When I was a kid, I was told I could do or be anything I wanted..
As they tell you in motivational seminars, I should have found that encouraging, liberating. The sky was the limit.
Instead, I found that — intimidating. I had no idea what I wanted to be, and still don’t, decades later.
I was a bored teenager and I used to dismantle old watches to peer inside them — to see what made them tick. Once taken apart, I could never fix them and just ended up tossing them aside. Destructive at best.
My parents mistakenly took this activity as a sign of good things to come. Their son was destined to become an engineer.
They pooled together scarce resources, scraped loans and scholarships and after four years of cramming for things I didn’t understand, I end up earning a bachelor in electronics engineering from an obscure college in a remote section of India.
Summa cum Laude — Cherry on the cake.
Still completely clueless, but an engineer, nevertheless.
I try my hand in research, retail, and even in sales but nothing works out.
It felt like I was too young to start working so I pooled up another list of scholarships, crammed for an entrance exam, and ended up in a two-year MBA program.
After two years, instead of learning finance and leadership skills, all I learn is how to talk confidently with the opposite sex. It counts for something, doesn’t it?
I end up as a part-time priest for a while barely scraping ends.
On a bus one day, reading the Times of India Careers section, an ad for a software institute catches my eye. The price tag is just 3 years of my current salary. They promise to send the candidates to the USA in — Just 9 months, almost a full-term pregnancy.
My aunt passed away at the same time and her small inheritance is used to pay for my switch of careers as a programmer.
Java, C#, COBOL. None of it makes much sense. As usual, I try to cram the entire program and then type it out.
The institute suddenly shuts down in the middle of the year as the sponsor takes our money and bails.
Entirely miserable, I start to apply to every open job in the careers section.
I interview for software development (Barely clear the basic written test), architecture (worse, I fail), even refrigerator repair at a five-star hotel (I am overqualified, they say politely)
The expectations of the parents are slightly overwhelming, to say the least.
With money running out, I hit the internet cafés once every week, floppy in hand, and copy-paste my resume to as many open applications as I can, all within the span of 15 minutes.
15 Minutes a week — It is the only time slot that my wallet can afford. I see others sitting there for hours playing video games and I walk the three miles back home in the baking heat, plainly envious and very very hungry.
Yet nothing seems to pan out.
They say it is the darkest just before the crack of dawn. Life does seem to work that way.
One day, a call comes in the middle of a damp Tuesday afternoon.
I am called for an interview at 8 PM the next day.
“Who takes an interview at 8 PM?” I wonder.
In the interest of leaving no stone unturned, I show up at the designated place, 7.30 PM sharp.
It’s a shop in Dadar, an upcoming locality in central Bombay that doubles as an office for a company called GDI. It’s a body shopper who imports people to the US, a very profitable endeavor. After all, the Y2K mania is in full bloom.
At 10 PM after all other participants are gone, I am ushered into a small cube, the size of a phone booth. It is actually a phone booth, I learned later…
A call comes in from the USA. I am asked three basic questions on programming which I answer easily. Theory has never been a problem. Practical implementations are another story.
“What would you like to be in the next five years?”, the voice on the other end asks.
Those two years chasing tail during MBA suddenly come in handy. I answer with confidence. The answer doesn’t matter.
“We are really impressed with the way you communicate and would like to offer you a job as a programmer working for us in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Do you have your passport handy?”
I learned that day that Michigan is a state in USA — Not just a logo on rich people’s tshirts. I still don’t have a passport.
Scrapping some money from my father who works from 3 to 11 am making 2$, I pull in enough to get a passport made.
Six months later, on a cold spring morning, I land in Detroit with two bags packed with apprehension.
Two months and twenty eight failed interviews later, I end up working for Microsoft.
Back then, making a living as a programmer was extremely difficult for me. My manager kindly told me many years ago that it would only get harder. His words were prophetic.
He sees me talking to clients engaging them to a point where they even tag me along for lunches without me providing any value besides listening and sharing some good stories.
I am laid off in the next restructuring, but he offers me invaluable advice — You should switch to become a Business Analyst. You will do well there. Programming is just not for you, but you seem to understand people well. If not, get into medical and become a psychiatrist.
The second is a bridge too far. I take the first advice like a drowning man clutching on to the last straw.
The straw turns out to be a solid wooden log. I not only float, but I also start to swim upstream.
I collect degrees and certifications as a prostitute collects a Rolodex of rich clients. BE, MBA, Microsoft certified, Java certified, and PMP. Even start-up a CFA with years of slugging ahead.
The more I learn, the less I seem to feel I know.
Today, I still work. I work for pleasure and I work for a living — not as a developer, but as an analyst.
I end up slowly liking what I do. Not being a good programmer does not feel like a defeat anymore.
I end up becoming the bridge between the client who wants his requirements met and the programmer who does not understand what they need him to build.
I talk fluent geek with the programmers, just enough to understand them, empathize with them.
I dig deep into my MBA bucket to talk to clients . I always try to do good by them.
With the passage of time, I learn that I am good at organizing things, communicating, smoothing out issues, managing personalities, and at times, actually delivering. However, most importantly — still trying to remain slightly untainted by it all.
The person I am is still a sham, but I am getting slightly better at what I do. In fact, I get paid decently to do it. I work hard, try to help everyone I can with whatever little abilities I think I possess.
Then I go home and sleep well.
The fact that I make a good living blows my mind. Every paycheck feels like a glorious mistake.
I did not grow up to be what I wanted because when I was young, I lacked the vision and the imagination to conceive of life this rewarding.
The life I have today exceeds any expectations I ever had.
