Southern town of Mogadishu, Somalia a place as dangerous as hell. The most grievous place to be in at this time. He told me to meet me in Bakara market. He has some extremely sensitive report regarding al-Shabab and al-Qaeda link and the plot of another conspiracy, bigger then 9/11. It was in the news that at least eight civilians were killed in fighting overnight here. A foul smell was all over the place.

“Its 5:30 and he told me that he will be here by 4.” I murmured. Hiding myself from a local gang dressed with standard 12 gauge cartridges and modified MAG-7M1.

“Another 15 minutes and I will be going back to the base camp.”

And suddenly from the right corner of the street a skinny ragged man came running towards me. His bald head was red in his own blood.  As frighten as the chicken in the hunting game, he just fall in front of me. I read death in his eyes. He handed me a black file wrapped in a green polibag. Signaling towards the small hole in the left brick wall with his trembling index finger he shouted collecting all his energy “Go!!!”

Before I could sense anything, from the same corner where he entered I saw davils.Two larger then life, huge guys one with green turban and red beard and other short hairs and a deep scar at his face shouted in a language which every lamb can understand. I searched for my lucky feet to put forward for this marathon of life and without a blink I was flying, best to the capacity of my lungs.  Sliding through that narrow crack in the wall, jumping over the carts, in between the cattles, I ran for something more precious then life.

But the rat race ended in a dead end. There was a big wall at one end and the merchants of death at other end. I opened my mouth for help but the voice stuck in my throat, Sweat was running over my chin. I turned back and saw a loud laugh and two barrel pointed towards me.

“IS this the end.” I asked myself

He tightened his grip over the gun, flexed his shoulders,  his golden tooth shined and with a bang he fired three shots ….

Trin trin trin …
Triiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.

And I threw that alarm clock at the wall. At least today I should be thankful to it as this is the first time in the history an alarm clock saved a secret service agent.

So that’s where Season 2 of Hello World starts at ParveenVerma.com.

And thanks God there is no copywriter on hello world.  Anyone and everyone can pop up from anywhere to say it with a smile.  If there has been any, it would have made life tougher for we developers. This is the only thing that we write in any code. Other things  are just copy pastes.  (Did not I told you I am a software developer. I guess you would have guessed it and you must be laughing right now saying my gas is better than your gas. Opps mistake of spell checker, not my fault. I have forgotten to check spelling my own the day I started typing.

Irritated reading this. I know. In this world two kinds of people are very difficult to interact with: a software guy and a software guy with a cup of coffee.  Ok I guess I am overshooting my limit of word counts. I end this sloppy intro here with final words about me.

I am a Java developer and I am pretty serious about it. What you have read here is done by my alter ego. As I have a habit of sleep writing, sleep painting, sleep sketching, sleep slipping of tongue.

Happy sleeping!!!

Continue…

Coming next my First morning in Corporate world…

One person has definitely read it

1. Parveen Verma says:

   June 16, 2010 at 3:35 pm

   Vishal, must say a very good read and part about java developer’s alter ego – is simply a killer. keep up the great stuff

   Reply