Debugging Life

It was raining since Thursday evening. The dark blue sky, cold breeze, and sound of raindrops as if someone was constantly rubbing hands on your bedsheets. Satyam finished his office work. Oh, what a day it was. He was thanking god that atleast he got some forty minutes to cook his lunch that noon and feed himself. Until that point of time, those forty minutes were the highlights of his day. The smell of chicken breast simmering on the hot oiled pan. Aroma of Thyme, Garlic Powder, Paprika, and some salt was reminding him of his mom's culinary skills. The golden brown color of chicken was exactly like the sunset that he saw more than 2 months ago at Charles Esplanade right infront of Massachussetts Institute of Technology. The sunrays striking that dome of MIT across Charles, he used to think, was itself a metaphor. That he had to cross a river of mediocrity from his side of Boston to touch that MIT's coveted Sloan Institute of Management in some 3-4 years. Suddenly, he came to ...

Hey Stalker! I came across this beautiful poem by Wang Ping called "Things We Carry in the Sea". Whose excerpts are like: "We carry soil in our small bags; may home never fade in our hearts We carry names, stories, memories of our villages, fields, boats" And also another couplet: We carry old homes along the spine, new dreams on our chests We carry yesterday, today, and tomorrow... I always tend to feel a bit lonely whenever its major festival in India. Today is Dusshehra. I miss my small town. It's called Indore; the name of which is unheard by most people. When I was a boy, I used to be excited about this day. Used to watch Ramayan on TV and then would wear new clothes and wait for evening Pooja. Then Baba would take us to watch the Raavan. Sometimes at Jai Baba's house or at Dusshehra Maidan.  One time I remember, we went to Babu Bhai's house and he made us Kheer. He was a Qaadri (a Muslim), but that's the beauty of our town; people were knit tog...