Category: Thoughts uncut

Engineering Encounter

A few days ago, I met a handful of Engineering final years. It was a work thing, and I had to see if they’d fit into our team.

It was all professional and serious until I got bored. I wasn’t used to interrogating people, trying to assimilate their love for words when I knew in the back of my mind that the sole reason they faced me was because they didn’t clear the developer round.

One after the other, they narrated their resumes word to word, even as I held them in my hand.

And that’s when I realised: they were just kids. They haven’t got their life figured out.
And if we expect them to walk out of their graduation party all decked up and society-ready, we’d be disappointed.

I’m no mind reader. But from what I figured, these youngsters need reality checks. Their parents and teachers have pampered them far too long in the guise of nurturing them. And what’s worse, they’ve gotten so used to it that they have no idea of the shitty world they’d step into.

Not all of them were as naive, however. Some of them understood they need to hard sell their way in out of college and into a job. And they put on a good show too. With confident smiles, they tread as if there were no ice to break. But underneath a layer of mysticism and offhandedness, their eyes reeked desperation to impress. They were stuck in life but didn’t want to come off as such. They’d chosen Engineering either because they thought they’d be good at it, or because their parents had swallowed its bloated potential.

It was evident that none of them knew it then — which is natural — but they had all settled for what they had been thrust into.

They had taken their parents’ word because that’s what children do. Three years in, however, they know now that that’s not their calling.

They sought the tipping point where they could find a home for their soul while keeping their parents happy, too. They knew they had whiled away on something they didn’t want to, but they were optimistic. It was a sad sight.

They had walked into their first year in Engineering hoping they’d be good at it. And as they reached their third year, they had concluded they weren’t as bad as they could be.

They came to like Engineering.

They adapted; they had begun to slaughter their dreams.

But somewhere deep down, they seemed to know it was their final chance to get out. They had been doing what they didn’t want to do for so long that it had messed with their heads. They almost believed they loved what they didn’t.

That’s when most parents suggest they complete their MBA. And from experience, I know MBA graduates are stronger and more convinced about their career choices. They would have graduated as Electrical Engineers, and followed it up with an MBA in Finance. And in their interview, they’d declare their passion had been for numbers all along. They were convinced because they had adapted.

But the soon-to-be Engineering graduates sitting in front of me were not there yet. They were struggling to get there, trying hard to impress, and masquerading confidence.
They didn’t have their life figured out. And that’s a good thing. They were vulnerable and that made them valuable. They were ready to accept that their Engineering certificate may not feed their soul.

They were rusty professionals with patchy expectations, but they were hard workers willing to find their calling.

And for me, that made all the difference.

Personality Tests Are Crap

Because personalities change.

People change. And not because they want to. Oftentimes, we make choose things in life without an option to choose another option. We do what we need to do—whether we want to or not.

People change. And not because they want to. Oftentimes, we make choose things in life without an option to choose another option. We do what we need to do—whether we want to or not.

How then could a bunch of random questions determine who you are? How would you answer from the heart when you’re not even true to who you are on the inside?

I was born an introvert. Shy, imaginative, creative, and dreaming. And way off reality. If I had remained the same, a personality test would’ve revealed results much different from what it would do now.

Because I’m different now.

I’m not the same person I was five years ago. Or ten, for that matter. Because the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve met, and my experiences with the world have changed me in so many ways. I’m not as naive as I used to be. Or foolish, or unknowing. I don’t watch as much reality television as I used to. I don’t revere film starts , or Google the age of an attractive upcoming actor. I don’t read Archie comics huddled under my bed sheets at night, or gawk at boys with budding moustaches and men with unruly beards. I don’t judge people by their looks, and I no longer trust anyone blindly.

I’d like to think I’ve grown, matured, as a person. From the primary school innocence to the middle school hair flip, to the now-abundant face palm moments, I’ve evolved with the times.

No personality test would cover all of that and still make sense. Sure, it would’ve been accurate the first time. But only then. Sure, it would have told me I’m nice, trustworthy, friendly, kindly, and all other “ly” verbs I now cringe at. I would have been elated then. Disgusted now.

And maybe if I take another personality test now, the results would be less embarrassing. But that too would pass. When I get older, I hope to have changed. I hope to have become wiser and more sensible than I am now. And then, the test I take today would be absolute bollocks.

Perhaps it would be a fun memory.

Home, I Go

It matters where you’re headed more than how you’re headed.

If you’re wondering who said that, it is I.

I realised the truth in those words for the first time as I leaned back on my seat, and heard a disapproving grunt from the passenger behind me.

350 kms and about seven hours on a bus. (It would be five and a half or six during the day, but no one’s decoded the Indian standard time yet). Oh, and the seven hours doesn’t include the hour-long (or longer) wait at the bus stop because we Indians don’t conform (to timetables, in particular), and our roads aren’t paved to accommodate on-timers.

In fact, going home on a Friday night isn’t something to look forward to, but more of a painful endeavour.

Still, though, every time I go home, my spine would tingle for my lazy couch and my stomach would growl for some homemade gravy. For every back-breaking minute I endure on the bus, I imagine lying at home sipping steaming tea and streaming shows I’ve never watched before.

Because when you’re at home, you’re home. You’re the celebrity and you get — in a day — all you’ve craved for the last six months.

And that thought makes all the potholes and broken armrests worthwhile. Nevertheless, the journey is all about tossing over trying to sleep on a seat that’s meant to be sat on. Or staring out at the dark sky dotted with specks of silvery stars, and pretending that other buses shrieking through the silent night doesn’t bother me at all.

I manage to do all that, every single time. And when the bus stops for a midnight break, I look at the watery mess they call coffee, and I smile. Because I know it’ll be better in the morning and I’d be home.