Tell me about yourself – a sample

Campus placements were buzzing in my sister’s college and I had to help her out with the HR interview questions and ‘be nice to her’ by writing up on the most dreaded “Tell me about yourself”. So here is the sample write-up I came up after gathering the details that she wanted to share with the interviewer. Sharing it here, as it can help everyone. This is just a sample write up which can be used as a reference.


I’m Akshaya from Chennai doing my final year engineering in Information Technology. I did my schooling in school-name, secured 87% and feel privileged to pursue my engineering in this prestigious institution.

I’m a passionate, optimistic & dedicated woman who takes up responsibilities with utmost enthusiasm and see to it that I complete my tasks and assignments in time. I’ve a great amount of perseverance to achieve my goal. My optimistic and planned approach in things I do is what driving me towards my success.

As how I strive for perfection in things, I expect the same from others as well. If things go out of control or go way out of track, I go an extra mile and contribute my efforts, in getting things done in time.

I love music – a good inclination towards Carnatic & a little of western. I do selectively read books mostly fiction & fantasy – Harry Potter, Narnia kind of, some cartoons occasionally too!

I come from Tamil Brahmin family born in Delhi and brought up in the multi-cultured, multi-cuisine flavours of Chennai. I’m the only daughter of my parents. I’ve an elder brother who is currently working in company-name and he has been my Wikipedia for everything under the sky. He inspired me in literally everything I do. I, being in IT derive knowledge and inspiration from him, as he is the source of constant support & help in all spheres of my life.

Well, that’s it!


This is just a two minute quick and brief write-up on ‘Tell me about yourself’. The idea is, everyone should have something like this written in paper and should give a quick read before the interview. This will help you to organize your thoughts and cascade the details which you are going to share in the interview.

Importantly, do not mug up your write-up. Be fluent and confident. If you miss out any point, you can always add it later on during the interview.

All the best!

PS: After my own First Interview Experience, I’m sharing another interview tip after a very long time. She is now placed in Infy! 🙂

Why This Kolaveri Di? – A musical anecdote

Persuaded by the sudden leakage of the audio of numerically titled Tamil movie ‘3’ (Moondru) with Dhanush as lead and the singer himself, I had this quintessential urge of a typical twenty five something tamil homo sapien to plunge into the musical ocean and swim across the much hyped song bearing the title pregnant with a British English heavily doped with southern dialect madras slang ‘Why this Kolaveri di?’. I express my heartfelt gratitude to my friends, for the FB wall shares, who diligently leverage the social media to tout their avid inclination to family and kinship, proclaiming their consanguineal roots by listing them religiously under the Family category. The shortened URL shares on Twitter as well, did extend a warm hand to gratify my urge to reverberate my Tympanic membrane.

The song in itself is a celestial incarnation of the mythological hymn that echoed the golden walls of heaven, sung with music emanating from the holy harps and ethereal melody from the chimes, supplemented to lutes and gongs. This song promises to accentuate the very fact that, music is a form of tacit cognizance, which can be understood only by the individuals who can perceive the real nitty-gritty of such aural delicacy.

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Shhh – The Secret Desires


Who doesn’t have a secret desire or rather a desirous secret!

Back in kindergarten, a small boy would have had the secret desire to deceive the teacher’s eyes and run back home, escaping from the torture of repeating every line of rhymes, sung horribly by the teacher or writing A, B, C in those multicoloured four lined notebooks in a devastatingly tedious cursive handwriting. He also had the secret desire to escape from his mom’s wrath, when he playfully, carelessly loses his Geometry box in the school premises, even sometimes flicked by a notoriously naughty brat in his class.


Back in college days, every guy would have had a secret desire to win the pinky rose and cute heart of that-one-girl-from-city who never ceases to amuse them with her round inquisitive eyes and her sweet little lips which slips, dips and pouts at instances which guys never forget to remember. The desire to secretly encroach her heart, by helping her out with the for-loops, structures and polymorphisms in the computer laboratory periods with frequent ‘groundnuts’ charring in the conversations as if indigenously borne in each one of them, leaving others to gape in flaming awe and to many’s dismay.


Back in corporate training days, every single, yeah read as ‘single’ guys, who have failed to experience those sweet secrets – koo-chi-koo talks, late night SMS-ing her, weekend ‘enjoy maadi’ to Mayajaal, Satyam and Mahabalipuram, would have had a desperate desire – a secret desire rather, to get clandestinely committed to that one chick in the hall, who always completes her assignments in time and spends the remaining time in her mobile phone sandwiched intact in between her palms and ears. They even have a desire to walk casually with her to the office Food courts, Canteen, Coffee Machines, Coffee Cafe Days and to building lobbies to read newspaper and to hold their head high with pride and fall into the prejudice of incinerating their friends’ and onlookers’ stomach. Little did they know that, they are one among the many who hang out with her and not the only one hanging out with her!


Back in real testing times, when work piles up and tortures you with the ‘Kumbibaagam’ retribution as in “Garuda Puranam’, you have a secret desire for the client to drop a mail to you informing that he doesn’t want that particular functionality to be implemented in the module which is torturing you to hell. You even have a secret desire to show case to your manager, your extent of putting ‘extra efforts’ to fulfil the year’s goals by stretching more than one’s capability.

When the project gets implemented successfully and mails float to and fro from onsite to offshore, you have that ‘secret desire’ to find your name in the mail with a special mention for your dedication and commitment. Little did you know that few months later, some unfortunate cursed soul will be banging his head, to fix the fatal bug in the code cursing you – the code which you had worked day and night, invariably adds to your adversity.


Now, every blogger will have a secret desire to get 100s of comments in his blog for all the crap he writes and would refresh and check his mail every other second for the mail alert from the blog. The desire even secretly builds up to such an extent that it desires a dedicated Facebook page for your blog and 1000s of people ‘Liking’ it multiplying your fame to infinity!

Desires are easily mutable. It exists in every form and in every place. They are not controllable and acts like an unstable Uranium isotope. It is up to us to use cadmium or indium control rods of common sense well ahead, to prevent the uncontrolled fission reactions bursting later on!

So what’s your recent secret Desire?

She – in a stranger tide!

Silhouetted on the shores of Marina, she walked along in a revealing attire. It was a sleeveless top with small, above-the-knee skirt with patches of open stitches here and there. I looked at her as she walked holding a big plastic cover full of assorted materials. Her hair, left open dangling and swaying in the air. When she walked past me, the silhouetted image just came to light revealing her face and she let out a smile in which I became a captive.

To many, it can be an awesome experience, but to me it was a pitiful sight – the sight of a 10 year old rag picking girl, who picks up random stuffs from the shores of Marina for her livelihood. Every item that she picks up, it creates a profound value in her life. The life that needs to be sustained and survived is controlled by the litters of those, who throw things, which do not make any value to their life. She doesn’t complain. She has no regrets doing that. The only concern she has is, of the food that she gets when needed and a safe shelter. Education doesn’t mean anything to her. Neither is she aware of the sanctity of education nor does she have the financial support to uplift her economic stature.

There is an array of huts and houses built just with thatches, with no bricks or cement. Every morning, as my office bus passes by the Marina Beach Road running parallel to the beach behind the light house, it gives me a dual view of the cavernous mighty Bay of Bengal on one side, whose shore is impregnated with homeless destitute souls sleeping on the sandy shores, an assortment of painted fishing boats, in whose interiors, sleeps a lazy dog, scattered papers, plastic bags and torn pieces of clothes, tents under which the child sleeps hugging the stinky fishing net and the sands sticking all over their dark and tanned skin, random people from huts walking aimlessly on the sands.

On the other side of which consists of the untidy huts and stinky slums, with children bathing in the open, under the hand pump, an array of colorful plastic pots to be filled with the ground water – the only source of clean water for them, the construction site half built and half completed, completely revealing the red bricks and cement pastes in between them, for holding the bricks intact for eternity until demolished by a bulldozer from the government for illegal construction, a hand drawn caricature of local heroes implicit of the ‘Narpani Mandrams’. Few small children clad in maroon or blue trousers and skirts with white shirt walking uninterestingly towards the government school situated in some corner of the dilapidated roads and buildings, just for the sake of free mid-day meals scheme.

‘She’ belonged to one of those – who hates schools, who hates homework, who hates being commanded by the teacher, who doesn’t care about how a Garnier Fructis or a Elle-18 can affect her, who does not even think about entering a boutique and prefers staring at the skimpy clad mannequin bearing an apparel from the brands of Arrow Women, Levis, Sanaa, Hugo Boss, Benetton or even Elliza Donatein. She only cares about next course of good food, an untiring day of work in a nearby construction site or surprisingly good items savored to her from the roads and sandy shores of Marina and lastly a peaceful sleep at night.

It gives me an extreme twinge in mind – a spasm that conducts through every nerve endings and sparks in the cranial hollow space, filled with blood and flesh. This pain recuperates for a time period until unexposed from them and sets back again when passing through them. When speculating their lives and its progress, the intellect guides me to its very own programmed fact – the way of life – way of their own life.

It’s merely a line which divides the economic condition of every Indians. A line that demarcates the financial well being of every individual, decides the very fate and destiny. Once someone falls in the range, they continue to be in that range and their very conscience never ever accepts the idea of upgrading their economic condition. Upper-class of people continues to stay there, the upper-middle class strives to cross the boundary to attain the upper-class status and a middle-class never ever attempts to cross any line. They just sustain themselves in that scale and protect themselves from falling below the line. The poor cadres as defined by the line, curse their fate and live their life in the mud ridden roads and pavements.

Everyone in this world belong to some scale of that ‘holy’ line and also gets an opportunity to watch, stare, ogle, gaze or see such a ‘stranger’ in their life – each one of them belonging to some scale of the ‘line’. Everyone desires a position but very few are destined a position.

I’m wondering how many other strangers are desired, destined and most importantly a blessed one. She is definitely a destined poor dark-skinned financially fragile little rag picking girl.

She complains only of mosquito bites at night and torn patches of stitches in her dress and we complain of number ‘Likes’ in Facebook! *sigh*

Atlast the Bug was caught

A little long P.S:

I took this picture late at night around 1.30 am when I was watching a movie in my comp on a Friday night. That insect was irritating me crawling all around the Hero’s, Heroine’s and possibly on everyone’s face in the monitor. It was because the light was switched off (I know its a bad habit to see a monitor with all the lights switched off!) and the monitor was the only source of light in the room.

I shooed it away. but it kept crawling over the monitor. Suddenly it struck me. not sure if the movie I was watching did the effect (Tron Legacy!) I quickly went to my other room, took out my SLR, slid the battery in and came back to my comp, opened a sample C program and was there all set with my cam focused on the monitor, as how a soldier waits for the target with his sniper!

The insect didnt come! 😐

I uneasily waited for it around 10 minutes and there it was again in the corner of the screen, I was waiting for it to come near the code snippet at appropriate place so that I can have a shot at it. I even used my mouse pointer to guide it to the center of the monitor or amid the code snippet, duh!

I was waiting patiently with one hand in the Camera button and other in the Lens focus ring. After some 10 minutes, it flew around the corner and came and sat right in the center. I was all excited again, focused my cam, adjusted the zoom and there I clicked.


The  fly flew away with the click sound. The image was also not proper. Insect was skewed and composition was little bad. Later I realized that there was pin drop silence in the room and hence the shutter sound frightened the fly! (Not sure if the fly can hear sounds!)


I then devised the plan. I played the movie in the background little loud in the speakers and then again setting my camera right (ISO 1600). This time took few shots of the code to check if the shutter sound is barely audible. Yeah! it wasn’t audible.

Now again some 15 minutes of waiting, there came the fly marching up from the ‘int nmax’, I quickly zoomed and there it goes, three shots!

Aaaah! Watte satisfaction!

Atlast the Bug was caught.

P.P.S: I should show the same dedication while de’bug’ging my COBOL code in office!