Big Changes Happen at Pixels

Pixels Multimedia would ultimately move from Sahara Bazar, in Gomti Nagar, to a large house that we took up on rent in Aliganj. Here is a small animated clip of our new setup in Aliganj, which I made in Corel Motion 3D

In an earlier post, I wrote about experiencing the great kindness that was extended to me, for which I remain eternally grateful. When I was asked to vacate the house I was living in, my friend Shobhit immediately offered to let me stay in one of the two houses that his family owned in Lalbagh, and even refused to let me pay rent. When I had to sell my old motorcycle because it had become unreliable, my Tau ji gave me money to buy a new motorcycle. But in the meanwhile, there was trouble brewing at Pixels – there were issues that I would have to address immediately and some changes that I would have to deal with. The story continues here.

When I reached office that day, Tabrez was already there – he had reached there before me, which was slightly unusual. We looked at each other and I think both of us realised that we needed to talk. It had been around 6-7 months since we’d started Pixels Multimedia, things were tough and we needed to reevaluate and clearly define Tabrez’s role in what we were trying to do. I called for cups of chai from a nearby teashop and we sat down inside my small cabin. I encouraged Tabrez to speak openly and share his views on where he thought our business was going and what needed to be done in order to keep going. He admitted he was going through a lean phase and that he needed some time to think about the next steps that he wanted to take. On his part, I think there was a tacit admission of the fact that he wasn’t really enjoying working at Pixels, that there wasn’t really much for him to do (especially given his complete lack of interest in computers) and that he may eventually move on to do something else. As I said earlier, when we first met in October 1996, we were both very excited at the prospect of working together. Now, 8-9 months down the line, we were realizing that that happiness, that excitement stemmed from our many years of friendship and little else. Neither of us had thought things through, which had landed us in a difficult situation.

After meeting with Tabrez, I walked out of the cabin and saw Prashant, our one remaining multimedia instructor, sitting outside, waiting for me. Prashant said he wanted to talk to me for a minute, so we went back inside my cabin and he came straight to the point – he’d been offered a significantly higher salary at one of the bigger institutes and said he’d like to leave. This did not really come as a huge surprise – poaching talent was quite common between computer institutes and it was something that happened regularly. It was me who had been delusional – I thought because Prashant and I had a great personal equation, and because we had a friendly, informal vibe at work, with flexible working hours, he’d stay put at Pixels even if someone offered him more money. Of course he wouldn’t; money is also very important and who can resist a big pay hike. I did not blame Prashant for wanting to move and said I was perfectly okay with him leaving, since I couldn’t possibly match the pay he was being offered at his new workplace. However, I did ask for some time – I asked Prashant to continue for another 7-10 days, during which I’d try and find another instructor. His response was what was surprising – he put on a sullen face and said he wanted to leave right away, and that his new employer wouldn’t like to wait.

In those days, I was perhaps more impetuous and quick-tempered than I am now. When Prashant said his new employer wouldn’t like to wait, it triggered something inside me – I felt this immense anger welling up inside me, and I shouted at Prashant and asked him to get the f*** out of my office. I told him to come to me at the end of the month and that’s when I’d settle his dues. Without saying anything, Prashant picked up his bag and walked out of the office. As soon as he was gone, I felt bad. I thought to myself that all this drama had happened for no reason at all – he wanted to leave, I should have let him go. It didn’t really matter, it wasn’t really that important. I’d find someone else. And in any case, by that time I had myself reached a certain level of proficiency and would be able to teach all the software on my own, so even if I didn’t find another instructor right away, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. That evening, I called up Prashant at his house and asked him to come to office the next day and take whatever was due to him.

He walked in the next day, early in the morning. We had some chai, which we often did when he was working with me, after which he took his money, wished me well and left the office. I never saw Prashant again after that. Tabrez had also stopped coming to office, which I had sort of expected would happen. During our conversation on the previous day, it was more or less clear that Tabrez himself realised that it would be hard – perhaps even impossible – for him to continue to contribute anything meaningful to Pixel’s business and hence he would have to look for something that was better suited to his own talents and areas of interest. It was a sad parting of ways. We had done a lot of running around in the initial 2-3 months of setting up the business. Often, we had stayed up till late in the night when our furniture was being made and the office was being done up. We’d woken up at three in the morning during the winters to have our pamphlets and brochures distributed at local newspaper retailers. We had most of our meals together, made plans, discussed how we’d scale the business up, shared the excitement of setting up something new. I would have found it difficult to manage everything had Tabrez not been around in those early days. But now, we had to go our own different ways. Perhaps, such is life.

So, now it was just Seema and I who were left in the office. There weren’t a huge number of walk-ins every day and I could see that she was also beginning to get a bit bored with working at Pixels. On my part, I was fully occupied with teaching our students – those who had enrolled at the institute and who used to come for daily classes, as well as my corporate customers (NEDA, KGMC, a few local studios), where I used to go to their offices to teach. In addition to teaching duties, I also did freelance image and video editing and animation work for local clients, which took up a large chunk of my time. I used to come in to office at around 8 a.m. and only got back home at around 9-10 p.m. After expenses (rent for the premises, electricity bills, Seema’s salary, computer maintenance and upgrades, occasional software purchases and the money I spent on food and fuel), I was usually left with around Rs 15,000-20,000 every month (remember, this was back in 1997), which I thought was not too bad. My Tau ji had given me money to buy a motorcycle and after careful consideration, I’d bought a new Kawasaki KB125. Though it didn’t have the explosive engine performance of the Yamaha RX100 that I had earlier, the Kawasaki handled better, was more stable at higher speeds and was just as competent at pulling long wheelies – I couldn’t have been happier.

After moving to Lucknow in October 1996, I hadn’t gone back to Bareilly and it had been around 8-9 months since I’d last seen my parents. A long weekend was coming up and I decided I wanted to go to Bareilly for 2-3 days, so I could spend some time with my parents there. I called up my father and told him I’d be coming to Bareilly over the weekend. He asked me which train I’d be taking and at what time I’d reach home. I gave him the name of some train, which used to leave Lucknow early in the morning and reached Bareilly – a distance of about 250km – in the afternoon. I also said that I would get on a rickshaw and get home on my own, and that he should not come to the railway station to pick me up. However, I had no plans of taking that train. On the given day, early in the morning, I fired up my new Kawasaki and headed out to Bareilly. I had, on the previous evening, spoken to a few people and had got clear directions from them, so I knew which road to take. Since I was going to Bareilly for only 2-3 days, all I would be carrying was two or three sets of clothes and a toothbrush, so a small backpack was all I needed. On that morning, I quickly slung my backpack on, slipped on my new Studds full-face helmet, snapped the visor shut and accelerated away hard. I knew that despite having asked my father to not come to the railway station to pick me up, he probably would go anyway. So, my idea was to beat the train’s time and reach my parents’ house before my father could take the car out and go to the station.

The Kawasaki was only a month or two old, had recently been serviced and seemed as eager as I was to go as hard and as fast as possible. I kept the throttle pinned and the small, 125cc two-stroke engine sang its heart out as it rushed me to Bareilly. I don’t remember stopping for anything – no breakfast, and not even a cup of chai – and rode non-stop to Bareilly. However, when I got home, my sister (who was pretty surprised to see me turn up on a motorcycle!) told me that my father had already left for the station 15-20 minutes ago. Keeping my backpack at home, I immediately rode out again and headed towards the Bareilly railway station. When I’d just about reached, I saw my father’s car coming down the other way and I flagged him down. He was quite shocked to see me on the bike and wasn’t too happy when I told him I’d ridden all the way from Lucknow to Bareilly. He said he had reached the station, the train had arrived on time, my father had looked for me everywhere and had been surprised to see that I wasn’t on that train. Now that I had arrived, albeit on a bike rather than that train, he was relived.

I spent two days in Bareilly and over the weekend we discussed Pixels Multimedia and its future prospects. I told my father about everything that had happened over the last few months, the way things were going and the fact that I was finding it hard to compete with the big guys – the well-established franchisee chains that had big advertising budgets and significant financial heft, but also that I was managing to keep the ship (small boat?) afloat, earning a small amount of money and enjoying the work. My father told me that he was also trying to get a transfer from Bareilly back to Lucknow, so we all be together. He also mentioned that we could take up a large house on rent there, in a suitable location, and I could consider moving Pixels from its current location in Gomti Nagar to the new house, which would help me save on rent and other incidental expenses. I said I would think about it, and we left it at that.

On Monday morning, I again got back on the bike and rode off, reaching Lucknow in a little over five hours. While it was only early afternoon when I reached, I was too tired to go to office, so went back to my room and straight away went to sleep. Had already informed Seema and all our students in advance that the institute would remain closed on Monday, so that was taken care of. Next morning, I rode to Pixels early in the morning. Sahara Bazar was quite empty at that time and nobody was around. I went inside, went straight to my cabin and sat down. I was there all by myself, it was totally quiet and there was time to think and reflect upon what I’d been doing and the direction in which things seemed to be going. I was just about managing to stay afloat, but given the intense competition, the fact that I had only two computers (at least four or six would have been ideal) and given that our location wasn’t really ideal, making any sort of progress was very difficult. I began to think about what my father had proposed – that once he and my mother also moved to Lucknow, we should just take on large house on rent, and move the institute there. That would also make it easier for me to handle my freelance assignments, for which I had to commute to different locations all over the city. It would just make things simpler for me, and I decided I’d talk to my father in the evening and tell him I was ready to move.

Soon, my father was indeed able to get a transfer. Unfortunately, it was to Hardoi, about 120km away from Lucknow. While he could stay in Lucknow, he’d have to either drive or take the train to Hardoi at least twice a week, which would be a huge hassle for him. I knew he had asked for this transfer so that we could be together, and because the move would help me in more ways than one. And I felt deeply guilty that because of this, because of me, he would have to suffer the great inconvenience of travelling from Lucknow to Hardoi every week. The only consolation was that there was a small chance that in some time, his company might transfer him to Lucknow, in which case the trips to Hardoi would stop. I hoped and prayed that that would happen soon.

In the meanwhile, I spoke to Seema and told her about my plans to move Pixels from its current location in Sahara Bazar to a house that we’d soon be taking on rent. Since this would be a much smaller setup, I wouldn’t need to have a counsellor – I’d be the one managing everything on my own. Seema heard me out and was quite nonchalant about the whole thing – we decided that she would leave Pixels at the end of that week. She was anyway bored, did not have enough to do in office and must have been wanting to move on in any case. On my part, I was sad that she’d be leaving. Over the last few months that she’d been around, Seema and I had become friends. Sometimes, when there was no work, we’d sit in the office and talk about our lives and sometimes we used to hang out, maybe go for a quick lunch somewhere close by. She was good at her work and I quite liked her company, liked having her around. With Seema gone, I’d now be all alone at Pixels and would need to do every single thing on my own.

I wondered if I’d really be able to pull it off, handle things alone, all by myself. But somewhere deep down, I knew I wasn’t willing to give up. Not yet anyway.

The story continues here