9.12 (How Sri Vallabha got shelled, bumped and frustrated)

I started writing this on the sixth day of placements, after getting frustrated with my performance in GDs and interviews. I retain the lines I first wrote, to give you a picture of how I felt, then.

“Six days gone and yet, not a sign of it coming. I am not writing this in pain but in frustration. Not the typical feeling of “How did this happen to me?” but the feeling “Why did this happen to me?” Do I deserve this situation? May be I do!”

On the first day was a consulting company’s test; the questions were more on probability than programming, but I got kicked out of the first shortlist. The fact that only computer science students were short-listed gave me solace. Next was S****, the only tech company I could ever think of getting in. There was an orientation session on the evening of the first day, and the PPT hall was more than full. We sat with our legs pressed against the chairs before us, listening to the way the interview was to proceed the next morning.

Mine was the first slot on the next day. I woke up at five am, prayed God, and swallowed some biscuits I bought the previous evening from Gurunath, dressed and ran to the placement office by 6.30am. It was still dark and only one other guy was present when I went there. The case study was lengthy and before I could sort out all the papers, I had to go for an interview. It went decent and then there was an interview about my summer internship. The GD was okay too, and I felt that I can’t do it any better. After six hours of wait, and infinite prayers, I found that almost everyone else made it, except me. I rode back to my room, speaking to my mother, who was more worried. Thus started the most frustrating part of the wait.

Some companies straight away eliminated students on basis of CG, with very silly tests. In an exam, where the questions where

“1. How many sides does a triangle have?

2. What is 2563+3682? [Don’t use a calculator]

3. What are the three types of rocks?” what could be the basis of a shortlist?

Some companies sent me back straight after the written test. Out of blue came an offer from a company that offered me a job on the basis of my CG. I felt happy for the first time. [One fact they didn’t know was that I had taken their test and failed to make it to the shortlist. I was in a special shortlist for 9 pointers.] But with two famous companies coming the next days, where I rated my chances to be high, I declined to make a decision then and there. I asked for time and came back to room delighted that my CG worked finally.

The most hopeful day proved to be an equally big disaster. I didn’t have enough credentials for the good ones. In one GD, I spoke too much knowing that I can’t make it in the technical round. For the second one, my resume was cup-level. Got to know how badly I wrote it only after I opened it to see what I have written. I regretted my carelessness. During the resume submissions-exams, projects, what else and what not took precedence and I didn’t realize that I was seriously compromising on my career when carelessly filling up resumes. When I read my resume that I had filled up, I hardly doubted the fact that I won’t make it. In the GD, I got carried away by a friend, and both of us where out after that round.

Since that day, it was the same story every day. Go to GD, cup and come back. Financial Services, Investment Banks and Consulting Firms-every one drove me crazy. Almost to the point that I started doubting if there was some thing seriously wrong with me, which made me unemployable.

On the eighth day I left home for the vacation. My eyes watered as I cycled to the main gate. In the place where I lived happily for three years, life seemed to be like hell. It only seemed to show me that I was leaving like a loser. I had no ego to be pacified nor did I expect to be trend-setter, just a decent job in the first week was all that I wanted. I had no other back-ups, and at one point of time started regretting the fact that I was not apping.

I was equally undone at home. Though my parents were caring and understanding, some sense of guilt haunted me every minute. I could not stay calm and was so much lost in thought that at one point of time, my father said “Don’t worry, we have our traditional job if you don’t get one. God will take care of everything.” I spent equally uncomfortable time in Hyderabad, when I went there to visit my uncle. Memories of my days at Ramaiah, which was an equal failure came flooding in, and decapitated me still. My uncle sensing all this provided me solace with his encouraging words. I found the quickest opportunity to return to IITM and preferred spending days in front of my monitor rather than at home.

And finally I made it, on the first day of second innings. A company that didn’t want people to fight against each other in a GD, granted me an interview and the rest as they say is history.

And finally the wait ends

Finally the most excruciating wait has ended. I am placed in Deloitte Consulting, Hyderabad. Back to the old place. I will start posting, once I meet my BTP prof and return from home. So, readers please be patient for a while.

Thank you.

terribly struck up

I am sorry for not being able to post since a month. BTP yet to be started, Minor project pending and endsems looming large have prevented me from writing anything. But I promise to come back and do something about this.

The girl at the cafe

It was during the third week of my intern, somewhere in the first week of June. It had been raining since three days and since I forgot taking my umbrella, I was having a really difficult time. Though getting wet in rain didn’t bother me, it was the chemicals in the complex that made me worried. I had a slight itching sensation right after I got wet in the first rain. That brought me to my senses and made me give up the idea of getting wet in rains there. After coming back from office, Kaka and I decided to go out to buy umbrellas. We had already inquired at a shop nearby but it didn’t have much varieties. All that the old shopkeeper had was a very big umbrella which he kept insisting that we should buy as it is very useful.

It started to rain slowly by the time we started. We walked to the main road and got into an auto going to Athwalines. We inquired the auto driver about umbrellas and he started narrating all the places where we can get umbrellas. He told us that we will not get them at Athwalines and promised to take us to a shop in Park Street where we could get them at affordable prices. We told him that we had no idea whatsoever of the place and he told that he would drop us back at Mysore café where we were planning to have our dinner.

He took us to a shop, talked to the shop keeper and helped us buy two umbrellas and dropped us back at Mysore café, all for thirty rupees and we were lost in admiration of auto drivers of Surat. We talked about the auto drivers of Chennai and the exorbitant fares they demand. Finally we were at Mysore café for the first time. It was half past nine and the place was relatively empty.

The hotel looked like just another traditional hotel from south India. The white washed walls, narrow and small rooms. A photo of goddess Lakshmi with a small oil lamp lit before in a rack just above the proprietor’s desk, gave it a southy touch.

We sat there relishing the plain dosa and talking to each other about our likes and dislikes and various eatables. It was a small room, just after entering the hotel. There was another room with a board “Families only” inside. I was sitting facing the door of that “families only” room. Once or twice I turned around to look for the waiter and I felt that some one was watching me. At first I couldn’t make out who it was, but my eyes started searching even while talking to Kaka.

It was then I found her looking at me. I was not sure at first, and felt uncomfortable. I looked away and kept on talking. After a few minutes, I felt like looking back and make sure if she was still looking at me. I turned and my eyes met her eyes, still looking at me. That sent a small chill down my spine. I was never used to girls looking at me. After all mine was just an average face and I looked like any other guy. And I even gave up putting my trademark “Namam” in Gujarat owing to the communal sensitivity of the place. Hence there should have been nothing that differentiated me from the rest. The discovery that there was a girl staring at me made me uncomfortable.

The only other and the first time this ever happened was in Chennai, right in front of the gates of my college. That was a very long time back. I don’t remember the date exactly. It was around 11o clock on some Saturday morning, and I was returning to my college back from Hotchips with a cup of coffee in my hand. Then I noticed a girl, a pillion rider of her father’s scooter, looking at me. They were coming down the flyover in the opposite direction and I spotted her looking at me. The scooter moved past, but she still kept looking at me. After the scooter crossed me and moved past well behind me, I turned back to see if she was still looking. In fact I found her still “looking”. That brought a smile onto my lips and I told my self “Parledu raa, ninnu choosey valloo unnaru.” [Don’t worry man; there are girls who look even at you.]

And then this girl, sitting beside her parents and boldly looking at me! After I saw that she was still looking at me, I kept glancing at her, making some incoherent talk, to which Kaka was attentively listening. A moment later, I gathered enough courage to lock my eyes with hers and I stared hard in her face. To my surprise, she didn’t turn her face away. She kept looking at me, into my face and I could take it no longer. I turned away, finished my eating and started to leave. I gave a final glance, looked at her and wanted to say a “good bye” with my eyes. To my disappointment her father was talking to her and she was listening. I had an impulsive feeling to and speak to her, but I didn’t dare to. And soon we left the place and were back to our apartments.

In my room, I sat thinking of her. She had a good looking face and I am not the sort to assess other things. Her nose was thin and looked properly set in between two sharp eyes. Her fair complexion contrasted well with the burkha she was wearing. And I tried hard to memorize her face, pixel by pixel. She boosted my self confidence and the sense of pride which, I am sure would by the common feeling for anyone after such an experience. After that I lost the sense of shyness and started feeling great.

I remember her face, and will remember it forever. The face of a fairy that brought joy to my life and made me feel good. I want to meet this girl too. If I meet her again [hope she is reading this], I will only tell her one thing……

“Thank you, madam. You made me feel great.”

In a slump

I am in a slump. Don’t know how or when I fell into it. During the intern I was very much longing to come back to Insti. The work there seemed so painful that I wanted to run away from the place. I felt that mugging was much better than any thing else. I had nothing interesting to do but read about maintenance and quiz people. But finally the report turned an eye opener and I felt happy at my work. Good results with least effort. I came back home determined to get back to the Insti and work well to get placed. I had already decided that I will go for placements and not APP or CAT. I thought that I could do some good work in my BTP and learn more from the Insti.

But what did I realise after coming here? I realised that I lost all enthusiasm in life. Don’t know why! Exams aren’t making me nervous anymore. Nor is the urge to study as strong as before. During the first two weeks, I didn’t realise this. It was a common thing. Nothing really happens during the first two, three weeks in the Insti. Life will be peaceful with nothing to do but meeting friends, discussing interns, and gathering books from Cenlib. So I got to know about the slump after the first month. Quizzes started last week, and even a week before the quizzes, I had no inclination to study. I tried hard for that feeling of panic that drives me to mug each time. No, no sign of panic, instead I was playing cricket in the quadrangle two days before the exam, without as much knowing the syllabus. May be this is what they call 4^th year blues.

Also, my enthusiasm to work left me. Do you want a proof? Take a look at my dust ridden bicycle waiting a cleaning or the cobwebs dangling in my room. I wake up late everyday, don’t even sweep my room and go around as if everything is fine. Many a time I said to myself [mostly during some class] that I will change, go and clean up everything and live normally. But once I come back to the room the only thing I do is to switch on the computer and sit before it for hours, doing nothing literally. Anyway, I don’t think flash games and movies are a good way of spending time.

There were days when I was there at book bank by 2o clock, waiting for it to open at 4 pm. In fact there would be many of my friends, waiting for two long hours before they could get one book issued. I did that in first year, second year and God knows how, in third year too. Of course, I went there at 3:30 pm in the third year. This year nothing drove me to book bank so early. Went there casually at 4:30, saw around and picked up two books, one for me and the other for a friend. I didn’t even care to see when they issued the second one. Only after Sriram told me that he took second book weeks ago, did I go there again.

I remember that distinct feeling of panic that struck me each time, a week before the quizzes. Till then I would have read a few pages from each course and would have an idea of where the course starts. But the week before the exams, I would start reading each subject, making notes and memorising important concepts. This semester no such thing happened. In fact I think I was promoted from the test team to the one day team. I started one day matches, mugging a day before the exam. [Don’t exactly know if it’s a promotion or a demotion moving from tests to one day. Cricket pundits out there should tell me which is better, test or one day.]

The courses are less this semester. Not many classes, but more of self study courses and projects. Had there been classes for every course, I might have realised the gravity of the situation. But when everything is left to my discretion, I am the laziest guy.

The exams also failed to evoke any enthusiasm. Three exams over till date, three one days and I am satisfied with my performance. I know I haven’t done very well in the exams, but there is nothing that is ringing bells, asking me to read, I am to continue the same old story, movies and games. God save me from this lethargy.

With classes on and off, one at 9 am and the next at 11am , I started visiting one place where the coffee is as good as that in Hotchips- Tiffanys. The coffee here is great and especially between classes and with friends, it tastes better. Long walks and hours and hours of chat sessions with friends are taking priority over other things. Yes they have to; for this is one last year we live together before we part.

Himalaya- the MESS

All of us are aware of the fact that the sole purpose of setting up the Giga mess is to provide better quality of food through competition. At least that was reason we were told, when the idea of Giga mess came up. And last month’s reshuffling strategy disproves all this notion of competition.

To those of you who are not aware of what happened last month, here is the account. A large number of students opted for CR, where the quality of food was better than others. It turned out that the number of students who opted for CR was almost the double of the next mess. The management and the “caterers” decided that this was an unacceptable distribution. It seems that the CR management themselves expressed their inability to cater to such a large number of students. Hence people were distributed almost equally to the three caterers. Some 150 were given the facility to dine in CR and 50 in RR, to provide the “competitive edge”. I don’t think the previous statement explains the situation clearly.

Let me be more precise.

If ‘x’ is the number of students dining in Sakthi, then ‘x+50’ is the number dining in RR and ‘x+150’ is the number dining in CR.

If I am not wrong with the figures, each mess gets almost equal number of students and in a total strength of 2300+ students, I am not sure how this 50 or 150 students is going to bring in a competitive edge! And the spirit of competition that was the essence of this Giga mess concept is surely sidetracked. So why do we have Giga mess?

As coming to choices made by students, I don’t think many people got the mess of their choice. They were redistributed randomly to suit the number quota, making a mockery of the whole process of choosing options. [And dropping votes in a ballot box.] If they were in anyway going to be distributed randomly, why these claims of letting us make our choice? This is not directed at any individual, but at the system and the forces that run it.

And does the present system breed competition in anyway?

Besides being assured of the minimum number of students a caterer is bound to get, he is also assured of the fact that the number he has is going to stay for a month. Not only does this inhibits competition, but makes them complacent .If I know that I will get at least 700 people to eat the food I cook for a month, what attempt will I make to improve the quality? I can even afford to compromise on taste sometime during the middle of the month. All I need is to make sure that the food tastes good during the last week or may be ten days of the month. Is this what we wanted? Is it for this that we are forced to walk long distances, during sun and rain, even for tea?

In the ideal model as I see it, mess allotment should be on a daily basis. We have our smart cards anyway and their advantage has already been demonstrated in Cenlib. So why not let us choose our caterers on a daily basis? Let the caterers put up their menu daily. We can go to the mess of our choice by using the smart card. Swipe or whatever the card at the mess you want to eat and the cost of the dinner/breakfast gets transferred from your account to the caterers. This is more like a hotel where our bills are prepaid. This method of daily choice not only keeps the caterers on their heels, but also improves the quality of food. When I am not sure about how many people are going to eat at my mess, I try to draw more people by providing tasty food. Who doesn’t want to maximize his profit? This search for profit is what is going to improve the quality.

You may ask me one question. What if the food gets over and people are left without food? This can only be a short term problem, for a week at most. After all this is what it takes to enjoy good food, a minor glitch before the start of great days.

This is the idea of a perfect competition. This may be a utopian vision but certainly not difficult to implement. Good food can be the only pay off for all the fight we put to go to Himalaya.

Chanakya’s Quotes

1. "A person should not be too honest. Straight trees are cut first and honest people are screwed first."

2. "Even if a snake is not poisonous, it should pretend to be venomous."

3. "The biggest guru-mantra is: Never share your secrets with anybody! It will destroy you."

4. "There is some self-interest behind every friendship. There is no friendship without self-interests. This is a bitter truth."

5. "Before you start some work, always ask yourself three questions - Why am I doing it, What the results might be and Will I be successful. Only when you think deeply and find satisfactory answers to these questions, go ahead."

6."As soon as the fear approaches near, attack and destroy it."

7."Once you start a working on something, don't be afraid of failure and don't abandon it. People who work sincerely are the happiest."

8."The fragrance of flowers spreads only in the direction of the wind.

But the goodness of a person spreads in all direction."

9."Whores don't live in company of poor men, citizens never support a weak company and birds don't build nests on a tree that doesn't bear fruits."

10."God is not present in idols. Your feelings are your god. The soul is your temple."

11."A man is great by deeds, not by birth."

12."Never make friends with people who are above or below you in status. Such friendships will never give you any happiness."

13.”Treat your kid like a darling for the first five years. For the next five years, scold them. By the time they turn sixteen, treat them like a friend. Your grown up children are your best friends."

14."Books are as useful to a stupid person as a mirror is useful to a blind person."

15."Education is the best friend. An educated person is respected everywhere. Education beats the beauty and the youth."

the girl in the train

The summer heat was oppressive. I looked at my watch for the fourth time in two minutes. Fifteen minutes past 1:10 in the afternoon and still not an indication of the coming train. I looked around to see if there were any acquaintances in the station. After all it’s Guntur, my native place.

I was waiting for the Nagarjuna Express. It was the summer of 2004 and I was going to my uncle's home in Hyderabad. I had come to the station by 12.30PM and was waiting since then. With no friends to be seen around, I sat their impatiently waiting for the train. Finally the train showed up at 1:40 pm and we were soon moving out of Guntur. I was feeling happy that I was able to get a window seat. I didn’t want to sit somewhere in the middle, sweating.

There was a child beside me, constantly nagging his mother for something or the other. I was watching his antics with amusement. His mother was trying to calm him, as he constantly demanded all that was being sold. An old lady in the front seat was trying to find some space on the opposite seat to rest her legs. I took out "The blind men of Hindoostan: Indo-Pak Nuclear war scenario”, a book by a retired general and was quickly engrossed with it.

In an hour, the train reached Nadikudi. I was deeply immersed into the war scenario being enacted at Delhi by the defence staff when suddenly, something caught my attention .Through the corner of my eye I noticed someone dressed in red walk past. I lifted up my eyes to see who it was. I think she was a teenager. She was wearing a red Parikinee*, and was slowly carrying a heavy suitcase. She moved past me with difficulty balancing her luggage carefully, before I could see her face. Suddenly I was very excited. To describe the feeling truly, my heart started thumping and I could feel it. She was gracious and I wanted to see her face. I was longing to sit there and watch her for ever. She walked forward and seated herself two rows ahead of me, facing away. I tried to come back to the book but to no avail. All my attempts to concentrate proved futile.

I kept glancing in that direction, but the seats blocked my view. I don’t know why I felt so or what the reason was, but I still felt like sitting there forever if I was given a chance to look at her. On one hand I was feeling guilty that I was doing this, but I couldn’t take away that feeling of wanting to look at her. I offered my window seat to the kid beside me as if I was pleased by the fellow. I sat at the edge of the triple seat, from where I could have a convenient look at her, and held the book in my hand, pretending to read.

I tried to look away, read and I tried doing everything possible, but could not look away. Finally I gathered enough courage as I would call it, to walk past her to the door and then turn back to look at her face. I slowly placed the book away and walked towards the door as if I was going to wash my hands at the wash basin. I held the tap just for a minute, before turning back to look at her. I tried to do all this as casually as possible, but couldn’t avoid the nervousness that was catching up.

She was looking away, through the open window. Her face didn’t seem to look like what I thought. But what did I expect? Nothing. I just had a hunch that her face is going to enthral me as much as her gait had. But I was disappointed. I glanced at her face for a few seconds before walking back to my seat.

I sat there for almost an hour or so, glancing at her stealthily, never having enough courage to strike a conversation. At the end of it, I felt so bored that I dropped my book and fell asleep. I woke up with a start and by the time I woke up, the train has passed Miryalaguda. I searched for her. She wasn’t there! I had a sudden feeling of dejection grip me. I lost some of the happiest moments of my life to sleep. I cursed myself for being such a moron. Finally I fell to introspection.

I tried to find out what made me feel like that towards her. I didn’t want anything else, but just wanted to sit there looking at her. I didn’t want to trouble her even. All the while, I knew that this joy will be momentary, and that we will part in a few hours. Even that didn’t prevent me from enjoying the moment immensely.

It was for the first time that I felt so towards a girl. May be I liked her red Parikinee. Red is my favourite colour and may be the culprit. It wasn’t her personality, for she looked excessively lean. May be it was just the Parikinee it self. Andhra dresses, though largely ignored by people now have a certain degree of charm in them. I don’t exactly know why, but to me a Parikinee looks much better than jeans and I rate sarees above any other western costumes.

After sometime, I tried to imagine what she would have felt, had I gone to her and told that she was charming. The reaction may be a pleasant surprise or a suspicion. I just tried imagining what she would say, but couldn’t conclude anything. It would have been a suspicion followed by some beating by the co passengers, it was funny to imagine me being beaten up and me shouting “I didn’t intend any harm, I didn’t intend any harm”.

Now I just want to meet her once, if it can ever happen. Just to tell her "Madam, you are charming”.

Final day at RIL

Posting one last time from RIL/586/3170. (That's my computer number) Going to leave the company in 90 minutes. My train to mumbai is at 1 am tomorrow.

Feeling nostalgic about all my colleagues here. They have been of good support and have become good friends. I will present the anti glare filter to a friend, delete all my files on comp, check smail for last time in RIL and leave.

Soon, I will be back to my beloved Insti, and start posting all that I have promised. How I got a project, how it was non technical and how I became a Binder.

passed the test

Finally, the day went well. With the support of my friends and colleagues , I pulled out comfortably. My mentor was pleased, my colleagues appreciated and me satisfied. I will post in detail about my Intern story as soon as I come back to Insti.

RIL- and how I finished a non-technical intern.

the judgement day!

Going to make my final presentation at Reliance Industries Ltd, on my project. Going to start in at 2:30 pm.

God save the king,

God save the queen

God save my friends

And God save me!

Coming soon....

This is a promotional post, just to raise enough enthusiasm in people to make them visit my blog. Having been denied access to Orkut, Yahoo and Gmail, I have nothing but Smail, Dostpost and this Blogger to pass time. This is one reason to why you have been seeing many posts coming in these recent days. Also I am going to make a final presentation on Wednesday, the 12^th July and leave this place by 14^th. Till then I can write nothing, literally, though many ideas and events are there that are to be reported. Being a reporter or a news analyst is one of my dream jobs. Hope I become a studd reporter one day.

Firstly, I have lots to write about Painax, as he is notoriously known in the Insti (a.k.a Sash) and his miss-adventures in Banglore. My friends staying with Sash {Sandy, TN, and Vyas to name a few} have promised to remember his attempts at befriending “dig” females. We are about to start a new blog, “ The chronicles of Painaxxx” – Painaxxx with the triple x. But this awaits permission from our dear Painax, and I don’t know if he is already fuming at this misadventure.

Coming next are stories of two girls. Now that I have given up, I am liberated and free, to speak my heart. All the while, the fear of tarnishing my already fragile image and destroying my chances by making me a bad boy prevented me from telling my dear readers, the most exciting episodes of my life. I am going to blog them once I come back to Insti.

One is the story of a fairy, I chanced to see in a train to Hyderabad, almost three years ago. I was surprised and my heart thumped in excitement for two hours that seemed like minutes then, before I lost the sight of her. She was the first girl I officially “sighted”. [Sight: the colloquial used to refer to the phenomenon of staring/stealthily glancing at the opposite sex. I may have gotten the spelling wrong.] The story of the girl that forced a “good boy” to hold a beat, just for a look at her face, putting aside all the moral rules he stuck to.

The next one is the story of the second girl that ever “sighted” me. This took place very recently, in Mysore café, Surat. On my first day at Mysore café, I found her looking at me, rather boldly, sitting beside her parents. It was a turning point of my life. Not only did it bolster up the very little confidence I had about me looking smart, but also gave a thrilling joy that will last for the rest of my life. I will remember her forever. Of course, to know about the story of first girl that sighted me, await the post. These two stories are supposed to hit the blogsphere as soon as I come back to Insti.

Supposed to come next is the almost discontinued story- My Ramaiah Days. Haven’t written about it since long. A few episodes are in the offing. A few sequels to “ The privatisation of the petroleum industry” may follow. Though there are lots and lots of hot topics to discuss and debate upon, I think our media is doing enough and it will be good to present my readers with something unique- my story. [I have my opinions and will surely debate, but I prefer to do it on a later date.] In fact, not just me but every one has their own USP, their story. It only needs a few good friends to read and know more about you, and a few comments from them [readers, please make a note] to keep you going. Not that I am suddenly craving for appreciation, but comments tell me that, someone is reading my blog, and that it isn’t lying there gathering “e-dust”.

Also in line is the plan to write about the Insti, the Profs and our life here. Inspired by some classmate of ours! You may be wondering why I am trying to put my plans here. Once the semester starts, I may give up posting. Hence I am expecting people to remind me all that I have promised, and make me deliver.

Dear readers, please note that I am committed to quality and will provide you only with true and interesting stuff. Also, I will make sure that nobody’s sentiments are hurt, and that nobody’s personal life is infringed upon by my actions. [Hope you can see that I am trying to be a “pro”.]

I know that my posts are becoming lengthy. This is due to fact that I have started writing in MS-word, checking spellings and then posting it in Blogger. I also like this font “Bookman Old Style” and decided to make my report and presentation in this. I promise to be back soon!

Rains: in the Insti and elsewhere

Actually, this is my recent post on our IITM group blogspot. With just a week left to finish my intern, my enthusiasm to post has subsided considerably, overtaken by a small fear that had been lurking somewhere, about the presentation. I had had a bad time in the mid term presentation, and I have already posted my feelings here. But the feeling of dissatisfaction that comes when you don’t receive (m)any comments, but for one friend Shankie, who refused to give up posting comments, drove me to re-market my post. Though I have had electrifying experiences and slightly sensational stuff to share, I can’t unfortunately advertise my posts now, putting them up as my yahoo messenger/ g talk status, at least till I get back to the Insti. So, I have copied my post from another address and pasted it here, anticipating at least a few more comments.

{It took me more than two months two comeback to the promised post. Seeing that no contributions have come since “years”, [years: Lingo for anything referring to long intervals of time. Years may actually be days or hours too.] I decided to take the initiative and start posting something. I promise that this will be as good as those articles you find on my blog, if you ever get to read that.}

As all of us agree upon (all: not the readers but the contributors :P) the fact that our Insti is one of the most beautiful and lovely places we ever got to live in. Its majesty or charm, I don’t know what to call it exactly, increases many a fold in rains. I fell for the charm of this place during my second year. Since then, when ever it rains and wherever I am, I long for one place-my Insti. It will not be an exaggeration to say that I prefer my Insti to my home.

I am in Surat, presently, doing my Intern at Reliance Industries. And you would have realised why I am writing this post! It’s raining here. And the more it rains, the more I want to be back in Chennai.

In my first year, I was almost indifferent. My hostel was Sarayu, where we had had very less social life. It was new, the first year in the Insti. Most of us were not so well acquainted and all I had to do was to stare at the rain in the forest outside my hostel compound. I had a corner room with a breathtaking view of the forest, those bamboos and an assortment of other trees with deer sprawling around. Whenever it rained, I would open my portico door, place my chair there and drop down to admire the view. Thoughts would wander, and I would compare how various places looked in rains. Sorry to say, but I felt Hyderabad was the most gloomy place in rains. I had been there for two years and have seen enough rains, that I certify this with a bit of confidence.

It was in my second year, when I moved out to Tapti, that I realised how beautiful it was to take a stroll in rain. Of course there are a host of other factors also, which I refrain from mentioning that made me enjoy rains in the Insti. By second year, we were a good gumball of friends, with similar interests and tastes. Whenever it rained, we would assemble in one of our rooms or in the corridor and start, what we IITians call “farting”. It is one of those infinitely long sessions of discussions, about nothing in particular and everything in general. We discuss almost everything under the “rain” ranging from courses and Profs to movies and events. It is here that we get to know more about others better. But for a rain and an associated power cut, all of us would be locked in our rooms, staring at the lifeless monitors.

It was also then that I started enjoying the music of rain. If people were not very ready to “fart” I would take my umbrella and walk out into rain. Walking beside OAT, listening to the sound of water droplets trickling from leaf tips would transport me to an other world. If Gurunath was open, a coffee in rain had nothing to beat it. Sometimes I would meet somebody on the road and we would stand there, talking, talking and ignoring the showers.

Another favourite activity was “baddy” with Raghava, the only other fellow who is willing to soak himself in rain, just for the fun of it. While all others would stay indoors and watch, we used to keep playing baddy for hours together. Of course, the cold and fever next day are to be taken with the same spirit. As they say, there is no free lunch in this world.

By third year, we were able to gain access to the roof of Tapti, thanks to our friends in security. All the gumball would go to the roof, sit and talk, looking at Chennai skyline, dulled with over hanging rains clouds. And that habit has not left us still.

Sometimes, we would abandon our bicycles and march to classes. Many would laugh at my desperation to go to class in such a rain, and I would coax Sriram to walk with me to the class. I remember one particular day, when we walked right from Tapti to MSB, getting wet in howling wind and heavy showers, to attend the only class of that “afti”. (Afti: afternoon) And it was a pleasant surprise to discover that that the class had been cancelled. None of us regretted for having walked all the way. It was so refreshing and I came back to my room, drenched.

It was more titillating after we started visiting Durgapeeliamman koil. (Of course, life’s little ironies made us staunch devotees too : P) On one festival day Ahak, Sriram and me walked to the temple in what can be surely called a storm. The day was normal and we decided to visit the temple in the evening. By evening it started raining monkeys and deer. (Monkeys and deer are to IITM what cats and dogs are to others.) Of course, it took a bit of persuasion before every one would agree. That day we saw that channel/canal before the temple gushing, full with water for the first time in our three-year stay. I stood there for a long time, watching the water rush, and flu-mech (flu-mech: fluid mechanics) fundaes came raining in. Vortices and turbulence I saw, along with leaves and twigs that were being carried into our lake downstream.

Now here I am, stranded in a lonely place, with all the exhausts of a petrochemical complex coming down mercilessly with rain. I can’t help that desperate feeling of deprivation. Once I finish this intern, I will get back to my Insti with all haste, to enjoy one final session with rain. This is my final year and by the next rainy season, I would be away from my Insti, slogging for my career, don’t know where. And before I leave, I want to make the most of it.

Thank you, dear Insti.

The privatisation of petroleum industry-2

This is in continuation with the previous post and I have decided to write this after a few comments from my fellow bloggers who have read my article. One blogger expressed an opinion that a few such ideas are enough to take our country back to the days of quota and license raj. Others were mostly concerned about the ease of implementation. So, I would like to make a few points clear.

Firstly, I am strongly against quotas. They only lead to distortion of demand and add what are called dead weight losses and reduce the total surplus. But even subsidies do the same thing. They increase the demand for a product, just because it is available at a price much below its free market price. And we are unable to see that, just because our government is pumping in all that difference or taking the blunt. Once we are supposed to pay the actual price of fuel, we tend to reduce our consumption. This is the basis for the whole argument. You can still by as much fuel as you want, but only that you will be subsidised less and less as you want more.

I feel it is unfair to subsidise every one equally. People who use fuel-guzzling cars pay the same price for fuel as people who use fuel-efficient vehicles. And since there is now way to sell diesel at a higher price to an SUV owner and at a low price to the owner of a Maruti800, which also is extremely difficult, the only way I see is to make people take the blunt as they use more. This differential pricing, based on consumption doesn’t introduce any dead weight losses, but just leads to shifting consumer surplus to producer surplus.

I will present one more point before going to distribution system. Consider a citizen who doesn’t use an automobile. He pays his tax and the government in subsidising fuel is using a part of this tax money. I fear, according to current subsidies, this amount is going to be substantial. These subsidies reach someone else, who may not be a taxpayer. While the taxpayer doesn’t receive any benefit for the part of the money he has spent, a non-payer gets an undue benefit. Is this just? You may come up pointing to government’s expenditure in various fields like education and health. But as far as I can see, these actions benefit the society. So, I feel there is a stronger need for this differential pricing. Not just to unload our government’s subsidy, but to all that development that can be possible, once this money is diverted to other activities.

Now, coming to the distribution system. The idea is not to fix a limit on the quantity of petrol/diesel you can consume. Have as much as you want, with the only fact that the prices approach the world prices, as you want more. To achieve this, each consumer gets something similar to an ATM or a credit card. Once private companies take up distribution of fuel and manage fuel outlets, it is not very difficult to link them up, electronically to regional data banks that record the consumption pattern of a consumer. Even the existing lines used for credit cards can achieve this purpose. How many villages didn’t get connected to the Internet as philanthropic institutes spread their activities? When the objective is profit, I don’t think any company will hesitate towards this action.

I am sorry if I am being too descriptive, but I am excited about this and hence want to explain clearly. As you come to a fuel outlet you will be required to present your card for buying fuel. This card then lets the transaction take place between the database and that outlet, while at the same time updating your consumption record. And according to the record, you are billed. If things break-down, as in case of emergencies, you can always buy fuel, though it may be priced a bit higher, which will not need a data base interaction.

The amount of subsidy government pays will depend on this database. Please don’t tell me that it can be tampered with! I just read a news item dealing with the petrol pricing methodology and the way public sector companies are losing out to private players with the rules of subsidies. It said,

“ While private petroleum companies need not sell LPG and Kerosene at subsidised price, the government companies sell them at a lower price and are hence losing out vis-à-vis private players.”

I am completely against taking away subsidies on LPG and Kerosene, for they are the cooking fuel for the poor and middle class. But petrol and diesel are not as critical as LPG and Kerosene. Public transportation is still available, and it only needs an improvement in efficiency. Haven’t we heard of the popularity of local trains in Mumbai and Chennai? They serve an excellent alternative to road transport.

Let me tell you one more thing. The same article I read above also tells about the pricing policy of petrol and diesel.

“Most people would be aghast if they understood how petroleum prices are actually set in India. India is self-sufficient in refining crude oil for conversion to petroleum products. Since the dismantling of the administered pricing mechanism (APM) in 2002, prices are determined using the import parity principle. This is a purely notional price, arrived at on the basis of the assumption that petroleum products are imported. The notional price includes the free onboard price, ocean freight, insurance, exchange rates, customs duties, the losses during transit and port charges. Further, the retail selling price that consumers pay includes the cost of transport from the depot to the retail outlet, the marketing cost, the margins of the oil companies, State-specific taxes and duties, dealers' commissions and other charges. As the accompanying graphic shows, taxes, duties and levies of the Central and State governments account for more than half the retail selling price that consumers pay for fuels.”

Now I am not able to tell you for sure, whether petrol needs to be sold at world market price or domestic price. But in an open economy, the prices are supposed to be equal to rule out disparities and distortions.

The privatisation of petroleum industry

This is a response to one of the articles I read from my friend Mahesh’s blog. He was talking about the privatisation and its effects on petroleum industry. He felt that government should run the petroleum sector, as no private company will be willing to offer any subsidies to consumers.

However, I think there is a better way to do this. I hope there will not be any contradiction to the fact that it is competition that breeds efficiency. This article is an attempt to marry of the benefits of privatisation to the petroleum industry with all its volatile nature of prices. After all I would like to show-off all that I had learnt in my last semester’s economics course. Hope you will not mind this, Mahesh.

Let private companies take over the production and distribution of petro products. Once it is privatised the industry will search for its own levels of optimum and efficient performance. The government in areas of need can use the proceedings of disinvestments. Education and schools will be one of them.

Coming to the subsidy, with all my economics fundaes, I can suggest a method. It is like this. As with our electricity bills where we have a slab system, the price of fuel should be higher for higher consumption. To achieve the differential pricing, each consumer gets something like a petro-card, which is already existent with many companies. But this card is not to promote the consumption like the existent ones but to discourage consumption. Whenever you buy fuel at an outlet, you will need to present this card, which has a record of your consumption for the month. In effect, so to say, you have to use this card like an ATM card or a Credit card to buy fuel. Based upon your consumption you will be billed. You can get the first 50 litres, say at the present prices. But as your consumption increases the subsidy decreases and you will have to pay more for the next 50 litres. All these transactions recorded electronically will help the government to pay the differential. It will not only ease the pressure on government for equally subsidising those who really need petrol from those who are not in such a dire need, but also will lead to efforts in reducing unwanted consumption.

According to economics, each consumer has a certain price he is willing to pay for a product, which need not be the market price. Some are willing to pay more for the same item than others. This difference between the price/value consumer places on an item and its actual market price is called the consumer surplus. This current fixing of market prices will treat alike those with a higher and lower consumer surplus. Hence due the current scenario, consumers whose willingness to pay less than many others or those with less consumer surplus also get the same treatment as those with higher surplus. To put in common language, a teenager who wants to take joy rides on his automobile gets fuel at the same price as an employee who needs fuel for his daily commuting. Hence the government subsidises both people alike, it has to pay the same price of subsidy, both for the joy rides as well as for a well-needed journey. Once this differential pricing in place, it effectively discriminates between the two people and will restrain the teenager’s joy rides and save on fuel. It will also lead to higher value realisation of taxpayer’s money, which is used in this subsidy.

In places, which are electronically isolated, coupons can be used instead of cards for the same. Also there is no need to discriminate people in the tax slabs. Only differentiations needed may be among industrial and personal consumption, emergency and government services.

This is a crude plan and needs to be fine-tuned. Nevertheless, it will largely help the government and the economy by a reduction, not only in amount of subsidy, but also in the consumption of fuel.

Warning:Copyrighted material. For implementation and usage of ideas, contact "The Economist"- Sri Vallabha Deevi.

The assertive,the modest and the egoist

I discovered my ego, rather suddenly. Though I don’t know still, for sure, whether “ego” is good or bad. Before I made it to IITM, I never bothered about accusations various people made and corrections they suggested. Whenever someone would tell me that I made a mistake, I, in all my childishness, [traces of which are still present] would accept it. I would start thinking that it was, indeed a mistake and would try to imitate what people, whom I saw as role models did.

I would try to mould myself, batter down my feelings trying to emulate SOPs. [SOP: Standard operating procedure] To put it more clearly, SOPs are those traditions or practices followed and passed on generation to generation. I don’t question their wisdom. My only problem is being forced to follow it, even when it hurts me. To be true, I was well aware of this problem since my school days, but I never dared to complain. Whenever somebody punished me in school for some mistake, I would simply follow what I was told to do. But I still remember quite a few events, where I was not able to compromise and incurred the wrath of quite a few elders. It would take my father to explain me clearly what I was supposed to do, and me to half-heartedly mutter some apologies.

Let me tell you one thing before proceeding further. I am not an egomaniac. I have no problem with people trying to correct me and I will, most willingly accept suggestions. But there are a few fields or areas, where I pride myself (I may be wrong!) in being meticulous. I don’t have a ready list of these fields but technology and academics are certainly not among them. In fact I can get you testimonials from my friends telling how open I am with regard to academic suggestions. You come and tell me two twos are six and not four and I will start believing you.

After I entered the Insti, my most cherished place I started to understand how important it is to believe in oneself. I am in fact indebted to my Insti, my Profs and my friends for the self-confidence I acquired. I started to see things in a new light and I will remember the day I confronted one of my Profs in the class about an issue. I felt that my action was right and that my opinion mattered. So stood up and spoke while the rest of my classmates stared at me in surprise, for what seemed to most of them as an attack on the Prof itself. Of course, one thing why I like my Insti most is that people are able to differentiate an ideological difference from a personal confrontation. Later, not only did the Prof discuss the matter in detail but also became a good friend of mine. We stop and speak to each other whenever we meet.

The whole point of writing this blog is to tell you not about the past, but about the present. My worry is that these self-assertions are becoming more frequent. In the three years of my being in the Insti, I think it was only twice that my ego showed up and made me felt pricked. But it took hardly a month in this present place [I think you already know where I am. I refrain from mentioning because I feel that it is not good to brand a whole place for the actions of a few people] to trigger my ego, not once but twice.

The first was when one of the people I met here tried teaching me discipline. I met him one day as a part of my work and it didn’t take more that three minutes before he shouted, “ You should learn discipline first”. I didn’t reply, for, a brawl with an elderly man was the last thing I wanted. I withdrew but it pinched me so hard that I spent almost a half a day, figuring out what to do. I finally decided to mail him and wrote a long letter explaining him the consequences of trying to teach discipline to strangers. I made it cleat that I didn’t need any lessons from him and also made him understand what would have happened had I shot back at him. I met him again and asked him whether he read my mail. He grinned uncomfortably and replied “ no problem”. I understood that he lacked a reply and that was a satisfying moment.

The next one came yesterday, after a mid term presentation. One of the employees expressed dissatisfaction and asked me if I was satisfied with my work. Of course I realised that my presentation was short and terse, but couldn’t see any reason for the question. I don’t claim to be the most sincere at work, but I did my work with a considerable degree of involvement. It naturally irritated me and I replied, “ I am absolutely satisfied and I am sorry for you”. It took me whole of the evening to drain away the frustration and I flared up today morning when on my friends tried digging the matter up.

Now, here I am trying serious measures to bring down these flare-ups and be my old modest self again. By the way, suggestions are welcome.

My first salary.

Today, I received my first salary. A HDFC bank cheque attached to an A4 sheet, making an announcement

Pay Sri Vallabha Deevi an amount of ***** _

I filled the amount with ****, just because I wanted you to keep guessing. It is in fact a great one time experience, first salary. I am happy and want to shout at the top of my voice. Well friends, I lack words and so I stop.

A day I will remember for ever!

Mysore cafe

In about a week after coming here, I started to feel what it is like being away from home. [IITM has become a home away from home, to most of us.] With all that sweet curries and baked papads, the food in Insti mess seemed much better. The difference showed up, especially during breakfast. One day I had to eat aloo-paratha for breakfast and I felt terrible.

I never understood when my Northie friends in Insti were grumbling in the mess about the food. The menu always had something in common to what I ate at home. Breakfast was mostly idly, dosa, pongal or in the least pesarattu which I would eat at home occasionally if not regularly. But I started eating aloo-paratha only in IITM, on Sunday nights in the mess, that it made me feel terrible when I had to eat it for breakfast in Surat. And this with something that tasted like curd, early in the morning made a deadly combo. [Combo= combination, caught the usage very recently from my IITB friends here.] The alternative was bread, which I felt was no better. So, it was a memorable day when I ate aloo-paratha with curd for a breakfast.

After that my heart started longing for dosa. Though I am not very particular about food, when the means were well within my reach I felt no problem in going for it. To put it clearly, if I have to live on aloo-paratha I will. But when I can search out a south-Indian hotel and eat a dosa, I found no point in not doing it. Thus started one of my most exciting searches, one that showed me a major portion of the city/town and gave me an idea of Surti (Surti= belonging to, or of Surat) way of life.

It would almost be seven by the time I came home on weekdays and being exhausted, I wouldn’t attempt to go out for a search. I have to work six days a week and hence Sunday was the only day when I could go out and search. On the first Sunday, I started of with my friend in search of malls and shopping complexes, just to wile away time. Subconsciously I was searching for any hotel that would offer south-Indian cuisine. I saw Parle-point, a small junction in Surat that had a model of Eiffel tower standing at its centre, then Athwa lines, where there was a model aeroplane standing in a small circle at the junction. Peculiar idea I thought! At all junctions and circles the city sported some or another curiosity. At some other place was a ship, while yet another contained the frame of a woman holding a basket. These are not exactly statues but things made out of iron frames. The first search was futile, as I couldn’t find any south-Indian restaurant.

The second Sunday I marched all along Ghod-dood road, with the hope of finding the place I was searching for. Two hours spent to no avail. All I could find was pizzerias and chat bhandars where people were eating something or the other for break fast. I came back exhausted, filled my stomach with a packet of chips and a fruit juice. I came to a conclusion that Surat doesn’t have any south Indian restaurants and the thought sickened me. And the worst part of it was that dosa was the breakfast at the mess, which I unknowingly skipped in search of it. That evening, having heard that a restaurant called “Bombay bites” offered south-Indian cuisine; I went there hopefully to lay my hands on a dosa. Imagine my disappointment when the proprietor told me “ We used to have that sir, but we scrapped it a few months ago.”

Now, having met with bad luck both times, I started using whatever brains I had. Some of the employees that work with me here in RIL are from south and hence I started enquiring about south-Indian restaurants. To my relief, they guided me to a one near by, one that I have overlooked in my previous searches, Mysore café. It is just 4km away and there I could have all the south-Indian dishes, I was told.

I didn’t wait any longer and finally on a rainy evening made it to Mysore café. I will cherish that moment forever, the moment I ate a plain dosa with coconut chutney and sambar in Surat. A coffee that tasted just like another coffee at Saravana Bhavan gave the day a perfect ending. Since then Mysore café, Athwa Lines, Surat became my place of pilgrimage.

Surat, Gujarat.

As I stared out through the door of my compartment, colourless buildings and busy roads greeted me.There was a different smell in the air, something that made me want to go home. It was 3'o clock in the afternoon of 14th May,and the place was Surat, Gujarat.I have come to this city/town (don't still know if it's a town or city) for my Internship at Reliance Industries.

It was a 24 hour journey by Navajeevan Express.I had a 2nd AC berth and hence escaped the wrath of sun, though I was missing the diversity and vibrance that is normally found in non AC compartments.A family travelling along with me in the same coupe prevented my boredome. Whenever I travel, I generally keep observing people and their mannerisms or engage myself with a book.So, I speak less frequently to my co-passengers. But here, I had nothing to observe but these three people sitting around me and the book I chose for this journey was slightly boring,forcing me to talk.

The couple were very homely and the way the spoke made me feel good.So I spent my time in conversation with the family and hence was able to pass most of my time. The dinner and lunch in the train left me feeling odd, chapathi and curry, that papad and others.

As soon as I got down at Surat, a car picked me up, along with two others and carried us to RIL guest house. The city seemed strange. Most of it was filled with colourless buildings, rusty shops. I had an eerie feeling and an urge to go back home.

Welcome to Gujarat, the land of sweet curries and baked papads.This was my impression after eating the dinner at the guest house. Curries were sweet and after a week I understood that curries are sweet. The papads,I felt were rivals of our appadam/appalam (as we call them) baked directly in fire without oil, tasting different when eaten. The greatest shock however was when, something I took for Sambar tasted sweet.

However I had a pleasant surprise when two sparrows came, early the next morning and sat on the window of my room. Their chirpings carried me down the memory lane, to my childhood days when there were sparrows in coastal Andhra. They used to come everyday, sit on windows and chirp, gather a few grains of rice we occasionally threw at them and fly off. Those cute little things, I love them so much. Due to the
excessive use of pesticides in fields,they gradually disappeared from coastal region of Andhrapradesh. It was very sad, and the feeling of guilt still haunts me. So, you can probably imagine my happiness at finding these little friends in an unexpected place.

Surat is an industrial city and towards Hazira,its all petrochemicals and other related stuff. I was really wondering how these sparrows could survive in so harsh surroundings, with all those hydrocarbons and other odd gases in air.

Anyway, I had a great fortune to be able to see them again, thank GOD!

Professionalism-and its lack thereof

"How the hell can you?" was the first thought as I saw it.I actually wanted to narrate the whole event,but by the time I sat down to write,I felt I was acting stupid.No point in harping over a committed error and its better that I forgive the wrongdoer, I understood.

I felt the I would demean myself with all this mess.After all what's there? Nothing substantial would happen,had the mistake been avoided.And I incurred no great loss by that mistake being committed.

And after the error,it was a burst of emotion and I went along to make myself heard, right from the lower most rung of the heirarchy.Starting from the coord I went straight to the secretary. Thank God!I didn't crib with a volunteer,it would make me a real stupid then.

And I came back to my room with full steam,deciding to blog it.By the time I started, this realisation occured. (Those of you who are familiar with my frequent enlightenments, don't worry.To me realisations and enlightenments are a weekly occurence,but in different spheres life.)

So, I turn it over to a more general discussion "Professionalism and its lack...."

When you are in some position of responsibility,you are expected to behave responsibly."Mistakes do happen!" If this is what you say after a blunder,please do realise that it is your ability to avoid mistkes that takes to power and position.If a CEO would give this reason,I seriously feel he doesn't have any eligibility to be there.And all of us acting in various responsibilities are supposed to exhibit this professionalism in our day to day activities.Hence "Mistakes do happen" is not the reason, my dear friend. Try something else,please.

I am sorry for all this, as I feel the traces of previous anger haven't left me still.But I want to make one thing clear,I have nothing against the people involved here.

A small piece of advice.

"Take up some responsibility if you have the ability and professionalism needed to do it.If you don't,I beg you please refrain ,because you will cause more harm and damage than any good by being there."

And I copied down the dictionary meaning of professionalism here, as I am not worth it to put it down in my own words.

Professionalism - the combination of all the qualities that are connected with trained and skilled people.

Cameron Mounger-Nostalgia

Cameron Mounger and I have been friends since we were teenagers.Both of us liked music,and several years after we left school,Cam as we called him,became a disc jockey.

Recently he told me a story about the day he was down to his last dollar.It was the day his luck and life changed.

The story began in the early 1970's when 'Cam' was an announcer and disc jockey at a radio station in Texas and attained celebrity status.He met many country-music stars, and he enjoyed flying to Nashville-the centre of country music in the company plane with the station owner.

One night Cam was in Nashville for a show.After it was over,an acquaintance invited him backstage with all the stars."I didn't have any paper for autographs,so I took out a dollar note,"Cam told me."Before the night was over,I had virtually everystar's autograph.I gaurded the dollar note and carried it with me always.I knew I would treasure it forever."

Then the radio station where he was working was put up for sale and many employees found themselves without a job.Cam landed part time work at another station,and planned to hang on to this job,long enough for a full time position to open up.

The winter was extremely cold in Texas.The heater in Cam's old car emitted only a hint of warm air,the wind shield defroster didn't work at all.Life was hard,and Cam was broke.With the help of a friend who worked at a local supermarket, he occasionaly got food that had spoilt and was being thrown away."This kept my wife and me eating,but we still had no cash."

One morning as Cam left the radio station he saw an old man sitting in an old yellow car in the car park.Cam waved to him and drove away.When he came back to work that night,he noticed the car again,parked in the same place.After a couple of days,it dawned on him that the car never moved.The fellow in it always waved cordially to Cam as he came and went.What was the man doing sitting in his car for three days in the terrible cold and snow?

Cam discovered the answer next morning.This time the man rolled down the window.He introduced himself and said he had been in his car for days with no money or food,Cam recalled.He had come from out of town to take a job.But he arrived three days early and couldn't go to work right away.

Very reluctantly, he asked if he might borrow a dollar for a snack to get him by until next day,when he would start work and get a salary advance.I didn't have a dollar to lend him;I barely had the petrol to get home.I explained my situation and walked to my car,wishing I could have helped him.

Then Cam remembered the dollar which the country-music stars in Nashville had signed.He wrestled with his conscience a minute or two,pulled out his wallet and studied the note one last time.Then he walked back to the man and gave it to him."Somebody has written all over this,"the man said,but he didn't notice that the writing was dozens of autographs.He took the note.

"The very morning when I was back home trying not to think of what I had done, things began to happen,"Cam told me."The phone rang;a recording company wanted me to do an ad that paid $500.It sounded like million.In the next few days more opportunities came out of nowhere.Good things kept coming steadily,and soon I was back on my feet."

The rest as they say,is history.Things improved dramatically for Cam.His wife had a baby.Cam openend a successful car repair shop and built a nice home. And it all started that morning in the car park,when he parted with his last dollar.

Cam never saw that man in the old yellow car again.Sometimes he wonders if the man was a beggar or an angel.
It doesn't matter.What matters is that it was a test and Cam passed.

By now you would have understood that this is a story.It is indeed a story, given in my first ever national level exam.This is the comprehension passage from ENGLISH PAPER 1 ICSE-2000.

Believe me,if all those endearing young charms

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day
Were to change by to-morrow,and fleet in my arms
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored,as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will;
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear;
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No,the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on his god when he sets
The same look which she turned when he rose.

Thomas Moore.

Faithfully copied (makki ki makki) from
"PANORAMA A selection of Poems."