were: “Beautiful Anxiety,” “Suresh's Rollercoaster Day,” “From Cubicle to City: Suresh's Unexpected Adventure,” and “Suresh's Dilemma: Navigating an Outing with Michelle.”

Sunday, April 20, 2025

Morning Blooms: A Dormitory Tale

Our Satyam Days, part XXIV

Renju and one of her best friends and flatmate, Elizabeth, accompanying her as a roommate at STC, had their dorm rooms on the opposite side of the long corridor. Elzy (short form of Elizabeth) was so visibly tired that had Renju not put her hand around her and led her together to their room, she would have tripped and fallen in the first few seconds of walking to their room.

Overwhelmed by sleep, Elzy lay her head on Renju’s comforting shoulder while the best friends trudged down the aisle. Before shuffling back to our dorm rooms, Mandeep, Gnana, and I said Good-Night-Sweet-Dreams to Renju and Elzy as they strode through the long corridor, and they wished back the same, Elzy raising her hand and drawling: Ggooooodd nniiiiight!

Remarkably, Elizabeth was up and ready by morning the following day. She was idling around the edge of the dorm's garden lawn, admiring a row of Daisies, Lilies, Lavender, and Periwinkle that were blissfully in bloom. The night before, Gnana, Devi, Suresh, Mandeep, Devi, and I were all allowed to sit on the same lawn grass by the dorm cafeteria and play dumb charade and Antakshari until our hearts' content. Even in 1999—one of the golden years of our lives in terms of overall Satyam experience—mobile phones hadn't invaded our lives yet. (Life is so much more significant and gloriously wonderful—that is, so much more alive and active—when we are not carrying a cell phone).

When Mandeep and I emerged from the dormitory, Elzy looked up, waved her hand, and cheerfully said, "Hi, good morning! Last night, I got so tired and couldn't say goodbye properly."

Mandeep smiled understandingly and replied, "No problem. We were exhausted, too. We crashed on the bed as soon as we got to our room. It was a long day."

Elzy nodded in agreement. I asked her curiously, "Where's Renju?"

Elzy answered, "She's coming presently... I just got dressed and came out to admire these gorgeous flowers. They are well-tended. Look!" She handed Mandeep and me what I believed was a geranium flower, inviting us to admire its beauty. We did so and appreciated it as much.

As we spoke, we saw Renju approaching. She greeted us, saying, "Hello, Mandeep... Hi, Arindam, good morning!" Noticing that her teammate Gnana was missing, she asked, "Where's Gnana?"

"He'll be here any moment,” I said. “He was wearing a tie when Mandeep and I told him we would wait for him outside on the lawn for a while. You know that knot… it doesn't always come out right the first time. Gnana is tying the knot around his neck!"

Ha ha ha... I hope he does it right,” said Renju good-humouredly.

As we stood at the entrance by the garden lawn, Gnana joined us and suggested, "Let's head over to the cafeteria for some delicious breakfast. What do you guys say? By now, they should have served it. I need my coffee fix," he said with a playful grin. His well-knotted tie and neatly done hair made him look well-dressed and dapper.

Look at you, you finally got the knot right. The knot, I mean,” quipped Mandeep.

Gnana smiled and, feeling the wrapped knot under his neck, said, “Yeah, finally. Not used to it. But I got it.

Chalo, let’s go. GG must be expecting us in the conference hall by 9:30 am,” said Gnana.

Someone quipped that (it must have been Devi), saying, "Yeah, GG and his <bleep> expectations!"

Everybody joined in the laughter as we stepped towards the dorm cafeteria nearby. We appreciated GG, our fire-breathing Wrecking Ball of a manager, who was, literally and figuratively, behind everything and our stay at the incredible Satyam Technology Center, even though he was completely unaware of our candid yet pointed critiques of him.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Sunday, April 13, 2025

A Night of Reflection

Our Satyam Days, part XXIII

Stars Above, Memories Within

After a long day of work, we were all a little worn out and exhausted, so we just walked to the grassy lawn adjacent to the dorm cafeteria to rest for a while, everybody taking a much-needed breather before heading to our dorms and calling it a day.

Night fell, a lovely night. Every little star started to glisten in the pure, dark sky. Back in 1999/00, pollution had not taken over the environment as it has now, possibly the reason why the skies above us were noticeably boundless and darker, with brilliant stars sprinkled throughout the lordly heavens. Sitting on the lawn glowing with the day's twilight, I realized the time for a sacred moment of nostalgic reflection had arrived.

That was when I realized again — as I sat down on the patch of green for a breather, enjoying the nightfall descending on the land — though not for the first time as now but lacking in a way to examine the kind of personal loss I have been destined to mourn and am now living with that reality which affected me badly, albeit still believing that L. and I will always be in love no matter what life throws at you. While I stayed at the STC for the technical forum to conclude, the frailty of my love for her: the much-vaunted pain of losing someone my heart still went out to, my dearly beloved, nearly two heart-breaking years ago at that point in my life, had slowly begun to appear to be frittering away like a candle in the wind.

After a time, things weren't the same anymore, and it broke my heart. I lost her forever to the next time and era that has passed into the heartless, fast-changing world, which fell out of my liking. Now, it's only loneliness and isolation.

To this day, I kept the weight of those old introspections in my chest to myself, unable to confide to any friend or confidante. Sharing is accepting, I know; maybe it even creates a space for the absolution that has still eluded my understanding of what could have rightly been mine. Yet, some vain noise flutters as though chastising me: "What sort of absolution are you talking about? There's no absolution; just get ahead and move on. Life is for living, not for floundering in self-pity." I never did, to the best extent possible. I survived because I knew, deep down, I wasn't alone; I have all my memories safe in my heart.

I didn't heed that well-intentioned, if not blunt, 'advice.' Sometimes, random thoughts can intrude on your mind, often with so dramatic an unsuspecting force that can knock you down on the rocks of other such reflections, upsetting your perspective, even belittling your beliefs and convictions that you have always held close to your heart.

I realized, somehow, thank heavens, I need not privilege them with much attention and significance and yet be aware of their drastic impact if taken into consideration, for they might further target my vulnerability to thwart me off the nostalgic path to living and longing for the old days, among which the memory of L.T. is every little part of the whole firmament awash with divine faultless stars and that lovely pink moon that once brightened my youth, back when life felt much simpler and more genuine.

(Let this be my ode, my parting word, to my L.—My lifelong love for you is as vast as the boundless ocean. All I wanted was for you to have a better life. No matter how long I have left, maybe in the next life, I pray to get lucky again to complete you and me together where we belong: in an endless, everlasting melody of love that will fill our lives with happiness unbound as our love sets us free with every heartbeat taken for the one and only you: the only path I once knew. With every word written here, I promise I'll be there, hand in hand, until the end of time, forever and ever.)

“Hum chup hain... ke dil sun rahe hai…
Dhadakanon ko…, aahaton ko..,
Saanse... ruk si gayi hai,
Hum chup hain... ke dil sun rahe hai…”

Instead of acceding to the usually critical reasoning that my mind soft-soaped, I followed the sincere whispers of my heart. It was a heart that had only called her name once long ago; it has continued to do so ever since. And look what happened: I ended up enriching and restoring my mind's previous criticality with her beautiful thoughts for eternity; otherwise, I would have lost them to the void and "moved on" as if nothing of value had happened in my life or, as my mind, critically admonishing me once, had dared to suggest. So, wisely, I listened to my heart, not my head.

But I couldn't consider a rational way to apprise anyone of how my fate, destiny, and kismet had taken my special someone away from me as I got swept up into the continuous chaos of time and change. It broke me beyond belief, leaving me powerless to do anything. I remember breaking down, feeling shattered, alone, and lost. Accepting life's uncertainties was beyond words. My heart was gone, even as crying out my heart was the only thing to do. 

I just sat among my jolly good friends, staring into my not-so-distant past, watching the starry night sky aloft and the beautiful people around me talking, singing, and making merry. While my friends made merry, still so joyful and vivacious, even after a long day's work finished with a touch of finesse, I found myself yielding to the chronically lonesome thoughts of L.T., my gracefully elegant L., shining with light and colour in beauty and purity somewhere in the big wide world out there.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Note: The song “Hum Chup Hain,” featured in the Hindi movie Faasle (1985), is sung by the legendary voices of Lata Mangeshkar and Kishore Kumar.

Dedication: For L. It amazes me how I still believe what we started will go on eternally. You're still you and I'm still me.

Friday, April 4, 2025

Pastoral Dining Party

Our Satyam Days, part XXII

Speaking of outings, after work in the evenings, we had the opportunity to visit, only on two or three occasions, a few roadside open-air eateries known as dhabas.

During our visits to Zee, Deewan, and Baisakhi dhaba restaurants, each of which we visited once, we also went to another venue some other time on National Highway 44 where Devi, Mandeep—both sober social drinkers—along with Suresh and Shiv, Jagan and Shahnawaz, had indulged in white rum and vodka, famously known as Bacardi and Smirnoff, respectively.

The choice of the venue not only offered them the necessary impetus they needed to drink beer (from tall highball glasses, I noticed!) but also led them to indulge in a peck of whiskey or two, the brand of which I couldn't make a head or tail of in the dimming twilight of the pleasant evening in the open-air dhaba. But I refrained from inquiring about the brand name (for posterity's sake, if there is anything like that), knowing that as the only, though safely a non-judgemental non-drinker myself, among my like-minded office colleagues who loved to nurse a drink or two while fraternizing, I would only end up eliciting, understandably, seriously quizzical looks—especially from the fun-loving person Mandeep, who raised an soft-angled dramatic eyebrow, to move it further upwards in surprise or in mild indignation who knows, little hints that may have given his species an evolutionary advantage over mine as far as social drinking is concerned, as he swirled the clear distilled vodka contemptuously in his mouth before gulping it down with deep satisfaction—during our enjoyable sundown along the boondocks of National Highway 44, which was not very far and yet not that close either, where we all lounged together on the shaded patio to drink and dine and make merry as a team that Balaji and GG put together nearly two years before.

Although all of us enjoyed savouring authentic, freshly prepared, amply spiced-up cuisine in a uniquely rustic and open-air environment not found in city restaurants—at incredibly affordable prices that made us eager to drive down to India's longest highway, famous for these distinctive no-frills roadside dhaba setups on both sides of the road—most of these garden-like establishments have unfortunately closed down or no longer exist.

Some dhabas exist and persist in thinking resiliently about their former well-deserved glory days of the nineties and carry on regardless of whatever is happening everywhere in this day and age. Others have gradually faded from the reckoning as they receive increasingly scant patronage from discerning customers whose dining preferences have changed drastically. Going to the dhabas and dividing the expenses equally among us (going dutch) was really a sociable experience, unique to our day and age. And that era has gone forever.

During our nearly three-year-long association at Satyam's Raj Bhavan Road office branch, we experienced a remarkable era filled with work and fun, creating unforgettable memories that still make me smile with pride and joy every time I recall a story or two of those days, summoning small bits of past events that fascinated me. I concentrate on the thoughts and emotions associated with sounds, sights, songs, melodies, and fragrances, reconstructing them into my conscious awareness, forming them within my mind's eye as conscious pictures of those past days. Each time I get to do this, my happiness knows no boundary, even as I realize that all of my lovely Satyam memories are still there, unchanged, unforgotten within me. Nothing faded away even as time passed. That's how I'm feeling these days. Quite nostalgic.

We often received plenty of invitation cards for events related to marriage functions in preferred banquet halls and star hotels. Although we couldn't attend all the events, we did manage to show up at quite a few.

+*+*+*+

After our last day of the Annual Seminar at Satyam Technology Centre (STC) in the morning, we returned to the office on Raj Bhavan Road and, by midday, could get our parked motorbikes and head home. We drove in Mandeep's ever-dependable beige-colour Maruti 800 car (always borrowed from his businesswoman aunt), which he rode nicely, a little too nicely, to reach Raj Bhavan Road from STC.

As we burned rubber on India's longest highway, the NH 44, our hunger increased to become more famished. Once or twice, we thought about stopping at a roadside tea shack for a kadak chai but decided against it and drove on. I sat in the front passenger seat, awestruck by Mandeep's driving skills. In the back of the car, if I remember correctly, were Shiv, Jagan, and Shahnawaz, and they too were showing subtle symptoms of being starved—or is it an expectation "for a nice party" that has made them wilfully famished, eh? Or am I reading too much into this? I can relate to that. After all, we left STC with just a cup of double shots of espresso coffee/tea, toasted slices of buttered bread, and Kissan jam in our stomachs. Before starting our journey back to the office, Shiv and I took a couple of sugar cubes with us and slipped them into our shirt's front pocket, willing the cubical cargoes not to melt.

While he drove on, Mandeep, who is quite well-known as an expert in the powers of persuasion, put his skills to the test with me in the pact: he began persuading me to the effect that I eventually acquiesce to give "a nice party." He needn't have talked me into this; he just needed to put it in a perspective that would be great to acknowledge, and I'd have agreed. For remarkable friends with whom I had the privilege to engage and collaborate at Satyam, I would cherish any opportunity that can make us triumph in our friendship while remembering to dote on all the significant moments for years. Furthermore, anyone could easily influence me to host a party. I willingly, readily, and lovingly give in to various persuasive attempts from my colleagues "to give a party." Consider it done, I had said. Party time has begun, so let's make the most of it. Let's enjoy a nice lunch.

Sitting in the car, I turned to him before looking at the back seat, exclaiming, "Why not? Let's party, guys, what do you say?!" to which Mandeep enthusiastically responded, "Oh wowwww! So it's party time, fellas!" as he amusingly swayed his head in slow motion like the iconic Air India mascot, Maharaja, attempting to sing along to the song blasting from the car stereo, "Come on, Barbie, let's go party!" I carolled in, "Ah, ah, ah, yeaaahhh.

We guffawed for a while. Shiv, Jagan, and Shahnawaz in the back seat exchanged puzzled looks and smiled away like proud brothers in the know of things, perhaps wondering: What had suddenly got into us... to sing like that... in the car? Ha ha…wait till I recount this to GG! The last part was Shahnawaz’s tease! We even considered pulling over, getting out of the vehicle, and stretching our legs!

Well, I'm positive that had GG been there with us in the car, he would have grinned, for a start, like an unsightly old Crone, and secondly, his leathery face would have lit up with massive excitement for us all, knowing that a surprise party is on its way, almost here, anytime now!

After I decided to host a “party” for everyone, Devi and Suresh drove down from our office on Raj Bhavan Road to join us at Hotel Urvashi. Jagan, Shiv, Shahnawaz, Mandeep, and I drove directly to the restaurant, which was Mandeep's choice, adept at making party reservations. Whatever or wherever you prefer to party in the city, he knows where to dine and dine in style.

+*+*+*+

Those years at Satyam were the best of my professional life, as we worked hard—thanks to GG's eye-popping leadership!—and had so much fun. Yet, despite working for other IT companies, I have never experienced days like those spent with my wonderful friends during that beautiful era of my life, which remains incomparable to any other experience that came afterward.

Words often fall short of expressing just how special those years at Satyam were. But yes, with ready access to all my nostalgic recollections, writing this 22nd memoir-like narrative piece (and a few more coming) feels good. Even if only briefly, it feels like I've travelled back in time to those unforgettable Satyam days.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Sunday, March 30, 2025

Food, Fun, and Friendship

Our Satyam Days, part XXI

Even today, I can recall, with much excitement, chuckling under my breath as I do, the first time we started chatting on a chat platform from the new internet company's website, Sholay dot com. It was the start of the dot-com bubble that peaked in 2000 before it burst a year or two later.

Everyone took the brand-new trend seriously: striking up conversations with strangers we would typically never meet! In an era of real-time chatting and instant messaging within the newly evolving digital world, this mode of having small talks with someone without meeting face to face felt incredibly thrilling.

In today's world, social networking sites are so commonplace that the original concept, which once captivated us with its new-age tool for instant communication, is taken for granted because it is so abundant everywhere. And, in consequence, it has become rather dull but handy. That's how the world works: old giving way to new. That's nothing new to feel sentimental about it unnecessarily.

Those experiences were truly unforgettable. Shiv often used his first name to chat with strangers on the forenamed website. For example, ‘Shiv’ or simply as ‘Prasad’ or other variations to keep things regularly 'intriguing and mesmerizing' with his giggly gang of girlfriends, whom he courted each day in his increasingly busy life of dedicated 'bird watching' that had led our Enticer Shiv to get tagged with the nickname I (with proactive participation from Mandeep) came up with 'Joey.'

[To pull his leg with jest and banter, Mandeep and I once decided to play a prank on our associate Shiv, who came dangerously close to earning a reputation as a new-age, beyond-sexy, Casanova-like Emran Hashmi, a hands-on Lothario — a ladies' man, a modern-day Prince Charming, a veritable Don Juan. So we began sending emails filled with 'love and longing' to his personal email address from a newly created account: Joey at gmail.com. He responded enthusiastically to all the emails we sent him, mistakenly believing that someone named 'Joey' was sending him intense love letters. Some of the emails we sent were explicitly graphic in content, while others were straightforward, as in 'coming directly to the point,' appealing to his masculinity! Mandeep and I used to find ourselves hooting with laughter while we read his strong expressions of love something along these lines — 'Can't imagine my life without you, Joey,' 'Oh Joey! You're the one for me, let’s meet soon,' even this wild, untamed lust: 'I'm wild about you, let’s meet,' 'Don’t wish to live without you one moment,' and on another occasion this consuming desire: 'I'm so crazy about you.' All imprudent, lousy, yet seemingly passionate replies to the enticing email messages we sent him daily, and in one of his emails, he expressed his most secret desire: to meet up with 'Joey' at a public park of Joey's liking! Now take that! That, of course, never happened!

Before things got overboard and became overly serious for Shiv, who was mislaying himself in an emotional reverie, Mandeep and I ultimately intervened to rescue our colleague from an impending catastrophe escalating in ways we had not anticipated Shiv would get to this crossroads of his new love life. Soon after, Mandeep and I decided things with Shiv were getting serious, saying, "Aré Arindam, kuch karte hain yaar, yeh toh too much hogaya, warna yeh toh aape se bahar ho raha hai! Let's do something. Otherwise, it will slip out of our hands!" So we quickly settled to reveal the truth behind the fictitious 'Joey' we created to pull his leg or to hang noodles on his ears while praising him for the fun ride we have had at his expense by telling him conciliatorily, "Areh! Yeh sab mazak tha re, bas aur kuch nahi, ok! Take it easy! Look, it was all a joke, nothing else, okay!" Fortunately, Shiv was a good sport, bearing it all with a long-faced, tight-lipped, tacit grin that was only to be seen to be believed!! 

Shiv knew no bounds in his experiences of love and longing, including his other potentially typical desires that he felt not a wee bit challenged to overcome every day. He was a beer-drinking teetotaller, unique of that ilk. Naturally, he courted a googly of gurls daily because he knew how to fall in love instantly with anyone who might show a reasonable interest in him. A selfless Love Yogi who welcomes female relationships with wide arms! In the style of Shah Rukh Khan in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge!]

+*+*+*+

Mandeep occasionally typed in a boy's or even a girl's name, such as Shiv's moniker ‘Joey,’ to playfully tease some overexcited dudes getting overly friendly in the chat. As for me, I chose names I thought were funny, just like my colleagues, like ‘Rimjhim,’ ‘Okavango,’ and ‘Soosooagaaya!’

The name ‘Rimjhim’ practically danced off my keyboard during our chat. I found it endearing to note that it piqued Mandeep's curiosity so much that he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with curiosity and with a naughty twinkle in his eyes that only comedic humourists like him can only manage with their twitchy eyebrows raised at you in a mock, questioning, mischievous grin, "Oye! Where did you find that girly name? Areh! Ye naam kahaan se mila re? Kitna beautiful naam hai," he asked. "It's such a beautiful name!" (I could feel the enthusiasm in his voice as he savoured the sound of the girly name, which brought surprising delight to our conversation whenever I invented other funky chat names to use for chatting).

Soosooagaaya’ or ‘Susooagaaya’ was another hilarious name I came up with. It was my invention! Seeing that name in the chat, Shiv and Mandeep first chuckled before erupting into laughter, howling for several minutes until they caught their breath. At which point Shiv exclaimed, “Oh my god! What got into you? That sounds really quirky if you ask me!” and continued laughing, adding, “But it’s a good one! Quite funny,” to which I responded, “Thanks Shiv, I’m glad you found that funny. I knew I was funny!

Mandeep chuckled heartily. “How did you think of that name? Tereko susoo agaya? Did you feel like peeing?” he asked. I couldn’t say anything as I laughed with them, momentarily speechless, unable to react amidst the mirth while lost in the laughter.

Just then, someone pinged me on the chat: “Soosooagaaya? Who are you?” and someone said, “Hi, Soosooagaaya!” before realizing the meaning of the name, “Soosooagaaya!!!….. Hahaha... hahaha…!!! Nice name!!!” Mandeep, Shiv, and I all chatted on that chat platform as if there was no tomorrow.

[Our impromptu chatting sessions lasted for a month or so before we grew disinclined to continue in that manner. Work started dominating the professional landscape day after day and week after week, becoming increasingly timed for continuous delivery and meeting set targets within daily time frames. We moved on after losing interest in chatting with the outside world, as it were.]

Shiv, Mandeep, and I typed furiously, almost pounding our keyboards as we engaged in a lively conversation ranging from humorous, serious, and often even playfully hectoring chatters with lively rhetoric, making the conversation entertaining, exciting, or frequently quite silly. Internally, within the organization, we used the official chat system to intercommunicate with Devi and Suresh, whose cubicles were on the other side of the building in the West Wing. Mandeep and I frequently joined them in one chat session after another, filled with energy and enthusiasm that knew no bounds. Those days were so much fun: the era of fun, friendship, and food.

While Revathy, Rafi, Gnana, Renju, Elizabeth, and Marilyn moved on without a farewell, Mandeep and I furthered our chance to continue our friendship for a bit longer before turning incommunicado for over a decade and a half now. Unfortunately, we may never cross paths again. If they do, it will be better for it.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Sunday, March 23, 2025

The Joy of Attending Weddings

Our Satyam Days, part XX

Once, Mandeep and I drove to the Hotel Raj Classic Inn to attend a colleague's wedding reception. It was a fine evening of some signature good food and enjoyable socializing. Then, at another time, our colleague Revathy also tied the knot. Mandeep and I received invitations to both her wedding and her reception.

After arriving at the iconic Taj Mahal Hotel for Revathy’s wedding reception, we headed for the elevator to the terrace garden on the top floor. To elevate my fragrance etiquette, I wore two Eau De Cologne perfumes on my Peter England shirt: Denim and Brut—the latter of which Mandeep gifted me for my birthday, while a few months earlier, in November 2000, I had given him a blue-check White House shirt for his birthday.

As we stepped outside into the banquet hall, we walked to the stage to warmly greet our happy-looking colleague Revathy and her feeling-blessed husband amid a lively gathering of guests, women among them admiring Revathy's bridal silk saree adorned with intricate zari work to an awe-inspiring effect. After enjoying refreshingly fizzy lime-based cold drinks, we mingled in the exquisite atmosphere of the beautifully decorated banquet hall adorned with elegant floral arrangements, twinkling fairy lights, and stylish table settings. We then enjoyed a sumptuous buffet dinner featuring a variety of fresh salads, meats, and fruits, all elegantly arranged on the glossy marble-topped tables, which was quite a delightful affair.

+*+*+*+

On another occasion, I found myself in a tastefully decorated function hall in Ramachandrapuram at BHEL Township, where the serene and warm ambiance captivated all the admiring attendees present. Even the children were calm and remained in one place despite their usual tendency to be active and dash about the hall.

The lighting, the sofas and chairs arranged in a gentle curve around the hall, the carpeted floor, and the stage—where the bride and bridegroom's families were about to receive guests—were all generously decorated in a way you will instantly appreciate: Adorned with shimmering draperies and delicate motifs, the exclusive use of natural flowers instead of plastic ones created a photo-worthy floral wall on the dais.

Ramachandrapuram was very far from our office on Raj Bhavan Road, so recognizing that travelling by motorbike would be tiring and out of the question, Mandeep decided to bring his club-hopping businesswoman aunt's ever-dependable beige Maruti 800, allowing ourselves to drive a long way to reach the venue in the far northern suburbs of the city.

+*+*+*+

Devi, Suresh, and I attended Mandy’s brother’s wedding reception at the Hotel Taj Banjara sometime in 2001/2. Three or four years later, Mandeep married at the Taj Holiday Inn (now Taj Deccan). Our former boss, GG, was also there with his wife. He was, as usual, in the garb of his boastful and pompous self while looking for a drink or two that the waitperson was serving on the lawn, whereas I observed that his wife chose not to drink. If memory serves me correctly, Devi and Suresh continued working at Satyam for several years after I had left, and in that time, a lot of water had passed down the bridge to a different era, with Mandeep moving on to other vistas; I moved on to a different city to join Wipro.

I often wondered how Devi and Suresh continued working at Satyam's STC office branch without the companionship of Mandeep, myself, Shiv, or, for that matter, GG or Kavitha, who quit Satyam after she got the opportunity she was craving to go to the U.S., where everybody was going at that time and still do so typically even today. Our old memories gratefully never really leave us: they cause a powerful, continuous impact on our way of life ahead. I can only imagine how emotionally haunting those wonderful years on the 5th floor of TSR Towers on Raj Bhavan Road must have been for them or all of us. Despite my distress before and after shifting to Satyam's premier software development facility called Satyam Technology Center (STC), I can only imagine how Devi and Suresh coped with such a sudden change to STC, especially considering that the roaming division on Raj Bhavan Road, where we had all collaborated for nearly three years, was dislodged from Satyam and transferred to another company. How did Mandeep and Kavitha move on without adequately addressing our need for nostalgic memories of our time in Satyam, specifically since we haven't discussed it, which raises this question? While I can't comment on GG regarding the beautiful memories of Satyam, his sense of nostalgia must have been entirely non-existent, akin to a big zero. Even though they had long since shifted from that unforgettable office location—Devi remained at STC while Suresh, like me, eventually moved to the Vikrampuri office branch—it must have been, as it had been personally for me ever since I left my beloved workplace on Raj Bhavan Road, heart-breaking to carry those specific memories in their hearts while continuing their work at different locations and earn a living. Then I realized that not everyone is as nostalgic as I am, which might explain how they manage it the way they want. Others may have a harmless opinion about it, that's all.

The truth is: In the deepest corners of my soul, I still harbour the emotional remnants of the old Satyam era we have all been a part of and have experienced together, and this reflects in many ways a fundamental aspect of my persona—deep feelings of nostalgic longing for the past.


+*+*+*+

No sooner had I entered the open-air marriage lawns on the right, far side of the expansive Taj Deccan than GG called out, "Hey! Arindam. How are you? Come sit with us." I immediately remembered what Mandeep had mentioned on the phone while inviting me to his reception party, "Chicha would also be there! So, better watch out! He he!" But I reassured myself that enough water had flown down the bridge and enough distance of passing years had been put between him and us, so therefore, I could handle that familiar old ghoul, no problem.

But the instant I saw GG sitting like a bulky Hulk-like figure across a vast table covered with white linen, I remember my body's (un)sympathetic nervous system kicking in; my valiant resolve of steadfastly saying ‘no problem’ had gone kaput. 

My shirt clung to my back with hot goosebumps riddling all over. Sighing internally for having been singled out like that just when I stepped into the lawn area, I had no choice but to take the seat he indicated with an outstretched hand to take the cue and sit in the chair opposite him and his family. I thought to myself: "Never was he this courteous to anyone back in that day, so why now? Lagta hai Chicha soodar gaye!” But then I questioned, internally, can he be this jovial? Really? Something’s definitely fishy! But as I sat there, smiling and chatting with my former ‘worst nightmare’—the one whose masterclass in extreme bossism writ large over our Satyam days, and clear for all to see—I recalled our days at Satyam under his authoritarian administration (read regime) and how it was so curt and snappy with him at the helm of all roaming operations back in the day. In the end, however, I couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't changed. He never changed. He is the same as he always was; no change whatsoever. Outward appearances are always deceptive. In GG's case, it jolly well was. Once a vile man, always a vile man. GG will never change. Period.

Although he now behaves nicely, thank God he is no longer the boss. Otherwise, nothing could stop him from being his Hitleresque best, his typical bearing of the evil in the world of gruff bosses, even at a party like this, missing only the toothbrush moustache on that hefty Colin Powell lookalike scowling face!

Afterward, Devi, Suresh, and Jagan arrived. They must have met GG when they entered the lawn, but I didn’t enquire about it. We all met, chatted for a while, and took a short stroll towards where the buffet spread on the long dining tables set in a curve on the promenade. I looked over to the stage where Mandeep and their family stood in position to welcome the politely tardy guests, gracefully delayed!

That was the last time I saw Devi, Suresh, and Jagan. A couple of years later, I learned from Mandeep that Jagan had migrated to Chennai, where he was doing well in his IT career. Unfortunately, just a few years after settling down there with his wife and newborn son, he passed away due to severe gastrointestinal disease: a result of extreme medical complications caused by drinking binges, chronic smoking, continuous chewing of paan masala, and habitual swallowing of gutkha. We warned Jagan numerous times about the ill effects of consuming such toxins, but he never listened.

Devi and Suresh, once passionate friends, were unwilling to be in contact. Shiv and Shahnawaz lost all about their old friends within a few years of leaving Satyam to pursue their goals elsewhere in the ever-expanding urban sprawl of this inhumanely overcrowded city of Hyderabad.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Sunday, March 16, 2025

Broken Love

Our Satyam Days, part XIX

Among the good things lurked an aberration of a friend's deceit:

Jealousy and envy—a dangerous tandem of mind pollutants for any offense to others—are classic examples of how they can unleash profound emotional disturbances and wreak havoc in people's lives. It can be that serious. When these emotions become intertwined or mutually exploitative in a person's misguided thought processes, or when they have 'self-centred' opinions about a 'situation' (that was not of his making), they can damage relationships so severely that they may never regain their former innocence nor do they get to mend: whether they are only a day old or have persisted for months or years.

Contrary to what Kavitha tended to think, she quickly had her staunchest ally, her best friend Una Artoran, on her side as she became snug within the noxious belief system rug that people in her part of the world were partaking in, and like a classic case of a ‘Tandavi’ in the gory act of metaphorically shooting down the flight of dreams, which were those of her friend Una and her beau, fumed to the teeth, shattered the hopes they were beginning to have for a bright future together, that Kavitha, in her moment of, what shall we call it, frustration and fierce anger boiling inside her, unfairly jumped as though straight off the cliff of the gross conclusion her close-minded pettiness could fathom that one of her colleagues might have a thing or two or might be involved with someone named Ann.

Kavitha felt her best friend was in for a sure-shot betrayal or some hare-brained similar nonsense that nobody needed but her; thinking this to be a red flag, Kavitha, who was constantly in the habit of becoming green with envy just on a whim, browbeaten Una's unwary, easily deceived sensibilities.

Strange that Una found no compelling reason to check out the sickening antecedents of her so-called dear friend Kavitha, who was perhaps taking her life to go down blithely in a very different direction altogether than she would have wanted had she continued living in this town.

All this ho-hum absurdity instantly provided our colleague Kavitha her spicy gristmill fodder for well-deserved stressful spells, even as she sat bolt upright like a WWE's Undertaker or a strict nun stirred up abruptly from her sweet sleep in her office chair, burning with vengeful jealousy, racial animosity, and begrudging resentfulness, all colliding simultaneously in her fervently paranoid brain as she began frantically to make phone calls which she did throughout the day, desperately misinterpreting a reality so obvious she could never bring her mind to believe: No wonder then that the bare truths were twisted out of proportion for swift consumption for whom so ever concerned in her lunatic enterprise, dispatching her prejudiced sermons one after another first over the phone and then in person to her staunch ally, her bestie who worked at a financial organization situated on the east side of town, and who—unbeknownst to her: that her so-called fast friend Kavitha's unfortunately wrongful bent of mind worked overtime to commit a professional level of immoral hara-kiri that no one could suspect or feel anything of, least of all Una herself—had been driven to relocate to another state down south, and abandoning a blossoming relationship of the romantic persuasion during those brief but unforgettably beautiful months that all but had perished like a premature love fruit right before all our eyes.

+*+*+*+

He poured his heart and soul into his dream of Una, the girl of his waking life, who, as he fondly recalled those days, sparkled in the enchanting moonlight of '98 when the evening sun was slowly dipping below the horizon. He treasured every passing moment, anxiously waiting until she arrived at the little underground coffee shop, his heart racing with anticipation.

Catching a glimpse of her face at the coffee shop and in that ephemeral moment of sitting enthralled like a star-crossed couple opposite each other at a romantic table, he felt captivated. Her lips formed a delicate, straight line that slightly curved into a pink smile, radiating an enchanting quality that seemed almost magical-surreal to belong to this world of immortals. A soft, warm blonde light glowed within her beautiful, alluring persona, creating an aura of magic and elegance that defied conventional beauty perfections of the time. Her curly hair framed her face like falls of shining silk, accentuating her luminescent dark eyes and adding to the allure surrounding her fairy-like persona…

…Sadly, a few months thence, he found himself surprised, entrapped in the cold, unfeeling shadow of an unfulfilled fantasy love story that didn't go so far as to stop hoping for Una altogether, still holding close to her lovely memory as nothing short of a lifeline. But it also meant running up against Kavitha's cunning deceit, which severely damaged his relationship with Una beyond all hopes of the redemptive power of love, which he somehow knew was only a novelistic trope, and there's nothing else to it. His little dreams for the future with Una had suddenly become unattainable and elusive. With each passing day, he became more entrenched in the steadily accumulating memories of the past while his dreams slipped further and further away from his grasp. Their love was beautiful, a love filled with joy. However, his colleague Kavitha's perfidious intentions shattered everything he and Una had just started to build together. 

Time will heal the wounds of yesteryears, although the heartbreak never fully mended.

+*+*+*+

The world around him remained indifferent, just like Kavitha and her ilk had been toward his most cherished dream of Una: never coming true and being forgotten gradually. As he grappled with the raw vulnerability of his unfulfilled prospect of trying to be true love, he felt the emotionally draining consequence of disappointing friendships of her kind weighing on him as if the heavens were falling and the end of life had been a long time coming. None of those beautiful dreams had come true, and deep within him, a troubling reflection of reality had finally emerged: How could they ever come true? And what was he thinking?

Here's hoping against all hope that, at least now, Kavitha can see things clearly, enabling her to resurrect the flawed beliefs that fooled her before when she worked with us at Satyam. While it may not change the past, it no longer makes a difference. But still.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Note: The account presented above is merely a product of my imagination—a mosaic crafted from the spectre of idle thoughts, which I concede are often whimsical or downright peevish, playing tricks on my mind, nothing more than habitual thought processes running on autopilot in me, if you will. 

I'm barely tethered to reality anymore.

Sunday, March 9, 2025

The Sweet Anticipation of Wedding Bells

Our Satyam Days, part XVIII

During those days, as we attended numerous wedding functions of our Satyam colleagues who regularly got hitched first and fell headlong into holy matrimony, a couple of associates curiously inquired about our matrimonial prospects, addressing both Mandeep and me, "When are you guys getting married?"

Of course, I didn't blush. On the contrary, I would have blushed anyway, no problem, before coming up with an appropriate answer to that personal yet interesting question about my relationship status! Blushing is helpful; even "blushing the blush," self-consciously blush-blushing, causing one side of your cheeks to turn kinky and the other pinky! Kinky and Pinky cheeks!

I once articulated something laborious, as is sometimes my way, and that also slightly more colloquially than anyone would have cared: No Antony will do for his Cleopatra, no Romeo for his Juliet, and yet no Othello would do for his Desdemona, or so I had believed, perhaps a little too superiorly than required for just the simple task of replying to a straightforward question someone had the undue gumption (just kidding) to enquire about whether I am a potential future matrimonial aspirant! As my close smart-alecky Satyam colleague, Mandeep would have wanted to phrase it, his face screwing up slightly, smile askew: "My Big Fat Hyderabadi Wedding." He said those words. And that means something's up! So it's going to be very soon. Huhn-Huhn!

Instead, I remarked meekly: short-shifting apologetically, withdrawing into a shell, retreating like a whispered secret, and so on, as is sometimes my style, "We are budgeting right now, ensuring we save enough for my impending doom!" That's not precisely, I admit, a response worthy of a standing ovation (Oh, what high thinking!) as far as the department of eloquence or the gift of the gab is concerned! Duh!

Fortunately, he laughed at that reply while I pondered something wittier to say but cheerfully offered this line instead: "Soon! Very soon. You'll receive my invitation!"

And that was that. Or so we thought!

Once Ann Mary R. or Mary Ann (or vice versa), better understood as GG's protégé, a deeply enchanted Chocophile with an uncannily profound attachment to imported chocolates and candies that GG brought for her unfailingly from his quite a few trips abroad, decided to stop by our cubicle. She often did so whenever she could.

Mandeep immediately perked up to say, "Aur Mary Ann? Roz ario!?" (So, Mary Ann, are you coming daily [to the office]?) She laughed for a full five minutes—I mean, she laughed like she had never laughed before, thinking about what had gotten into Mandeep to say it in such a funny way! That was really so hilarious! 'Roz-Ario' was her surname, and Mandeep took that apart to ask her if she was coming daily or 'daily coming' (that is, to the office)! Yeah.

After sharing a hearty laugh, she lingered for several minutes around the cubicle, then turned to Mandeep and teasingly asked, "So, Mandeep, when are you getting married? When's the big day?"

Mandeep had a witty repartee ready and replied, "You are asking me? How flattering!" He then added, "Any day now! Yeah."

Ann Mary giggled and then laughed again before turning to me with a curious expression. "What about you, Arindam? When can we expect to hear about your wedding plans?"

I responded jovially, "Nice try, Ann," then added, "You're invited, regardless of whether GG attends!" She continued to giggle and laugh out loud, as she often does.

Before Ann Mary R. returned to her front office desk, I asked her when she was getting married, was it sooner or later? She responded with a facial expression that conveyed the evasiveness erupting like a deep sigh through the looming life-long odyssey of being in wedded bliss, rough sleep, drawn to the kitchen whipping up... err... preparing meals of bread toast, jam, and mutton pies, fruit custard and plum cakes, and finally, giddying implication: a teasing suggestion that it would happen shortly. Mandeep and I understood what she was ultimately trying to convey!

Before the year was out, she married her long-time beau, who, we thought, must have kept up a doubly good vigil on her right from the first day these two became serious as a couple. Her beau often came to the office to check in on her, as did her mother once. She and her beau had everything planned from the start: they were betrothed and had it all set for the impending nuptials, leading to the sweet anticipation of their wedding bells arriving sooner rather than later. Better now than later?

+*+*+*+

To this end of the discussion, I would assert that Devi was spared from a personal investigation because he was already happily married and had two school-going kids, while Suresh, although on the verge of, as we often use the phrase: 'to tie the knot,' marrying for reasons not so incomprehensible to Mandeep and me as of that date in time, remained single yet.

The phrase I once used, "impending doom," must have sounded very ominous to Suresh, even as he recently took into consideration his going in for the long haul, such as committing to the idea of marriage and whatever comes after that: destroying your bachelorhood, for instance! Has it not been so? Never mind that. I was only joking, whether funny or not!

Enquiry over, she headed back to her reception desk.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Tuesday, March 4, 2025

Jokes, Jingles, and Team Spirit

Our Satyam Days, part XVII

And then there was Mr. Maruti, a Satyam colleague whose name we only knew vaguely, as he was working on a different project. He was a part of the same team as Revathy and Rafi, the legendary software duo who simultaneously supported our team of three, and then it grew to be five, as well as theirs.

It takes a lot of courage and an outstanding skill set to achieve what they did. Likewise, it should be acknowledged that—I hope this doesn't sound over the top—Revathy and Rafi were truly exceptional women with whom we had the privilege of knowing and working at Satyam.

Through the flexible, hands-on practice and personalized approach that Revathy and Rafi provided, we learned new software tools, best IT practices, data analysis, and codebases within our first month at Satyam. Their omnichannel support strategy enabled us to identify and resolve the technical issues we encountered daily. A confession: They helped and trained us to spare us from GG's wrath!

A Day in The Life at Satyam

Maaaruuuti Maaaruuuti… Jale Kum, Tale Zyada!” was the catchy television ad jingle of the popular oil brand Maruti in late 1998/99. Once, while working in our spacious cubicle, we overheard someone yelling one of our associates Maruti's name from across the great hall, trying to catch his attention: "Hey! Maruti garu."

Curiosity piqued, Mandy and I exchanged a conspiratorial grin, sharing a knowing smile as if internally deliberating on the possibility of making up a joke for only the two of us that had arisen like an urgent necessity. Mandeep voiced, "Don't you think that name sounds familiar? Huh?" "It does, indeed," I responded excitedly. I could tell that soon he would be concocting something in the form of a joke or something: I could sense that his germane mind of jokes and jingles was already in the throes of wriggling and brainstorming, as though looking for an opening just like this one to joke about for a while, for he had something up his sleeve and would shoot out anytime now. 

Kuch soch raha hai tu?" "Do you have something in mind?!” I said a little too enthusiastically for a grown-up.

Yeah...you know... I love the fact that I do! You know it, don't you?” said Mandeep, revealing the broadest conspiratorially-inclined smile ever while composing an email delineating roaming issues to Susanne with a cc-copy to GG and Balaji.


Just as I had supposed, his eyes twinkled, just as the meeting place of his brows twitched a little with the usual enthusiasm he had been known for: a typical Sardarji style, if you like, ever since we joined Satyam on the same day.

Meanwhile, I gulped and blinked rapidly like a proverbial fish (called Wanda?), even as we kept working with our hands hammering away on the computer keyboard: programming, shooting emails, messaging on the official chat window, creating marketing reports, troubleshooting, rectifying errors, doing 'R&D' as it were, along with numerous other things — all for the love of keeping up with the daily targets and deadlines!

As we started jesting with one another, I recounted the ad jingle, which went something like "Maaaruuuti Maaaruuuti… Jale Kum, Tale Zyada!” 

Mandeep corrected me humorously and said, "Are nahi re! Bol (Say): Tale Kum, Jale Zyada!Ha ha ha... 

Hooting with laughter, we would sing the ad jingle the other way: "Maaaruuuti Maaaruuuti... Tale Kum, Jale Zyada!"

---
Mr. Maruti was exceptionally easygoing, a software engineer who never knew how to be rigid in his working style. Characterized by his subtle approach to work, he had a simple, approachable persona that made it easy for anyone to connect with him on various levels. Though we never had a chance to work together on any project, his subtle disposition preceded his equally outstanding work ethic.

At the workplace, he stood out as an incredibly courteous associate, always willing to lend a hand to help others and thoroughly gracious in the way he carried himself. I still remember his inviting us to the Exhibition Club to celebrate his wedding, which Revathy and Rafi, the dynamic software engineering duo, also attended. Mandeep (alias Heartlight) and I decided not to miss attending the function, which we had been looking forward to until the day it finally arrived. Before starting, we went into GG's cabin to get his express permission, and thank God, he shook his head knowingly and enunciated the words haughtily: "Okay! You can go.

(Expending more energy and saying something more sociable than "Okay! You can go" would have been appreciated. Yet, since the man is called GG, we couldn't have expected more than superficial sociability or anything beyond a shallow level of friendliness from the boss-man! What were we thinking, everyone?)

Permission granted. We eagerly hopped on our bikes and set off to the central part of Hyderabad city to attend the marriage function. Not to mention enjoying the sumptuous marriage lunch that awaited us there! After savouring a delightful spread of fresh preparations and desserts under the awning drenched in the daytime sunshine, we returned to the office and resumed our tasks. Knowing I had a long shift that would stretch until 11 pm, I settled back into my work schedule while Mandeep wrapped up his tasks of preparing reports and other things to leave at 6 pm, which marked the end of his general shift timing. (I can’t say for sure whether Mr. Maruti had been aware of our little joke about his name, but I am sure he would have burst out laughing finding out how we altered the original lyrics of the ad jingle to “Tale Kum, Jale Zyada!”) highlighting our playful twist on the familiar tune.

+*+*+*+
Finally, in the story of our team's spirit and camaraderie, there was this person, Bhavani, who, despite her serious demeanour, was very cordial and distinguished by her substantial IT experience, played a tiny part unknowingly in our jovial tendencies. As expected, when Mandeep heard someone calling out her name in the large hall (where our cubicle was located, in the East Wing), he immediately perked up while smiling in my direction, hummed, "Bhavaniiii Junction… Bhavaniiii Junction!"

Sitting there giggling, I thought my colleague, nicely parked on the seat of his chair beside me, was amusing in more ways than one; his entire personality brimmed with humour. In other words, his whole persona teemed with funny jokes, riddles, and great laughs! No one could match his exceptional sense of humour. The line "Bhavani Junction..." was from an old Hindi song featured in the Hindi movie "Bhavani Junction."

Given our surge of enthusiasm for Hindi films and music—one of those highly energizing preferences, in my opinion—boys (going on to be men) like ourselves have always been in good stead while keeping up positive morale at the workplace. We were all equally upbeat about our professional life at Satyam.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick