A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I am sure you have heard or have said this in an all-knowing way a few times. But as they say the proof of the pudding is in eating it. I learnt the meaning of this and almost ate humble pie last night, but was saved miraculously by the wonderful new age business invention – outsourcing.
I am making it sound so dire, but it wasn’t anything dangerous like driving off the cliff or electrocuting myself (though my wife can certainly attest to the fact that i have come close to latter a few times thanks to my ineptness in dealing with electrical wiring – another case of little knowledge). It was certainly not a danger of a physical kind, but more related to the modern-day phenomena of preserving our memories in the digital world (if you are to believe some futurologist like Mr Kurzweil, very soon we will be living our lives only in the digital realm- but don’t we already?)
Ok enough tomfoolery, time to get to the point -here’s what transpired. Most of us have fancy mega-pixel cameras, we click away constantly, swoon over the results and share or preserve them online on numerous photo sharing sites available today. But i live life on the edge, firmly believe in my computer skills & refuse to use the free options. So i went ahead and registered my own private domain name, set up a fancy software with password protected access to leave out unwanted snoopers, funky slide shows and a gazillion options. All good so far then, my friends and family (only the ones with access – remember) happily get a friendly automated email every time new photos of our kids, holidays etc are uploaded. Everyone is happy and the digital phototrain rumbles on.
But looks like Elektra (the ancient Greek goddess of computer software) had some other ideas. She ordered some bytensteins (the rogue grown up computer bits and long-lost cousins of Frankenstein) to wreak havoc. Try what i may, but i cannot upload any new photos. The bytensteins running amok as digital werewolves, block all my efforts. Convinced to outdo them, i roll up sleeves, put on an expression somewhere between the arrogant smirk of Steve Jobs and the dumb geeky smile of Bill Gates and reach deep under the hood of the admin options of my website. As the bytensteins lure me deeper, i realize that i may be losing my way. Prudence tells me not to delve deeper, but i battle on gamely. A few ignorant clicks, and suddenly the screen is inundated with thousands of lines of text – informing me that thanks to the last option i chose, every single one of them photos and directories has been deleted! All that existed now was a big ‘Nothing, Nada, Nil’.
I sit there flabbergasted with my jaw touching the floor, with a hopeless expression on my face (the one similar to the bowlers’ face when Sehwag is on song). Thousands of photos, hours of work of choosing them, years of memories – is now relegated to the virtual trashcans. I could almost hear the high fives of the bytensteins. While i am not the kinds to give up easily, even I knew this in now beyond my limited computer skills (as i have just painfully learnt in the last few minutes). I mull all possible options. The only option that looks feasible is now is to send a SOS to the invisible lifesavers in the form of the tech-support helpdesk. Now is the chance to test their claims. But i suddenly remember, that there is a small catch here. I had very politely declined to sign up for their priority support option and chose not to pay $40 a year for instant assistance for a problem that i may never have. But now i have one on my hand – and a big one at that.
I gingerly type my email request, trying to walk the thin line between expressing confidence in their ability and not showing my desperation. I click ‘Send’, and watch it disappear into the netherworld of the great internet. As i shut the lid of my laptop, i am praying to all the 65 million Indian gods and a few global ones as well (after all i am a global citizen). I pray that some kindred soul will take mercy and bother to help out a non-priority support request. As i opened my mailbox the next morning, i find out to my delight that someone did, and my website is restored to all its digital glory. The world is not ruled only by greedy capitalists and there is still hope for us half informed, self-professed computer experts. So thank you Viktor Tait (the helpful support agent) for bringing order and sanity back in my digital life.
But hang on Viktor, chances are your real name could very well be Venkataraman, Vikramaditya or Venugopal. And there is a very high chance that while you are very good at helping out folks like me, your real computer skills are probably being underutilized in that 10,000 people helpdesk. I fully realize that this offshoring wave has created millions of jobs globally, but it also must have surely lured many wannabe Zuckerbergs into a false sense of comfort of taking home a steady income stream, forget about their dreams of creating the next big thing and answer a continuous barrage of calls or emails day in and day out, while sitting in a cheerily decorated warehouse in a small town in India, Philippines or Taiwan.
So this goes out to all the Viktors of the world who might have a great idea lurking in their minds. I hope that you find your real calling and go on to create something big. And while that is happening, I need to figure out a way of uploading new photos on my website and helping India win the cricket world cup … Amen!