Imagine a world filled with rows upon unending rows filled with the eerie glow from CRT monitors. A world filled with anonymous emaciated slaves furiously typing away at a badly worn keyboard. A world of little light and lesser humanity. Imagine yourselves entering a narrow dim-lit corridor only to be met by a room with a board proclaiming it to be the "music room" with a bold notice saying "Please do not touch and play with the instruments". Welcome to my world.
A reality check
Granted. Perhaps my world is not as bad as that. But the part about the "music room" is definitely true. So far life as a working man, a yuppie, has been quite pleasant. Though the air conditioning is being a bit nauseating. The city of NOIDA, being both decently planned and relatively free of pollution, has been quite enjoyable. One point of interest is the Shipra Mall located in Ghaziabad. Note, this is not your stereotypical mall of unimaginative glass and steel with large hoardings and banners filled with in-your-face advertising. This mall is architecturally beautiful, reminiscent of an ancient Greek or Roman edifice. The advertising, though present, is understated and tastefully placed. Adjoining the mall is a large lawn and a small amphitheatre, sitting where, one can while away the time listening to good music from WorldSpace radio. All in all, a very livable place this. But, I digress. The point of this piece was to vent my ire.
Venting my ire
My day dawns at the unearthly hour of 8:30 am. I make my way, like countless other hapless souls in overcrowded means of transport, to the "code factory floor". OK, perhaps I should stop exaggerating. But, in my half asleep state, such a metaphor is not beyond imagination. When we clock in at 9:30 am, the training hall is already filling with just as half asleep folks taking their seats, not quite looking forward to the day. For, the training is being conducted as though the end of the world was to be tomorrow. We, the unwitting trainees are being stuffed with Java knowledge like a duck with herbs before a delectable preparation of pâté de foie gras. Perhaps the company is hoping that we will turn out to be just as delectable with our Java code. They may be out for a sad disappointment. Except perhaps from the Grandfathers of all Java Knowledge. That brings me to this question.
What in this God forsaken world of coding is a pseudo-address?
Yes, a pseudo-address. You know, a fake address. As to why anyone would want a fake address is beyond me. Allow me to explain the context behind this question. Those who are uninterested in the world of coding may feel free to skip this paragraph, but please continue to sympathise with me. In our cozy little group of trainees exists a group of two or three individuals who consider themselves to be the Grandfathers of all Java Knowledge. I am sure there are quite a few here with good knowledge in Java, but this term applies only to those select few with an uncanny ability to make up impressive sounding nonsensical jargon in an instant. Yes, I am talking of the few who ask magnificent and complicated doubts, that they themselves but half understand, just to look smart and knowledgeable. In one such doubt asking sessions, one of the venerable Grandfathers, while completely aware that Java doesn't disclose the memory locations of the Objects due to security considerations, asked the befuddled trainer how one would go about obtaining the memory location of an Object. He proposed further that the function hashcode() called on an Object would return only an integer and that integer perhaps referred to a pseudo-address. My sincere advise to you, Sir, is "let it go". You are not impressing anyone and you are just being an annoying &^%$! to everyone.
That said, please expect many new features and bug fixes in The Java Diaries. Version 1, Release 2.