True Interview Stories #1

[At job interview, me, interviewing]: So, do you have any questions about the job?

Candidate: Yeah, can I have it?

Very meta, much abstract. wow.

Met an old professor of mine today, and while reminiscing about old stuff I asked her how she knew it was me who did a particularly stupid prank and she told me this, “Ofcourse I knew it was you, there was only one student in my class who was smart enough to execute it, yet stupid enough to think that it would work.” ☻

During a job interview, grasping for an analogy, I said that building and extending a software system is like building a house and went on about it like this, “So if the foundation of the house is very strong, then you can build upon it and extend it as you see fit”, and then my interviewer asked me, “So what if at some point, I want a river to run right through the middle of this house”. Without thinking too much about it I said, “Well then, I’ll build a bridge over it.” — True story as to how I got hired. ☻

A very Malayali horror story.

Back in the day, a dashing young man, let’s call him Guy, was riding his bike, late at night through the roads of the majestic city of Trivandrum. He was going to a place called Varkala, which is about 50 Kms from Trivandrum Central. Just before he reached Pettah, an old man thumped for a lift and Guy obliged. As it often happens during hitch-hiking, the Guy and the old man started talking. They talked about the conditions of the road, the speed of the truckers, the arrogance of the beat cops… you get the idea. As soon as they reached the intersection near Chakka, Guy turned around to ask the old man which direction he wanted to go and much to his shock and surprise, the old man was not there anymore.

Guy thought may be he got down while they stopped at any one of the several red lights on the way, he felt a little bad that the old man said neither thanks nor goodbye, a violation in the unwritten codex of hitchhiking. Pondering over selfish nature of human beings in general, Guy spurred on. Somewhere along the way, he had a sudden realization. There are no red lights past 9:30 pm in Trivandrum.They never really stopped nor slowed down on the way. How the hell did the old man get down! Guy broke a cold sweat broke over the idea of the old man falling off the bike at some point during the ride and instantly felt guilty. Guy drove on for another 40 minutes and he reached his exit at Kallambalam, this is where he would take a left so he can go to Varkala.

Suddenly he was tapped on the shoulder.Shocked and surprised, he turned around and saw the old man sitting right behind him saying, “Stop right here, I think that lorry is going north, I’ll ask them for a lift” He got down and jogged ahead before Guy could even say anything, the old man turned around and shouted, “Thanks for the ride, God Bless.” and jogged into the darkness. Guy did not see any lorries anywhere near by.

Guy was absolutely shocked and a little scared. He rode home as fast as he could, fixed himself a nice strong whiskey, and went to sleep trying to forget it ever happened. Three weeks later, Guy told this story to one of his friends and almost as soon as he finished the story, he had a fatal stroke and died at the ripe young age of 28.

Now this story, was concocted by one of my classmates during a college tour. The whole incident happened while I was doing by Bachelors in Engineering. We were on a bus, it was late at night and we were passing by Kallambalam, and there was an assistant professor with us, a very attractive young lady, who was also incidentally 28 at the time and lived near Pettah. The intend of the story, of course was to scare her and for some reason we thought it would be fun, and it was.

Fast forward a few years, I graduated, got a job, worked for a few years, and went back to the same old college for my Masters. The attractive young assistant professor no longer worked there, neither did most of the teaching staff who was there while I did my UG. Even though it was the same college, without my old classmates and professors, it felt like a whole new place. Part of the Masters programme is a mandatory 8 hour a week, “departmental assistance”. Mostly you would grade term papers, assist in the lab, help the professors around one way or other. And there I was, one fine afternoon inside the staff room, with a fellow classmate, grading term papers and I overheard the following conversation between two assistant professors in there.

….something about rents…..

“They told me there is a house near Pettah, its kind of pricey, but its very spacious…”

“Ooh, If I were you, I’d think twice about renting near Pettah…”


“Back in the day, a dashing young man, let’s call him Guy…”

An Ode to the fallen hero.

I’ll cut to the chase, she cheated on me big time. Not quite her fault though, we were not officially in a relationship, I mean, I’m not even sure that she knew of my very existence. I once opened the door for her at the library and she gave a nod. Oh what a nod that was! It was The Nod of nods. Things were getting pretty serious and then she had to go and get engaged to what’s-his-face. Long story short, she died. Last night. In my mind, that is. I mean, she got married to where’s-his-purse. 

 And, here I am, sitting on my ass, being called a sigh-machine by my dear friends. No, no one is actually calling me that, primarily due to the lack of aforementioned friends. I mean, I wish somebody did, it’d be cool to have a nick name and some friends to address me with those cool nick names.

 It’d be like, “Yo! sigh-machine, what up bro” and I’d be like,

 “Hey, look ma! I have friends AND a nick name. Now YOU suck it!” . 

 I think if I had a nickname, I’ll pretend to hate it so it will stick – should note that down in my dream journal. Yes, I am the kind of guy who has a journal, like you don’t. You judgmental pricks.

I suppose y’all didn’t miss me, not even a single comment that I didn’t delete preemptively to ask whatever happened to dear old Nick. You just happily assumed that I got under a bus and died, well, if this year gets any more suckier than it already is, there is a good chance that I’ll be driving that bus.

The fallen hero mentioned in the title is, of course, 2013. Oh, 2013 What a tremendous and exciting year you were, so much happened. A lot of ex’s got married, a few named their kids after me, I finally committed to the idea of having a single job instead of freelancing. Met a lot of people, learned a new language, became ambidextrous (or atleast half way there).

2014, on the other hand, sucks 9 ways to Sunday and it’s only been a month. Today being the first of February, I’ve decided to move Valentine’s day after March 31st. You know, it should happen when people are not worried about paying taxes. It should happen at some point when people are worried about having nothing to eat because they paid taxes.

Consider this a fair warning 2014, Imma drive a bus over your sorry ass.

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