The Ringside View

My attempts at writing have always been stacked up in old diaries and scraps of yellowing paper.Time,neglect and phylum insecta however, always ensured that the gibberish i scrawled, never would see the prying gaze of an alien eye.Years later, i still scribble once in a while - this time in word documents stored in some obscure folder somewhere in the innards of my C drive.I am unearthing some of them and opening them up for the interested.To get what i call - The Ringside view.

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Location: Bangalore, Karnataka, India

Saturday, November 11, 2006

To err is human, to blunder is ....

I turned into Surrey Street with a grim frown firmly plastered on my face. Downcast eyes, furrowed brow, clouded mind (like the clouds above) and daunting visions of a database design which loomed like a puzzle out of the final rounds of Crystal maze. Today was not going to be any different from yesterday. Or for that matter the day before. The task that had at first seemed simple, then complex now looked ‘undoable’.

Pretty girls in green sweatshirts and loosened ties giggled their way past me school ward. I walked past the bus station; past three piece suited gentlemen, grey haired ladies and the beggar in Puma shoes who sat their waiting for loose change under the giant Union clock.

There she stood. Good old St Stephens. A grim three storied structure; somehow reminiscent of documentary snapshots of government buildings in the old Soviet block. Going past the swivel door, i made sure i escaped the jail warden like scrutiny of the security guard at the reception. The bell tolled eight in the distance. ‘Hiya’, she smiled from behind the counter. A momentary blip of happiness as I fumbled for change for my oatmeal flapjack. Did I not see the twinkle in her eyes or was I merely fantasizing. I clumsily walked away from the counter; ruminating missed exchanges of pleasantries. ‘Hiya’, I heard her say behind me. The same twinkle in her eyes. Another flapjack sold.

Laboring up the stairs I pressed 53 on the vending machine. The coffee - as insipid as ever. Sinking into my seat, the day ahead appeared long; long like a serpentine road to a weary traveler. Three depressed keys and the complicated design popped up on my plasma screen. Nothing can be done now, the design is flawed. Redemption is in accepting defeat. Doing root cause analysis and shooting the designer at point blank range. Wait a minute, but who did the design. Wasn’t it me…….a solution should exist;surely. The designer is after all human.

3 Comments:

Blogger The Solitary Traveller said...

Perfect portrayal of what's happening with guys like me in Norwich !! U rule machaan :)

November 12, 2006 1:35 AM  
Blogger prashanth said...

macha preethax,
the last two blogs of urs are depressingly sober ... as i read thru them all i could imagine was a lonesome "fat" (thank sri vidya) guy walking around .. lost !

feeling homesick huh macha ?

November 13, 2006 1:09 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Are you sure the designer was you. In all probability it might be urs truly.

- GD

January 02, 2007 6:45 AM  

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