Amit Goes Blogging

Source : Originally posted at Cybage DoXperts, a Cybage Documentation team blog, on January 20, 2012. It is very cold in the evenings. Men sporting three unbuttoned holes on the shirt are in hibernation. On my way home, I take the road less travelled. On one side of the road, there’s open space till good distance and vegetation on the other. Riding home in the nipping cold, my body stiffens and assumes a cozy curvature from which it has to be disturbed when it gets a little too peculiar. Mostly, it’s the head which sinks into my neck and needs to be pulled up. Or, I overhang from my seat to one side and later, push my bulk back to the centre when some curious riders throw awkward glances at it. Leaving that road behind, I feel I am almost at the gate of my apartment. I forget the dread of the chill in the evening when I curl up like a dog in my duvet in the morning. But, unlike a dog whose ears go up at the slightest noise, mine are pretty hardened to any sound then. Even the unfri

Technical writing is still viewed as an emerging profession. And, technical writers are rare to come by, until you are one of them. IT industry is home to a majority of technical writers. But, even within IT, people are ignorant of the role played by their colleague who freely mixes with software engineers, test engineers, and is also a part of client calls. I am sure we have all handled enquiries about our profession in cafeteria, at smoking joints, in elevators, and in restrooms. And, if you seek the luxury of prelude and particulars, I would say you have a poor sense of timing. You have just the time that a few quick sips of tea, a few hurried puffs of smoke, an elevation from level 0 to level 5, or the impatient hands drying under a noisy blower can afford. Many a time, the take-away from such brief encounters leaves the questioner more puzzled. Which also makes documentation an evergreen option :) I have given up the anxiety to explain my job to others. The usefulness of my jo

It was a fascinating trip to Murud. My wife’s longstanding illness had prevented us from taking up the weekend offers that kept coming from my friends week after week. The trip that we ultimately made was a welcome relief for both of us. For her it was a change of atmosphere. For me, a change of spirits! But, before you put away reading this post as a travel journal, please be informed that I have no intention of writing one. Travelogues impart readers with information about places and, to some extent, also communicate the vibes that fill them. The traveller gathers it all while exploring not only the chief spectacles a place has to offer, but also its nooks and crannies. I went to Murud without making any efforts at visiting Janjeera fort, the landmark that gives credence to why one chooses Murud among the scores of beaches that lie on the western coast. Surprisingly, the other seven travellers, my wife included, showed an equally inadequate inclination to see the fort. Bad, isn't

His grandfather died! My friend could not attend the funeral. His father decided against it considering the loss of time and money it would incur. Father was rather snotty about his rank and office. He knew well that a son is pleased with inheritance rather than affection. In pursuance of this belief, father never wasted his love on his only son. Unfortunately, even mother’s behaviour was a little uncharacteristic. She was a mother by virtue of being wedded to the father of the boy. She never persuaded him for a second helping at the dinner table nor entreated him to stay at home a little longer during vacations. The cords of motherly love when under constant strain by a disciplinarian father can sometimes go weak. In her case, they snapped. Grandfather was the only family he knew. When he got the news of his death, he was inconsolable. His grief was writ large on his face. He used to share everything with his grandfather who always encouraged him like a friend. But now, he had no

That, which doesn't kill you, strengthens you. I endorse these words having spent 7 long years in academic confinement. Now, when I have done my time in that condemned institution, I regret the wrong choice I made in opting for engineering.  My memory takes me to the hostel-life. The first year was a fight for a place in the boisterous crowd of hard-baked sadist. I found myself a misfit in that cradle of wild beliefs. Staying peaceful was cowardice, exploiting others was finesse. Utilising time for anything apart from gossip was not tolerated. I still made it into the second year. I chose to stay alone and went headlong in pursuing my interests. For the first time I was all to myself with none to question me. I bought a tape-recorder; bought a good many cassettes; freely read non-academic books, which I couldn't under my father's regime. Gossip was a major time-killer. I developed a taste for it. I literally forgot the purpose of staying away from my people. The result: I

Recently, I had been to Noida. It was a long journey by train and also a journey through ideas that are triggered at the sight of sparse vegetation, shrinking water bodies, vast tracts of lands, burgeoning slums, teeming millions passing under the bridge. I ran through a chugging train of thoughts: the evolution of man, the future of mankind, the problems in society, the solutions thereto, and, then brought it all under a grand philosophical generalization (consolation) before giving up the whole effort and dozed off. In these intellectual moorings, I put on the airs of a social scientist. Of late, the scrutiny of  morality and dynamics of society, their utility and goal have kept me occupied. Swaggering in the pride of my intellectual acumen, I came face to face with a 14 year old kid of standard 9, and, it was a very humbling experience. My visit to my girlfriend was due for over 2 years and a half. The moment I found that the hot waters I had been in all these years had cooled

Yesterday, at a get-together of old friends, some of the stalwarts from our college days were remembered. Each of these stalwarts is an epicenter of widespread unrest and can unhinge, if not ruin, the most organised system if only he sets his foot in. To take up the task of sketching the character of these social desperadoes, would be an introduction to some of the impossible sorts that make up our world. People will find it hard to believe such turbulent individuals exist in our world. Their very presence can suck the environment of its natural peace.  I am going to describe one here. I refer to this one as sexually deviant. Not that he had queer sexual preferences, but such hunger for sex is unheard of. Note that these idiosyncrasies fitted into his student life that obviously got extended in making place for such peculiarity at this station of life. In his words, man's life, at its basic, is a struggle for daily bread and weekly sex. Now, when such a well-founded idea of life is

Heroism is not a trait but an opportunity. The opportunity seized me when we were at the foothills of Sahyadri range and were to begin our trek to Rajgad. The other hikers were in no hurry; they were more interested in photo shoot. But, my spirits were raring to seize the fort. The bottle in my hand felt like a sword and the jacket was my armour. I was a commander leading a troop and mounting on my horse-like feet, I galloped towards the fort. Soon, I lost sight of my troop. The voices were heard for a while; I quickened my pace and the voices died out. I was now alone. As I was scaling the hill, I saw an old lady standing under the shade of a tree hiding behind the trunk. “What is she doing here in the desolation?” I thought. I recently started reading Dracula and an encounter with ghosts had caught my fancy. But, it was an inappropriate place for my fascination to materialise. The oldie had drawn her saree over her head and only a part of her face was visible. The wrinkles on her fac

You will be gone,  Gone in the mortifying indifference,  Gone without requiting my love,  Gone, leaving violent memories.  I shall return too,  Return in the shame of disdain,  Return with dry sobs,  Return, carrying a dying twilight.  There you go with inglorious pride, I sneer my affection true,  And vow it'll never ever,  Pass from me hence.  Now the anger smoulders inside,  And anguish bursts in refrain:  Do it unto another,  Do it unto another.  Donning an armour of make-believe,  With the hidden sword of insult,  And, a quiver of sweet allurements, I am ready to avenge: Stage the old sentiment,  Trap the love victim,  And, with all might and main,  Thrust the indifference, the affront,  Deep, very deep! 

In the summer of 1999, my parents had some unusual plans: we were to spend our vacations 1000 km away from home at Chitrakut where Shree Ram spent 11 years of his 14-year exile. There was an ashram in Chitrakut and the Swamiji heading the ashram was also a Yoga exponent. My mother had been suffering from arthritis. This made father very anxious and he did everything possible to alleviate her suffering. But, her resistance proved a hurdle in my father’s attempts to restore her health. He could neither pull her into the habit of morning-walk nor make her take to the treadmill by her bed. When Father bought her costly, light-weight sneakers, she poked fun at him saying that he was stepping into dotage. While mother was a mother to her kids, Father knew that his dear wife craves no less attention. He decided to take her to the ashram at Chitrakut. Again, she wouldn't relent without a fuss. She said she would neither stay at the ashram nor at a hotel. She wanted freedom for her chi