Ladies, Gentlemen and Aliens,

Today onwards, this blog belongs to a real, live, in-the-flesh journalist. I am tempted to sticker up my car with garish P-R-E-S-S sticker, but it will cause the resale value to plumet significantly. I am also tempted to scan my press card and put it up here for show-off's sake. But I really haven't been able to figure out yet how to host pictures on Blogger. No wonder they kicked me out from the software industry. :)

"Do you want to sell sweet water all your life, or do you want to make a difference?"

"Do you want to write characterless programs all your life, or do you want to make a difference?"

I do not know what difference I will make over here. But at the end of the day, knowing the fact that each day I make a significant contribution to a product that people actually enjoy reading gives an unmistakable high. Its a far cry from the days of being an inconsequential resource in a homogenous resource pool - one where everyone is the same, irrespective of height, weight (I had certain advantages there) or intellectual ability. The organisation doesn't care a damn about whether you write the piece of shitty code that has been assigned to you, or your dog's brother does it (it's a dog's life, really :D). Quite a scary thought!

Once again, I am not sure of the difference I am going to be making here. But at least I have an opinion about what I do. And it happens to be a strong and informed opinion. I revel in the fact that I am capable of making a difference. When the time comes, we shall see. No, the journalism world isn't going into a tizzy about my earth-shattering exploits. Err, not yet anyway.

The pen is mightier than the sword. The pen, now being relegated to the obscure environs of the Prince of Wales Museum, has been very conviniently replaced by a white keyboard with keys that make sophisticated click sounds. I really don't know why I am talking about keyboard ergonomics here. But being a journalist, it's all forgiven :) Creative liberty they call it. Ah, the keyboard being mightier than the sword can influence some pretty crucial decisions. For instance, I could make a Getz look like a Porsche and a Swift look like a bullock cart. Lets say it influences 10 potential buyers to switch from a Swift to a Getz. Assuming Maruti makes Rs.20,000 on every Swift that is sold, that's a hole in Maruti's coffers which will allow roughly Rs.2,00,000 to flow through as swiftly as iodised salt out of those thingees on the dining table. Impressive self-ego boosting mechanism I have, what say!!

Which brings me to a brief (oh yes, the briefs haven't been washed in a few days now) description of daily happenings. Work (vacation) hours are insane - 12 noon to 3am. First, the food. Lunches are some nice affordable tiffin victuals that fill up the stomach rather well. Just right actually, not straining the muscles to burst out of the jeans, and yet satisfying in a sublime sort of way. Dinner usually causes a few chicken to lose their lives (In spite of how depressingly disgusting that sounds, the chicken in Pune is fabulous). Dinner consists of a 7 course meal, soup, main course, biryani, raita, desert, et al. Almost, its generally biryani - mark my words, the food in Pune is mind-blowing. As is the weather. It doesn't rain much. So that's good bye to gloomy grey skies which are nothing but harbingers of imbalance and discord. Yet, its cold, sunnily cloudy, and I don't know how, but there's sufficient water to drink, bathe and wash utensils and clothes amongst other things. Miraculous! Utopian! A bachelor lifestyle rocks, with all the unkempt clothes, the unwashed undies (alliterative coup), and smelly socks (one more alliterative coup). With all the inconsistencies about where one could be sleeping every night (in whose bed, basically), it gives one a freedom much akin to emotion one feels when one has got out of the fashionably tight pair of jeans before getting into those airy boxer shorts (err, airy?).

It is the consequence of such a lifestyle (in addition to having absolutely no similar-aged female company) that this post might start to be classified as a trifle more explicit than the previous ones. What with all the undie alliterations, I can already see a few of you ready to puke :D

Many firsts come with this post. Apart from the fact that it boasts of some of the most disgustingly "male" language I have ever used on a publicly viewable forum, it happens to be the first time I have posted after turning into a journalist. It happens to be the first post where I discuss my life in such great detail. It seems that a journo's life is infinitely more interesting than a software professionals. So, till now I had only other people's lives to bitch about, now I have my own.

I do not know what course we follow from here on. I do not know if the story-type-strongly-opinionated posts of yore will stop forever. I do not know if I will be discussing my life this way, in a conventional blog-type of way, again. Rather, I do not know if my life will continue to carry the incredibly instable inertia (third alliterative coup, I am an awesome alliterator, ain't I? I cheated, its unstable, not instable. Creative liberty) carries forward to the coming months.

Life is unstable, the future's unknown. But its so thoroughly intoxicating.

POP! (That was the champagne)