The Bittersweet Reality

Our Satyam Days, part XXXI

Long after leaving Satyam and having been in IT professionally since 1998 at that fine home-grown technology enterprise, actually a year before that, but that is another thing called professional practice, Mandeep, our fellow associate whose sense of humour could kill a cow, finally planned to switch his career track, wanting to call it quits (discontinuation, to be sure) on his IT profession altogether.

To do something like that was brave; it takes more than just guts to take such a wilful step. More than that, let's say that when it comes to altering one's career track, an astute degree of action intelligence, a sharp sense of judgment, and a deft sense of humour were never in short supply, as was supposed to have been acted upon.

While his determination to act as he did was commendable, it was not reckless. If he had found himself entangled in a situation of his own devising, it could have been. Being capable of making bold decisions when necessary was his natural forte — his inherent ability to invent compelling humour, laugh, empathize, and have an alacritous view of the world around him allowed him to make audacious choices when needed: that was his style. In the face of any indecisiveness, he somehow seemed to excel: that much one knew he was a seasoned connoisseur who knew how to steer life in an orderly fashion, of placing it on an even keel that worked wonders for him as others could observe and learn from this cultivated, comedic, be-turbaned gentleman, who proudly hailed from the boulder hills of Banjara.

Because Mandeep was the most practical man who was up and about at Satyam of those days, with a singular insight of humour that never got impacted by anything untoward that typically came in the form of verbal assaults from our boss whose teeth-gnashing name called GG was enough to make matters worse, he could do it — taking an unconventionally desperate measure of change into account to ensure his career continued to flourish after his time in Satyam — and he made those choices count. Nonetheless, if he wanted to move past the incredible Satyam years and pursue a new career path, exiting the Information Technology (IT) sector entirely was the sole realistic alternative he could realistically think of, and it was a stroke of genius that had been working in his favour ever since. That way, he excelled beyond what these mere words could convey about his professional journeys and conquests alike.

Mandeep joined a prominent real estate infra arm of the house of Satyam and quickly rose to the position of Senior Manager. Surprisingly, he became quite proficient in this non-native field. His transition from IT to non-IT allowed him to experience the merry-go-round-the-world of Property Realty, which he navigated with great aplomb before leaving the IT domain in a short time.

Good on him, though, since that bold career move, the sense of professional freedom he probably experienced, paid off for him in a way few people can venture in such a radical way. So kudos to him.

+*+*+*+

On the other hand, I planned to hit the hotspots of what lay ahead, post the Y2K brouhaha of 1999/00 and the dotcom bubble of early 2000s, in the IT arena and desired to become a Senior Consultant, first in Project Management, then MIS (Management Information System), and finally rapid and head-controlled headlong plunge into hard-core software and systems management, which was (and still is) my bread and butter, thanks to some age-old software engineering I had done from somewhere in some other era.

After that time of unexpected upheavals in Satyam, Revathy and Rafi, Renju and Gnana, Devi and Suresh — have all moved on to new creative positions in thrilling new directions, taking the separate paths they have chosen for themselves. With the sole exception of Mandeep, having launched himself cathartically into the active centre of the hurricane conventionally called the private Real Estate Infra sector, which had been amply providing excellent career opportunities since the mid-2000s, or so it genuinely seemed then. Everyone else, however, continued steadfastly with IT, including me—I couldn't just leave Satyam and go away because I didn't think of change—quite sudden and upfront as it was for me to grapple with, in the best way possible as all my colleagues could easily do so and move on to the next step in their career path.

Talking about change, nevertheless, Kavitha was an early adopter of change: a ‘frontiersperson’ if you will, a pioneer among the Satyam peers, who sought it out and used it to her advantage, capitalizing on them by shifting her direct-hit focus and resources toward the United States. Quite understandably, or as one would expect, she never looked back since then: American life devoured her wholly and completely, without a burp, and she settled in that country. (Virtually no social news about our hocking-mocking West Wing devil, Chicha's (alias GG) preferred pupil, Ann Mary R., the front office exec who married and later left Satyam to settle down and raise a family).

+*+*+*+

After getting back to HYD—which was sadly increasingly becoming traffic-dense, getting more and more congested and overcrowded to the point of madness, where the once-famous laid-back Kaiku-Nakko way of life was starting to feel hardly the same anymore—I joined a New York-based multinational IT products and software solutions company, which enjoyed significant business success till the Great Recessionary funk of 2007/8 hit the world, inflicting a heavy blow from which it never really recovered. I remember shuddering for some time before safely moving on to other greener pastures. And that was that.

Towards the end of the 2000s, many successful local IT establishments in the city doing good business began to brand themselves as "multinational" or “global” because they had several office branches in the U.S. and the European regions, though mostly U.S. ones were the brighter spots projects-wise as there were multiple projects to work on, effectively managing cross-project, intertwined dependencies. Leveraging project management software tools like SharePoint, MS Visio, etc., juggling multiple projects simultaneously became simple and less complex. If truth be told, I am already becoming too weary and tired if you ask me about this whole ‘multinational,’ ‘Artificial Intelligence,’ (AI) ‘low-code, no-code development,’ 'Machine Learning,' etc. technological new wave—these so-called ‘breakthrough technologies’ are already displacing full-time IT specialists who diligently have to master the latest and newest technology in the constantly evolving workplace—that has come upon us (like oh-no-not-again ominous storm clouds, disorders, if you like), which is kinda arduously tiring, truthfully speaking. Despite all that potentially helpful way of doing business, I played along in a status quo-ish way only to be able to earn my daily bread and butter, as I noted previously.

Changing Times. Priorities. That Is What It Was

As time passed, it seemed that everyone became less interested in our lively group of Satyam friends, and I believe I did too, in a way, because times have changed, and so have the perspectives regarding things that have become part of the past. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge.

Changing times and changing needs, perhaps, have taken over us all.

Suresh, whom Mandeep jokingly called "Truck Driver Suraj," rhyming it with one of Mithun Chakraborty's dialogues in a Hindi movie, and not that Suresh drove a truck to office, God forbid, probably felt the same way as both Mandeep and Devi, snapping us all into the ugly reality of the world once we were outside Satyam, a world, understandably, much meaner than we used to know or suspect when we began our IT careers quite a while back. Our Satyam friends were good, mature buddies, but the harsh outside world took over all our lives completely and utterly, me included.

There was no merciful escape; there never is, there never was, from the harsh realities of being ordinarily a software professional in the new millennium as we all transitioned from the dream castle of our familiar career landscapes that Satyam Computers on the Raj Bhavan Road had equipped us to the gossamer threads of the messed-up, chaotic challenges of the outside world looming with job-sized AI (Artificial Intelligence) perdition, filled with unfamiliar mentalities and even discomforting, trembling, unsettling physicality of typically bittersweet experiences that played at unexplored, uncharted workplaces of today.

While it's factual that modern workplaces cannot be 'charted' or 'explored' (the operative phrases I used in the previous line), the same way one would navigate a historical museum or a movie studio, yes, but one wishes the fundamental essence of the office environment to be rooted in the collaborative relationships and participatory cultures of productive employees coming together to foster a vibrant hub of entrepreneurial creativity and scholarly productivity rather than a static location to engage with.

At Satyam, we've garnered an array of understandings of the topics addressed herein whenever opportunities arose, positioning ourselves at the forefront of this essential conversation.

By Arindam Moulick

A Comedic Office Moment

Our Satyam Days, part XXX

Mandeep and I sometimes affectionately called Devi "Sexy Devi." A nickname that, while playful, had nothing to do with physical attraction. Instead, it reflected the unique chemistry we shared in our relationship as warm and friendly office colleagues, which made each of us feel attractive in our own right.

Mandeep’s comedic repertoire, which anyone with a sense of humour could appreciate, constantly filled his head with new, laugh-worthy thoughts that stuck with him like a second skin! Spurred on by this humorous game, Devi took it on enthusiastically, which brought us joy and deepened the charm of our friendship. And Devi liked the nickname very much.

Devi chuckled wholeheartedly when we first called him, "Hi, Sexy Devi, how are you?" He expressed astonishment at first as if not addressed to him but, oh god, someone else, and said, "I am... what...? SEXY…? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, Mandeep?! Kindly be specific!” Devi played along, and before saying anything else, he said with a naughty twinkle in his eyes: “Really…?”

Mandeep said, "Yes, man, you are TOO MUCH, Devi! I can’t get any more specific than this! You are sexier than sexy could be," without hesitation. Devi and I laughed as Mandeep's unapologetic humour shone through.

Devi laughed for a while, and since he was on a break and GG—our strong-willed human meat of a boss; incalculable rudeness was the strongest part of his personality, his effortless forte—was out of the office, he said, "Thanks for that ‘sexy’ compliment, Mandeep! Chalo, come on, let's go grab some coffee. I'll call Suresh to join us in the meeting room."

"Hunh…Haan... chalo chaltein hain re…, just give me 2 minutes. Oye!... thiss iss tooo muchhh yaarr…let me send this out," Mandeep said before finishing his task of report generation and sending a crucial operational email alerting one of our clients.

Looking at the good-natured Devi’s peart facial expression, I couldn't avoid laughing at his reaction to Mandeep’s remark about him being “Sexy.” It was a laughter-house!

On another day, Devi laughed when he considered teasing Mandeep in return. He joked, "You are so sexy too, Mandeep! Look at you!" Mandeep turned to face Devi and chuckled aloud as though he had proclaimed something surprisingly perceptive that caused everyone to erupt in amusing laughter in the cubicle. "And just look at Arindam!" Devi said, his tone too concise for comedy, but he was getting at it as he stood beside the open cubicle where Mandeep and I worked, hands resting on the wooden barrier, teasing Mandeep to his heart's content. "He is so attractive, sexy even!"

On hearing something like that from Devi, I pursed up my lips and made a serious face that was about to burst into laughter!

All of us made merry even as I declared to one and all present in our spacious cabin: "But Devi, you are sexy, sexier than me!" And I meant it when I alluded it to him: "Just give me a man as "sexy" as Devi, and I shall sail my humble boat into the last sunset!” That was once my favourite dialogue; I learned it from somewhere.

Mandeep revved up his imaginary Mustang and stated, "YEAH...didn't I say that before!" Apparently, the feeling was mutual, and Devi giggled.

The funny, quirky things when we joked around with each other in person or on the intercom were the best part of our days at Satyam! Devi was very sportive about everything anyone from our team said anything about him, and conversely, everyone seemed to take a leaf out of his book to learn how to be sporty and laugh at oneself when required. Life should be on an even keel, he seemed to suggest, not on—god forbid—spiky cacti.

Just then, Renju — a very pious soul who sounded, to us all, like a Magpie singing songs of love and longing for her lovely homestead in the deep south, where palm trees, backwater lakes, and lagoons abound: God's own country — entered our cubicle to check something with us. Thank heavens she was not in the cabin when we were joking around, our little bonhomie between us gentlemen. She smiled her hazel smile: her teeth seemed to dance in the whitest splendour (as though of the enchanting backwaters of her idyllic hometown) that you don't see pretty often until you work with someone as a friendly, pleasant associate of the team, and said, "Oh…kya chal raha hai...?"

"Kuch nahin…bas…" I said before adding, "Devi, Mandeep, Suresh, and I are going to get coffee. Do you want to come along?" She declined reasonably because she needed to get to GG's cabin quickly and apprise him of a pressing problem regarding a persistent technical issue that had been bothering him like a high-strung demon-possessed alligator! He wanted to get it fixed... "first thing in the morning." She promised to join us some other time.

Then Gnana came into the cabin, moving about with enormous curiosity for something he urgently wanted access to from our cabin. He hammered on the keyboard placed at the back but couldn't locate it. He then banged up the cupboard and peered inside, speaking to himself, "Nope, sorry, I didn't get what I wanted, or I got it, but I'm not telling yet." That was a good comedy show.

I said, "Hmmm... Gnana. Anything particular you are looking for?"

"None whatsoever. See you guys later," said Gnana, breezing through the short hallway by the HP printer station towards another hall on the right.

Before we could invite him to 'coalesce' with us for coffee from the excellent Nescafe espresso coffee machine, he went off again marching like a lumberjack on a mystery mission, perhaps, to the adjoining hall where he and Renju often camped together, programming their way through the other project they worked on—apart from the primary one on which Mandeep, Shiv, Shahnawaz and I had worked under GG's tutelage—diving into the minor/major or microscopic technical deficiencies (if any found) of the code blocks, testing the software application, troubleshooting, and the good old bug fixing.

I said to Devi, "Yeah…, let's take a break, shall we?" before having finished a few marketing reports and storing them in the 'common folder,' which only our team has view (read) and modify (write) access to. (Every marketing report due that day had to be delivered to every client by EOD; otherwise, a delay of even one day would subject you to GG-specific fatalities). While we strode to the Nescafe Espresso coffee dispenser machine in the green-marbled corridor, I jokingly added, "Is Chicha joining us by any chance?"

Everyone chuckled!

By Arindam Moulick

Alternative titles considered for this blog: “The Legend of ‘Sexy’ Devi,” and “Devi: A Sexy Legend!”

The Heart’s Gentle Surrender

Our Satyam Days, part XXIX

Together as four best buddies of each other—Una Artoran, Mom, Padma, and Kavitha—in the unforgettably extraordinary year of 1998 and after, these vivacious, talented young women were brimming with happiness and shared a deep, unmatched friendship blossomed from their everyday conversations in the office. That was during the memorable year of 1998 and beyond.

Their adventurous spirits and mutual laughter transformed ordinary experiences into treasured recollections for each of these working young women, making their lives a delightful voyage through tip-top dressing sense, catchy old Hindi film songs, and heart-warming stories of their personal experiences, have all made their iconic avenue of work the Oxford Plaza come alive, twenty-seven years ago to this day.

Here we go on Kavitha’s three closest pals, one of whom I had a little ‘continuity’ with. Ms. Una Artoran, a December-born Sagittarian with an eye-catching charisma; Ms. Fishsketcher, alias Mom, a hobbyist sketch artist who is passionate about capturing unsalvageable love stories with her free and frank fishing skills; and dear Ms. Padma, a dependable truth-seeker who enjoyed engaging in fun projects like humming Bryan Adams songs and competing fiercely in ice cream-eating contests at Softy Den— preferably with butterscotch and chocolate flavours to go with.

To elaborate more on the bittersweet reality of those rare moments of great wonder, a profoundly enchanting experience filled with sheer awe and charming delight had etched itself into my memory forever. And then there were the raw, stupefying, darker shades of someone's sulking pangs of envy and fiery jealousy that accompanied those moments —

Ms. Una Artoran, a December-born Sagittarian, as well as an eye-brow arching senora, does not lament anything that she could have won for herself because her days in the HYD city were already veering into an exiling interminability and immutable passivity that she had no heart to brook, as all that she has lost is beyond any redemption since those beautiful, loving heart-beats she once experienced barely stirred any upheaval in her heart than they might have in the past when she was a financial enchantress handling cash disbursements and inflows (in the back office of the Stan-Chart Bank) because she was love-phobic right from the word go, and consequently, she hastened escape, distancing herself from her former sun-kissed life to a distant shore untouched by the sands of the past ocean of love and longing that someone endeavoured to pledge, but then the romance faded and love died soon after, and thanks to her best pal Kavitha's intrusive third-wheeling and her hustling, howling, radicalizing madness that needs no retelling here, an affair so destined, never returned that first-time tenderness of love, forever making sure it would never come back, had ended;

Ms. Fishsketcher, alias Mom, an amateur (albeit artistic) freehand sketch artist who, through her one great sketch of a fish (which has mistakenly found itself swimming the jealous waters that Kavitha would soon muddle because she can and she will because everything that followed with her irrational standpoint foraging on juvenile delinquency had destroyed with one phone call of reprimanding discouragement to her college-time buddy Una, even as Mom was passionate about bringing unsalvageable love stories to dash) as Mom (meaning Candle, Fishsketcher is my coinage), her first name which is not about being untowardly motherly, matronly or anything, penned the most flavoursome take on Una's fleeting love that passed through time and fate like a warm breeze on a cold day, but sadly that prophetically auspicious fish-sketch couldn't salvage the solitary love that she approvingly favoured for the natural coming together of two hearts as she once graced as a friendly ally of her office colleague, Una Artoran at an underground coffee shop a long time ago;

And finally, Ms. Padma, a dependable truth-seeker, enjoyed being intensely involved in her fun projects, such as melody-humming Bryan Adams songs, competing in ice cream-eating contests, her sweet tooth automatically favouring rich butter-scotch and velvety chocolatey flavours, infinitely preferable than the spartan plain vanilla flavours, etc. — was immersed in a rich, deep Jane Austen-themed friendship with her jolly office companions, namely, Una and Mom (also known as Fishsketcher) as well as Kavitha's intensifying social bonding temper notwithstanding, and their friendship bond had no comparison really, having been forged in the cheerful fires of shared experiences and mutual support at their place of work.

Their friendship is now undeservedly forgotten. That sounds... unfortunate, to say the least. Here's wishing that the eternal sunshine will eventually win back the day for them.

Kavitha worked for Satyam, while the other three members of the foursome were all employed at the same city-based banking organization. Working there was enjoyable and rewarding, but Mom, Una, and Padma had a tight schedule, with little to no leisure time throughout the day. While Una and Kavitha may still be in touch with each other, the other two finally parted ways and, over time, steadily grew apart from the original story of acclaimed friendship. The story did end there, but one wishes it hadn’t.

+*+*+*+

Back to Satyam: Our days of working together with abounding happiness were about to end. Renju and Gnana moved on; Revathy and Rafi were already far gone into a different epoch of exemplary IT experience; Mandeep went and joined GG's IT firm before heading into Real Estate Infra for good; Balaji took up a Business Analyst's role at STC; GG quit Satyam; and I shifted to STC for a year and then off I went to Vikrampuri office branch on an IJP: didn't like it much but had to. 

I unreservedly, unequivocally, absolutely hated that office branch of the company — a dreadful infestation of reprobates milling about all over the place. Such was my life, post our days of ecstasy on Raj Bhavan Road. And I wanted out as soon as I could get away from the Vikrampuri office branch, and that came painfully a year later, thankfully on a platter.

By the end of all our Satyam days, Devi, who was a fine gentleman of jovial, charming nature with a round belly and a hearty, mirthful laugh, would get on with anyone, no matter their age: I can't believe he turned up his nose at getting too acquainted with anyone beyond Suresh, his finance counterpart. Post Satyam, Mandeep and I were in contact by phone or mostly on social media. But Devi and Suresh got away as if not meant to stay in the association of brotherly friends who once worked together in a climate of joyful camaraderie and extraordinary comradeship, if you will — absenting themselves permanently, as did Revathy and Rafi, who sure had made a life-affirming impact on the team's quick learning and professionalism.

Truthfully, our family lives (and IT careers) have kept us occupied, so none of us barely had the necessary continuum of time for anything other than wishing each other happy birthday or happy new year when that time of year comes around, evanescing into a void of nothingness. Devi and Suresh have been gone for a long time, never returning to the camaraderie we had during our good old days of Satyam.

Since our memorable Satyam days, Mandeep and I could maintain the degree of communication required to stay afloat in our friendship, which sadly has dissolved into a colourless chemistry that formerly existed between us.

By Arindam Moulick

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

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

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.

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.”

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

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.

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

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