When I was a kid, a yearly event in my village ignited my curiosity. Each year, on the eve of Ram Navami, a yearly extravaganza unfolded at a temple that was conveniently, or rather divinely, placed right in front of my maternal grandparents’ house in a village in Odisha. This event united the entire village. For multiple nights, the entire village assembled to witness the dramatic retelling of the Ramayana epic. My grandparent’s open terrace offered a bird’s-eye view of the event. No wonder their house buzzed with guests during that time of the year. I vividly remember having spent a few such nights at my grandparents’ place. As a kid, I had little interest in such divine matters and would quickly fall into a deep sleep, with scant regard for the prime seating I was wasting while many envied it. On a side note, as a child, I also found Ramanand Sagar’s much-celebrated TV series a tad boring for my childish sensibilities.

One morning, I asked my maternal uncle about all this hullabaloo around Ram Navami and why people were excited about this oft-repeated drama. My Odia-medium-educated uncle replied, rather strangely, by quoting a Western poet: “Because… a thing of beauty is a joy for ever.”

There is nothing unique or unusual about this story. In every length and breadth of India, in thousands of villages and towns, the story of Ramayana is told year after year. It is in the veins and arteries of our civilizational embodiment. To my uncle, the Ramayana is beautiful. It is something to live by and cherish forever. To some, it is a matter of faith. To some, Ram embodies Dharma. Now, Dharma is a loaded word. I doubt I have the wisdom or knowledge to delve into it. Let’s stop there.

As I grew up, Rama became an integral part of my political consciousness. I was more interested in the real estate matters pertaining to Lord Rama than in trying to understand the philosophical and existential underpinnings in the narration. For some reason, Mahabharata has excited me more than Ramayana. My first binge-watch wasn’t Game of Thrones or Friends, but B.R. Chopra’s adaptation of the 100,000-verse epic.

Cut to the present day: I have become an agnostic who is tilted towards atheism. Yet, every now and then, I would subconsciously indulge myself in the rituals of the religion that I inherited from my parents and seek shelter under its philosophy whenever life becomes too much to bear. It would be right to say I am a cultural and political Hindu.

So, what motivated me to book the first day, first show of Namit Malhotra and Nitesh Tiwari’s cinematic adaptation of the Ramayana epic on a weekday? After all, I didn’t bother to watch Christopher Nolan’s movie adaptation of Homer’s epic, even though I’m a fan of his movies.

I honestly don’t know. Perhaps it was the civilizational memory I inadvertently carried that got excited after watching the movie’s promising trailers. Or it was the fact that the music is composed by two of my favourite music directors.

I left the theatre feeling neither too awed nor disappointed. I came out with a sense of fulfilment and pride. Fulfilment — of having played my small part in the Indic Renaissance. Pride — in coming from that land, which gave birth to this thing of beauty. I may not be a believer in Lord Rama, and I may never visit the temple at Ayodhya, whose consecration brought me immense joy, but I cannot deny that I am an inheritor of Rama’s legacy, though I may be infinitesimally small. Whether I am its rightful inheritor is debatable. But it is a debate I would like to concede. I leave his legacy to wiser ones.

I like the idea of Ram. I am proud of my ancestors who had the wisdom to conceive such an amazing idea. In that sense, it reflects the morals of those times. I may doubt its historicity, but I was, and always will be, ready to embrace the idea and explore its spiritual and cultural significance.

May I try a divine explanation for the question I am trying to answer in this write-up? “Something inexplicable in my genes got triggered by watching that trailer. Maybe it carries the imprints of my ‘very’ ancient ancestors.”

And I chose to watch the movie alone because I did not want a third person between me and the wisdom of my ancestors.

Jai Shree Ram!

My two cents on the movie:

But before I do that, let me be upfront — if your religious sensitivity is so fragile that you are hurt because I watched a movie where the role of our much-revered Lord Rama was played by an actor who has certain culinary preferences, I cannot help you. I lack the religious sensitivity to boycott someone merely because of their culinary preferences. To be honest, I don’t take film stars seriously. Ranbir Kapoor’s job was to act well, which he did. But not as well as Yash, who plays Ravana. And I personally don’t buy the noise around AR Rahman’s choice of music or his selection as a music director. I am open to a new musical adaptation of Ramayana. People will turn atheist someday, but Ramayana will be told and retold, in many different ways, for generations to come. If you think someone’s faith can get in the way of perfection, listen to Baiju Bawra’s music and find out who its composer, lyricist, and singers were.

I would like to keep Namit Malhotra’s Ramayana and Dhurandhar on the same pedestal of cinematic brilliance. It kept me glued to my seat. It is the harbinger of India’s soft power, and I don’t mind if the makers are being blamed for pushing it as mythology rather than history. I am rather glad that an Indian is taking our greatest of stories to the world with such craft and precision. I don’t want to push it as religious. Let people come to the fold of Dharma organically. More power and money to visionaries like him.

The only letdown was Kumar Vishwas’s lyrics. I wish the makers had opted for fellow atheist Javed Akhtar. Before you raise your eyebrows, here is a snippet of his lyrics from the movie Swades:

राम ही तो करुणा में हैं, शान्ति में राम हैं

राम ही हैं एकता में, प्रगति में राम हैं

राम बस भक्तों नहीं, शत्रु की भी चिंतन में हैं

देख तज के पाप रावण, राम तेरे मन में हैं

राम तेरे मन में हैं, राम मेरे मन में हैं

राम तो घर घर में हैं, राम हर आँगन में हैं

मन से रावण जो निकाले, राम उसके मन में हैं

Lasered off: Quizzing our way to the cinema hall

Writing anecdotes from my school is such a difficult task. Not because there is a dearth of content, but because there are too many stories worth sharing. The challenge is deciding which one to share. As I contemplated what to write, I was inspired by a certificate I noticed in my school files, neatly kept in my trunk.

Since my school days, I have been more fascinated by the social sciences than by science. I spent much of my time not on CBSE books, but perusing magazines, newspapers, and encyclopedias in the library. This fascination led me into the world of quizzing. I was drawn to it mostly out of curiosity about the world we live in, not necessarily to win. I loved learning about the world and collecting facts. Quizzing was a wonderful respite from the mundane course books.

In my three years in the senior house (Godavari), I got the opportunity to represent my hostel in the inter-house quizzing competition twice. First, in the junior category when I was in class IX, and then as a senior in class X. On one of these occasions, I was fortunate to bag the first prize for my house. Because of this, I got to represent my school in a few inter-school quiz competitions in the city.

I think I was in class X when one of my batchmates, and I represented the school at an inter-school Science Quiz competition organised at the Science Park in the city. I never considered myself a science buff. So, I was sceptical about the headmaster’s decision to pick me over other deserving cadets. However, I did not show it. The competition was organised on a weekday. This meant a reprieve from the school’s rigour during school hours. Something no Sainik School cadet, even the most studious, would let go of. The idea of representing your school and spending time outside during the day was fascinating. If the school was a jail, the quizzing competition was our parole.

The school bus took us to the venue, clearly marked with our school logo. It always exuded pride. Just two of us and the driver, in a bus with capacity for over 60 students, who happened to be the father of one of our dear batchmates, a day scholar. When we were dropped off, we told him we would go back on our own and not worry about us. We had post-quiz plans after all.

I vaguely remember the format had preliminary rounds to narrow the competition, since only four to six teams were supposed to make it to the final show.

In the first round, we were pitted against a couple of lads from St. Joseph School, nicely dressed in whites with ties. There were five or six questions in total, and we were cruising through it until the final one that decided our fate that day.

“What is the full form of LASER?”

We looked at each other and let it pass. The other team answered with a smile of victory — Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation.

Since then, I have never forgotten this bit of trivia. It’s been filed in the deep ends of my neurons. As far as I remember, this memory has never helped me, and I don’t think it ever will.

So just like that, we were eliminated in the first round of the quizzing competition. We were saddened by the somewhat unceremonious exit, but it also meant we got to spend more time outside the school. Suddenly, grief turned into bliss. We quietly exited the premises with little interest in sticking around for the final rounds. Then suddenly a fact troubled us. We were dressed in school uniforms. Our uniform would give us away to anyone. There was no way we could hide our identity. Yet we were not deterred. That day, my friend and I skipped the school lunch and watched the noon show at a nearby theatre, Maharaja. After all, we had a legit reason to fail the muster. Someone would inform the power that be, “BR Bhuyan and AK Nayak have gone for a quiz competition”. My friend and I paid three to four times the original price of Titanic show. It was my second time watch and I didn’t mind paying such a hefty sum of money for one of my all time favourites. Anything done outside the school was a source of joy and pride. In our own small ways, we had achieved something significant that day, even if it included losing in the first round of a quiz competition.

Luckily, when we were back, no one asked us about what happened at the quiz. Neither the teachers nor the cadets. The entire school was busy with some function and luckily for us, the school had no time to think about this quiz. Many of our batchmates would be oblivious to the fact that on that day we both had …

“स्कूल का नाम पूरा मिट्टी में मिलाई दी”

The Navy Day speech that left me speechless

Life as a cadet in the school wasn’t just about the strict regimen — from waking up at 5 AM to a loud siren, followed by a list of tasks: PT, NCC, academics, games, meals, punishments, housekeeping, to name a few. It also came with its fair share of challenges that would put even the best of the cadets in great discomfort and anxiety. One of them was delivering speeches in front of an assembly of more than five hundred students and staff in the revered Vivekananda Hall. There was no escape or excuses. If your turn came up, you had to deliver the speech. Often, the speech wouldn’t take more than three to four minutes of the morning assembly time, but for cadets, it meant an anxious week of preparation and practice. We are talking about an era before the internet and GenAI. A lot of groundwork went into creating the speech manuscript — browsing through books in the library and going through magazines and newspapers in the reading room. Everything was written, or rather rewritten, by hand. The difference between the first draft and the final one was stark. Once the final draft was ready, the next goal was to memorise it and practice in front of the mirror or in solitude, a luxury in a school where other cadets were always on your face.

In those days, the morning assemblies alternated between school building and individual hostels. Hostel assemblies were less intimidating than school assemblies, since the audience was small: the cadets of that house and the housemaster. As such, a speech in the hostel did not induce much anxiety. School assembly speeches bothered cadets most, including introverts like me. The school did not discriminate between the extroverts and introverts.

For speeches, cadets normally chose life sketches of eminent personalities — preferably statesmen, sportspersons, and scientists. Once, a senior opted to recite a speech on a politician. The senior did a damn good job, but instead of praising him, the then registrar, an Air Force officer, unceremoniously reprimanded him for his choice of person in front of the assembly. Like many others, I may have delivered more than a dozen such speeches in the assembly, but one speech is forever etched in my memory.

Since ours is a military school, Air Force Day, Army Day and Navy Day held great significance in the school calendar. On these days, the school held one unified assembly where all teachers and cadets gathered in Vivekananda Hall, with the Principal, Registrar, and Headmaster (serving military officers designated by the Ministry of Defence), seated on the stage facing the audience. The occasion normally warranted an impassioned speech on the force. Navy Day meant a speech on the Indian Navy.

I was in class X back then. In our batch, only five cadets had opted for the Navy. I blame it on the poor choice of NCC uniform for the Navy. Yes, it was horrible. It was so bad that once, when the then Chief of Army Staff visited the school and was about to address the assembly, our NCC master, Mr P K Mohanty, thought our five Navy cadets would break the symmetry and spoil the hall’s aesthetics. So, while the rest of the cadets were being motivated by the Chief’s speech, the five of us were left standing inside a classroom. Sighs!

Coming back to the speech, my small group nominated me to speak. I don’t remember if I pushed back. I may have. Or maybe I must have felt a sense of pride in being the chosen one. A couple of months ago, another peer delivered such a wonderful speech on Air Force Day that the registrar, himself a serving Air Force officer, felicitated my batchmate for a job done fantastically. I had a tough act to follow, but I was ready for the challenge. As I scrambled through the reading materials for my speech, going through books in the library and magazines and newspapers in the reading room, my manuscript became really long. I had to spend time shortening it. The writing was easy, and I completed the task on time. When it was time to practice the speech delivery, I realised I had made a mistake in agreeing to the speech. Suddenly a pang of anxiety engulfed me. There were still a few days left until the 4th of December. I vaguely remember memorising it on my bed, practising in front of the hostel mirror.

Finally, the day arrived. The hall was packed. I was backstage, waiting anxiously for my turn to speak. When it was time, my heart rate shot up, and my hands were trembling. I pulled the small stool below the speaker’s dais so that I could see the audience, or rather, the audience could see me. At 5 feet 10 inches, I was the second shortest lad in my batch. Suddenly, the familiar faces became discomforting. The entire school, including all the teachers, was looking at me. Nervously, I started my speech with the lines I still remember to this day: “Today is 4th of December. On this very day in 1971, the Indian Navy….”

Suddenly, I paused. I became speechless. I think it was only a few seconds, but it felt like eons. All my hard work was about to come crashing down. It would be a black day in my somewhat decent tenure at the school so far. People would know me for my fiasco. That is what I thought at that moment. But suddenly, something flipped. I still don’t know how and why. It felt as if Lord Varuna, the god of the seas, took over my body and mind. I took a brief look at the script on the dais and delivered my speech fluently — hardly looking at it thereafter. I may have missed a few lines here and there, but I kept speaking without a single pause. It was supposed to be a long speech, but I think I finished earlier than planned because I spoke faster than I had practised. I looked around the hall confidently as I delivered my lines and emphatically ended the speech with a passionate “Jai Hind!”

Unfortunately, the officers on stage didn’t acknowledge my effort. I blamed it on the fact that none of them was from the Navy. That said, my speech, though good, wasn’t as good as my friend’s, who delivered on Air Force Day. But for me personally, it felt like I had conquered Mount Everest. Once the assembly dispersed, a few juniors, peers, and seniors congratulated me on a job well done. It felt so good.

To this day, I take great inspiration from that speech. If that small kid could deliver the speech, so could his adult version. Sainik School makes you do things you previously thought weren’t possible. It surely did a world of good for my confidence.

PS: During my five years at the school, I never volunteered or showed interest in the school’s debating competitions. But during my graduation days, I decided to participate in my final year and bagged first prize in English debate, beating my rivals from all three disciplines: arts, science, and commerce. I attribute that to the Navy Day speech.

Exempted from PT, NCC and games

When I was in class VIII, I suddenly started suffering from a disease that created a lot of discomfort for me in school — Bronchial Asthma. It took me a while to understand that dust from cobwebs triggered my asthma attacks, as part of the normal cleaning tasks assigned to junior cadets in the hostel back then. I remember when I first had it; it was unbearable. I wanted to die. The antibiotic injection and inhalers brought relief. Each time I had asthma, I would skip PT, NCC and games. Unfortunately, skipping these activities did not mean you could stay at the hostel. Either you were so sick to be admitted to the infirmary, or you had to go to the grounds and sit while the others, healthy cadets, went on with the activities. Thankfully, my bronchial asthma dissipated as I became an adult.

Once, during the morning PT games, a few other cadets and I sat under the Krushnachuda (Gulmohar) while the other cadets did the rounds of the Gandhi athletic ground, the venue for the morning PT, as part of the 2km morning run. During those days, we had our new School Principal, Colonel Bhargava from the Indian Army, who had just taken over from the previous Principal, a Naval Commander. Unlike his predecessor, Colonel Bhargava was a morning person. He was out on his morning walk wearing half-pants, canvas shoes and a stick in his hand. As he walked toward the school building, he glanced sideways at the PT activities unfolding. He suddenly halted and turned towards the Gandhi ground. It took us a few moments to realise he was heading towards us, the sick ones. Perhaps intrigued by our relaxed demeanour — why would a few cadets sit under a tree while the rest go through the run?

Once he was near the tree, one of the PT teachers came running over, greeted the principal, and told him they were sick cadets, anticipating the principal’s question. Colonel Bhargava made us stand in a line and started asking each one of us what the sickness was about. I was standing somewhere in the middle of the row. I don’t remember what the cadets preceding me said to the principal, but I remember each of the sicknesses, or rather excuses, was greeted with his trademark “Mmms” and “aaahhs”.

When my turn came to speak to the principal, I just took out a piece of paper from my pocket. I was recovering from a pang of Bronchial asthma, and the school doctor had given me a Doctor’s slip, exempting me from PT, NCC and Games for three days, stamped and duly signed by the doctor.

The new principal read it, looked at me and took a few steps away from the row. With a raised voice, he addressed the sickbay, “All those who have this slip, stand on this side, rest, go and join the PT.”

Apparently, I was the only one with the slip. As the others started walking toward the PT area, some gave me angry, disappointed looks. But I did not budge or try to look away. I had not broken any of those unspoken school rules. I wasn’t snitching. I wasn’t complaining. I just showed the slip; that was the legit thing to do.

Oh, how exalted I felt that morning. Watching the entire school engage in PT, while I, the sole cadet, sat under the Krushnachuda tree, lost in my thoughts and freedom. That morning, I wanted them to run an extra mile and the PT to extend beyond the scheduled end time.

I was the king of the Gandhi ground that morning, and I wanted my reign to last longer!

There is something that deeply and strongly connects me with my brother. No, it is not biological. It is our alma mater, Sainik School Bhubaneswar (SSB). As I have aged, I have come to realise that the special bond I share with my brother is strong not merely because of the genes we share, but because we both studied at the same residential school. Without the rigour and grind of Sainik School, our bond would not be what it is today — strong as a bedrock. While other alumni revel in their SSB Brotherhood gold membership card, I and a few selected others of my batch get to enjoy SSB Brotherhood Platinum membership.

Yes, I was not the only one in our batch who had an elder brother studying in SSB. Coincidentally, there were three others who also had an elder brother, exactly four years senior to them, and shared the same initials. In the school parlance, cadets were normally addressed by their first name or full name. Therefore, I was referred to as A K Nayak, and so was my brother. What differentiated him from me was the prefix of Senior. Given the competitive nature of admission into SSB back then, it is evident that the elder brothers truly inspired their younger brothers to follow in their footsteps.

Junior S K Das (Godavari) & Senior S K Das (Brahmaputra)

Junior P K Das (Godavari) & Senior P K Das (Narmada)

Junior N S Behera (Gomati) & Senior N S Behera (Cauvery)

Junior A K Nayak (Godavari) & Senior A K Nayak (Gomati)

Despite sharing three odd years in the school, my brother and I hardly had much interaction. He was four years senior to me at the school. Physically, we were merely separated by four hostels between Gomati and Godavari hostels (There were ten hostels back then). Emotionally, we were so distant that a lot of my classmates did not even know I had a brother and that too in the same school. He was in class X when I joined the school as a class VI cadet. I have no memory of interacting with him during the school days except for a few occasions. One of them was when I was in class VIII. As I was chitchatting with my batchmates in front of the Godavari house call board after dinner, I saw my brother walking with his batchmates towards the mess. He saw me and walked towards the call board to exclaim with a broad grin, “I have cleared the UPSC written examination for Naval Academy”. I don’t remember how I reacted, but at that point in my life, I gave two hoots about the Armed Forces. I was just happy that I had a senior who was my elder brother. We also used to meet during the fortnightly Booking out Sundays at our home. But I remember that, as he transitioned into full pants (as a senior), he preferred spending Sundays with his school friends instead of visiting home.

For those three years of my school life, one would have assumed that having an elder brother while you are still a junior would come with its own benefits — reprieve from punishments and ragging. For the first two years in school, we were spared from the evil eyes of the seniors, but as we moved to the senior hostels in Class VIII, we were at the mercy of seniors and Gods. Often, seniors had an edge over the Gods. I, for one, was always at the receiving end of the wrath of Class XI, the batch one year junior to my brother. A part of it was due to my mischievous and rebellious nature. Despite my diminutive stature, I was not the one to take impartiality lightly. I would often give a stare of anger to a senior only to receive more punishments in return — mostly slaps on my cheek. My young cheeks would resemble pink lady apples. No wonder I have developed a liking for them in Australia.

Sigh! Having a brother never helped me in such matters. I would often feel that Class XI deliberately targeted me because of my brother. Immediate batches never got along well with each other. Especially Class XI and Class XII. Such was the power dynamics at the school. Class XII held presidential & ceremonial powers, and Class XI, executive.

Having said that, I would be lying if I said there was no benefit of having a big brother in the school. During those days, Class XII was spared from games in the afternoon, and often the seniors would not bother going to the Annapurna mess for tea in the evening. For each of the Class XII seniors, a Class VIII cadet was assigned, whose only responsibility was to collect the snacks on behalf of the senior and hand them over to him in the hostel.

Voilà! For me, that Class XII senior was a very affable and kind senior named R M Das. It happened that R M Das was also a dear friend to my brother. Poor senior never got his fair share of snacks as long as I was his aide. I would often forget about him. And when I did not, I would resort to preferential honesty. Sir R M Das would have his buns, biscuits, and Namkeen. But never his full quota of peanuts, Gaja (Odia sweet savoury), and pakodas. On rare occasions, the senior would lose his cool and ask me, “A K Nayak, mo snacks kaaeen?” (AK Nayak, where is my snack?). Any other senior would have dealt with the strictest punishments. No, not because they were greedy for a small portion of snacks, but because insubordination had no place in a military school. But my preferential honesty was treated with preferential treatment by this affable senior. I think Sir R M Das would forgive me for this trivial mischief. If I ever meet Sir R M Das in the future, I promise to treat him with beer and snacks, to pay for my sins and as a mark of respect for a senior like him.

Coming back to my relationship with my brother in school, I never bothered asking him why he was so indifferent to me in school. Perhaps it was human biology playing its part, or maybe the unforgiving regimen of the school, or maybe my brother was embarrassed to see his younger self in me, wearing his once-used PT, games and dinner clothes. To be honest, even I detested wearing the old clothes that were once used by my brother in his junior years in the school, mostly preferring to wear the new pairs over the old ones.

However, for some reason, something flipped when he left the school. He smoothly transitioned from a Gomati house senior to being the mature and responsible eldest son of the Nayak family and, to some extent, the clan. I would like to believe he played the latter role perfectly in comparison.

Suddenly, the once indifferent senior turned into a caring and responsible elder brother. This transformation took another leap when he cleared SSB and joined the Indian Military Academy (IMA) for training. I remember how he had applied for UPSC at the last minute, mostly as an afterthought of being an SSB alumnus and not necessarily because of his passion for the forces. So much similarity with my foray into the IT industry. Such is life. It just happens. You just need to do your things.

Unlike my brother, I left school after Class X. During this time, I was at home and in my teens when my brother was getting trained at the IMA for commission in the Army. It was a delicate time for any adult — your choices could make or break your life/career. Luckily, for me, both my choice of non-SSB friends and my brother, whom I did not get to choose, helped positively shape my life. As I was navigating through many issues in those significant years, my brother acted as the North Star of my life, guiding me through many of life’s failures and financial issues that were commonplace for middle-class families in India like ours.

In those days, there were no mobile phones. Inter-state calls over the telephone were expensive and less accessible. India Post, not WhatsApp, helped people connect with each other. Nothing can match the words that went into those letters. Every word was thought through meticulously. Every sentence was crafted to perfection and filled with emotions and love in that finite space. In the span of three years, my brother and I sent each other countless in-land letters. These letters that he sent me during his training days at the Indian Military Academy, Dehradun and his formative years as a young officer in the Rashtriya Rifles, fighting insurgents/militants, are my prized possessions. They were safely locked in my trunk at home until I opened it to find all photos and artefacts for the purpose of the coffee table book.

As I re-read them all, I could not help but notice how my life has been so blessed with so many wonderful people, including my brother. I also recounted the anxious days when my brother would be on counter-insurgency missions as part of his tenure at the Rashtriya Rifles. His one-line letter would provide much more relief and comfort than his word-filled letters.

“I am fine”.

It was during those years that I realised that the transformation of my brother must be attributed to the years spent at SSB and IMA. The Nayak family, especially me, and the nation-state became the beneficiaries. My brother has been mostly a giver and I the unabashed taker — both, in kind and materialistically.

I can say with conviction that Prathama Ashtami, an Odia festival celebrating the eldest sibling, is a scam. It is also becoming irrelevant nowadays as most people prefer a single child. In hindsight, I would rather wear his old clothes than bear the responsibilities that come with the title of being the eldest son — just too much for my broad but frail shoulders to bear. There are joys of being the youngest in the Indian middle-class family. I pity single children for they would never know what they are missing.

Bro, I want to join the Navy. “But I will wish you don’t crack SSB. You are made for much better things in life” (Lo and behold, I cannot but thank him if his wishes really had divine power)

Bro, I think I want to do an MBA. “Here, take the money and get yourself admission into IMS ….. also take this ATM card for your use”.

Bro, I need two Old Monk bottles to take back home. “Take more, and also this Indian Single Malt.”

Bro, I want to buy a motorcycle. “Done”

Bro, it is time we have a car. “Easy peasy”.

Bro, I need these anxiety pills that I am unable to find at the chemist shops. “Done, but try to stop relying on them.”

Bro, my personal life is messed up. “I will clean the mess; go live your dream.”

While I may have dedicated this write-up to my brother, I am sure my other three batchmates would share the same feelings. In relationships, it is not merely the genes that matter, but emotions. SSB gave us a galore of emotions. My brother’s batchmates are my big brothers too; before, they are my seniors. I have an anecdote worth sharing here. During one of the OBA days, I was frantically searching for my brother when I bumped into one of his batchmates. When I asked him if he had seen my brother, he replied, “Mu kana toh bhai nuhe?” (Am I also not your brother?)

Before emotions run high, I would like to conclude by sharing another thing that connects us. We both hated our schools while we were junior cadets. My mother has some interesting tales to share with others about how each of his sons would create trouble when it was time to go back to school after booking out Sundays or vacations. I am told I fared better compared to my brother.

But many years later, we are both proud lifetime members of the Old Boys Association. There is no expiry date on my SSB Brotherhood Platinum membership card. I do not doubt that we four batchmates got the best deal.

Cheers to SSB Brotherhood +++

Once upon a time, in the land of Chhena Poda and Arisa Pitha, lived a vivacious boy named <Not to be disclosed>. He could often be seen on the bitumen roads of the Housing Board Colony, riding his Kinetic Honda as if it were a Ferrari. His mission was to meet his special friends, like me.

There was an element of peculiarity in the way he would meet them. He would get down from his Kinetic Honda, take the key out of his motorbike, and swirl it merrily as he walked towards the gate. If it wasn’t me who opened the door, my friend would immediately switch to a submissive and respectful posture, with his head slightly bowed and his hands — which, only a moment ago, were proudly swirling the keychain — almost touching each other near his waist. In a soft voice, he would ask, “Uncle, Anil achhee?” (Uncle, is Anil at home?) Often these random meetups would lead to khatti (chitchat) or a game of cricket.

This write-up is dedicated to that young boy who has now transformed into a handsome family man and is celebrating his Nth birthday today. His real age is open to debate. From what I know, he could be older than Dhoni and younger than Sachin. But who cares? He is my friend, and age doesn’t matter in friendship.

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Having spent five years of my professional life in the city of joy, one would have assumed that my favourite Bong would be from Kolkata. But that is not the case. The trophy goes to a vivacious and friendly lad from the city of temples, Bhubaneswar. He is the numero uno of all non-resident bongs. But apart from his love for music and singing, there is nothing Bengali Manush about him. He gives a f*ck about all “isms” — Marxism, Socialism, Nationalism or Capitalism. He has no interest in politics. He does not smoke or drink. And I doubt if he knows much about Mohun Bagan and East Bengal football clubs.

This Bong is different. He is an Odia clad in Bengali attire. This Bong prefers Bikalananda over K C Das. His Odia accent is almost perfect and Bengali, leaning towards imperfection. His in-laws are from Odisha. He acknowledges that Rasagulla belongs to Odisha and nothing can beat Odia cuisine. No wonder that when he got admission to XIMB as a domicile student, his Odia friends did not mind. He is one of our own Odia toka. He is not a Balunga Toka. He is a Suna Pua. And I am proud to have a friend like him.

If friendship were a cruise ship. My friend would be its able captain, sailing it endlessly without ever letting it sink. On this ship, anyone onboard will feel accepted and special. The captain will find time for everyone. I am hoping mine is a first-class cabin. But even if it’s economy, I am still happy that I got to cruise for so many years and will be doing so for many more years to come. Words are not enough to describe my friend. No, it would not take a book. He is special, but not so great as to be worthy of a book. Hence this write-up.

He plays a bit of cricket, but as much as he would like to believe, he is an ordinary bowler and an ordinary cricketer. I am glad he never took the sport seriously. He also tried his hand at Basketball, but I think he did not like the idea of getting beaten by me, so his interest dropped. If not for MBA, our friend would have followed his passion, which is food. I am sure he would have easily become the most famous Paani-puri vendor in Bhubaneswar. But he would be selling only half of what he would make and eating the other half himself.

Bro also likes watching movies. His Kinetic Honda, or rather Ferrari, is a witness to many movie ventures, some of which we would be embarrassed to reveal. Bro likes to sing and sing and sing. But more than his singing, I am a big fan of his facial expressions and confidence while singing. If I had a band, I would have him as the lead singer but have him lip syncing. Having said that, for an IT professional, he is a damn good singer.

Bro is romantic too but keeps it personal. I know what his love of life calls him. It is unique, cute, mischievous, and adorable. I have promised him, I will not reveal it to anybody else. But if you are interested, for a few bucks, I am ready to sell my conscience. For a long time, bro showed off a goatee, inspired by the lead character of Dil Chahta Hai. It is still unknown who he was trying to impress, but we are hoping she is the same one he married. If not, his wife must ask for details.

Talking about his love life reminds me of an incident. Once, as I was riding my friend back to his XIMB hostel room on my Bajaj Pulsar, a beautiful woman was walking on the opposite side of the road facing us. She gave a shy glance to my friend and smiled. I enquired if something was cooking. My friend was dismissive — “Arey, yeh bilkul mere type ki nahi hai”. But somewhere in my heart I knew it was more than what met my eyes. I replied, “Dekhna yehi teri girlfriend banegi” (or something along those lines). Many years later, the same woman is married to my friend and blessed with two lovely children. I am sure my friend will never give me any credit for fulfilling his dream love life and will dismiss this story. “Magar itihaas gawah hai mere dost”

Having become a pet parent recently, I would rather not mention his love-hate relationship with dogs, but it is noteworthy to mention that he single-handedly was responsible for making the Institute of Physics street-dog-free. Well, almost!

Bro is stylish but classless. He can ride an actual Ferrari, not his Kinetic Honda, as if he is one of those rich Emiratis. At the same time, if he were to get down from his Ferrari to enjoy a cup of garma garam chai at a roadside thapri, it wouldn’t feel out of character.

So many adjectives and peculiarities can be associated with him, but to make it rather not long, there is one elements of his personality that sets him apart from others is how much he values his friends. He is part of so many friendship groups and ensures his membership is continued through sheer commitment and effort. He is like India in many important multilateral associations — BRICS, QUAD, SAARC, G20, BIMSTEC.

Dear Mota bhai,

I know there was no structure to this write-up, and it might have felt a bit haphazard. I just went with the flow. I want to thank you for being my friend. I want to thank you for the long email you sent to me to pep me up after I could not clear the GD/PI call for XIMB. It holds a special place in my heart. Did you know you saved me from wasting my money on something I honestly did not really want? Since you cleared XIMB, I could not settle for anything less. Yes, ego has a place in friendship — healthily 😊 Hence, the lack of motivation to do an MBA in Australia, knowing that getting admission would be easier than CAT/XAT. For the dollars I saved, chai udhaar raha tujhpar.

I know a tragedy has befallen you, but I am sure you will be able to navigate through it soon and come back stronger. Please be the way you are — the guardian of friendship!

Many happy returns of the day, dear friend. I hope your birthdays are always peaceful and non-violent, befitting of the day. May you live 100 years and not more. I am sure we both will sail our friendship in the sea of hell. Swarg toh hum jaane wale hain nahi!

And for the one final time, setting the record straight –

Maine theek se bulaya thha … ab woh aayi nahi toh main kya karoon?

Some messages from your dear friends:

SC (Studd on the motorbike) -

“Happy Birthday to the jolliest, most sensible guy in our group! 🎂

Even though you were never actually that “mota” and have now shed serious weight being a fancy teen volleyball coach, sorry bro – the nickname is permanent. 😜 But honestly, your “fat level” just moved straight to your heart, which is absolutely overflowing with goodness and kindness for everyone.

I’m incredibly blessed to have a friend like you. You truly deserve all the happiness in the world… and, of course, an amazing friend like me to keep you humble. 😉

Have the best day, Mote! 🎉 🏐

PP (Hare Krishna) -

“<name> is a wonderful and dependable friend who is always there whenever I needed him. I have so many wonderful memories with him that I will always cherish. I sincerely wish him continued success, happiness, and prosperity in both his personal and family life. May the future bring him and his family endless joy and fulfillment.”

DR (The one and only) – despite my repeated requests his highness didn’t bother to send any wishes.

SKM (The real IT Pro) -

“Dada – a true gentleman.

A friend who has always been there when there is a need. You have been always there when I needed you. I am struggling for. words and hoenstly words are not enough to describe our friendship.

Sometime we do not call each other for months but after that when you call, I can still ignore your call, or pick up and then say – “baad mean karta soon” and then return the call after a month. And it can still feel like I spoke to you a day earlier.

This is what our friendship is. I know you are always just a heartbeat away.”

SP (The invisible man) – what did you expect?

Two minutes into the conversation, she complimented me -“You are very handsome man! May I know where you are from originally?”. No, I did not blush at that compliment. It was perhaps her poor eyesight 😊.

I got to know she was over 90 years old. There was a halo surrounding her smiling face. Perhaps, she was Godsent to put some sense in me.

She reminisced about good old days of the 60s and 70s of Western Australia and how she came to Perth on a ship instead of by a plane from Liverpool, England. When I asked how things have changed since then, she expressed her sadness on the lost originality and authenticity of the place. At the same, accepting that is the nature of things. We both concurred mass migration has had a big role to play. After a while, when her Mushroom soup and bread arrived, she took my hands in hers and prayed for my wellbeing. Her devout Christian prayers for me were focussed on my professional wellbeing as I had previously stated that I was rethinking whether it is time for me to make a pivot professionally. Knowing there is some magic in her prayers through her evidently well-lived life, I sent a sidenote to God — “God, you know what I prize the most in my life right now. Don’t make it about profession”.

Before she left — she passed me a snippet of wisdom. “There is goodness in striking healthy conversations with random people you know you may never meet again in life.”

You don’t necessarily need to be inspired by billionaires, singers, and sportsperson you may never meet. Sometimes, random people give you the best inspiration in life.

I promised myself — This is how I would like to age (if I live that long) — positive about life, maintaining a healthy lifestyle, and spreading love with random people I meet 😊

God, I put my trust in you!

On a cold, wintry night in June 2020, I stood utterly alone and clueless in a Perth CBD street, looking for a shelter for the night, holding a bag containing a few clothes and an Oppo phone in my hand whose battery was rapidly depleting. To say that was the lowest point in my life would be an understatement. As I stood there, trying to fathom the gravity of the situation, a flurry of thoughts came to my head, including the thought of giving up on life. There seemed to be no way out of the quagmire. Giving up seemed to be the easy and only way out. After all, in my mind, no one cared. I am unlike the famous Bollywood star who committed suicide a few days ago. On my passing away, no one will bat an eye except for a few people. That was the hard fact. I had almost drowned if not for a few amazing souls, who not only pulled me out of the troubled waters, but also ensured I became the captain of the boat (my life). Sailing for months through the tides of depression, anxiety, and insomnia, I stumbled upon the island of academics. I selected ‘law’, mostly out of anger against the Australian state for having repeatedly declined my travel exemption requests during COVID, but later it became the thing that kept my mind busy outside of work and gave me a purpose in life. In the beginning, it wasn’t an easy journey perusing pages of legal academic journals with a depressed mind.

From struggling to complete my first assignment and almost giving up on my studies, to being supervised by not one but two of the finest legal scholars in Australia in a 17000-word thesis on the subject related to ‘AI and International law’, in the end. It has been a journey to behold. There was a time I doubted my pursuit, but my professors helped me navigate through those doubts by invoking passion and researching with all my nerves and sinew. The long hours spent after office hours and weekends in the Reid Library were worth it in the end. To a few whom I disclosed, my pursuit seemed futile. “How does it help you in your profession?” they asked. Having completed it, I can answer them: “Not every journey is meant to have a destination; this one satisfied my soul, and it is all that matters”.

In the larger scheme of things, my degree may be insignificant, as millions graduate each year. But success is relative, and to me, this is the biggest thing I have achieved in my life. From where I was, mentally, emotionally, to where I have reached today. This journey has helped me heal fully, find the purpose in life, and gain the wisdom to count my blessings. Among those blessings are a few amazing people at work and in personal life. This humble achievement is humbly dedicated to four such people:

1. My people leader back then, who became more than my people leader — mentor, teacher, sister, mother, friend, and guide. She did not just ask “R U OK?”, she was there with me even after I was ok, and long after she had ceased to be my people leader. Her humanity is unparalleled.

2. A friend on the other side of the globe, 13000 km away. Who made me realise that my biggest wealth is friends like him. Despite having a busy work life and two kids, ever available for me. Most importantly, he put sense into my mind, encouraged me to be truthful towards life, and showed me the right path, always.

3. A brother who shielded me from all the vagaries of the Indian society and encouraged me to live the life the way I wanted without worrying about arrows hurled at me. I pity single children.

4. And my lawyer friend, who battled cancer and encouraged me to pursue higher studies when I had first shared a passing thought. He did not say, “Why?” instead replied, “Why not, go for it!”.

“Get busy living or get busy dying” is a famous dialogue from a movie close to my heart. Never knew life would ask of me to personify this. The Covid years (2020–2023), years mankind would like to erase, were also the darkest phase of my life. To equate my personal situation to countless deaths will be frivolous. But every life is precious, and so is mine. Having created a routine of going to work every single day for the sake of my mental health, I also needed something to look forward to after I got back to the world of loneliness. Academics were a passing thought in the beginning, but soon became a desire that I could not suppress. My anger needed the right channel. But the irony did not escape me when I found students in my class who had enrolled in the dream of an Australian passport, and here I was, wanting to get rid of mine. The anger soon subsided, and I made the conscious decision not to elect “Human rights” so as not to fester the now seemingly healed wounds. As I managed to scrape through the units, I naively decided to pursue a research unit in the end, and that too, opting for 17000 words instead of 8500 words. It seemed an intelligent option — not having to forego any more annual leaves for attending classes, and to keep an option open for further studies someday. Little did I realise I was being foolishly intelligent, underestimating the effort required in a 17000-word thesis where every sentence will be scrutinised and every argument expected to have weight. Especially for a subject like law. My erudite supervisors advised me to do it over two semesters instead of a single semester. They were so very right. By the end of the first semester, I had produced merely 4500 words. For which I was rightly reprimanded, I was even asked questions on some elementary stuff I was taught in my previous units, but was now unable to recollect. There was catching up to do during the semester break: To refresh some of the stuff that I had previously learnt, and then find something novel and original — the goal of my thesis. But any idea I thought was novel had already been written about by some scholar. It seemed to be an uphill journey that I doubted I should embark on. I was again at the crossroads. Questioning my judgment on pursuing this master’s. Surely, there has to be a bigger reason than “I am doing it with my own money and without hurting a soul”. Many were sceptical of my pursuit. Even my Dad showed no great excitement when I revealed my academic pursuit. Whilst he did not outrightly disapprove of my pursuit, with a smirk, he made me know that I should perhaps revisit my priorities in life, alluding to settling down.

As I was contemplating opting out, I recollected what my Supervisor had once said. You should be passionate about what you are doing. Taking a moment, I asked myself why I opted for the humanities again instead of an MBA and why I chose the topic for the thesis I chose? I was reminded of a 9-year-old kid who naively took great pride in being able to locate any country on the map and having memorised all the capital cities of the world. I knew this postgrad was for that kid. I wanted to go back and tell that kid, keep going, one day you will make something meaningful of this passion. The postgrad may not pay for my bills, but it will fulfil my soul — I am doing it because I want to.

With renewed vigour, I decided not to give up. I realised that for my thesis, I will have to put more hours on weekdays and weekends than I did for my previous units. All I had to do was change my routine. I also took my work on the research internationally to four different countries. Reading journals on flights, writing beside the pool with a beer in hand whilst on holidays. I was once mocked for my previous post-grad study — it was deemed useless and something for fun. I found it bemusing that I was actually having fun this time. A different kind of fun, ‘laborious fun’. In India, an Engineering degree or an MBA is the norm. I made a deliberate choice not to follow the norm.

मेरे हाथों, हुआ जो किस्सा शुरु उसे पुरा तो करना है मुझे..

.. कब्र पर मेरे सर उठा के खड़ी हो ज़िन्दगी ऐसे मरना है मुझे !

— Amitabh Bhattacharya

On shore, a visit to the Reid library to change my Uni password changed everything. I was feeling a bit out of place amongst young students in their 20s when a quiet zone for post-grad students caught my attention. It became my abode for weeks to come and provided the introvert in me the routine that I wanted — spending my weekday evenings and weekend days. It became such a habit that I ended up going there even after having submitted my final draft, under the pretext of fine-tuning my AGLC4 referencing. From initially struggling with the idea of conjuring up 17000 words, I was now spending hours trying to reduce the word count to stay within the 17000-word limit. When I finally finished my studies, a void took over my life again. But all I could do was wait for the assessment, which I was told was sent to a subject matter expert at another university. Anxiously awaiting confirmation that I have gotten the law right.

I have received quite a few appreciations from my friends and seniors for my writing, but the overall comments by the esteemed ANU professor (refer below) for my thesis gave one of the biggest dopamine boosts of my life. Feeling immensely happy and reinvigorated to live the life to the fullest of whatever is left. Yes, there were quite a few flaws in my argument, but the research had already humbled me and let me know of my imperfections.

“This is a very well written, structured, and argued thesis; it was a pleasure to read. The treatment of the topic is concise, comprehensive, and balanced. The research questions are well articulated, and are followed through in the argument. And whilst there is a growing literature on this topic, the treatment is useful and original or progressively developmental on several points — a welcome contribution.

The desire to return to the University and spend time at the Reid library is still strong, but I think for the time being, I should trust my dad’s wisdom and get my priorities sorted. Thankfully, unlike my thesis, for my next life goal, there is no deadline 😊

PS: If you are still going to ask me what I will do with this degree? My answer is.. “धूप में सुखाके अचार डालूंगा, तुमसे मतलब?”

They voted them to power in the hope of freedom from political strife!

Little did they know they had nothing new to show or offer,

Bereft of the exchequer for too long it was time to fill their coffer!

Prosperity through projects of education & development was their guise,

In reality, undoing development at the expense of education in disguise!

Honorable CM,

Jai Shree Ram!

I hope you are doing well.

I know you must be busy, working on myriad projects to fulfill your electoral promises. I would have said I had high hopes for you, but — sigh.

Let me get straight to the meat, without the courtesy of introducing myself — why would you care anyway?

This is neither an impassioned plea nor a rant from a disgruntled citizen. This is a clarion call to the thousands of students who have graduated from my alma mater (Sainik School Bhubaneswar) — students I swear are more patriotic and nationalistic (the good part) than all of your political brethren. I say this to make a point, not necessarily to demean you.

I hope that through facts and figures, and their conduct, they will bring some much-needed common sense — something that seems to be lacking at the moment. Not through violent agitation, hubris, or bad-mouthing, but through reasoned discourse and action.

Yesterday, I received a WhatsApp message from a junior at my school that left me agitated for the rest of the day:

“Good morning, Sir.

Are you aware that the Odisha Government is trying to relocate our alma mater somewhere else from the location?”

It felt as though a bullet had struck my chest. I recalled a similar proposal that was put forward a decade ago under the guise of “better utilization” of the primary land.

That was a disheartening and misinformed statement made by a public servant. Who gets to define what constitutes “better utilization” of the land or what qualifies as “primary” land? And to suggest relocating a 60-year-old educational institution — one that has produced countless stalwarts who have contributed immensely to the protection and nurturance of the idea of India — is, to say the least, deeply disappointing.

There is no better use of the land than educating young minds who will go on to become model citizens of India and the world — those who will live and die for the cause of the nation.

I watched a video in which an honorable political leader spoke on the school’s behalf, primarily focusing on its military contribution. While I respect the politician’s concern for my school, I would argue that assessing Sainik School’s achievements solely through the prism of national security and the armed forces is a travesty of its true contribution. This, perhaps, is the reason the government thought of creating more such schools across India.

Just take a cursory glance around you, and you will see doctors, bureaucrats, police officers, civil servants, tech employees, bankers, entrepreneurs, scientists, professors, and even politicians that have come from my school. While this may be true of some other notable schools, what makes my school special is its ethos — deeply instilled patriotism, discipline, and a sense of camaraderie.

Allow me to share an example that might help make my point:

In an era where migrating to greener pastures in the West has never been easier, I saw many of my skilled and learned schoolmates return to their motherland to reunite with their families and contribute to the progress of the state after spending considerable years abroad. Many chose to stay in India and not migrate, despite possessing skills that the West seeks. I am not discounting the contribution of NRIs, as their numbers will likely rise even further in the coming years, with barriers becoming lower. But I am sure you will agree that India will fare better in nurturing talent domestically. I trust that the people from my school can make such an emotional decision with clarity.

The structures on that piece of “primary land,” as you would call it, are not just bricks and mortar. Those walls tell countless stories. The floors still exude the scent of our perseverance. The roads continue to echo the vibrations of our marching footsteps. The dormitories reverberate with the laughter of our younger years. Through them, we continue our tale of friendship and uphold tradition. They motivate us to do well for each other and the world around us. If you relocate the school, you will bury our past and kill our future.

The school is a part of the city’s heritage.

Here’s a list of actions we could take that would serve both the public good and align with your political goals:

1. Increase the intake of students through subsidies — especially underprivileged and talented girls from across the state.
2. Plant as many trees as possible on campus to help make Bhubaneswar a greener city and contribute to a lower carbon footprint. The view from the skies would be a sight to behold.
3. While the school’s motto is to produce potential cadets for the NDA, a world of opportunities awaits the many students who may not make it to the armed forces. Notable alumni can contribute immensely in this regard.
4. The NGO arm of the alumni should focus on larger projects that serve the public good and publish its efforts transparently. Not all alumni contributions need to go directly toward the school’s development.

If you still intend to go ahead with the plan, I would like to bring to your attention the vast expanse of land occupied by other institutions such as Utkal University, the Institute of Physics, and various other state and central institutes. What about the land occupied by MLAs and bureaucrats in their quarters in the prime location of the city? I’m sure they would be willing to forgo these properties and move to high-rise apartments for the “better utilization” of the land.

In my formative years, I looked up to the scion of your party, Bharat Ratna Atal Bihari Vajpayee. Through him, I developed a deep admiration for your party. I now realize I was naive and misinformed, much like the bureaucrat who thought relocating my school was a good idea. I hope you will restore my faith in the party.

If you think that a nobody like me can’t stand in the way of your political goals, I want to remind you that there are thousands like me — patriotic citizens who, as I’ve mentioned before, are more committed to the nation than you and your kind. What your people are proposing is, quite frankly, anti-national.

Love my school. Nurture my school. Embrace it with open arms. We swear to love the state back a thousandfold. We will continue to play an integral role in the development of the state — today, tomorrow, and for eons to come.

Jai Jagannath! Jai Hind!

This blog is not about GenAI vs Testing. Neither does it rationalize the need for testing in the era of GenAI. It is about the lackadaisical attitude towards quality and quality professionals in general. It is about how quality professionals are perceived by others in the same profession. References to AI are merely to make some points.

In November 2022, the world dawned on a new age of AI when ChatGPT was launched. Its next version achieved a major technical breakthrough by passing a US bar exam. Unlike Moore’s law of doubling of number of transistors, AI has seen an exponential growth of 300,000 times between 2012 and 2018. Professionals across the industries panicked, software testers included. Naysayers of software testing had yet another opportunity to write the obituary of software testing/testers. This is not new. This has happened a zillion times in the past. It will likely happen in the future. There is no denying the fact that a portion of that obituary has been written by a few testers that I like to call as “cosmetic testers”. They exist only on paper. Their mindset and deeds are not commensurate to testing principles.

In the family of software development life cycle, testing has always been the step-child — disliked, but not forsaken. While it may sound like generalization, but professionals who have been in the industry for a while can vouch for that. After all, people may like to think — what is so special about finding bugs in software in which a tester did not contribute a single line of code? This interpretation of testing changed with the need for frequent shipment of software changes and the dire need for automating regression tests. Testing was also not just confined to black-box testing of GUI systems and web-based interfaces. Testing now meant APIs, Databases, Information Security, and Usability inter alia.

Suddenly, testing was no longer the ‘not-so-cool’ profession. The ability to write code to automate tests and test behind the UI elevated the status of a few testers. The discrimination was no longer between developers and testers. There were now two breeds of testers — manual testers and automation/technical testers. Organizations for the right reasons, invested in the capability upliftment of testers to embrace this new reality. However, somewhere in this journey, the fundamentals of testing were forgotten. Testers were now hired on their ability to find elements on a web page. The ability to analyze and interpret complex requirements took a backseat. It is as if people forgot automation testing is functional testing. A good mark of a functional tester is not necessarily only about how they can automate but also about figuring out which regression tests must be automated. The latter requires the knowledge of systems, processes and business domains. They have the ability to connect the dots and have the end-to-end picture. A pretty important skill in big institutions with multiple systems, cross-functional teams, and processes. They are also the ones who are good at challenging solutions and calling out risks.

Having said that there is no denying the fact that automation is critical for the success of many businesses. But this naive belief that “test automation” is this panacea or the magic wand that will solve all problems in software engineering and that good manual testers need to be dispensed with totally, is problematic. It is utterly frustrating as a quality professional when someone asks, “Why are you still manually testing everything? Why cannot you automate?”. It is as if, you click a button, and a tool will do all the testing for you and hand you a report. Maybe AI, will in the future do a lot of stuff that is in the realm of a quality practitioner, but we must understand the person writing automated tests is a human. AI will most likely become a tool that professionals will have to learn for both functional and automation testing. But I doubt AI or any automation tool augmented by AI for that matter will be able to perform exploratory testing. Coming back to automation in the current context, testers need to first establish a test has passed before automating it or executing it for multiple datasets/flows. One needs to contextualize when speaking of “test automation”. It is investment vs return. A one-size-fits-all approach won’t help. Depending on the organization a hybrid approach may be best suited.

Given the ethical considerations and upcoming regulations, if anything, AI would need specialized functional testers, not necessarily seen or understood in the context of test automation.

It is a fact that testers have to adapt to the changing technical landscape or else choose to perish. It is correct to say that quality should be everyone’s responsibility but if you think you don’t need testers because that’s what you got to hear at a developers’ conference full of tech start-ups, you may be generalizing too much. The gap between development and testing is ever diminishing but the need for independent testing professionals will always exist. Especially for critical industries like the aviation industry, and Health and Financial Institutions. As a consumer, my world is not going to collapse if Netflix crashes for an hour or I am unable to listen to music on Spotify, but I will be stressed if my Debit Card does not work while I am trying to pay for medicines on an overseas trip or a medical test equipment gives a false-positive.

This is precisely the reason there are regulations on how to develop and test systems in these industries. While the law is specific about who and how security testing must be done, there is no specificity when it comes to functional testing of software systems.

“An APRA-regulated entity must ensure that testing is conducted by appropriately skilled and functionally independent specialists” — Prudential Standard CPS 234 for Information Security.

However, regulatory bodies do emphasize the need for proper and rigorous testing of systems. This is the reason there are standards and controls around testing in such organizations.

What differentiates testing from coding is the mindset. Irrespective of the roles in your project, you need professionals with that mindset. Someone with a testing background and experience will help you with building that mindset in your team. I am lucky to have worked with some of the finest software professionals who could have easily transitioned to coding but stuck to testing because it excited them the most. I am also lucky to have worked with functional testers who with their wealth of knowledge were able to find critical bugs that automation tests could not have found.

Did you know that the US lost $2.08 trillion due to poor quality software in the year 2020 alone?

Software testing won’t die. It won’t become extinct. As testers have done in the past, they will adapt, transform and embrace the current realities like Cloud Technology and emerging ones like AI. Their capabilities, roles, responsibilities and the way they interact with other members of the team will change. Sorry to mislead you with my title. Be rest assured, you won’t be able to kill testing.

“Developers are developers and testers are testers. The twain shall meet someday. Let’s call that space “Quality Engineering”.

So, before you decide to kill the tester educate yourself about what quality assurance means for your organization if not the process itself. If you still want to kill the tester, go ahead but remember that history has shown testers always had the last laugh!

I Test Therefore I Am. Try to expunge me if you like to, but like Phoenix, I will rise again and again from the ashes.

This man is a magician masquerading as a cricketer.

The willow is his puppet and him a sprightly puppeteer.

You thought the magician has shown you all his tricks?

Wait, for when odds are against him and time ticks ..

The magician will pull-out something from his bag:

the comforting audacity and the delectable swag!

Oh, fool you were to think he is a victim of his age ..

When the magician in him is still on the center stage.

He is sorcerer who draws energy from watchful eyes..

And skillfully coverts it to projectile joys in the skies!

The magician can sometime come out as insufferable.

But trust me, in the end it will all look good in the fable.

Cause when the future generation will listen to his lore ..

They will marvel at the game and expect from it more!

He is the King of all the magicians of the game.

Blue is his jersey and Virat Kohli is his name!

इस दरमियान हो गए शहीद तो देंगे 48 लाख ..

वर्ना ग्यारह-बारह लाख लेके रहना तुम मौज में !

क्या कर लोगे ग्रेजुएशन की पढाई के उस पार…

उसके एवज में हम देंगे एक प्यारा सा सर्टिफिकेट..

उसे पॉकेट में रख के लग जाना कहीं चौकीदार* !

मत सोचो तुम्हारे मजबूरी का फायदा उठा रहे हैं..

माँ भारती की गरिमा का सवाल है गरीब भाईयों..

हम बस देश की ‘सुरक्षा’ के लिए पैसे बचा रहे हैं!

देश प्रेम के लिए क्या तुम इतना नहीं कर सकते?

महज़ चार साल ही तो मांगे हैं हमने तुम्हारे..

AGNI में अपना करियर PATH नहीं झोक सकते?

*did not intend to demean the job profile. It was to make a specific point.

What differentiates officers from men (jawaan, airmen, sailors) in the armed forces?

Well, quite a few of them: food, accommodation, pay and the language they speak among themselves. Officers mostly speak in English among themselves. Not that they are supposed to be good at it. It is presumably, to set themselves apart from the men. Here is a clip of the “chief” of the Naval staff, reading his enlightening essay on “Ship” https://mobile.twitter.com/ani/status/1466692609846349826

How does this matter? It matters because there is one important aspect that differentiates officer from men. Most of the officers come from the cities and big towns whereas, most of the soldiers come from the hinterland.

The way the Indian state treats these village folks is just mind boggling. It can get away with anything. As I write, Covid lockdown scars may have not yet healed for some of them. Sorry, don’t look at the state. It is not answerable. Even courts have priorities. Having given up on the state, some do their best to get out of the cycle of poverty. To say, these people join the forces purely out of their love of the country, would be wrong. Yes, the pride of uniform is a calling, but with their education and status, non-commission ranks are the only viable options. How many of your city friends joined the forces as sailors, jawaans and airmen after class X and XII? Don’t you have any patriotic friend?

My advice now to my distant cousins of my village with a passion to join the forces would be to get good formal education first, before picking up a profession. “Chose pragmatism over patriotism.”

This is not saying this reform is good or bad. When experienced people from the forces (including retired Generals, Admirals, Air Marshals) are raising concerns or supporting it, lets leave it’s merit to them.

What is questionable is the manner in which it has been rolled out to public. With scant regards for the poor people waiting longingly for a news regarding recruitment. No pilot study seems to be required when it comes to decision related to state’s security and the subject of study are poor people. Who cares about them anyways?

Isn’t security one of the most important responsibilities of the state?

By the way, when did the largest democracy start taking cues from China on how to run a state?

Well, when the three chiefs become the official spokesperson for the GOI, you can say, देश बदल रहा है!

By the way, now that you are looking into the future and want to cut the salary expenses, why waste state’s money on training of officers. Recruit them directly after they complete graduation from any civilian institutes. Scrap the institutes that impart such education at state’s expense (like NDA). Also, make sure only 1 out of the four inducted as gentlemen cadets, get into permanent commission. For the first four years, call them Fire-fliers and the scheme as Fire-pit (English, because they are officers). No rank. No pension. Tatas, Wipros, Mahindras, Reliance will be eagerly waiting to induct these young disciplined, English-speaking, patriotic, hard-working, and able-administrators. Trained at state’s expense.

For the corporate, by the state!

PS: I am of the opinion that Armed forces do need to be down-sized, modernised in terms of weaponry, and the average age brought down.