Remembering Cleve Moler... the man behind MATLAB

It was past bedtime. My wife and I had barely finished our conversation when the rain finally came. It wasn't the first shower of the summer. More like the fifth shower, over the last two really hot months, in Bangalore. But for the first time this summer, the rain had finally turned benevolent. Not raging or tumultuous, not sparse or farcical, but just the right amount of rain, the city needed. We both sat up, drew the curtains open, and paused to look outside. The haze from the rain made a halo around the streetlights of our apartment, around the tower demarcation lights, and over the oddly hoisted, glowing from within the dial, clock, above the swimming pool. The mist from the rain was sprayed into our bedroom by the wind. The city, and certainly, all the people in it, would have thanked God for this blessing from the skies.

In a state of mindless polling, I opened my Outlook, anticipating an e-mail from a customer. Instead, I found an email from our CEO, Jack Little, with nothing but Cleve Moler's name in the subject line. The moment I saw the subject, I feared the worst news. I took a deep breath and opened it. To my dismay, it was an announcement of Cleve's passing away. May his soul rest in peace.

It's been eight years since I joined MathWorks, the company behind MATLAB. For those people who haven't had anything to do with STEM, this software would have still touched your life in ways you can't imagine. If you have ever driven a car, or taken a cab, if you have ever taken a flight, or used a PC or a smartphone, if you have used a home appliance, or undergone a medical scan, if you have ever traded in the financial market, or been among the very few who have travelled into space, you would have used a tool that was designed using MATLAB. 

Cleve Moler built the first version of this software.

And since the last 42+ years, the world has benefitted from his work in innumerable ways.

I am writing this small post for Cleve, as a tribute to this lovely, brilliant, kind and simple gentleman. I am not claiming to have known him in person. There would be thousands of people who would know Cleve much better than I do. My memory of him is from a very simple incident, but not very long ago.

We were at our Annual Sales Kick-Off event a couple of years ago. It was the first day of the event. As is standard, Jack was delivering the Quarterly update of MathWorks' performance. I had taken a front row seat. No, I wasn't getting an award, nor was I gonna be up on the stage to deliver a talk. It just happened that the front row seats were vacant. Besides, the event organizers are always happy if the front row seats are occupied. Somewhere in between Jack's talk, I noticed that Cleve had also settled in, right behind me. Since I was seated at the very end of one of the columns in the middle, Cleve, in his motorized wheelchair, was seated in the alleyway right behind me. I looked back and smiled at him. I felt nothing but immense gratitude for the man who built MATLAB. Thanks to him, we were all there. Right when Jack's talk got over, the audience got up to leave the hall for a break. I too was about to get up, when I felt a very light nudge on my chair. I turned around and saw it was Cleve's wheelchair. He had realized that his electric wheelchair had slightly gotten out of his control. He feared that he would have knocked me hard. It was barely anything at all. Despite assuring him right away that it was nothing, he got profusely apologetic. He looked at me, and he kept saying sorry. In my gratitude and admiration for him, I kept telling him that it was all right. He didn't have to apologize and  I barely felt a thing. Yet, Cleve seemed inconsolable. He seemed to have lost some confidence in operating his wheelchair because of that miscontrol. His hands trembled when he tried to steer his wheelchair away. That very moment, Cleve's caregiver took control and lovingly yet carefully steered Cleve away. Even on his way out of the hall, Cleve had that innocent, apologetic look, as if something grave and untoward had happened. I hope my assurances eventually had an effect.

I will always remember that short encounter with Cleve. He had a brilliant mind, without a doubt, but he was a simple, kind and sensitive person. I cannot imagine doing anything to even one-tenth of what he did, or having an impact like he had with his work. But I hope I will always remember to be kind and sensitive to others around me, like how Cleve was with me the other day. Today, Cleve is no more with us in person, but he will be remembered through all of us at the MathWorks, and indirectly, by more than hundred-thousand customers and by more than five million users of MATLAB who have accelerated the pace of Engineering and Science, over the last 42 years. 

As Jack put it in his email, Cleve has been a force of great goodness in the world, and we will miss him.

The genesis of my love for Liverpool

Head in my hands, deep breaths and sighs, teary-eyed from all the beautiful memories, is how I am while I watch all the farewell videos of my current favourite player, Mo Salah. After a stellar record-breaking career, he is inching towards the final game of his Liverpool career. The words I have to describe the last 10 years of my life, as a Liverpool FC fan, will not do justice to the overwhelming sense of gratitude I have for all of the club as a whole. Those of you who know me know that I have been a fan of this club for more than 25 years now. And all this while, I have never shared that level of passion for anything else.

My cousins ask me, so do some of my friends, family and colleagues, what, when, how, where, who and why did a guy from Rajgangpur become a fan of Liverpool FC, when everyone around me was either a cricket fan, or not a fan of any sports altogether. There was, of course, one friend, who was a fan of basketball. I remember this as he had told me he used to wake up early to watch the NBA. So while I wasn't alone in my eccentricity, I was definitely not the 'norm'. What is normal? Average of all craziness.

Why did I choose Liverpool?

I think it was the colour red. Red inspires passion, which is why I also loved and still love Ferrari. All those years ago, when my window to the outside world was just cable TV and the sports section in the newspaper, I would follow my favourite teams and players there. Scorelines of the football game, interviews of legends, opinion pieces of commentators etc. mattered more to me than my teachers' lessons. I remember watching Ronaldinho score a looping freekick over David Seaman, when he was touted as a fresh new talent who became a star after the 2002 FIFA World Cup. Of course, Ronaldo Nazario was one of my favorite players but he played in the La Liga, which wasn't telecast on cable TV back then, but the Barclays Premier League was. Michael Owen, was a commentators delight with his pace and finishing at Liverpool. If not for the looping freekick of Ronalidinho, I would have expected the English team to go further in that world cup. They had two songs for that world cup that year, one by Vangelis, which was every Venga boy's' song ever, and the other was called 'Boom' by Anastasia. Even after 28 years, there is no better song than Ricky Martin's The Cup of Life. Shakira's Waka Waka comes close, so does U2's One.

Rooney had not even stepped up into the scene yet. Cristiano Ronaldo was still in Portugal. Nobody knew of a little wonder called Messi at La Masia. The legends of the game back in the 2000s were Zidane, Figo, Kaka, Rivaldo, the Italians (Maldini, Materazzi, Nesta, Gattuso, Cannavaro), Shearer, Fowler, Henry, Bergkamp, Kahn, Lahm, Batistuta, Ballack, etc. and of course the heartthrob, David Beckham. Funnily enough, I haven't yet mentioned my Captain o' Captain fantastic, Steven Gerrard. Gerrard was out of the 2002 World Cup due to a Groin Injury. Although he took over the captaincy from Sami Hyppia a year later for Liverpool FC. I used to wonder what these youngsters would do in the world of football. Every one of the above players went on to do incredible things in world football. But what Stevie did for Liverpool, single-handedly carrying the club through for 15+ years, can't ever be matched. People remember him for his heroics at the 2005 Champions League Final, though he had already won my heart a couple of years earlier. His influence only came to light during the 2005 Champions League campaign, especially for his goal against Olympiakos, which made sure we qualified for the knockouts.

Steven Gerrard... Mr. Liverpool.

After the Champions League Final, there were reports of Stevie joining Mourinho at Chelsea. There was no social media back then, so all those rumours showed up on dial-up internet-enabled tabloids, or in the sports section or on Sportcenter on ESPN. It was my dinner time show which I would only get to watch if I had been a perfect son and a perfect brother through the day. 30 mins of access to the TV remote was a hard-earned privilege. The credit for the season should go to Benitez and his new signings, Luis Garcia and Xabi Alonso. Luis Garcia for his wonderful lob against Juventus and his ghost goal against Chelsea, while Alonso pulled the strings of the midfield so that Gerrard could attack the opposition defenders. If there was the most difficult way of securing Champions League football for the upcoming it was by becoming the reigning champions and automatically qualifying for it. Liverpool's arch rival Everton FC, who had finished above Liverpool that season in fourth place, but Liverpool had the last laugh by winning the Champions League while Everton was unable to beat Villareal to miss the Champions League spot. What a spicy ending to a season, but no one to banter with in Rajgangpur. Even after the final of 2005, Stevie's extra time screamer against West Ham in the FA cup final, his goals and assists in clutch moments against our rivals, Everton and Manchester United, his telepathic connection with Fernando Torres, his inspiring leadership with Suarez, and his heartbreaking slip against Chelsea, to miss out on yet another Premier League title, could only endear him to Liverpool fans all over the world. Stevie stands head and shoulder above any Liverpool player I have worshipped. Mohamed Salah comes second, but doing what Stevie did for a Liverpool squad that didn't have what it takes, is not anyone's cup of tea. Yes, all that made me a staunch Liverpool supporter, with a dream to catch a Liverpool game at Anfield, all the while I was planted to my roots in Rajgangpur.

Rajgangpur ... where is this place?

Even the most knowledgeable of people in Odisha, which in itself was among the poorest of provinces in India, would know of Rajgangpur, or give a damn about this little town. The existence of Rajganpur can only be confirmed if you have a very detailed political map of Odisha, and a very high magnifying glass, to find this little town. Yes, I grew up in this little place, whose identity came from a cement plant, that was set up in the 1950s to produce cement for the construction of the longest dam of the world, the Hirakud Dam, built across the river Mahanadi. Beyond this, Rajgangpur has never ever featured in mainstream media. That said, you may be assuming that people of Rajgangpur would be subjected to abject poverty, no access to infrastructure, etc; but thanks to the cement plant, there was a township, which had access to infrastructure like a few hard court tennis court, a world class swimming pool, a wonderful club with indoor games like Table Tennis, Badminton, Snooker, in-house theatre and what not. It was like a luxury oasis of facilities in the middle of nowhere. As a home work for my readers, try to find Rajgangpur on Google Maps and post it as a comment. If there is even one comment on this blog, I would be proud that I have one reader, at least.

So, after almost 35 years of my life, almost 25 years of following Liverpool FC, I have traced the genesis of my love for Liverpool FC. 

P.S. Yes, I did visit Liverpool when I was 33 years old, and I experienced a Champions League game under the lights at Anfield. This picture of me is living my dream, and I can only thank my wife, for making this a sweet sweet memory. How did I end up in Liverpool? There is a funny story to that as well...but you will have to wait for my next blog.

 

What's up!!!

This is not going to be blogpost reminiscing all that you missed, but rather a mere contemplation of how life in general has evolved from over seven years ago. By now, I have survived, a second re-election of the ruling party, a pandemic that cornered everyone to their homes, literally, a few foreign trips, an advancement in AI that is rendering people jobless, a third-but-cautious re-election of the ruling party, and finally, after much struggles and challenges, a lovely person to come home to. Life has been good to me in the last seven years, which my fellow readers (if any) have missed.

As I sit before my laptop, trying to wade and comb through any significant thoughts, I must also tell you that in the last 8 years, Liverpool FC have won the Champions League once and the Premier League twice. It is incredible to be a Liverpool fan at this point of time. As I write this blog, my thoughts are also drawn to the beautiful parade that LFC players undertook, and the terrible incident caused by a driver who rammed into 60+ supporters in his car. It was horrific that the parade, which was meant for a celebration ending in a horrible way.

I have a beautiful home now. From my balcony I can see deep into the Bangalore skyline. Here's a picture of it.

Those little lights near the horizon is the Bengaluru skyline, which has remained my home for over 13 years now. <May the fourth 2026> Resuming this blog post after a year, I have to add that Liverpool FC have lost a beloved player in Diogo Jota, to a brutal road accident, and the last year has been a tough year for us. Yeah, Mo Salah leaving Liverpool is truly the end of an Era at Liverpool, an era, every Liverpool fan is so proud of>

Such a long time in a single city, that I have not contemplated moving to any other. After all., all the major tech advancements in India happen in this hub. That and of course, the Bengaluru weather to thank God for this comfortable life. Funnily enough, I came across an Instagram post with a picture of Warren Buffet, and a quote, that surely didn't come from him, about how you should be grateful in life despite any uncertainties that tumble your way. I came across something similar from a character called Stratt in the book, Project Hail Mary, who before seeing off her favorite person, Dr. Ryland Grace, had cited the brutal nature of humanity and its struggle for food. 

What else is up?

I have been reading a lot of books. It's really me going back to the phase of my life where I am rekindled my love for good literature. After the phase in the early to mid 2010s, and of course while I was in school. Just over the last couple of weeks, I have finished reading two books; Project Hail Mary, and Days at the Morisaki Bookshop.

Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, is the story of a young girl in Japan, Takako, who started experiencing her adult life. The book starts with a scene of Takako, getting dumped by her boyfriend who she knew from work. Unable to move on she quits her job and just refuses to step out into the world. Concerned by her reluctance to move on from reclusion, her mom makes her decide between one of the two options: arranged marriage or moving on to help her Uncle Satoru's at their used bookstore. Her uncle, is delighted to have 'Takako' help him with managing their used book store focused on modern writers of Japan. While Takako, realizes that without a job, it will be difficult to continue at her current arrangement, she decides, albeit reluctantly, that she will accept her uncle's offer, in exchange for boarding and salary. Not many things change at first, but the human mind is also funny. Even if it has seen some serious trauma, it does get bored of. Boredom gets Takako up on her feet. Slowly and steadily, she develops a taste for literature, steps out to explore a new suburb, and makes new friends. The book reads as Takako's own narration of this period of her life.

If you want to know about Project Hail Mary, there is a nice movie that came out, which people have enjoyed at the Imax theatre. I haven't watched the movie because I wanted to read the book. I'll leave that story for you to discover.

Among the other books I finished, there was a re-read of 1984 by George Orwell, and a book titled Dove, based upon the life of a teenage sailor, who takes his boat, called Dove, around the world over a period of five years. He starts off from California, heading on to Hawaii, to New Zealand, Australia, Madagascar, South Africa, the Caribbean islands, and finally back to California. 

Is that all?

Nope. I have now journaled my thoughts continuously for more than a year and half now. The intention is to have a log of my undiluted thoughts, available to me and family, as a memoir. Why did I prefer a journal over a blog? It's my love for calligraphy with a fountain pen and a plain old blank pages of a diary, where my thoughts could descend without any justification or judgement.

As Miranda Priestly put it,"That's all". For now, at least.

Make One Difference

I was standing at a sweet shop, Chatpatalal snacks and sweets in Whitefield. It was a Saturday noon. I was meeting a friend after 7 years. Since the time we last met I had completed my Bachelors in Engineering, and have already worked in 3 different companies. In the same time he has become a doctor, served under the Hippocratic oath and is currently continuing his post graduation. The two hour window between his travel was the only chance to catch up a little with my old friend. There I was, standing at a sweet shop, waiting for my friend to collect his box of sweets. This is about those five minutes of thought work.

The roads kept busy, the dust never settled, and I was fed up of too many first world problems. There was a tea shop with the 40-ish looking vendor, eagerly scanning the people for some business. I wonder what story he must be having, what keeps him going. There were some couples on the road too. Some looked too bored of each other, and the love they wore resembled your old favorite shirt, washed, rinsed and tumbled over a million times. People kept moving in and out of the shop, some with their family, some with friends. A dad and a son caught my attention.

The son was young, around 5-6 years old. He was like any other kid of that age, wearing bright colors all over, touching, looking, dreaming, play acting and in a world that only he knew. I am sure, he would have his own superheroes who with all their superpowers teach kids some very basic lessons of life. His dad was waiting for his box of sweets too. The kid looked at anything fancy, asking his dad so many questions, adding and updating his real-time wish list. Sometimes he would stick against the glass wall watching away, and sometimes he would loose a sneaker while running around. The dad, let him wander a little, and yet kept a close watch to ensure the kid doesn't hurt himself. For the kid the Dad had changed his old life of careless wanderings to a nurturing loving family man. The world that he provides the kid, the way he manages the kid's wish and will, the things that he teaches from the real world, will be the valuable lessons the kid will remember throughout his life.

I had been a kid, and I could relate to these beautiful moments. No wonder how big I grow or how old I get, I'll always have my dad nudging me in the path when I go too wary. I was lucky, unlike 176 million children in India, who need urgent care.

That afternoon was going to be my first class of my second year at Make a Difference. I had four new kids to teach, guide, nudge and make a difference too. These kids are unlike me, you or anyone who have had a controlled stimulating world while growing up. These kids have faced the hard truths of life at such a tender age. Many are orphans, with no one to guide them, many disabled with no one to even bat a flashing eye, forget a smile, as if they didn't even exist. I was going to meet them, spend time with them every week, until the end of the session. I realized, I had to give these kids the inspiration, the belief, that they too belong and are equally a part of the world like us. They too deserve the choices we had while growing up, and that they can become anyone they wished too. But then I get worried, whether I can change any of their situation, by spending only 2-3 hours a week with four 11 year-old kids trying to make a difference.

In the five minutes of deep observation at a sweet shop on a Saturday noon, the realization came uninvited, that the task at hand was stupendous. I am scared since I know this challenge is too big and overwhelming to overcome by one person or one organisation alone. Yet I would still try I would try to make a difference every time that I knew.

Later that afternoon I met my four kids, Shanmukha, Gautam, Shashank and Ashok. I am supposed to teach English, as the current shelter needs vernacular teachers for Maths and Science. Shanmukha loves drawing, understands and speaks English well, and shows incredible amount of maturity. He is my go to person when I have to make sure the other three kids follow. I consider myself wise, but I had half his wisdom when I was his age.

Gautam, Shashank and Ashok, are yet to make the first few English sentences all by themselves. These are the new kids to join the shelter. Gautam loves running, Ashok loves Kabaddi, and Shashank wants to run more sprint relays. All of them want to join the military when they want to grow up.

So I taught them one little insignificant thing from our lives. I taught them how to introduce themselves when they meet someone new in English. As per my introduction, I am Partha, an Ed Support Volunteer at Make a Difference, and I want to make one difference everyday.

Wandered-Lost-Crazy

The day out at Golden Palms retreat

Golden Palms Resort and Spa is about 57 kms from my office in Bangalore. It has a beautiful swimming pool shaped like the number eight. It has a spa to spa yourself out of all the miseries. It has cricket, football, tennis, cycling, rolling, anything that you can imagine under the skies. And a lot of attractive people are always around. I was there too, standing on the spring board of the swimming pool, looking down into the beautiful crystal clear water. The sun was hot and the pool was cool. A straight dive to the bottom would be heavenly, letting the gushing water take away all my stress. The most amazing thing ever.

Every time there is a trip being planned the chances of that happening is less than 10% (there is no validation of the statistic used). The discussions that sprout up during the lunch time are a minor escape from the reality of a sales job, brewing the plan of a weekend at a resort. The chances of it happening, reduces exponentially with each passing day. I was among the more optimistic and hopeful ones. So I was already imagining the dive into the pool. In fact, “obsessing” would be a better word here.

Thursday lunch (13:30 pm): “Guys let’s getaway one weekend, to a resort or spa and chill out”.

“Yay”! “Hurrah”! “I have been here” “I have been there”.  Because the word “soon” would kill it, a date was fixed. The next Saturday of the extended weekend was chosen as the day when we would get away.

Where? To one of the four places shortlisted. It was done quickly and a mail was sent to everyone.

My manager was not included in the plan. I had been wondering if it would be the right thing to keep him out of the loop. He had never been a jerk to me, and many believe that the transformation happened after he had his baby boy.  Thus the hypothesis,”The best way a human can contribute to the future was to pass on the evolutionary information of survival in their DNAs, by having a baby with a perfect mate. The verbal knowledge we share with the world is just a minor fraction of that we have in our DNAs. Babies are indeed a couples’ gift to the world…”

Nevermind!

The enthusiasm in the group was seeping now, but I managed to keep myself excited.

How would I gear up? A shoulder bag with the towels and spares, swimming boxers, the power-bank-cum-bluetooth speaker,  wearing three-fourths, t-shirt and canvas to go with a wayfare.

What would I do on the way to the resort? Chat a bit, charm a bit more, settle down on one of the corner window seats, put on some music and stare away at anything that was aesthetic.

What would I do when I get there? A bit of snooker and table tennis to warm up, followed by squash and volleyball, and spend the rest of the day lying in the pool.

It wasn’t supposed to be. All the nice expectations I had built up was fizzing out when two of my colleagues dropped out of the plan. There were still enough people to make it happen in my opinion but the enthusiasm was now draining out into the gutter. I was getting desperate to dive into the pool now. I wondered if I could just apparate the entire team with me to the Golden Palms Resort, right then and there. But that would be a straight forward breach of my mortal impersonation. They weren’t supposed to know that I was a Genie. I had used my powers once when I did a trick for a colleague on her birthday, but it wasn’t obvious. There had to be a mortal way.

I called up the resort in to ensure the availability, in a hope, that action rather than words would get their lazy asses back on.

The resort was available. All I had to say was a “Yes” to the adoringly sweet voice of the receptionist.

 I rushed into the TSC bay, ready to inspire my team with a speech. So I began “I have a dream…”

“What other hypotheses do you have?”

I looked back to see my manager, still poking a little joke on the baby hypothesis. That was it. The moment was gone. He wasn’t supposed to know about the trip. I gulped the speech right away, and went into a limbo, where I finally dived into the pool, waiting to splash into the beautiful-crystal-clear water, only to realize halfway down, that the pool was crystal clear because there was no water in it. My little mid-day fantasy was about to crash and burn.

“Pardon me?”

“What other hypotheses do you have?”

“If you ever plan a trip after having a heavy Thursday lunch, first book and then dream of it.”

The Luxury of Dreams

I am 25 now and I am supposed to be dead fucking serious about my long term dreams. The best way to start is doing something right away. Now, is never late.

What do I dream of doing?
Write a book and give my impression on the state of affairs. Share my beliefs and add them to the pool of intellectual property of humanity. No matter how minimal the impact could be for now, but it can certainly influence someone and be the game changer. Being the game changer here is not the purpose by the way. The purpose is just to expand humanity's intellectual pool. If the entire world had the luxuries I have had, I can imagine the closest we can get to a Utopian society.

This morning I woke up to a cosy sunshine, made myself a cup of tea, read a few pages of newspaper, and here I am, scratching my head with ideas. This is the luxury I am talking about.

Do you expect the people of India below poverty line, who have hungry children to feed, who have had their crops failing again, who have to fight the ever-growing rates of inflation, to think at my level?
On a global scale the situation in some countries is dire. Iraq and Syria for example. These refugees haven't seen a beautiful morning, with birds singing, with kids playing etc, in a very long time. They have had to face the rat-ta-tats of Kalashnikovs, and booms of mortars every morning they wake up. Can they ever think of the luxury of sipping tea and discussing world politics?

The day the world manages to give everyone a proper meal, few clothes, a small home with state provided securities of liberty and fraternity, and some form of education to make them realize what they are worth, the world will start discussing what is the best for everyone on a global scale, over a cup of tea one fine morning (I don't think that basic 'luxury' for everyone is something that the world can't afford). We will see a boom in the world's intellectual pool.

Ideas will come out of every corner in the world and the internet will be the level platform for the relatively poorest to compete with mightiest megalomaniacs. The world will be on the same page.

I might feature this article in a book I write in the future. That would be a step taken towards my dream.

What is the purpose of having a dream too, even though life seems purposeless many a times?... To be continued on another Sunday morning.

A lot can happen over a cup of tea, indeed.
Wandered-Lost-Crazy

The Break In

It feels funny when you go on a familiar road from a not so distant past, expecting some surprises, some flashes from the memory lane, falana falana, and nothing really happens.

Exactly three months on, from the day I left my old company, I was on that familiar road from Jayadeva square to the Subramanya Arcade. My cousin, who stays nearby had been admitted the previous day in a hospital opposite to my old work place. The walk through the street was familiar, invoked some nostalgia, but nothing more.
The mosque that had always been under construction in the 2 years I walked past it was now standing tall, pearly white, and beautiful. I was wondering if I will stumble upon a familiar face on the road, but it wasn’t to be. I crossed Subramanya Arcade, scanning each glass pane on the building facing the road, and tried to make out if anything had changed.

About my cousins.
There are 9 of us in our generation on the paternal side. Four are yet to graduate, while the other five (me included) live and work in Bangalore, and on the fifth of September, 2015, the youngest of the five wasn’t doing so well. It was suspected to be Dengue and we four were there to see that he laughs through the disease. The strict hospital rules of one attendant and one visitor was a challenge we four were trying to beat every time something came up and required us to move in and out of my cousin’s ward. There were two official ways of getting to ward numbered 205B, one via the lift and the other through the stair way, but both manned by the security asking for passes. Sadly, there are no wormholes yet. But only one person was allotted a pass for one patient. From finding an alternative route, to secretly swapping visitor’s passes among us, we made sure the five of us stayed in the semi private ward for two, patient included. Not that we didn’t get caught ever, but most of the time it was a successful maneuver.  That’s how it’s with me and my cousins.

The cat and the mouse game at the hospital was fun. But I still wondered about my old work place. As I got out of the hospital, I could see the big IBM building before me, the place I worked for two years. I used to walk in with my ID card swinging down my waist, and my earphones dangling. I felt for my waist, hoping with a 0.05% chance that it would magically appear there. It wasn’t.

So … I broke in.
All I had to do was to walk past the three guards, confidently, at the gates of the Tech Park (I nodded at them like it was just yesterday that I was there), get to the SA3 building, tail gate through the main entrance, and walk to the lift lobby whistling, to get to the second floor. The same corridors I had paraded for two years. The cubicles were empty, but I could imagine them busy with their work. If I had ever wanted to come back to SA3, I wanted to come in invisible, so that I could see the good people doing their jobs as they used to. I was running my hands over the same desks they had been working on and the remnants of their work lay, either on white boards or on sketches of the flow diagrams on papers. I remembered those terms, and I was smiling. So I started scribbling a few messages for the people I missed. All this while, my old team mates and managers had been asking me to come over, and I was just putting it off for no specific reasons.

Somebody had realized that I was ghosting around the second floor cubicles, scribbling. Even though there was nothing bad with my intentions, it certainly was against the rules. That somebody called out from behind. I had my earphones on and the music off. With a tap on my phone the soundtracks of Inception played. I nodded as I walked past the guard, who had been checking me out. He nodded back, seemingly confused. I got to the lobby took the stairs. “Non rien de rien! Non, Je ne regretted rien” played out loud, and that moment certainly felt a part of my dreams. I heard a few steps closing in on me, and before he could get another glimpse of me, I scrambled down to the basement garage, and got out in the open. Steadying my steps, I made my way out of Subramanya Arcade.

What was the point of this little break in? Nothing.  It was something I wanted to feel again, perhaps, like a half remembered dream, spontaneous and random.

It had felt funny in the morning, when I had walked by Subramanya Arcade, and nothing had happened.

Wandered-Lost-Crazy