Woes of the weary wanderer

I've started following the poems of the guy who calls himself "Enigma" on orkut. Here is a verse that I thought was pretty good.

Halt and harken, O weary stranger
For in observing thee, I have spent many an hour
Anguish on thy face, sweat on thy brow
Panic in thy stride, though in naught, harm or danger


The harvest is done, the lark is singing
Shines brightly the Sun, bringing warmth to thee and me
The morn is fresh, the eve, serene
The church bells from yonder, merrily they be ringing


Stop I shall, O maiden so fair
To speak to thee, and answer thy call
Wandered have I, for many a mile sans rest
And grateful I art, for thy concern and thy care


Restless have I been, for three days past
The nights art sleepless, the days so dark
A moonless eve, three nights from this night
A sweven intense, many hours did it last


Somewhither I stood, in a field so vast
In the midst of a land, unknown to me
Move I could not, howbeit shackles I saw none
For how long I stood, I knew not, alas!


Verily, I did see, a battle unfold
Afore my eyne, twist two armies I knew
Formed ranks in line, tarrying the horn's cry
Warriors at arms, flags gleaming in gold


Sword met sword, steel against steel
Helpless, I beheld, human slaying fellow human
The soil defiled in red, mute witness to the gore
As man and beast lay strewn, alack! the horror I did feel


What purpose did serve the war? To judge who was right?
Meaningless now, whenas no one was left
Save one dying man, to whom I did ask the same
A grave silence was the answer, ere I faded from his sight


Wake up I did, in a cold sweat, the vision in mine eyes
From the dream so real, a bane methinks 'twas
Haunted by the ghosts of past, the hours I tholed
Ringing in mine ears, the lament and cries


Behold the mirror, a ragged face and mane
Aged many a year, in naught but one day
Whencesoever I be walking, forsooth, I know neither
Nor witherward I tread, a wanderer insane

- Enigma

Hello World? Why, oh why?

I distinctly remember the day I started learning my first programming language. I was sitting in front of a computer with a blue screen (which I later realized was the code editor), as clueless as the guy next to me, waiting for the slightest hint of help from the instructor. Thankfully, we did have help with our first program. I know I failed to mention what programming language I was learning, so just to get that out of the way, it was 'C'. The instructor asked us to include the header for our first program, and I was one of the few people that managed to type "#include"; the rest were still in a state of shock at having to write an entire computer program by themselves (Note that this was a period when computers were considered aliens and writing a computer program was something that was reserved strictly for the nerdiest of nerds). After I had my opening and closing braces in place to fit my code within, the instructor proceeded to inform us that we would be writing a simple program to display a line on the computer screen. Naturally, I continued to add a printf statement to my code, which would display whatever I typed within it on the screen, and waited for further instructions. He asked us to display the sentence (or string as he called it) "hello, world!" on the screen. Though I was a little amused at why we were asked to type something completely irrelevant and alien to the current situation, I followed blindly and successfully got the message to display on my screen. Little did I know then that I was signing up for an endless barrage of "hello, world"s in the days to come. For the next few months, "hello, world" faded into the recesses of my mind with more complicated programs keeping me busy. I realized that I loved programming and within a few months, I had made up my mind that I would be pursuing computer science as a degree.

Years later, during my second year of undergraduate college, we were introduced to a new programming language called "C++" which improved on a few aspects of "C" language and made it easier and more flexible for programmers. I was looking forward to my first class. Our lecturer came in and told us that we would be starting with some practical experience in coding. She asked us to open our editors (which was still the boring blue background text-based editor) and type in the command "#include". She told us that the iostream library in C++ was similar to the stdio library in C, albeit with more intuitive functions. After that she asked us to add the line, cout<<"hello, world";. Though it brought back memories of my first C program, I obliged without questioning and displayed my first "hello, world" in C++. Weeks passed, and I started to enjoy coding in C++. It was truly wonderful with all its functions and features that let the programmer have a great degree of control over the data he manipulated. Soon, I was coding fairly complex programs in C++, and got through my examination with a good score.

During my next year at college, I had a new language in my curriculum - Java. Looking forward to another programming language, I walked into my first Java lecture and found myself typing the command System.out.printLn("hello, world"). By now, it had become a ritual to start any programming language with the cryptic message that had puzzled me years ago in my first programming class. I went on to write better programs in Java, but "hello, world" was a mystic code to me, a piece of puzzle that I knew I had to fit in, but did not know how or why.

Now, after almost six years, I am learning a new programming language, xcode - for programming iPhone applications. Any guesses about the first program I coded?

Why does "hello, world" start off a programming language, has been a nagging question that has lingered in my head for quite a while now. All my searches and exploring have led to the common answer - "hello, world" was the sentence used by Kernighan and Ritchie in the introductory chapter of their 'C programming' book. Still, it is amusing that none of the other authors/languages have not tried breaking the tradition; everyone continues using "hello, world" as the gateway to the expanses of every programming language. Let's hope that the jinx is broken soon and the next generation of programmers start their coding life with something 'cooler' than "hello, world".

Reminiscence

I still remember vividly that period of time during my undergrad. I was in my second semester. She didn't like me much during those days. Our brief encounters were generally curt and to-the-point. I wouldn't speak much with her, and she would talk to me only when necessary.

I was tense. It was the day of the final semester lab examinations. I was sitting in my chair in the System Software Lab, having been asked to simulate the first pass of a two pass assembler as my lab exercise for the exam. Though this was not one of the harder programs, it certainly was not one of the easiest. Put my noncoperative luck during D-days into the mix, and I was looking at an uphill task. Next to me, I could see my friend Ankit smiling at his paper. Apparently he must have gotten the relocating loader, one of the easiest ones. Across me, Gopal was fidgeting warily with his paper. I guessed immediately that the dreaded second pass of the Dynamic Linking Loader had found its way into the hands of the only person in our class that could dare to stand up to the challenge. My eyes glanced carelessly over the room, and I was seeing a motley of expressions, some glad, some relieved, some scared, some hopeful and some woe-begone looks amongst my classmates. Forcing myself to think about the issue at hand, I looked back at my sheet. However hard I stared at the paper, the question adamantly refused to make itself easier. Deciding that I had to take a new approach, I started writing down the algorithm on the answer sheet, just to relieve my tension. My fingers were a little shaky, so I knew that I had made the right choice by choosing to write the algorithm first. Programming with a nervous mind generally ends in disaster. It took me 20 minutes to complete writing the algorithm. I still had around 2 hours and 40 minutes to tackle the code. I turned my computer on, got the exam login from the lab assistant, Mr.Tamilselvan, and opened the Linux VI editor. Taking a deep breath, I looked once more at the question sheet, desperately hoping that the question would have morphed itself into something easier. The same words I had looked at 20 minutes earlier jeered at me, as though they were daring me to take a crack at the program. My fingers were growing cold. It was then, that I saw her again. She looked at me, it was just a glance, but for some reason, my tension culminated to the point where I could hear my heartbeat. She seemed to be amused that I was sweating in the air conditioned room. True, I was looking like a dog that had been subject to a forceful shower. I looked back at her, and managed a tiny smile. She smiled back, and that seemed to relieve the tension to an extent. I started coding.

For an hour, I tackled the program, making changes to my original draft, executing the program, debugging it for errors, and making sure that the output looked reasonably acceptable. I was doing a good job I guess, because I could no longer hear my heartbeat and my breathing resumed to normal. After an hour, I was satisfied with my work, partially, to be honest. At this point, you must put up with me because I need to explain what I was supposed to be showing as output. The output for my program required me to parse the input file, reading all the symbols, and assign addresses to each instruction. These would represent the program counter values. Additionally, I was supposed to generate a symbol table, which should contain all the variables used in the instruction set, along with their address. Now that I have made this clear, let me tell you where the problem was. My parser was working fine, and it was displaying addresses for all the instructions in the input file. However, when I opened the symbol table file that I was supposed to be populating, an empty file stared back at me. I tried changing a few things in the program, but it wouldn't give in. I even tried typing in the symbol table entries. But after I ran the program, it would erase itself. I was vexed. I was tired. I sat back in my chair for a couple of minutes, thinking of other alternatives for this. My father had once told me that broad thinking would actually help in a crisis, and that there is no single route to success. He had always advocated the importance of having a backup plan incase the main plan failed. This was what struck my mind at that moment, sitting in the examination hall. I looked up. She was standing near me again, smiling at my monitor, which was now displaying the screensaver, having been idle for 5 minutes. I hastily pressed the space bar, and my program popped up. She chuckled to herself, and walked away, smiling. I couldn't help but smile at the mirth of the situation. I half wished she had not come near me, since a plan was formulating in my mind, and her arrival had interrupted its development. I willed myself to resume my thought-process, and in 5 minutes, my plan was clear. It was exactly as my father had said. I had a backup plan, one that would most likely succeed, and if it didn't, I still had about an hour left to dwell on other alternatives.

At this point, I opened up my program, and looked at the instruction where I was creating my symbol table. It read as follows: "f = fopen("symtab.txt","w");" This was a command to open the file called "symtab.txt", which should be populated with the symbol table values. This was the file that kept erasing itself, when I ran the program. I changed that line. Now, it was looking as follows: "f = fopen("ashsslabsymtab.txt","w");". It was just the same command, except that I had made the file name more complex. That had been my purpose. I executed the program, and opened that file. I already knew that changing file names don't change outputs, so it didn't come as a surprise that the file was empty. I looked around me, everyone was busy typing, this was the moment. I opened the directory where the file was stored, and manually created another file, and called it "ashss1absymtab.txt". If you had noticed carefully, this file is actually different from the one I had invoked in my program, I had replaced the 'l' of the lab with '1'. Since 'l' and '1' look similar, it is hard to notice unless you are looking for it. I opened this file that I had created, and typed in the output that I was supposed to be seeing. I executed the program again. The file invoked by the program was still empty, but this new file that I had manually entered was intact, since the program didn't invoke it at any point. My work was done.

She was coming near me again. My adrenaline level was rising. I was starting to hear the rhythmic heartbeat from within me. When she was a couple of feet away, I beckoned to her. She smiled at me, and came to me. I told her that I was done with the exercise. She wanted to take a look at it. I executed the program, and the addresses of the instructions popped up flawlessly. She was impressed. She asked me if she could take a look at the symbol table. I quickly opened the file that I had manually created and showed it to her. It had the values I had entered. She was happy. She smiled at me again, and wrote something on a piece of paper. The external instructor visiting from a nearby college called me, and told me that I had completed the programming exercise, and that I had the verbal questioning section left. She asked me questions regarding the course material, and I was able to answer most of them right. She gave me a bright smile, and told me that my exam was over. I wished her a good day, and came out of the lab. It was over.

A month later, the results came out. I had scored 98/100. A very good score, although I wasn't entirely sure if I deserved it. My conscience accused me of cheating, while my ego came to my aid and called it presence of mind in a crisis. I told myself that Ends justify the Means, and all that mattered now was that I had completed this exam with a good score. During the course of my undergrad, I met her loads of times, but after the lab examination, something had changed. We became good friends.

Three years later, I attended her wedding engagement. She was someone whom I would not forget. Someone special. I gave her a complimentary gift, and wished her a joyous married life. Yes, her name is Gayathri, and yes, she was my professor during my undergrad.

TRUE LOVE

Hey, this is another poem by the poet, Enigma, from orkut... Found it good, so put it up here... Read and Comment...

I was with my friends, on a tour,
'T was then that True Love found me
Embracing me in the streets of Bangalore,
It hid its identity for me to reveal.

The setting was not cut out for love,
Quite opposite, I was an open wound.
In retrospection I realize now,
Love had recognized breeding ground.

Days etched in my memory, for life,
When I grieved for a mirage of love.
Ironically through sadness and strife,
True Love was right by me, while I cried in anguish.

Love stayed by me as I despaired in grief,
Teaching me its true meaning.
Endeavoring to provide relief,
Though I occasionally snapped at it.

Gently weaving its lovely magic,
Love began healing my torn soul.
Life that had once appeared so tragic,
Changed course and started promising joy.

In a couple of years, I was fully well,
The stage was set, the time had come.
After a phase of excruciating hell,
Love unveiled itself, revealing its true form.

From raging beast to purring feline, the best days of my life,
Through the echelons of my heart, Love found its way.
Unwilling to let go, I decided to hang on for life,
A decision I haven't regretted to this day.

DEAD MAN TALKING...MOURNING TOO

It was a great day, bright and clear. The night before, me and my two friends Srutin and Srikanth had gone out on my bike and returned late. It was late by the time we slept, almost 1 am. We'd planned to spend the next day at the nearby beach enjoying the cold water of the Bay of Bengal. A beautiful holiday, at least that was what we thought. We got up early, around 7am and Srutin made noodles for the trip. We packed it in a box and took off on my motorbike, three of us on the same bike. The beach was about 30 kms away from my house, so it was a long journey. We reached the beach around 10am and got into the cool water. The waves stroked our bodies and we went in till the water reached our mid section. It was awesome playing around with the waves, jumping up as they crashed against us and an occasional wave catching us off guard, drenching us completely with salt and sand. An hour passed uneventfully and we were still in the water enjoying ourselves thoroughly. It was at that moment Fate intervened. A huge wave almost 4-5 feet above the surface of the water came rushing at us and consumed us whole. For a couple of seconds my breath was taken away and I didn't know where I was. Once I caught my composure, I realized I was underwater. I came to the surface and saw my two friends one in front of me nearer to the shore, and one a couple of yards behind me. By this time, we were about 20 feet out into the sea. Srutin and Srikanth panicked and started yelling my name. I shouted for them to try and swim to the shore. Srikanth was ahead of me, about 15 feet from the shore. Srutin was 2 feet behind me and started yelling frantically. I yelled at him to start swimming towards shore. The saddest thing is that, I don't know much of swimming and I think those two knew a bit about swimming having swum in the local lakes and ponds. But the sea is an entirely different issue altogether. I yelled at Srutin to start swimming. I started swimming myself. By the time I was a couple of feet forward, I saw that Srutin was still behind me, HE WASN'T SWIMMING, HE WASN'T EVEN TRYING. I yelled at him to start swimming. He was fully panicked and didn't even try swimming. By this time, my arms were tired of swimming. I was nowhere near the shore. The calm sea had turned into a furious wrath. Srikanth was nowhere in my sights. This wasn't working. I decided that it was futile trying to get him to swim or carry him to shore, since I myself didn't know swimming properly. I started swimming towards the shore more furiously now, ignoring the rushing sound of waves in my ears. The shore was about 20 feet in front of me. I paddled furiously battling for life but my efforts seemed to be in vain. For every few feet I swam towards the shore, the waves pulled me back into the sea a couple of feet. My arms and legs were tired. I willed myself not to stop my effort and kept battling away. Praying to God to stay by my side, I edged on, inch by inch closer to the shore. It was almost fifteen minutes of extreme swimming by the time I reached 5 feet near the shore. I was too scared to put my feet down and check for ground. So I kept swimming while simultaneously calling out to a couple of men who were on shore. They didn't understand me. Apparently they thought I was swimming comfortably. I was about 3 feet near the shore when finally they realized I was in trouble. By that time, I had my feet on the ground, back to waist deep water. They came running towards me and helped me out of the water. I slumped down on the shore breathless. Catching myself for a moment, I told them that a couple of my friends had been pulled into the water too. They alerted a few fishermen on the shore and started scanning the waters for signs of them. Ten minutes went by. There was still no sign of my friends. The fishermen told me that they must have drowned. My heart stopped for a moment. I had not imagined this possibility. Then they saw that I was quite breathless. By this time, two more friends of mine from VIT who'd come to Nellore, came to the beach. Coincidentally, they had planned to spend the day at the beach too. One of them, seeing my appearance came running towards me. I told him what had happened. The nearby fishermen asked me to return home immediately and change into some dry clothes. I rang up my dad and told him the situation. With my friend, I started back to Nellore. All the way back, my thoughts were on Srutin and Srikanth, praying that they be alive, somehow. I reached my home and saw that Dad, Mom and my sister were there. Coincidentally they had come to Nellore on the same day. I changed into some dry clothes. Dad told me that we needed to inform the local police about the issue. We drove to the police station near the beach. By this time, the police had heard from the local fishermen about the incident. We informed the police and together, we drove to the beach. It was two o clock by then. As we reached the beach around 2.30, the local people had found Srutin's body driven ashore by the waters. He was dead. They had placed him a little distance from the shore. By this time, his relatives had reached the place and were distraught. Srikanth's parents were still frantically searching the waters for their son. An hour later, Srikanth's body came to the shore too. The next few hours were consumed in a sea of lament as relatives near and dear to the deceased were bereft with tears. The police took an official statement from me regarding the incident and by the time it was over, the time was 8.30. We dropped the policemen at the station and went back to Nellore. On our way home, we stopped at a local hotel for dinner. I hadn't eaten anything since morning, but my appetite was gone. The sight of my friends lying dead, their mouths frothing, was nauseating and I didn't feel like eating. I ate little and we returned home. My limbs were exhausted to the point of getting out of my control and my throat was sore from yelling. Dad gave me a couple of pills and asked me to sleep. I fell on the bed and was asleep instantly.

What had started out to be an enjoyable trip ended in disaster. I felt disgusted at Nellore and the sea, that had robbed these people away from me. Srutin was my friend since I was in 2nd standard. He was more a brother to me than a friend, spending more time at my place than his. Srikanth was dear to me too, the three of us were so close. These two were about the closest friends I had ever had, and would probably have.

MISSING SOMEONE...

"Dei ******, I'm scared if we'll if we'll stay this way forever da, as best friends. I'm scared if something would separate us."

"Don't worry ****, nothing like that would happen. Now sleep, it's 2 in the morning."

How wrong I was. The days we were together, without a care for the world, always a smile dancing on our lips, a twinkle in our eyes, standing up for each other at all times. I could almost say everyone around us was envious of our friendship. Many of them even revealed traces of their envy. We didn't care, we were reckless juveniles carting through cloud nine.

I still remember those days, when our friendship was at its blooming best. The number of days he had stayed back at the lab with me, just because I wanted to complete some program we needed to submit the following week. The instances he came along with me on boring journeys just because I'd feel lonely, the way he used to tease me about -, well, that's another issue altogether, the way he used to tease me, it's all etched in my memory. And I don't think it'll be erased anytime soon. The time when he was down with fever and couldn't eat normal food, I still recollect the way I rocketed down three flights of stairs taking four steps at a time, to get him a loaf of bread and a jug of warm milk. And I don't think he knows it, but I stayed awake that whole night, watching over him. It was all so natural, we were extremely attached to each other. The nights before the semester exams when he'd declare in dismay that he was definitely going to fail the exams. I'd sit with him and we'd study together, boosting up his confidence. It just came, no one asked us to be that way, it was something along the lines of Damon and Pythias or Achilles and Patrocles or -, cut it, like those fellows.

If you ask me how Fate can screw you till you're in deep shit, I'd show you our friendship. Over a period of one year, I don't know what happened, it could have been development of other outlets, it could have been because we couldn't spend as much time together as we did, it could have been because both of us were too consumed by our ego to confront the other and talk it out, it could have been due to a hundred other reasons I can quote, but fact remains that we're not the same anymore. I don't say I'm not happy, I have friends who care for me and keep me going. The same applies to him too. Still, it feels like a part of me is missing, like how a person who has recently had his arm amputated feels for his hand involuntarily and realizes with a pang of shock mixed with sorrow that it is not there. It feels like a vital organ of mine has been removed. In all other aspects of life, I'm on top of the world, and I've got every reason to feel so, having almost got to undergraduate college with a good academic record and having made great friends in college. Yet when I try to tell myself that I feel on top of the world, a nagging voice inside me mocks at me, "Try saying that again". I know I can't. In reality, I don't give feel on top of the world. It's like being the richest man on earth with all possible avenues for pleasure, yet cursed with paralysis, unable to enjoy anything. Some part is gone, something you sorely miss.

I almost feel that the secret desire of some people has been fulfilled. We were that enviable, almost to the extent of being arrogant that nothing would or rather, could separate us. Ironically, it's Fate's way of reminding you "Man proposes, God kicks him on his backside".

Revelations...

One fine morn, I was walking through a grassy path when I saw a bright red stone. It impressed me at the first sight. Without a doubt that it was a valuable gem, I picked it up and put it carefully in my pocket. A few days later, I was going through the same path again. This time, I saw a piece of rock lying there. Something told me that I should pick it up and take it with me. I obliged and picked it up, and put it in my pocket, not giving it another thought for weeks. Meanwhile the red stone which I had found earlier had most of my attention. I placed it in the showcase and boasted all about it to friends, neighbors and anyone who cared to listen. All this time, the little piece of rock sat in a corner in my cupboard, confined to the dark, unnoticed by anyone. Months passed on this way, the red stone lived in my showcase, and the rock stayed in my cupboard. Ironically, even if I missed the red stone, I couldn't help looking at the rock that was in my cupboard. Every time I opened my cupboard, I felt it smiling at me, as though we held an unspoken relationship. I acknowledged the rock, still treasured the red stone in my showcase. The rock continued to keep me company from within my cupboard while the red stone sniffed haughtily when I turned towards it. Slowly I found that in spite of my will, the rock grew closer to me, and the red stone continued to grace me with its indifference. A couple of years went by this way, and ironically, I felt that I could spend an entire week without looking at the red stone, but I needed to see my little piece of rock every day. The memories of the thoughts we had silently shared together had become priceless and dear to me. It culminated to a point where I began taking the rock along with me in my pocket, unwilling to part from it. The red stone still stayed in the showcase, a souvenir of my trip to the forest. One day, a friend of mine, a gem expert, visited my place, and looking at the red stone started laughing. I was puzzled, once could appreciate the stone, one could admire it, but laugh, I couldn't even contemplate the reason. I waited till he calmed down, then asked him the reason for this sudden burst. He told me that such red stones were commonly found in that forest and though they looked like rubies, they were worthless. Many people had been fooled before and I was one more added to the list. That had been the reason for his laughter. I was, at first shocked, then angry, then embarrassed at my stupidity. I had fallen for it. Still a bit sore owing to my hurt ego, I managed to walk over to the showcase, removed the red stone and dropped it into the trash can. Incidentally, as I bent over to drop the red stone, the little piece of rock in my pocket rolled out on to the floor. I picked it up and as I was putting it in my pocket, my friend snatched at my hand, holding it firmly. I was puzzled once again, wondering what in God's name my friend was trying to do. He asked me where I found my little rock. I told him the entire story, how I found it, and had kept it in my cupboard for two years, before taking it out. He seemed flabbergasted hearing my tale, and asked me, in quite a vehement tone, if I had ever bothered to wipe it clean with a piece of cloth. True, it had never occurred to me, I hadn't bothered to. He then extracted his pocket toolkit and took out a piece of sponge from it. After carefully rubbing the edges of the rock with the sponge, he let out an exclamation. I had decided by then that this was a day of surprises for me. So I asked him once again what his expression was attributed to. He told me calmly that the rock I had carried carelessly with me in my pocket all these days was a Burmese red ruby, a gemstone worth about two million US dollars. Naturally I was stunned by this revelation. It took me a moment to regain my composure. Once I returned to my senses, he handed me back the stone and told me that these rubies were extremely rare, and only 4 such rubies have ever been found. I was holding a fifth ruby, fifth in the whole world. I then realized the full value of my 'little piece of rock'. No wonder I had felt that feeling of closeness when I first saw it lying on the grassy path. It was destined to be mine. I decided that it would be. I would never part with it. It would be with me till the day I lived, my 'little piece of rock'. Appearances are indeed, deceptive.