One day after I had completed my bachelor's degree, an instructor of mine named Professor Hasan called to tell me that he had taken a job in computer systems management at the Karachi Cantonment, a Pakistani Army depot. The army had deployed an ICL DRS 20 computer there, and he invited me to come and see it.
The ICL DRS 20 was a product of International Computers Limited, a large British company that manufactured the computer hardware. The ICL DRS 20 was primitive compared to today's advanced computers, but early in the 1980s, it was considered a leading-edge system. Professor Hasan and I spent an entire evening poring over the computer's configuration, peripherals, operating system, and programming language. When we were finished, he gave me a number of related technical guides to read. I spent hours studying these and reading anything else I could find on the topic. I was fascinated with the technology. The more I read, the more I became consumed with the notion of writing a software program for this computer.
I had never written a software program before. Perhaps naïvely, I was as intensely driven to do it as I was to write The Rhoton Theory, not knowing ahead of time what that would require. I had no idea how to even begin to design a program that would run on the ICL DRS 20, especially when I lacked practical experience and had no access to it.
The idea for the program came to me one evening, as I was seated within earshot of the person at the college responsible for recruiting new faculty. I overheard him calling information for the telephone number of a potential instructor. The irritation in his voice was unmistakable as he tried unsuccessfully to get the number he was seeking. That's when the idea hit me to create a software program that would make it easier for people to get the telephone numbers they needed. I called the project the "Karachi Information Directory," or KID for short.
Lacking direct access to the computer, I resorted to writing the code by hand on old-style, wide computer paper. After reading a few programming books, I designed flow charts of the entire system, defined the file structures, and figured out the index sequential keys. I developed usage scenarios as well as all the entry and exit points of the application. In a few months, I had reams of computer paper with my drawings, code, definitions, and layouts. I thought that the perforated, neatly folded computer paper with all the code hand written on it looked impressive. I wrote the program in COBOL, then a widely used business computer language. Writing this code occupied my days, nights, and weekends. I even dreamed code in my sleep. My hope was to have it installed on the ICL DRS 20 to test its viability upon completion.
Along the way, I showed the code to Professor Hasan. "Once you've fully completed the handwritten code," he said, "I'll arrange for you to use a terminal to key it in to see if it actually works."
On a Friday, the Muslim day of rest, I started my morning with a leisurely change of pace and decided to eat breakfast out. I took a slow walk in the morning sun to a nearby restaurant, bought the morning newspaper on the way, and read it over tea. As I waited for my order, I chanced upon a help-wanted ad by an American computer company seeking a software engineer with a four-year undergraduate degree and three years of field experience. The ad intrigued me, but I clearly didn't meet the basic requirements for the job. I passed on it and continued reading the paper.
On my way home, I started to think, "What if I did apply for the job? Would the company consider a person without a computer degree and the required experience?" Three days later, I mailed my resumé. I do not recall precisely what I included in it, but it wasn't much. The only thing I remember was a lot of rambling about writing KID. A couple of weeks passed without a response, and I resigned myself to not making the first cut. Then suddenly, one afternoon, I received a call requesting me to come for an interview at 10 a.m. the following Monday at the company's office in the defense area of Karachi.
On the day of the interview, I caught a taxi near my apartment around 8 a.m. I wasn't sure how long the ride would take, but I did know based on my experience with Karachi traffic to leave ample time to get to the appointment. I arrived at the company's offices at 9:15 a.m., and the receptionist asked me to take a seat. As this was my first interview for a job with an American company, I hadn't the faintest idea of the protocol for such occasions. After all, my last job interview had taken place in a rickety shack in Kuwait Harbor.
At 9:55 a.m., the receptionist escorted me to a conference room and introduced me to Jamal Akbar, managing director of operations in Pakistan, and Nasir Ali, general manager of operations in Karachi. Jamal Akbar acknowledged my presence with a glance. While thumbing through a folder, he asked, "Where is your bachelor's degree from?"
After a moment's silence, I said, "From Karachi University."
"So you don't have an actual degree in computer science?" he shot back.
"No, sir, I don't."
He then looked at Nasir Ali. "What is this? I thought we were going to hire someone with a computer science degree and three years experience in the field."
"Yes, I know; but something about Mr. Imam's application and resumé intrigued me. I thought you should speak with him," Nasir Ali said.
Jamal Akbar scowled, rubbed his forehead, and paused for what seemed like a long time. "Nasir, you know what? You invited this gentleman here. I'm not sure I want to continue with this interview. So why don't you handle it?"
They talked about me as though I were not even in the room.
In spite of what he had said to Nasir Ali, Jamal Akbar continued to interview me. "It says here in your resumé that you worked at the Kuwait University library. What did you do there ? Do you know about the Dewey decimal system?"
"Yes, of course, I know the Dewey decimal system," I said. I went on to explain how libraries used the system to catalog and organize books. When I completed my explanation, I tried to shift the topic. "Sir, how do your computer systems compare with the computer called ICL DRS20?"
He ignored my question. "Do you know what a thesaurus is?" Jamal Akbar said.
"I'm sorry. I don't," I said. In truth, I had never even heard the word.
"You worked in a library and you have no idea what a thesaurus is?" Jamal Akbar then turned to Nasir Ali. "What exactly was it that intrigued you about his resume?" he said.
Jamal Akbar then turned back to me. "You don't have a computer science degree. Your resumé shows no experience working with computers. What is this so-called 'KID' you're writing?"
This was my break.
"'KID' is short for Karachi Information Directory," I said. "It's my attempt to automate the information directory of the Karachi telephone system, and it's designed to run on an ICL DRS 20."
"What do you mean? What do you know about this computer?"
I knew the machine in question was manufactured by International Computers Limited, a direct competitor of Jamal Akbar's company. I was more familiar with its system than anyone else in that room; I was ready for any question he could throw at me.
"Where would you like me to start?" I asked.
"How much memory does the ICL DRS 20 have?" Jamal Akbar demanded.
"Twenty megabytes," I said, and continued to explain that it had one gig of virtual drive and was a mini-frame system with a distributed architecture. "You can attach up to two hundred and fifty-six peripherals onto a single system, including disk drives and tape drives, and you can attach up to two hundred terminals for data entry. The system is mostly used for dynamic computing."
"How did you get to know so much about this computer?" he said.
"Well, I've never really worked on an ICL DRS 20, but a friend of mine who does gave me all the technical manuals for it."
Stunned, Jamal and Nasir broke out in laughter.
"Am I correct in understanding that you know details about this computer, and that you've written a code for it without actually ever working with it?" Jamal asked incredulously.
I nodded.
"Well, since you've written your code in COBOL, how many index sequential keys do you have in it?"
"I have eight index sequential keys in the program."
"And how many index sequential keys can you add in COBOL?"
"You can add up to sixteen."
"Young man, I don't know where you got your information, but you can add up to twenty-six index sequential keys." Jamal Akbar was a tough, learned competitor. Afterwards, I learned that he had earned his master's degree in computer science at Carnegie Mellon University in the United States.
"I think it might be easier to understand what I did if I show you the code," I said. I grabbed a few push pins lying on the conference table, took a couple of steps to the conference-room wall, and started to tack the program to the wall.
"Instead of doing that, just sketch out the structure of the code you've written here," Nasir Ali said and pointed to a white board—something new to me.
I walked around the table to the white board and didn't know what to do at first. Ali sensed my hesitation, and instructed me to write with one of the markers from the tray at the front of the white board.
"Just draw with that. The white board is erasable," he said.
I drew the flow chart of the program, laying out its entire structure. Jamal Akbar peered at what I had sketched and proceeded to grill me for another hour on every aspect of the program. I answered each question point for point.
"This program is worthless," he said. "It's loaded with errors and won't work. You've wasted your time writing it. I can see how your lack of a computer science degree is manifested in the program." Then, he proceeded to demolish my code, picking away at it here, chipping at it there. One by one, he broke down my file structures, code style, and sequence.
By the end of this two-hour session, I was emotionally depleted. Nasir Ali asked me to wait outside to give him and Jamal Akbar time to talk. In a few moments, he asked me to come back in.
"Razi, you held your own very well today, and we appreciate your coming in for this interview," said Nasir. "We'd like to give this some thought. Give us a few days, and we'll get back to you." Jamal Akbar said nothing, and didn't even look at me.
I thanked them, shook their hands, rolled up my software program, and picked up my briefcase. Just before I left, I asked them why they invited me for an interview when they knew I didn't have a computer science degree. Nasir replied, "We were curious about your mention of KID in your resumé. And when we saw a candidate who was writing code to run on an ICL DRS 20, it definitely got our attention."
I had put my energies into the code only to have Jamal Akbar strip its flesh away and break its bones to bits.
One day passed. Then another and another. On the fourth day, Nasir Ali called. His tone was slow and measured, and I waited for him to get to the point. Then, all of a sudden, he congratulated me and told me the position was mine, but under certain conditions that he would explain at our next meeting. When we met the following day, he emphasized that Jamal Akbar thought enough of me to offer an opportunity to prove myself.
"We'll hire you for the position of software systems engineer for a probationary period of three months at a salary of 5,000 rupees per month," Nasir informed me. "We'll see how you do during the probationary period. If you work out well, the position will be yours permanently."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Clearly, it wasn't the computer science degree or three years experience that got me the job, since I didn't have either one. It was my naïve attempt to write code on a computer on which I had no chance of working.
Some time later, Jamal Akbar told me personally that my interview with him was one of the most fascinating and entertaining interviews he had ever experienced.