Who are you? And why should I listen to you?
Well since this is medium and you and I have been blessed with the gift of time let’s take a trip down memory lane. As a budding youth in middle school, my math teacher introduced me to the wonders of computer programming. We used a simple scripting language known as LOGO. It had a little turtle that could make complex shapes. You simply had to tell it what to do.
By the time I reached my junior year at High School, I had to give serious consideration as to what exactly I wanted to pursue by way of higher studies. The school was offering several courses that were the start of a promising career. So, I signed up for my first comp sci class.
For those of you keeping count, this was 11th grade second semester. The course being offered was an intro to programming. We had about 30 students (males and females) in total. By my senior year, that number had been whittled down to just 8 male students.
Yes, sir welcome to the rough and ready world of computer programming and all that it beholds. I am actually very grateful for that experience. I am proud of my school, as they had partnered with a state university to bring us that program. I am grateful that I was able to use my God-given intellect and power through academic challenges.
Now that I had acquired a skill, how best could it serve me? With the gulf war a distant memory and September 11 on the horizon it was apparent that my brethren were a permanent target of my country’s armed forces. I did not feel comfortable when recruiters showed up at our high school’s college fairs. I even actively discouraged my close friends from signing up with them. Such are the ways of unpopular wars.
At any rate, I continued on with my civilian life gaining admissions in a local state university. But something did not sit right. So, after six months I dropped out. I moped around my parent’s house for a year, had a bout of depression until I realized what it was. I was a rebel with a cause.
My father being a student leader always taught me the importance of joining something larger than one’s self. For some, this could simply mean committing to one partner and starting a family. For others, it might mean to organize families into a neighborhood. For others, it may mean to organize those neighborhoods into societies. For others, it may mean to organize those societies into a nation. For others, it may mean organizing those nations into a global civilization.
In America, my Dad was a South Asian first and a bookkeeper second. His dream was to someday become an executive. He did his MBA and got his CPA in the hopes of doing just that. He even joined an accounting firm and could have easily climbed up the corporate ladder but instead decided to serve his community. By the time he was nearing retirement, he had become a diabetic.
I didn’t want his twilight years spent filling out tax returns for grocery stores and taxi drivers. And since he was never going to be accepted into the old boys’ club, he was never going to be a CFO for corporate America. So, what’s a son to do?
Why become a dual national no less. Thanks to my parent’s upbringing I always kept in touch with family in Pakistan. We even bought land in Karachi. All of that prep work was finally going to pay off. My depression cleared once I had convinced my family to sell their home and let my father pursue his dreams in Pakistan.
We shipped all our belongings and headed off. Now mind you my dad was well connected in Karachi thanks to his student leadership days so with his friend’s guidance he was able to arrange a fairytale life for us complete with servants, maids, drivers and a brand-new bungalow to boot. My Dad did become a CFO, for some very prestigious multi-nationals. He would soon die from lymphatic cancer.
What was I doing all this time? Why I was on an epic trek!
Notice anything particular about the two logos? Can you tell which one is fictitious and which one is not as fictitious? Any hoot, this is where I decided to continue with my higher education studies. They had a respectable comp sci program so I decided to give them a chance. And by “them” I do NOT mean Starfleet Command! At this point, I must confess when you move to the tropics be sure to get your booster shots. I had typhoid my first year and flunked out because I couldn’t ace my exams.
I Went on to do 3 years at a British affiliate. They took me in as a second-year student despite my dismal performance because I had taken classes with Microsoft certified trainers, back in the states and had the certificate to prove it. Once I graduated my first paying gig was as a technical writer. I would write user manuals for the company’s export-ready system. This was Pakistan under Musharraf and we were exporting to the United Kingdom no less.
After work, there was no time to enjoy my paycheck at the Mall. I had to get engaged! And for that, my parents wanted to ensure I was presentable to any prospective father-in-law. So, I was encouraged to enroll in a Master’s program. Overseas Pakistanis who wish to send their kids back to the Mother Land for higher education will tell you that in the world of Computer Science one university stands out. And all though branding experts have changed its name through the years it is forever immortalized in the hearts of Pakistanis as FAST.
Just getting in is an achievement in it of itself. My first attempt at their comp sci program was a complete debacle. I was unable to juggle both work and my studies and flunked out yet again. Thanks to my father I was able to quit my job and join his consultancy on a part-time basis. Since he was running a financial consultancy and didn’t have any Tec projects to speak off, he loaned me out to his partner. There I was able to put my QA and technical writing skills to good use. This arrangement worked out nicely for me and I soon improved in my studies. By my final semester, I was well on my way and was putting the finishing touches on my thesis, when tragedy struck.
The death of my father was a massive setback which neither I or my family has fully recovered from. I had to move back to the states. Without my father’s know how there was no way in hell I can navigate through the intricate web of cronyism that makes up the social structure here in Karachi. My foreign upbringing makes me too much of an unknown for someone to stick their neck out for me.
So, it was back to square one for me. My uncle came and whisked me away to his house in Long Island. From there I began working in one of his pharmacies. I soon learned how to use the software that was running on the cash counter. That know-how proved valuable as my uncle happened to know the guy who made that software and yes, he was a Desi. I spent three and a half years at that mid-sized software house. Again, technical writing and QA helped ensure I got a paycheck every other week. It was enough for me and my wife who migrated from Pakistan thanks to my sponsorship. We resided in my father’s studio apartment. Since it was a co-op, we were only required to pay maintenance. Not having to pay rent for a shoebox really helped to keep money in my pocket.
Towards the end of my tenure at the software house, I did some Multi-Level Marketing to hone my salesmanship skills. I also would reach out to recruiters to help me find a more professional job. They arranged several interviews for me but I could never close the deal. Therefore, I decided to enroll in a job placement program. It was run by a friend of the community who knew my father quite fondly. He arranged for senior QA resources to train me and others on the finer points of landing a high paying gig. As such my resume was bloated and primed for the plucking.
At the time a friend of the family called me up to see how I was doing and to see whether or not I was interested in having a job on Wall Street. I think I hyperventilated as I could not spit out the word “Yes” fast enough. One thing led to another and lo and behold I was a yuppie on Wall Street working for a big bank. I really felt like I had arrived. This was exactly what my parents had envisioned for me. But destiny had plans of its own.
I soon fell sick as the long hours and high-stress situations soon took their toll. My performance dropped and I decided to bow out on a high note. In the age of Trump, it was hard being Muslim in America. If you see me and my wife walking on the streets you will see a pleasantly plump hijabi and bearded South Asian. Not exactly the all-American couple Bon Jovi was crooning about in his hit track “Livin’ on a Prayer”.
So, we decided to cut our losses and get out of town. I mean really way out of town. I mean way way out of town. Like all the way back to Pakistan out of town. Our trek back to Pakistan may seem counter-intuitive and may seem like folly to the casual observer. But I hope at this point you, dear reader are more than just a casual observer but an active participant in this epic quest, we humans call Life.
Simply put when economic crises like this fall upon a young couple they usually move back in with their parents. Our parents were in Karachi so we headed their way with all due haste. Living under another man’s roof is a bit stifling but thanks to my MLM days I turn that frustration into laser-like focus. I use the opportunities offered to me by my creator to make the most of every day every hour and yes even every prayer.
Right now, I am back in school attempting my masters once more this time in project management. During my non-management years, I did manage to bring home a sizable paycheck. Again, documenting code nets you much more profit then writing prose. I treated my family to the luxury of car ownership. A Honda Civic no less. This make of car has been used by the Sadiq clan for some time. I decided to continue with tradition and uphold the family name. It turns out that was a good choice. Motorheads will tell you that this car is highly customizable. There is a whole community dedicated to all things Civic. Their reach is global.
I frequented their sites for nifty graphics for my I-Mid. It’s no accident that this car company has a diehard following. How cool is it to express your personality to your passengers? I was stoked to find Star Trek graphics and had to put them up. I wanted to go with a realistic look. What normally shows up on the screens of Starfleet vessels? Normally instrument panels (I have a killer spectral analysis jpg). Or communique. Currently, I am sticking with the communique. I can load up to three wallpapers and switch between them at will. But only when the car comes to a complete stop. Otherwise, it won’t let you!
Pretty nifty, eh? The overall effect is pretty inspiring. With my handy dandy Google navigator app I really do have a navigation computer at my disposal. Is this another case of science catching up with fiction? I sure hope so. But my imagination just doesn’t stop there. I often tell the misses that my car is my space ship. Of course, actual space ships are the length of football fields. So more realistically it’s a shuttlecraft. Now if it is a shuttlecraft what kind is it? Well, the one I find most inspiring (aside from my own creation) is the Delta Craft from Star Trek Voyager. Take a gander…
The interiors look similar, yes? No wonder it’s not a huge leap of the imagination to envision your car cabin as a cockpit of an interstellar cruiser.
I lovingly recall the episode of Voyager where the Delta Craft is used in a race. Tom Paris had joysticks put in for tactile feel. Like airplanes of yore. Lucky for me my steering wheel cover gives a similar effect. I had to go through a lot of covers before I found the right one. Some were too big and floppy. Others were smelly and stunk up the car and my hands! But the one I have now is easy on the hands and gives me that grip that is oh so desired. It all comes into play when you race down the highway banking turns and flying high. To add to the realism, I got me Starfleet Academy license plate frames. This lets people behind me know that a Starfleet Alumnist is at the helm.
But my spacey obsessions don’t stop at my car. In my day to day doings, I want to be reminded of the amazing. They act as talismans whisking me away to my happy place (believe me we need more of this in the workplace, I am talking to you hotheaded bully man). It's worth the expenditure if you want others to know you are a loud and proud geek. And if you are really into geeky goodness check out ThinkGeek. And if you can, prove your geek street cred by heading out to a con. Once there meet up with exhibitors, they have tons of merch to give away!
At any rate, I am always looking for ways to get inspired. I’ve studied interior shots of fictional/not so fictional spacecraft to get a feel for more mods. I also look to fellow geeks to see what they do. Decals are huge I glued on the star fleet insignia on the back windshield of the Civic. Of course, when we were packing up to head back to our parents house the car had to go. We still miss her and are striving to regain those glory days once more. Do pray for us dear reader, I will do the same for you god willing.
Ameen.
