Wednesday, February 24, 2010

No shred of dignity in the world of IT



All things are a flowing,
Sage Heracleitus says;

But a tawdry cheapness

Shall reign throughout our days.

-- Ezra Pound “Hugh Selwyn Mauberly”


In my limited experience working within the IT Industry, it has come to my notice that there are mostly people who find quite a bit of benefit, just by making a scene.

By “making a scene,” I don’t mean the messy liaisons of an emotional nature - Hades knows we have far too many of them – but that wherein a circumstance is subjected to mountain making. As with many people in the IT industry, I would feel more comfortable, if we stripped them of any technical titles, and instead re-christened them as Bards of Dogtown.

In days of old, Bards had but one function; travel around the land, involve in a goodly amount of scriptwriting (and mangling), and tell their stories with a presence, all for the sake of a few coins, food and shelter, till they moved on to the next village. These modern day Bards have but little difference, except they tell stories to make profits, garner benefits of travel and cash, or simply save their veritable backsides.

I have seen several such Bards, and they do little but spend their time making it look as if the world would end if the company-sponsored perks were not unduly credited to them. With a flair for the dramatics, they announce their resignation, and reluctantly (not to mention, nobly) accept the considerable pay raise, and promotion. It stands to be seen if they really would leave if someone called their bluff.

There is no such thing as idealism, and professional courtesy is a thing of the past. Sadly, I see my eyes being opened to face the real world; people would employ cut-throat techniques, and use the corpses of the meek as their steps, rising in the corporation with little to no shame. Clichéd as it seems, rat-race is apropos, for the current corporate world.

Do people feel no remorse in compromising their integrity, to get a free ticket? Is there no shame in taking ruthless advantage of benefits offered? It would be clearly a class of the least level to salivate over small time gains, but as I see it, people care less about being professional, or classy, and more about those extra pennies they can squeeze out of an organisation. It is truly a blow to we, who proudly claim to be white collared.

My next line of thought is, “why is no one stepping up and asking these questions?” To which, I fear the answer will be, “because no one cares enough.” Shocking, yes, but what can a lowly last rung employee do? Give up a job because of righteous indignation? Not likely!

I cannot help but feel pity for those who work diligently, doing right by themselves, when it comes to moving up in the organisation. I feel disdain for those who think less of appearing like a money-grubbing leech, than they do over filing reimbursements over ten dollars. I also feel sorry for the state of affairs. As I implied before, Professionalism is truly dead, and honour was knocked over in a joust with money.

Pathetic, Indeed.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

He walks in Darkness

He walks in darkness.

Beneath his feet, not a sound,

No rustle as his cloak

sweeps the icy ground.

He walks in darkness

It is no shield to him

For none but the moon

Dare lay eyes on this form

Gliding through the forest

In the dead of the night

No different than mere mortals

In the harmless light

For it is with the setting of the sun

That life leaves his veins

And he hungers to feed

In attempt to be whole again.

It is a half life, this being

Has not a shred of repent

When hunger is sated, deed is done

He knows he will never be rid

Of stains that mar his own

Of red that flows, to burgundy deep

Promises to revive him, it does keep.

Too long has he been dead this way

For life is meaningless to him

Yet in the time between the fading sun

And the rise of the chariots each day

A fire burns within his body

Longing to decay, in vain.

For he walks in darkness

And what little shall it show

He watches and waits, in shadows


Sreedevi

Monday, February 1, 2010

The Last Breath


The dust has settled; silence resounds,
I'm unsure if I'm flying or aground;
Unaware of anything but the cold,
Wrapping itself around, like a lover of old.
Who am I? Where am I? This I cannot recall,
There's nothing to think of this moment, at all.
I hope, against everything, there's comfort ahead,
These rocks at my back, make not warm a bed.
Something flows out of these things I call eyes,
Tears or blood? reminiscent of lies;
Promises I made when I said I would return,
To the smile of a child, it makes my chest burn.
I see them before me, reach out my fingers,
Nothing happens, no movement lingers.
Blackness is calling, why did I come here?
Ill fated decisions, there's unguarded fear;
Hope has left me, there's nothing to try,
I welcome the stillness, and the grey afterlife.

Sreedevi

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

A Year and A Day...


You’ll see that one day you wake up,
And notice inside you,
There’s something missing that you can’t decide on;
You’re sure of a space that used to be filled
But the edges are a blur and the memories riddled
With time playing havoc on all that you own;
It resides at the back of your mind
And it shows up when you have the time
To spare, in your busy life;
Apart from the occasional letter and missive,
It’s not the top in your Priorities’ Line;
Now it’s too late, it’s a year and a day,
No place for you at the round table,
You’ve outgrown the chair set out in your name;
This is what happens when friends grow apart,
Or you grow apart from your friends;
Pictures seem perfect enough without you,
And the insider jokes no longer make sense;
Learn that the chapters in a book have to end
It may have been good, but it helps to pretend
That some things are best forgotten in grace
Turn around, turn away; Just turn the page.

Sreedevi.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Disappointment


In hope perhaps the heart is more fool
Than any opportunity given
For hope and desire start the fire
With which disappointment be driven
Fond are times in past and present
When hope rewardeth human
Countless occasions of deeper sorrow
In those very instants forgotten
Why this madness, why this need
To expect of things and compliance?
In the end, no score is kept
Of success or defiance.
Dark are days until the time
Fresh circumstance arises
And traitorous heart, it hopes again
Worse for wear, but triumphant.

-Sreedevi

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Prejudice by Lavanya Desai

Lavanya is 12 and a 7th grader in Oxford Middle School. With regards to the current debate regarding prejudice and racial problems in America, her language arts teacher Mrs Sue Buckner, asked them to express their feelings/opinions about the topic.

Here is what she came up with. I am honoured to know her; she speaks on the topic with more maturity than most adults display. As her parents say, We are very proud of her and thought that a 12 year old's words might open a few eyes and change a few hearts .

My name is Prejudice
I live in the hearts of all humans
You've heard of me , haven't you?
I am black as the darkest alley,
Where a Jewish boy was lynched with glee.
As terrible as the thoughts
that slowly set my evil free.
As common as air,
And just as needed for survival.!.
Where would the world be without me?
I can drive the nicest person to his Doom,
And bring the foulest to the Top.
I can torture you to Madness,
And never ever stop.
No one can escape from me.
Rich,poor,ugly,handsome,
I am always there!
Don't fool yourself, human,
I am everywhere.
I am everything, yet nothing,
So long as I shall live.
Destructive as a hurricane,
Blasting through a town.
Heed my advice, child,
It may just let you live free.
Save yourself -- and others
And stay away from me.

Lavanya Desai

Friday, November 6, 2009

In Chains


A sense of unease
Bridles the heart
A mind in distress
Unable to part
With thoughts and dreams
Unbidden they spring
Unfulfilled by day
In twilight lingering
Twisting and turning
Brewing more fertile
Unwanted colour
And designs inverted
Words have more meaning
In idleness to float
Depressing, demeaning
Endless a moat
Within isolation
A new form arises
With hearts and freedom
For steeper prices
Such is the manner
Of sorrow in rage
We choose to bind
Our souls in a cage.

Sreedevi.