Chapter 2

2012/13

After that ordeal, I continued working at the startup until 2012. I then moved to Kochi to work for Wipro Technologies, having cleared the interview the previous September. I was hesitant to accept the job because of my turbulent history with Computer Science, despite having built up considerable experience as a web developer. In those days, web development was viewed merely as a hobby — something real engineers at big US tech firms did on the side. Consequently, I viewed myself less as a software engineer and more as a hobbyist webmaster. My best friend, Viv, advised me to take the job anyway, pointing out that my web stuff wouldn't pay the bills in the long run.

I joined Wipro carrying a heavy inferiority complex, convinced I wouldn't survive a week in the corporate software industry. I was only there because I had no other choice. That is what going with the flow looks like.

But I adapted. I saw it as an opportunity to redeem myself, start fresh in a new city, and put the trauma of the past few years behind me. For someone who had been practically written off by the world until then, this was a ray of hope. I packed my bags and rode my Honda Twister bike 250 kilometers from Trivandrum to Kochi. I joined a group of 23 trainees — all from pure Computer Science backgrounds — and underwent three months of rigorous technical training. Imposter syndrome hit me on day one, and I knew I was in for a brutal fight.

Yet, for someone who had scored zero in college computer science exams just a year prior, I pushed myself relentlessly and finished 3rd in the group. I had never placed 3rd in anything in my life, let alone computer science, making it an extraordinary milestone. Looking back, I succeeded for a few reasons: the trauma of the previous year had forced me to grow up; I finally understood what hard work truly meant and what I was capable of; and it was a do-or-die situation. Lastly, I was being paid to do this one job, leaving me no excuse to fail. I quickly realized that Computer Science wasn't so terrible after all. It shared parallels with the web work I loved, my past failures had inadvertently prepared me for it, and perhaps I could hack it in the corporate software world after all.

My salary jumped from ₹6,000 a month to about ₹25,000. I set my web hobby aside to focus entirely on my new life. It was only my second job, and I didn't dare dream big back then; having just received a lifeline, my sole goal was to make the most of it. I rode my bike around, hung out with friends, played cricket and football nearly every day, worked hard during the hours, and coded on the web at night. Slowly, life got back on track. I worked as a Unix administrator with Nokia as our client.

I lived in a shared house with three other guys — from Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, and Bihar. Two of them had private rooms, while I shared mine. We only had a double bed, forcing us to share it. My roommate from Kerala, Pra, was fiercely sociable, making friends everywhere he went. Our place was a revolving door of visitors. After work, he would be surrounded by people, while I remained glued to my computer — the first real sign that I was deeply introverted. I have always preferred tight-knit, intentionally chosen circles, which were easy to form in college but much harder in the real world.

The following year, I moved to a high-rise building nearby called Apple Heights, sharing a room this time with Ish, the guy from Andhra. Even with a 25k salary, I shared rooms to save money; having watched my father struggle for 30 years just to buy his first flat, frugality was baked into my DNA. But much to my dismay, the partying followed me there. I worried about our liability for the flat, but wanting to fit in, I tried to play along. We routinely hosted over a dozen guys, occasionally playing indoor one-touch cricket that practically ransacked the place. Miraculously, when it was time to vacate, I managed to get everyone to clean the apartment until it looked brand new.

From an early age, I was an outdoorsy kid, growing up in a telecommunication staff colony surrounded by children. We played badminton and football, but cricket was king. I grew up during the Golden Age of Indian Cricket, and naturally, I wanted to play professionally. That hunger came partly from my dad, who played district cricket in his prime and watched every match religiously. If I loved anything more than the web, it was cricket. Watching five days of Test cricket was pure joy. I cried when India lost to Zimbabwe in the 1999 World Cup, and I remember the exact time — 12:43 AM — when Sachin sealed the Desert Storm series against Australia. I loved waking up before dawn to catch India-Australia bilateral series. But because my school lacked a proper sports infrastructure, I never pursued it seriously, though the fire to compete never died.

Kochi offered an incredible sporting culture, giving equal weight to cricket and football. I played both. The Wipro campus had a football ground where we played intensely from 6:00 to 9:00 PM, dividing into multiple teams. Every year held corporate cricket and football tournaments, and I was dead-set on winning them in 2013 after falling short in 2012. Cricket was my domain — something I could control. As captain, I forced my team through grueling 6:00 AM practice sessions against local teams before the tournament.

While I wasn't as naturally gifted at football, our team somehow won the tournament finals. Cricket, however, broke my heart: we crashed out in the quarterfinals thanks to two dropped catches by my main fielder against the defending champions. That missed opportunity still haunts me. With morning cricket, a 9-to-5 job, and evening football, I had entered the peak athletic years of my youth.

Slowly but surely, my life was stabilizing.

But it was also during these years that I began neglecting my body. I picked up smoking and drinking, my diet deteriorated, and I ignored my sports injuries. Because I had a naturally athletic build and high baseline fitness, I took my health for granted, assuming minor aches would vanish. It took me until 2014 to finally see a doctor about a lingering ankle injury from football — a sport I probably shouldn't have picked up, but was sucked into by Kochi's culture. The doctor casually dismissed it, saying hairline cracks heal on their own because the x-ray looked fine. But I knew my leg wasn't right. That unhealed injury would eventually return to wreak havoc on my life.