Pizazzed

This summer Tap and I opened up an office in Ahmedabad, our own space to keep our servers and work from whenever we are here. The office is property of Tap's father-in-law, who generously let us move into the prime location in Navrangpura. I absolutely love it, a place to call my own, and it lets me live out the cliché of a computer technologist starting a new venture from humble garage-like beginnings.

When I first moved in, the office was spartan and a bit unkempt. We had our server on a plastic table with plastic chairs, the walls were barren, and there was a stubborn ant problem. Save for a decently comfortable couch and an A/C, the place had nothing interesting going for it. This was not lost on a certain few roommate-neighbor-friends (who for security purposes will remain nameless) who came and visited the office over the last few weeks. Amongst those friends, a particularly articulate one said how the office was great, but needed 'pizazz'. Yes, I thought to myself, you are tiny, but you speak the truth.

I didn't think much more of it until earlier this week after returning from my trip to Madhya Pradesh. I got back from the airport in the evening and went straight to the office to take care of some pending work. As I opened the door to the room, it was dark so I couldn't see anything. But a zen-style bell attached to the door chimed to welcome me. That got me mildly confused, but when I switched on the light I realized what had happened. While I was away, my office had been pizazzed:


The walls had posters with inspiring quotes, there was a framed picture of Gandhiji and Kasturba above the desk, a huge "Be the Change" canvas, a map of India, some inspiring trinkets here and there. I didn't notice it that night because it was dark, but in the porch/otalo area out front, some lovely flowers had been planted along the pathway:



Seeing everything that first night, I couldn't stop smiling. I had come to the office to do work, but all I could do was smile. I wrote exactly that in an SMS to my roommate and neighbors (who, again, for security purposes will remain nameless). Later I asked each of them whether they happened to know who was behind this wonderful act, but they were conspicuously silent. Verrrry interesting, because silence is not the strong suit of certain individuals. So be it, my friends, I only wish you the best in the future as what goes around inevitably comes around. I have tried not to compromise your identities here, but only so much is in my hands. May God protect you.

And so I am left to offer my gratitude to all the silent angels of the world (including those living at Shreeji Krishna Apartments, Keshav Nagar, Ahmedabad). Thank you all, for bringing a smile to my face and the warm embrace of noble friendship whenever I sit down to work in this space.