Saturday, May 05, 2012
You pretend you are a code warrior, fighting
Battles with the lines of code you are writing;
You carry a back pack to work in the software park,
Dream of being Bill Gates and steering a sports car into the park.
ASP, Java, Oracle, SAP are your fine forte,
Logic, workflows and syntax your areas of comfort;
Your happiness centres on a chicken tandoori,
And a movie in the mall in East side of Andheri.
You will marry a fast-talking high-strung woman,
Happiness will be a short honeymoon to Konkan;
Then fights will start in blessed conjugal-dom
Cries of “Need my space; I need my freedom.”
The U. S. A.’s a happy energetic place for everyone,
But there are immigration officers and mad men with guns;
Then you will have children, one or even two,
And your joys will re-appear over a year or two.
But what of your parents who made you walk upright?
You left them, backpack over shoulder, into the night;
They cry hard tears, “Where’s our child, tell us truly?”
“Have we worked all our lives to beget a Code Coolie?”