Intersections

We had been badgering L for a treat, primarily because nobody had anything better to do. L decided to graciously oblige on Friday (he called it the `treat for unknown reasons') and invited all of us for dinner at Andhra Pradesh Bhawan. The usual delays happened while M got her kids ready, and V asked P (her husband) whether they are joining in the treat or not, who in turn asked V again the same thing. Everyone included, there were nine of us and the kids. A half an hour drive got us to A.P. Bhawan, where we had our Rs.50-all-you-can-eat thalis. There was dal, rice, chappatis, halwa, two vegetable dishes, curd and some of us also ordered some chicken dishes (which of course cost extra).

I started eating with a spoon, and soon spotted L merrily delving into heaps of rice with his hand. He gave me a knowing smile and said `Do you use a spoon at home?' I do not, and I saw the point. I was with friends. I could act like myself (carving out chicken pieces with a knife n fork is so "not-me"). I looked around, everybody - even V's cute little daughter, shared my world and made it that little bit more special. As S enlightened everybody with his theory of super compression, I saw the candour and gay abandon with which everyone behaved. We all waited until V finished the last morsel of food on her plate, as she has a strict no-food-goes-waste policy. After which, battling bits of chicken stuck between my teeth, I followed my friends on walk under the stars to the India Gate. Ice cream from one of the numerous ice cream carts parked all around India Gate was the cherry on this cake of an evening.

Saturday morning had me running around with Dad, trying to get this and that done, when B called, asking if I was free to join him for a trip to Gurgaon. Engrossed in the call, I locked my car keys inside the car, which cost me an hour's round trip home, on bus and on foot, to fetch the duplicate keys. With all chores done, B picked me up from home and we reached Gurgaon in an hour. There we paid a visit to G. Amongst 14-20 story high-rises and very chick malls, Gurgaon seemed... different. G's home is on the seventh floor of one of these high-rises, whose top floor houses a couple of penthouses. I paid a visit to one of these, and I'll not say anything more about that.

After wandering around a mall with B and G for an hour, acting mostly like juvenile teenagers, I suddenly came to the conclusion I am blessed. B and G are my childhood buddies, from school. They probably knew my every surprise reaction to their every frivolous action, by now. Moreover, they too shared my world. I am sure the honour, and the good luck is all mine. For lunch, we gorged on Pizza Hut pizzas. Then I freaked out at a bookstore spending way too much money in proportion to what I earn, while, G spent like an hour buying cards from Archies for someone whose identity he refused to reveal! Then we headed back home.

At night, H called. H is a friend from college (a.k.a. UG days). Another friend of H needed some information, which I gave, after which H informed me that he is getting married on the 27th. Congrats! I must've shouted so loudly on the phone, H went mum for a good ten seconds. Guess he's practicing keeping his mouth shut. Another friend, another world.

At the end of all this, I formed this theory. I am the center of my world, as are my friends the centers of their worlds. Our worlds intersect. In doing so, we make each other's a bit more habitable. Their colours intertwine with mine to paint my days in the menagerie of chaotic hues, which form my life. It makes my existence less boring, more complicated and a lot more interesting. And for that I am thankful.

Oh... there is always room for more chaos in my life, so you are welcome to come and intersect my world!

Kya tumko pata hai?

Kya tumko pata hai?
Makhmali raat ki chadar mein,
Tumhare zulfon ki khusboo hai,
Samundar par leheron ki harkat mein,
Tumhari aankhon ka jadoo hai.

Kya tumko pata hai?
Zindagi ki madhosh dhadkane,
Tumhari sanson ki deewani hai,
Junoon ke har zarre ki tamanna,
Tumhari simat ti javani hai.

Kya tumko pata hai?
Asma mein suraj ki lali,
Tumhare hoton ki rangat hai,
Is nazm ka bekarar intezar,
Tumhara likha har khat hai.

Kya tumko pata hai?
Sharmati kaliyon ka phoolon mein khilna,
Tumhare choone ka ehsaas hai,
Meri humsafar, mere chalne ki manzil,
Tumhari parchai ke paas hai.

Kya tumko pata hai?
Zamane se jeetne ki himmat,
Tumhare awaaz ki kashish hai,
Meri soch ki nason mein daud rahi,
Tumhari chahat ki khwahish hai.

Every once in a while

My weekends are usually lazy replays of the other days of the week past. But the sudden rain had ushered in a great looking Friday evening which had `great weekend ahead' written all over it. Delhi acquires this uncharacteristic fresh beauty after every rain... but then that's the rain-and-Delhi-and-me speaking more than anything else. Saturday started like any other Saturday... I was working. Well, I was mostly helping S out with his work, but that is work nonetheless. Then suddenly, a very anorexic girl decided to faint in the corridor right outside my room. After all the flurry of activity that generated, died down (with the girl being carted off to the nearest hospital - she's alive though), I went back to helping S. I was all set to return home early, when S asked me to stay back a while longer... and then again a bit more... and a bit more. Helping a friend in need ensured by the time I left work, it was 6:30pm. In between all this, I had rustled up late night movie plans with B. And I had to be at his house by 8pm, so I was way late already.

Being late, however, did not change the fact that the day after was Mom's birthday. So I decided to shop for some pastries. I turned up at the nearby confectionery shop and got some chocolate truffle pastries (finger-lickingly delicious). Then I also stopped to pickup a couple of chicken-sheek rolls (need I say more). There was this interesting couple, also waiting for their order, while I waited for mine. Suave looking middle-aged guy, and a hep and relatively young girl (I am really bad at guessing a woman's age so I might be mistaken about that). They were having this technical bits-n-bytes conversation, while their double egg rolls were being deep fried. With the rolls served and eaten, they got up and went out the glass door. The girl lifted up the waste-bin flap and threw her paper plate in. And the guy - he decided to emulate Michael Jordan very badly and missed the waste-bin by miles. And then, with total callous disregard to the environment... walked away without bothering to clean up. I had half a mind to catch him and give him an earful, but my rolls arrived and I decided his girl would probably dump him anyway. So I rushed back home, dropped off bought goods and rushed to B's place. Met this total stranger on the bus, who was quite friendly and wanted my email. Barely made it on time, thanks to the awesome driving prowess of DTC bus drivers.

Then it was straight off to PVR Saket for Hitch in B's new car. Funny movie. Got back home late, n Mom was awake and waiting, as usual. It was five minutes past twelve, so a warm Happy Birthday hug put things into place, right away. Sleep.

5:30am, Sunday morning, I was thrown off my bed because we (me n parents) had to go and cleanup our `new' home at the other end of the city, where we would be shifting sometime soon. A 30 minutes drive in a cool Delhi dawn was quite charming, and dangerous, as I was half asleep at the wheel. Better part of the day was spent scrubbing wall paint off furniture and doors, negotiating with tailors about curtain colours and fixing the one broken tile on the bathroom floor. Mom seemed to be in an entirely blissful state, trying to tidy up the place - what a way to spend her birthday, but then that's Mom. Returned home dead beat. Stayed home till late evening, and helped finish off the pastries. *Happy Birthday Mom!* Then B called with plans for another movie.

And so we were back at PVR at 8:45 for the 9:15 show of Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi. B was a little doubtful about the movie, but he usually succumbs to my choice. Houseful! Dejected we made our way to Mark-Pi and had two plates of heavenly chicken momos. With our esurient spirits buoyant and satiated, we waited for that chance last-minute cancellation at the ticket counter, and voila - two tickets. Which turned out to be right in the center of the last row of Audi-2. The movie was good. And I mean good. It was a movie about a lot of things - deep things, heady things, but mostly it was a movie about love. Of many kinds of love, infact. B liked it too. It was also a movie about somethings everybody understands but nobody can explain. Like I said... love.

B drove me back home at midnight. Everything I do, Lady in Red, Take my breath away... Cool breeze. A fantastic music system in B's car. Empty roads. Super friend. Delhi on a rain soaked night. Home.

Every once in a while, clouds do have a silver lining. And then, there is a Monday!

Today and Ever After

The day was turning out to be like any other. It was five in the evening, and the work was showing no sign of getting over. Shaaswat knew he was going to miss opening night again. He looked out of the window - the sun beating down on the limp leaves was winning the battle for a scorching summer. Everybody had already left the office. Yesterday. It was a Saturday after all. Officially, the office was closed. He, however, had to finish the project appraisal report today. He stared at the computer screen. The wallpaper was a mad rush of colours. Shikha had made that. "She must be at the auditorium now," he thought. He had missed the opening nights of her last two plays. She had been angry. More disappointed perhaps.

He started on the next section of his report. "She will surely leave this time." It was not just the plays. It was their lives. "This report will never get done. How did I get stuck again? " They were living together for a year now. Inhabiting the same corner of space. The old fan overhead was making a screeching sound. The sound of worn-out machinery. "I'll make it up to her. Somehow."

Shaaswat had been smitten the first time he saw her act. Crash! The open windowpane banged hard against the metal frame. A sudden squall had turned the sky ashen gray. He fastened the latch, to keep the window open, firmly. "It will probably rain. At least then it will not be so hot." He had stalked her for weeks before she agreed to their first date. The keyboard was suddenly covered by a layer of dust, blown in by an intruding gust of wind. He could feel the grains of dirt on his fingertips as he typed in the project schedule chart. "I've become so used to her now. Maybe that is the problem. We have become too used to each other." A bolt of lightning lit up the room suddenly, followed by rumbling thunder. "Ah! Rain." The air filled up with the smell of earth, washed by the sudden downpour. Another bolt of light, a blinding flash, and then darkness. "Not a power cut! Not now, please!" The UPS started making a loud buzz. "That will not last another ten minutes. How do I finish this report now?" In the eerie glow of the monitor, he could see the play tickets lying on the table. "Should I? But the rain..."

Shaaswat looked out of the window. The rain was getting stronger, washing over the concrete of a parched cityscape. He reached down to switch his computer off.

Disclaimer: All portrayed events and characters are completely fictional and any similarity to real events and people, living or dead, is unintended and purely coincidental.

Everybody's nobody

Everybody wants me to speak what they want to hear,
Nobody wants to hear me speak.

Everybody wants me to see their point of view,
Nobody wants to share my sights.

Everybody wants me to write what they think,
Nobody wants to read my mind.

Everybody wants me to cheer for their cause,
Nobody wants to be my comrade.

Everybody wants me to solve their problem,
Nobody wants to help me with mine.

Everybody wants me to live in their world,
Nobody wants to live with me.

Everybody wants me to run after them,
Nobody wants to wait for me.

Everybody wants me to understand,
Nobody wants to listen.

Everybody wants me,
Nobody cares.

Questions, anyone?

What more do I have to do, to get your attention?
Why are you making my life a colloidal suspension?

Have you read what I have been writing?
How, after that, can you remain uninviting?

Am I out of phase? Well! Don't opposites attract?
Are you just being cruel, or is it my lack of tact?

Ever written a mushy song between a suspension bridge design?
Or tried to think in rhyme while working an assembly line?

A 'hi' is all I want. Is that too much to ask?
Or is acknowledging my existence such a disagreeable task?

A buzz on a messenger window perhaps? Or did I make the ignore list?
Are you playing hard to get, or has my understanding of you hit a limiting Nyquist?

Who am I asking all these questions to?
I have no idea, just a distinct sense of déjà vu.

I seek you

In the morning dew on mango leaves, I seek you,
In moonlit sands walked on velvety eves, I seek you,

In the youth of a spring bloom, I seek you,
In the lashing rains of a monsoon, I seek you,

In the divine beauty of natural perfection, I seek you,
In a city riddled with sloppy construction, I seek you,

In a haute boutique, in the corner sweet shop, I seek you,
In a Mozart fugue, in the blues and hip-hop, I seek you,

In Guernica's battle raging in Frida's smile, I seek you,
In an ancient Indus meeting a desert Nile, I seek you,

In Bridget's diary, in the next Cosmo quiz, I seek you,
In a dollop of Tiramisu, in the latest diet fizz, I seek you,

In Apu outrunning a running train, I seek you,
In Subhash fighting bondage of an oppressive reign, I seek you,

In the rejection of a dinner date, I seek you,
In Meera's quest for her eternal mate, I seek you,

In the elusive top of a bottom quark, I seek you,
In the immortal I of Howard Roark, I seek you,

In the winning four of the one day match, I seek you,
In the smoking struggle of a nicotine patch, I seek you,

In the satiated hunger of war ravaged children, I seek you,
In the unwavering faith of praying men, I seek you,

In the shaking earth evoking fearless courage, I seek you,
In the countless unknown paying homage, I seek you,

In the caged wild, and the disappearing royal, I seek you,
In the shame of cheating, and pride of the loyal, I seek you,

In the revolution for future peace, I seek you,
In the rented heart with a lifetime lease, I seek you,

In the tired rush to work day after day, I seek you,
In the female child having her say, I seek you,

In the endless strife for an equal existence, I seek you,
In flowing blood meeting a calm resistance, I seek you,

In a flickering light-bulb occupying a village hut, I seek you,
In the solitary opening door, for the ten that shut, I seek you,

In the rhythmic trance of disco lights, I seek you,
In the hormonal angst of teenage frights, I seek you,

In the experience of the restless old, I seek you,
In the brash erotica of the brazen bold, I seek you,

In utter confusion of impossible possibles, I seek you,
In mute silence of exponential decibels, I seek you,

In shattered ceilings and transgressed thresholds, I seek you,
In quenched thirsts and satin enriched silken folds, I seek you.

In poetic justice for political vanity, I seek you,
In the maddening agitation against prevalent sanity, I seek you,

In a new born child's first unrestrained cry, I seek you,
In a dying man's last stifled sigh, I seek you,

In the ending of a life-long walk, I seek you,
In the risky beckons of opportunity's knock, I seek you,

In the mirror, us, from thou to thee, I seek you,
In my head, my heart, my every breath, in me, I seek you.

Wasted

I am the last preference of everybody around,
Piercing silence in a medley of sound,

A black sheep in a heard of woolly white,
Everything I do is wrong, anything I don't, is right,

Wallowing in tubs of my piteous self,
Why, my existence is worse than Dobby, the house elf,

Bored to death of a bleached out day,
Searching for sense seems like that needle in the hay,

Suffering the ignorant arrogance of suffocating pomp,
Balancing withering wisdom against a teenage romp,

My speech has dropped to monosyllables, idiotic and terse,
All I do now is write lines of nonsense verse.

Busy

Busy.
Very busy.

Too busy to sit down.
Too busy to busy to stand still.

Too busy to write my next poem.
Too busy to complete the impending report.

Too busy to gorge on a chicken burger.
Too busy to enjoy those sumptuous seven courses.

Too busy to find that moment of peace.
Too busy to fight through this state of unrest.

Too busy for chores at home.
Too busy to play football.

Too busy to fall asleep.
Too busy to daydream.

Too busy to do anything.
Too busy to do nothing.

Too busy to take a break.
Too busy to work.

Very busy.
Busy.

Ice Maiden

From a block of water, frozen,
Many a precise, violent chisel stroke,
Choose carefully your sinuous curves,
Every niche glittered with the beauty it evoke.

Preempted of colour by your elemental form,
You shine brilliant, in reflection,
Borrowing every shred of light around,
A divine aura envelops you to perfection.

Hypnotized by those sparkling eyes,
Senses leave my being, to service your smallest bid,
The creator bows to the lover's quest,
Enraptured to forget the act of breath, if you so forbid.

Hands in want of a sweet caress,
Touch, to feel your silken fold,
And as shivers prick a yearning heart,
All I sense is a damning cold.

Betrayed by the frigid kiss,
I stand in awe of your glacial essence,
In the fading darkness of a cursed night,
Yet my wailing heart I cannot fence.

As the day mounts in a blur of heat,
I awake from my enchanted trance,
To find myself, awash in receding pools of ice, molten,
Serving reminders of a doomed romance.

Past Five Days

After a five hour train journey,
And a chicken and noodles dinner,
Me and friend landed at a beautiful hostel,
Greeted with the sight of boys playing cricket, at 2am, on a floodlit field.

Single rooms - a luxury?
A 3am grilled sandwich later, we hit the sack,
Friend was abducted by mosquitoes later that night,
Hence no trouble in waking up next morning.

Three stuffed pancakes for breakfast,
Fueled us up enough,
To brave the trek to the seminar site,
Where we met other fellow aliens.

Talks, tea-break, talks, lunch, friends's talk, my talk,
And another tea break,
Brought us a lot of pats-on-the-back and two job offers,
The evening finale was a grand dinner.

A walk back to the hostel at 12am,
Friend, me and fellow aliens decided to witness,
The cricket for a good two hours, before,
A discussion on the problems facing the country lulled us to sleep.

Friend had acquired adequate protection, against the anopheles,
So he required a loud beating on his door, the next morn,
Next day a best talk prize, pumped enough caffeine in the bloodstream,
To stay up till 3:45am, and catch a taxi to the station.

Half past four, me, friend and the solitary cow on the platform,
Somebody forgot to wake up the poor train,
Another five hours, after the initial two,
Saw us back at home.

End of worries? I wish!
Another day, another presentation,
A five star hotel this time, in place of a hostel,
With cricket playing boys replaced by corporate zombies.

Lots and lots of food, and a concert,
And a grand meeting with the Head of the State,
Friend got invited to the palace,
Which instantly put his upset stomach in good spirits.

Evening, eleven, I come back, to find waiting in my inbox,
A mail announcing rejection,
My creation of blood and sweat disappeared in a puff of smoke,
I almost crashed the car on my drive back home.

Sad, and sleepy, next day morning passed in a blur,
I am left standing, I wonder how?
After five days of illogical existence,
Everything seems frozen in a precarious balance.

I am still alive,
The world doesn't seem to mind my existence,
The world is still alive, and I do not mind that much either,
And I am alive? Amazing!

Evolving Minds, Thinking Machines

In my previous pieces on Incompleteness and Chaos, I have often come close to writing about the human mind. I have certainly had questions about the way we understand ourselves (philosophically and scientifically). How did we evolve into conscious, thinking, intelligent beings? Since any theory must stand experimental validation, can scientists test and validate the theory of evolution? Will we ever be able to duplicate our intelligence, our way of thinking in machines? How well can we answer the question, "How do we think?" Here are some glimpses in what may be the answers.

Let us start by taking the tour of a lab populated by 200 computers in the basement of the Plant and Soil Sciences building at Michigan State University. Researchers and scientists here have worked over a decade, to develop Avida. Avida is a digital evolution research platform. What, you might ask, is digital evolution? Consider this scenario:

A digital organism is a few lines of program code which initially does not do anything useful, but can replicate and produce other copies of code like itself. We will call it a primitive digital organism. At regular intervals, we present it with a pair of numbers. At first, it will not be able to do anything with the numbers. Nevertheless, each time it replicates, there is a small chance that one of its command lines might mutate into something else. On a rare occasion, these mutations will allow the organism to process one of the numbers in a simple way. It may acquire the ability simply to read a number, for example, and then produce an identical output.

If that happens, we reward the digital organism by speeding up the time it took it to reproduce. If an organism could read two numbers at once, we would speed up its reproduction even more. If they could add the numbers, we would give them an even bigger reward. Within six months, a lab doing this experiment had organisms, which were addition whizzes. The organisms always evolved, but what was more surprising was exactly how the organisms were adding numbers. Some of the ways they developed during evolution were completely insane, something, which even their creators, had not thought of.

In Avida, a population of self-replicating computer programs is subjected to external pressures (such as mutations and limited resources like a rationed supply of nutrition) and allowed to evolve subject to natural selection. This is not a mere simulation of evolution -- digital organisms in Avida evolve to survive in a complex computational environment and adapt to perform entirely new traits in ways never expected by the researchers, some of which seem highly creative.

Using Avida, scientists have found plausible answers to questions like: Can complex organisms like humans evolve from simple precursors like single celled protozoa? Can natural selection produce a complex organ like the human brain? Why does a forest have so many varieties of plants as in shouldn't only the fittest species have survived? Why do organisms cooperate in nature, when competing for existence? Why is not all reproduction in nature asexual when it is far more efficient than the sexual variety? The implications are completely mind blowing and give rare insights into why we are, the way we are, today.

If you think, however, we know enough already, you are mistaken. Let us consider another facet of this self-quest. The human brain performs at least one quadrillion operations per second, almost a thousand times more than the best supercomputers. Given the overwhelming complexity of the brain, it is not surprising to know that neuro-scientists still do not understand the way the brain processes information. The so called `neural code' which encodes the complex working of small electrical and magnetic impulses, which jump between our neurons, is still not very well understood. How are thoughts triggered in our head? How exactly does a set of neurons fire in or out of sequence to make some of us feel ravenous at the smell of a freshly baked chocolate cake, while making others feel completely nauseated?

Even though the scientists do not know how or why, they seem to be able to record what the neurons do. The patterns in which a whole orchestra of neurons fire in response to a stimuli is observable. By implanting electrodes in a monkey's brains, and analyzing the information from a small set of neurons, scientists have invented a system that could recognize patterns in monkey brains well enough to let the animals swing a robot arm to the left or to the right with their thoughts.

Curiously scientists still argue that chips which, would even, be able to decipher, let alone control the human mind are still far away in the future. When signals in the monkey's brain accompanying a specific arm movement are recorded; they can be processed by a computer and be used to move a robot arm. If the monkey's arm is tied down, the monkey learns how to control the robot arm using an entirely different set of neural signals. The mutability of neural code means even though chips one day might help restore memory to stroke patients or learn taekwondo instantly, in true Matrix style, but there is no way they will be able to identify the memory of your grandmother in a particular series of neural impulses.

Do we jump from here to cyborg implants on humans or maybe an artificial intelligence? The answer to both is still very much uncertain. Consider that the organisms in Avida can evolve in ways inconceivable by its creators. Will harmful computer viruses be able evolve like this someday? How can we tell when an evolving piece of software begins `thinking' on its own, when we do not even exactly know how we think ourselves? If scientists and engineers ever succeed in building a truly intelligent machine based on a neural coding scheme similar to ours, we won't able to read its mind either!

I'll sum up with a line about the human mind, which I heard at the end of a National Geographic television program many years ago:

The most powerful thinking entity on this planet is still unable to understand itself.

All the technical content in this post was obtained from the following sources:

• Testing Darwin
• The Myth of Mind Control
• Mind over Machine

Read these excellent articles to know more about the subjects discussed in this post.

Tum

Sulagti zameen par moam ki moorat, Tum.

Ghutan ki raaton main hawa ka jhonka, Tum.

Sookhe hoton par bheegi mitti ki khusboo, Tum.

Ret ki aandhi main meri aankhon ki palken, Tum.

Patjhad ki rahon par patton ki rangat, Tum.

Saagar ki leheron main sahare ka tinka, Tum.

Akeli sharmati parchai ki sangini, Tum.

Jagti ghabrayi neendon ka sapna, Tum.

Dhund ki subah main ugta suraj, Tum.

Sard tanhayee main makhmali odhni, Tum.

Safed kagaz par shayari ki likhayi, Tum.

Dard ke sharbat mai khuskhus ki thandak, Tum.

Behti nadiyon main chamakti dhoop, Tum.

Oonche parbat par umadta badal, Tum.

Mere sanson ke chalne ki manzil, Tum.

Mujhme mai ka aadhaar, Tum.

Tum.

Prisoners

`Let me out!'
Rage's eyes, blood red, with many a tear,
Shackled in chains of Calm,
Behind her, helpless, in the dark corner, lay Fear.

`Liberty is our right too!'
Hate screamed, voice hoarse from repeated appeal,
Rods of Laughter at the prison gates,
Glistened, hard, like fine tempered steel.

`You all will die a horrible death!'
Demented with pain, Revenge avowed,
Love stood on guard outside the cell,
While the cacophonous voices echoed.

`All of you... Hypocrites! Show mercy, please.'
A tiny whimpering child, Avarice,
Courage stiffened the walls again,
Immune to the sirenical cries.

`We will be freed by master Death! Then...'
Rasped Anguish, with malice rife,
The envelop of Delight, cringed,
Relieved that for now atleast, the master was Life.

Guilty as accused

While the princess talks of agnostic love,
And the muse searches for her inspiration,
I contemplate what pizza toppings,
must be added, from inside and above.

And I am cogitating?

Tresses soaked in lacteous honey,
And life doubting it's own origin,
I can think of nothing but getting wet in the rain,
That too on a radiant day - ain't it funny?

And I am indulgent?

The sad child has lost her vengeance again,
A million wrongs cannot do one puny right,
I just wanted to iron out the wrinkles on my pants,
So that the creases do not leave a nonwashable stain.

And I am unjust?

Left, leaving, long gone, back to home,
Rather be her, than be him, poor man,
I only wrote of two elope with twain,
The answer: four; on all roads to Rome.

And I am illogical?

An aubade to endless sleep,
Fighting conversion with a literate rage,
I instead dreamed of my perfect date,
I danced, sang and counted sheep.

And I am ironic?

Pity the crazy soul, who needs reasons to be,
Ever tried a kiss with a pungent flavour?
I put a tape on every bruise I got,
The gum will join 'em up - you'll see.

And I am faithless?

Me, Myself and Mac

Ah! Finally... My order. The Maharaja Mac always makes me wait more than other run of the mill burgers. A combination of two grilled chicken patties with a smoke-flavoured mayonnaise, fresh onions, tomatoes, processed cheddar cheese in a toasted sesame seeded bun - mmmm... heaven in the palm of my hand. I took the tray from the hands of the girl at the counter. `Thank you.' `You are welcome. Have nice meal.' I went back and snuggled into the solitary table at the corner. After rummaging through my bag for some time, I located the novel I was reading. Swami and Friends, by R. K. Narayan. I've read it a hundred times. It just wants to be read a hundred times more. So I opened the book. `Where was I now? Mmmm... Lets see.. Swami was solving that sum about mangoes.' And as the faint smile stole its way in, on the left corner of my lips, I noticed a group of three teenage girls munching away at the nearby table break into a fresh peal of laughter. `Ahem! Not at me. Must be some silly joke of their own.' I wonder if my lips move when I speak with myself. I went back to the book, and not taking my eyes of the book, I groped at the burger. I had just barely caressed the soft bun with tender hands, when:

What do you think you are doing?

I looked up. I don't see anyone. Who said that?

It is me... Look down mister. What do you think you are doing?

I looked down, and staring me in the face was a very indignant looking burger.

Who... are you? What are you? I mean... have I gone crazy?
Where are your manners boy? Hmmph! Boys these days. No good at all.

I looked around. `No one seems to be bothered by this.' I looked back at `Mac.'

Me: Are you angry?
Mac: I say! Its about time you got that.

Me: But... why?
Mac: Why do you think? Where was your attention? I am not to be trifled with.

Me: But I was not... I was only reading the book.
Mac: Then why eat? Do you read while caressing your girlfriend?

Me: I do not...

Mac: I knew it. Food... Boy... your most trusted lady. And you treat me like a second hand tramp.

Me: I meant to say I do not have a girlfriend.
Mac: Now why am I not surprised.

Me: Sheesh! What is you problem? Just let me have a bite. I am starving.
Mac: Me? Have a problem? You don't even know who you are.

Me: You sound like my blog entries now. Did someone plant you here to drive me crazy? Go away, please, ...to the way you were before.
Mac: Clueless! Absolutely clueless! And to think you write poetry sometimes.

Me: What's wrong with my poetry? Anyway why do you care?
Mac: Oh I care. I power your useless brain. I have to care. The kind you pointless, wishy-washy stuff you write... eeeyuck! I'd vomit myself, except that I do not eat.

Me: But people seem to like it. What do you know?
Mac: Which people, pray, are those? Listen to me boy... how many thoughts in your head have you penned down till date.

Me: Not many.
Mac: Why?

Me: It's... it's just that I do not know what to write. The words do not appear before my eyes. My original idea keeps on running away.
Mac: You do not pay enough attention. Big brother gave you such a nice world to live in. What a waste. You do notice half of it. Why, that kid Swami is better than you are.

Me: It will come to me someday... I have faith...
Mac: Hee hee hee... ho hoo ho!

Ever seen a burger roll over with laughter. It was really funny, except when the mayonnaise got splashed all over my shirt. Suddenly:

Mac: Do not throw that word at me. You do not even know what it means.
Me: I do.

Mac: Nah! You are just using it because of the same reason that most people do these days. It is just the ``in'' thing to say. You ignorant brat. Go wallow in your own self pity. You'll not get any compassion from me. If you know... tell me... What does it mean?
Me: It means I believe.

Mac: In what?
Me: in... in... myself?

Mac: Is that a question or is that an answer?
Me: I am just hungry now.

Mac: Do not change the subject.
Me: Ok! So I do not know. Now what!

I could see the lettuce fall out of Mac... while he was snickering at me. The red tomatoes looked mockingly delicious.

Mac: Big brother is worried about you. He knows.
Me: I do not have clue about what you are talking about.

Mac: Learn. You still have a lot to learn. But there is hope for you yet. You are not afraid to learn as such. You are only afraid of what you might learn in the process.
Me: It is not a pleasant thought you know. Being left alone. That is why I lose myself in books.

Mac: You should try to find yourself. Not in books. Well a little bit perhaps. But find more of you in the world around you. And then you will not be scared.
Me: What if I get lost?

Mac: You can always find me. I am food for your thoughts. So you will always find your thoughts. They will guide you. Prevent you from losing your way. Believe in that. That is where you need to have faith.
Me: Oh.. but...

Mac: No more buts. Now close your eyes. And follow your heart.

I closed my eyes. And I saw a sign form out of the reddest ketchup there ever will be. It said, ``E A T.'' The smile was still there on the left corner of my lips. I could hear the three girls laughing.

And as I picked up Mac for a bite, my tongue frolicking among the succulent fillings...

`Why do you think father gave me this sum? Are the mangoes ripe? He did not tell me that. I am sure the answer is hidden somewhere in the ripeness of the mangoes. Ooooh! I hate the unitary method. Don't you too?'

And I saw Swami make the most angry and flummoxed expression he could muster on his innocent face. `First talking burgers. Now talking books?' I looked around. No one seemed to be bothered by this.

One hour

8am. Today morning.

I look out of the window to find that the sky has turned an ashen gray. `Ah! It is going to rain,' I think. As I am in the shower practicing my best Kishore staccato, I hear the sound of water pouring from the heavens. I wonder, `why the heavenly showers make a different sound than my bathroom one?' As I get dressed and ready to leave for college, the rain pours steady, making a quiet humming noise running through strands of air.

I have to drop dad at the nearby dispensary. He has an appointment with the medical specialist. I check out the rain again. `Wonder if I was the earth and the rain was my fiancee, how would I feel when it fell on me? But why be affianced to someone ephemeral.' I look down, `How wet is the car? Oh I hope the rain stops - the wipers are not working.'

By the time I go down, the rain is no longer falling. `Falling? Why does the rain fall? I mean why fall? Why not float down? Or just appear maybe?' I take out the rag lying at the back of the car to dry the windshield and as I am looking around everywhere except towards the wet windows of my car I see a man walking with an open umbrella. `Surely it is not raining... does he not realize that... should I tell him? Maybe it is still raining wherever he is now.' Dad comes down in the meantime, and I start the car up.

The window is half open, the tar on the road is wet and the sound of blaring horns is trying to scare the wetness out of the air. `Why does the wet road look softer? Will it hurt less if I fall on a wet road?' Red lights, green lights, bullying busses, the ominous police van behind me, unsteady auto-rickshaws and puddles of water. The small child who begs at the traffic crossing, sporting a wide grin hops in front of my car. `She seems happy today.' I drop dad at the dispensary, and the moment he steps out `... Jaane woh kaise log the jinke, pyar ko pyar mila...' `Hemant Kumar. Why this song? I am feeling happy I guess. Is this song happy? I'll ask it the next time I meet it.'

Main gate of the college. `The roads have dried up so soon. Oh.. no!' I park the car. `The sun is out.' I see a streak of sunlight kissing wet muddy cheeks. `Or maybe he is angry with her. He thinks she has been cheating? Why didn't she run away with the rain?'

I walk towards my room. I step into the concrete corridor. Bricks, wires, people, computers, lectures. `I am late for my meeting with the professor.'

`Bye and welcome. Till next time.'

Today morning. 9am.

Chaos

After the response to my last pseudo-scientific post, Incomplete, I've decided to try my hand at another one. This one though, covers not a theorem, but a whole science in itself. Again I'd ask anyone reading this to hold on and read through the whole thing. You'll never think the same way about the world again...

The story begins in the year 1961 at MIT, Massachusetts, USA. Meteorologist Edward Lorentz was simulating global weather on his primitive computer. He had boiled weather down to the barest skeleton, to a set of few equations. The output was in the form of a string of numbers, merrily spewing out from a printer. If you knew how to read the printouts you could see westerly winds changing course, cyclones erupting and dying down, temperatures and pressures playing see-saw in
the atmosphere. One day Lorentz, wanting to examine a particular sequence in greater detail, decided to start his simulation midway through. He bootstrapped his simulation using numbers from one of his earlier printouts. He had expected the simulation to start and proceed from the point, from where he had taken the numbers he input and take the already pre-determined course. But on returning from his coffee break he found what was to be the birth of a new science.

His current simulation did not resemble the older one in any way. It had diverged at some point, and gone on diverging more and more after that. Even though he had initialized it with the same input values. Soon he realized that while his program maintained numbers up to six places of decimal (for e.g., 1.264067), the printout showed them rounded off to three place (i.e., 1.264). The only difference had been that he had used that rounded off value to initialize his toy weather. The result - where it was snowing earlier, it was now a scorching summer.

This came to be known as the Butterfly Effect which implies something like "If a butterfly flaps its wings in New York, the air currents change such that it will rain next Tuesday in Beijing."

And from this emerged the fascinating science of Chaos.

Risking a little bit scientific imprecision, let me try explain what is it all about. Determinism is the philosophical belief that every event or action is the inevitable result of preceding events and actions. Thus, in principle at least, every event or action can be completely predicted in advance, or in retrospect. Translated into laws governing the physical world it means, that given accurate measurements of the world around us, we can predict the state of the world at any point in the future. Now let us throw the monkey wrench into the machinery - No real measurement can be infinitely precise. All physical systems need measurements to start with. And hence long-term predictions about the state of these systems are nothing but mere guesses. This science of the unpredictable is called Chaos Theory.

So what? Why should you care with some arcane set of physical laws not doing something they were supposed to do? Chaos permeates our universe. Some examples: It has been found in systems describing wildlife and human population patterns, stock prices, shapes of clouds, paths of lightning bolts, intertwining of blood vessels, physiological models of the human heart, galactic clustering of stars, evolution. And it means you will never get an accurate weather prediction beyond 3 or 4 days.

But Nature is not chaotic - everywhere in Nature we see order and patterns. Where does this order come from, when there is chaos everywhere? But Chaos does not rule out patterns: Since our world is classified as a dynamical, complex system, our lives, our weather, and our experiences will never repeat; however, they should form patterns. They do and in precise terms it is called the concept of self similartiy and self similar patterns are called fractals. It is like this: never in history have two events been exactly the same, but as everyone knows history repeats itself.

For a most wonderful introduction to this subject I would suggest: "Chaos: The Amazing Science of the Unpredictable" by James Gleick.

I have an uncanny feeling that it has some metaphysical implications as well, like understanding the human mind and thought. Just think in terms of the assumptions we make daily about ourselves and others and our world, and the actions we take, and consequently the future we build for ourselves and others. But I'll not venture there. I'll leave you with this quote from William Blake:


"To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour"



References:

• Chaos: The Amazing Science of the Unpredictable by James Gleick.
• An Introduction to Chaos Theory and Fractal Geometry
• What is Chaos?

Encounters of the Bovine Kind

I step down the staircase, hurried in my time warp,
And behold in the stairwell, Her majesty,
Ruminating the secrets of the universe,
Looks up at me with eyes overflowing with kindness.

With not a inch of free space to pass,
I pole-vault my way over her towering presence,
And almost faint on top of her,
Her perfumed aura overwhelming my olfactory senses.

I somehow get out, into my car, and drive away,
Only to find in the middle of the road,
His majesty taking a stroll, absolutely nonchalant,
To the blaring horns and ruckus he's left behind.

As I screech to a halt, and crane my neck out of the window,
He turns his head back, to gaze upon his insolent subjects,
While some puny bikers slip by,
Just avoiding a trip and a fall over his tail.

When he reaches his breakfast patch,
He parts the flow with his divine horns, and moves aside,
I drive on, into the humdrum of my daily life,
Wondering, how sacrilegious is it, to be considered sacred?

Reasons for Being

Romantic reason	:	I love therefore I am
Philosophical reason	:	I think therefore I am
Culinary reason	:	I eat therefore I am
Artistic reason	:	I draw therefore I am
Nerdy reason	:	I program therefore I am
Sleepy reason	:	I dream therefore I am
Literary reason	:	I write therefore I am
Working reason	:	I animate therefore I am
Surfing reason	:	I blog - hop therefore I am
Prosaic reason	:	I exist therefore I am
Poetic reason	:	I am alive therefore I am
Narcissistic reason	:	I am therefore I am

What am I?

Err ... that is not a valid question.

How can I prove anything ?

A little child of three or four
With a freckled face and curly locks
Looked up at me with a toothy grin
She seemed like a brook tripping on the rocks

Barely standing, she asked of me
"Are you sure the sky is blue ?"
"Ofcourse! What a question!" I said
I will just now prove it to you

"Just look up and see", and I saw at twilight hour
The sky turning golden, red and pink all at once
"Which of these is blue ?," she asked
I stood there, mute, feeling like a dunce

She stared at me, with a innocent look
"Tell me no ... Is it that hue ?"
I saw the world, mirrored in her eyes
"You know it all already, how can I prove anything to you ?"

The Paper and the Wind

Standing on the simmering tar,
Baking in the heat reflected of dreary concrete,
I looked up and saw,
A white paper page descending from the heavens.

It floated, rising and falling, billowing in the wind,
I turned my head away, away from the relentless gleam of the noon sun,
The paper fluttered, playing with the currents of air,
Flirting with the rising passions of the ardent draft.

Then a fierce gust rose,
Swatting the paper with all its might,
The paper merely bent, and mocked, and laughed,
Rolling away, always on top, always falling in delight.

The dusty waft gave in, defeated,
Ever so lightly, it touched the brick,
Caressing the mud crusted sidewalk,
And then lay stagnant.

When I bent and tried to touch the page,
It eloped with the newborn wind,
Leaving me with a fistful of heat,
Staring at the frolicking lovers' dare.

Swades Hangover

I saw Swades. It was a good movie. I've been restless since. I do not know why? I remembered something I had read in Vivekananda's works once. I found it in an essay titled "Modern India." He says:


Thou brave one, be bold, take courage, be proud that thou art an Indian, and proudly proclaim, "I am an Indian, every Indian is my brother." Say, "The ignorant Indian, the poor and destitute Indian, the Brahmin Indian, the Pariah Indian, is my brother." Thou, too, clad with but a rag round thy loins proudly proclaim at the top of thy voice: "The Indian is my brother, the Indian is my life, India's gods and goddesses are my God. India's society is the cradle of my infancy, the pleasure - garden of my youth, the sacred heaven, the Varanasi of my old age." Say, brother; "The soil of India is my highest heaven, the good of India is my good," and repeat and pray day and night, "O Thou Lord of Gauri, O Thou Mother of the Universe, vouchsafe manliness unto me! O Thou Mother of Strength, take away my weakness, take away my unmanliness, and make me a Man!"^*


I do not know my land. I do not know myself.

How can I hope to know the world, and her people?

I am still restless ...


^*  If you have not read his works, I am requesting that you think before you comment on his sayings. However, no such requests before you comment on the post per se.

Incomplete

I've been pondering for some time as to whether I should write about "this" or not. Today concluded I should do it anyway.

If you are reading this post, I'd like to suggest that though it might get a tad confusing for a moment, but read it fully ... If you understand this one, then ...; you'll see ... Just read on.


The "this" I was referring to is something called the incompleteness theorem.

Kurt Gödel, in his famous paper "On Formally Undecidable Propositions" proved this celebrated and oft misunderstood theorem.

Consider this:

1. Someone introduces Gödel to a UTM, a machine that is supposed to be a Universal Truth Machine, capable of correctly answering any question at all.
   
   
2. Gödel asks for the program and the circuit design of the UTM. The program may be complicated, but it can only be finitely long. Call the program P(UTM) for Program of the Universal Truth Machine.
   (If the concept of a computer program or a circuit seem alien terms just think of P(UTM) as a (formal) description of the UTM and its workings in words or symbols)
   
   
3. Smiling a little, Gödel writes out the following sentence: "The machine constructed on the basis of the program P(UTM) will never say that this sentence is true." Call this sentence G for Gödel. Note that G is equivalent to: "UTM will never say G is true."
   
   
4. Now Gödel laughs his high laugh and asks UTM whether G is true or not.
   
   
5. If UTM says G is true, then "UTM will never say G is true" is false. If "UTM will never say G is true" is false, then G is false (since G = "UTM will never say G is true"). So if UTM says G is true, then G is in fact false, and UTM has made a false statement. So UTM will never say that G is true, since UTM makes only true statements.
   
   
6. We have established that UTM will never say G is true. So "UTM will never say G is true" is in fact a true statement. So G is true (since G = "UTM will never say G is true").
   
   
7. "I know a truth that UTM can never utter," Gödel says. "I know that G is true. UTM is not truly universal."
   

The logic in the embodied in the above lines is simple. But the more you think about it, the more it grows on you. Stated very very loosely the theorem implies (The prof. who taught me the formal logic course would probably flip if he saw this one):


All logical systems of any complexity are, by definition, incomplete; each of them contains, at any given time, more true statements than it can possibly prove according to its own defining set of rules.



Although this theorem can be stated and proved in a rigorously mathematical way, what it seems to say is that rational thought can never penetrate to the final ultimate truth. But, paradoxically, to understand Gödel's proof is to find a sort of liberation.

The metaphorical analogue to Gödel's Theorem suggests that ultimately, we cannot understand our own mind/brains ... Just as we cannot see our faces with our own eyes, is it not inconceivable to expect that we cannot mirror our complete mental structures in the symbols which
carry them out?

Gödel's Theorem has been used to argue that a computer can never be as smart as a human being because the extent of its knowledge is limited by a fixed set of axioms, whereas people can discover unexpected truths.

Fantastic, is it not ? I stumbled across this theorem about a year back when doing a course called the Theory of Computation. It is a masterpiece of formal logic. Imagine the fields of study and thought it cuts across.

For those whose curiosity I piqued by this post I suggest you read this fascinating, Pulitzer prize-winning book by Douglas Hofstadter "Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid". You'll find that mathematics, art and music are not so different from each other. They are all reflections of the most beautiful of nature's creation: the human mind. Hofstadter explains the book is about "the word I. Consciousness. It was about how thinking emerges from well-hidden mechanisms, way down, that we hardly understand."


Sources I used to research this article:

• Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem
  
• Wikipedia Entry on the Incompleteness Theorem
  

"We regret to inform you that ...."

Ah ... those words ... those hateful words! They typically adorn the
first line of the many rejection letters I've seen so far.

What is it about a rejection that makes it feel that the people
rejecting you, are doing it on purpose. It feels they have this very
personal dislike of me. "Why me ?" - its that unanswered question
which pops up like the jack in the box every time I read one of those.

And I got another one today morning (BIG SIGH !!). Did that feel bad -
you bet it did. It also made me think back to few days in the past,
when a dinner offer I made to a dear friend got rejected too. How was
that rejection different from this one? Did that one make me feel
... ummm .. more rejected? I can't believe I wrote this !

Damn, damn, ... damn, damn! (You always gotta say ``damn'' four times,
twice quickly, pause, and then twice again. Unless ofcourse you want
to say it only once.)


``We put our hands over our eyes and weep that it is dark."

Of Eeyore and Donkey

Here is an authentic chronicle of the words that got exchanged, between
Eeyore (from Winnie the Pooh) and Donkey (from Shrek), when
they met recently.

Donkey on the return from the Kingdom of Far Far Away decided to
take a detour and visit his friend of yesteryears Eeyore in the 100
Aker Woods. He finds Eeyore at his gloomy best ...

D: Hey Eeeyoreee ... how ya doing buddy, and how is your tail doing ?
I've been having the most smashing adventures with Shrek .... you
remember Shrek - you remember Shrek? That big fat ugly ogre who is
like an onion. That's the layered intellectual interpretation. He
really is like a cupcake, I just looove cupcakes ! And then ....

Eeyore looks at Donkey, his wide droopy eyes trying to make sense of
all he sees.

E: Adventure? Oh I see ... an Expotition ... Have you seen my tail?

D: Lost it again, did you? Let me tell you a secret ... there are
these guys at a place called HP labs ... I gave them a proper piece
of my mind when my mane suddenly disappeared one day. And they grew
it back! Maybe you could ask them to fix it. Fix it with gum this
time.

E: Oh, well. Someone must have taken it. How Like Them.

D: (Thoughtfully) That's deep Eeyore ... that's really deep ...

Eeyore was thinking "Why?", and then "Wherefore" and sometime later he
thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and then he didn't quite know what he
was thinking about. He stood by the side of the stream and looked at
himself in the water.

E: Pathetic, That's what it is. Pathetic.

He turned and walked slowly down the stream for twenty yards, splashed
across it, and walked slowly back on the other side. Then he looked at
himself in the water again.

E: As I thought, No better from this side.

D: Chin up - Noble steed! We will find it, after all if one can find a
princess and a puss in boots and a dragon (Oh I miss her), one can
find a tail ! I am the official sidekick .. guy .. here .. I say we
will find it! You got that I don't care what nobody thinks of me
thing ... I like that .. I respect that and so I'll help you.

I know .. it will be in the highest room, in the tallest tower.

You hang on Eeyore ... I'll handle the tail ... Oh I'll find that
tail .. I'll whip its butt too .. It won't know which way to go !

E: Good night, Donkey. If it is a good night. Which I doubt.

And as Eeyore turned to get into his house at Pooh Corner, there was
his tail ... hanging from his back. Its was curled up in a tight bun
.. so that Eeyore could not see it. Donkey sees the tail ...

D: You know what I think ... I think this whole tail thing is to keep
somebody out. Are you hiding something? Aaaw its not another of
those onion things. Why dont you want to talk about it? Why are you
blocking? Who are you tryin to keep out Eeyore, just tell me, who?

E: Oh, well, Thanks for noticin' it.

D: You cant do this to me Eeyore .. I am too young to be sad, ..and worried (sniff) !

E: We can't all, and some of us don't. That's all there is to it.

D: Can't all what?

E: Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.

D: I think I need a hug.

E: Don't blame me if it starts raining now.



Apologies to A. A. Milne, Disney, William Steig and DreamWorks SKG.
All copyrights rest with their legal owners.

Finding Doubt

I thought I had always been and will be a rational thinker. I was open to suggestions and ideas and that elusive other point of view, always eager to get the other perspective as well. I thought I was a sensistive guy, with a taste for the subtle and the sublime. I used to think I understood something of colour, space, light and composition - be it in writing, arts, cinema or in physics, mathematics, biology. I was the king of my castle, safely tucked away in the fortress of my imagination well cordoned off by a moat of calmness and satisfaction.

But then came a movie called Black, and I saw the movie. As with everything I had my opinion about it. Only this time it was different from a vast majority of other people. I tried to voice it, and I did not even get a patient hearing most of the time. What I got was this:

"You're crazy", "You're insensitive", "You've no sense, no understanding of art or of acting", "Its such a great movie, out of this world - you are just being cynical about the whole thing", "Look around you, Hindi movies these days are such a pile of junk - this on is a diamond in the rocks", "Who are you to judge Amitabh and Rani, and Sanjay Leela Bhansali - you are an idiot", "You are wrong", "You are dead."

I thought damn them - they just do not want to listen to what I have to say. I went back and researched my material, trying to find a basis for how I felt, trying to materialize my intuition. I even decided at one point I'll write it in a blog entry. And unknown to me, amidst all these fervent discussions and searches - it crept back into some recess of my being. Doubt - doubt that perhaps I was wrong, perhaps I was mistaken, perhaps I was being irrational about it all, perhaps I did not understand anything at all.

And that frightened me, it did. Suddenly my castle was a house of cards which blew over with a gust of strong wind.


I was reading my old art (as in painting) notes today. I wrote them when I was in class 8th or 9th. And I found in those old pages something which I had forgotten - an innocent curiosity to explore and understand. And that nagging doubt which appeared dark and devilish, became bright and haloed. I remembered it is ok to not know, to not understand, to not sense, to say as I feel, to ask why, to be confused and chaotic. Doubt and chaos are a way of nature, a way of growth, a way of life.

I am smiling now, and the second law of thermodynamics flashes through my mind, "All (physical and chemical) processes involve an increase in entropy in the system and its surroundings" - so there; I do know my high school physics.

Thank you Black. Thank you for finding my doubt for me.

Hoshwalon ko khabar kya

A Jagjit Singh ghazal ...


Hoshwalon ko khabar kya bekhudi kya cheez hai,
Ishq keejiye phir samajhiye zindagi kya cheez hai.

Unse nazre kyaa mili roshan fizaye ho gayi,
Aaj jaana pyar ki jadoogari kya cheez hai,
Ishq keejiye phir samajhiye zindagi kya cheez hai.

Khulti zulfon ne sikhayee mausamo ko shayari,
Jhukti aankhon ne bataya maikashi kya cheez hai,
Ishq keejiye phir samajhiye zindagi kya cheez hai.

Ham labon se keh na paye unse haale dil kabhi,
Aur woh samjhe nahi ye khamoshi kya cheez hai.
Ishq keejiye phir samajhiye, zindagi kya cheez hai.

Hoshwalon ko khabar kya bekhudi kya cheez hai,
Ishq keejiye phir samajhiye zindagi kya cheez hai.

Alive today

Feeling happy, sad, idiotic, logical, flummoxed, focused, satisfied, restless, scared, valiant, poetic, morose, spiritual, mundane, mortal, divine .....

Manifestations of a mortal life

Shrouded in lovelorn nights,
Hearts set aflutter with desire,
As moths drawn to the burning lights,
Rekindled embers of a forgotten ire.

Glasses of scorned amour,
Show the stony soul of an angelic form,
Laughther effusing from the bewitched lure,
Mocking despondent passions bygone.

Black velvet skies part for golden hues,
Phantom dreams melt into earthen moulds,
Perhaps rejuvenated by a virginal muse,
Manifestations of a mortal life, behold.

Strange meetings

I have had this thought buzzing in my head since morning. What is it
like to meet (as in for a coffee) a complete stranger? What does one
do, how does one act when confronted with the rendezvous?

When I meet a person known to me already I have an opinion about the
opinion the person has of me. Do I try to mould myself to conform or
force myself to deviate? How many people I really know with whom I am
myself? Do I actually know how to be myself? Now I am definitely
feeling befuddled and bemused ...

Any strangers volunteering to help alleviate my doubts?

Page 3 blues

I saw Page 3 yesterday night. After having fallen instantly in love
with Konkona Sen, I realized midway that it was a very depressing
movie. I was definitely down in the dumps when I felt my cellphone
vibrating in my pocket. Curious as to who would message me at this
hour, I took it out instantly and saw it was a message from a very
dear friend. Her parents are trying to fix up her marriage and she is
plain scared of the whole proposition. I'd been asking her how would
she know who was her prince charming ...

The message made me smile ... made me bounce back to my world, with my
friends and my insecurities. And voila! On the screen I saw Konkona
was smiling as well.

Kitne ajeeb rishte hain yahan par ....

A Suitable Gift

Buying wedding gifts has always presents a dilemma. I've never been an
adept gift chooser, hence the ardent detestation for the
task. However, faced with the invitation to my dear friend's brother's
marriage I just had to go and get a suitable present.

First came fixing a budget - that's the easiest - my purse dictates
the terms there. So with a upper spending ceiling of Rs 500/- in mind
I landed up at the neighbourhood gift shop. Lined all along the walls
were statuettes of various gods and goddesses. Much as I would like the
Lord Ganesha to bless the couple at the auspicious occasion, his
bronzed image did not impress me as a appropriate gift. Other choices
included a pair of bronze giraffes, ornate candle stands, picture
frames. None of these satisfied the vanity of the gift giver in me and
so I ventured to greener pastures.

A 15 minute bus ride landed me at the nearest big shopping
complex. Lined along the road were a whole bevy of choices - a couple
of gift shops, a watch shop, few garment stores and a couple of home
appliance dealers. Amidst all these the "Vardhaman Bartan Bhandaar"
beckoned to me - hmmm seems distinctly familiar - I thought. With much
trepidation I entered, and came face to face with the toothy grin of
the person manning the counter.

Ji Sir? Kuch paanchson rupiye main dikhaiye - gift deene layak. Ji
Sir! Out came a tea set - blue coloured china. Hmmm looks - errr -
the big fish on the tea pot sported a huge grin - what else do you
have? Ye dekhiye sir - another tea set - this one bright lemon yellow
in colour. Ye Caffee set hai sir. I noted that the cups had COFFEE
etched on them with a simmering cup drawn on the side. Inspired by my
disinterested look the man produced a frosted glass plate set - yeh
dekiye sir - microwave proof, dishwasher proof, available in two
designs sir. Hmmmmm - I gave a very pensive look at the glass plate -
how much? Only 650/- sir - No, no, budget se zyada ho gaya! Aapke liye
550 sir ...

Before I could protest any further, out came a flurry of casseroles in
all shapes and sizes. Very useful sir - has inner glass bowl,
microwave proof, branded product sir - Milton - very good
quality. Hmmm how much - 400/- ah ... this looks really good! I turned
the thing all around - the lid looks a bit dirty - purana hai kya? No,
no sir - I'll clean it - he sprayed Colin on the lid and rubbed it
sparkling clean. I pondered a while and decided the newly wed couple
would be in dire need of a casserole when starting a new family - hmmm
- maybe they'll thank me for it someday ... and I smiled to .... Ho
gaya sir - Isko gift wrap kara dijiye. After little haggling with the
price, it came down to 350/- and I was suddenly feeling very proud of
myself. Feeling content with my acquisition, my eyes now wandered to a
mother n daughter pair beside me. They were looking at some crystal
glasses, presumably as a gift for someone. Payment sir - Ah yes .. -
I paid - the crystal glasses looked really nice - set of six glasses,
would have made a better present but must be really costly. Ye lijiye
sir - pack ho gaya - Thanks.

Ye glasses ka set kitne ka hai? This ... only 200/- sir - ek set aapko
bhi de doon? I collected my gift and walked out of the store.

Incredible

There are movies and then there are movies. After two months of
working at breakneck speed to meet a deadline (which I managed to beat
two days ahead of schedule !), I decided to take the much needed
break. I headed for PVR Anupam hoping to catch the last show of ``The
Incredibles."


I am an animation buff - no, no - that's putting it mildly - I am a
animation fanatic. But this PIXAR treat was more than what I hoped
for. This is their first film with ``human" protagonists and boy did
they pull it off. The look of the animation is not hyper-real, but a
mix of astonishing CG art with a very very appealing set of visual
effects. The characters do not mimic humans - they evolve into their
own surreal beings - a combination of comic and fairy tale like
personae.


But as I have come to realize over the years, PIXAR's true strength
lies in their stories. They always have engaging and well thought out
plots and an electric chemistry between its characters. Its the charm
these characters exude that makes them instantly likeable. While
watching the movie I almost forgot that it was a movie - I was there,
in it, fighting against Syndrome with The Incredibles ... and we saved
the world !


(And in my excitement I almost punched the four idiots sitting in the
row behind mine who went on yapping senselessly through the movie.)

A Birthday Wish

I just now had a chat with my colleagues V and S. V hails from venus, while S is a fellow martian. V was saying that how she felt the current time in her life was the best she had ever had - peaceful and carefree. It would be different when she finished her studies and took up a regular job - more worries, more work ! To this S suggested that she could take up a research or consultancy kind of a job and work from home. The only problem being that the income one earned in such cases was not regular but dependent on the clients/results one got. But since her husband has a permanent job, he can act as the regular source of income.


I was sitting dreamy eyed lost in my own ruminations while barely making much sense of what they were saying. S went on to say that he would himself love to do research from home, if his wife, who works as a school teacher had no objections. V replied saying that probably it was ok for her as she was a woman, and that her husband would probably agree ....



Then S said something which jolted me out of my reverie. He said "I wish I would be born as a girl in my next life."



Their conversation then drifted on to other topics, but I have remained fixated to S's wish all this time. I do not for a moment consider that S is averse to hard work, for he regularly pulls more than twice his weight. What I have been thinking is this -

"Today is S's birthday. Do I pray for all his wishes to come true ?"

Give

I recently discovered this small tale.

Poet Rahim was a great daani (i.e. giver of alms). He used to give away things to the needy all the time, and nobody ever left his door empty handed. But people observed that he always used to bow his head and look down while doing the noble deed. Everybody thought that even though he helped the needy, he was probably ashamed of doing it. In time this reached the ears of the poet seer Tulsidas. He was amused by the incident and sent Rahim this doha (i.e. couplet).


Aisi deni den ju kit seekhe ho sain,
Jyon jyon kar oonchyo karo, tyun tyun neeche nain.


On receiving the seer's note, Rahim thought that surely Tulsidas being such a great being knew his reasons for acting as he did. Probably he just wanted Rahim say it - so he replied with this doha.


Denhaar koi aur hai, bhejat jo din rain,
Log bharam ham par karen, taaso neeche nain.


The true spirit of giving comes alive in these verses.


Addendum : A translation of the couplets ...
The translation is not a word by word - but something which should
help understand the couplets instead.

Aisi deni den ju kit seekhe ho sain,
(Say where have you learnt to give thus)
Jyon jyon kar oonchyo karo, tyun tyun neeche nain.
(The higher (nobler) your deeds get, the lower your gaze becomes)

Denhaar koi aur hai, bhejat jo din rain,
(The (true) giver is someone else, who provides (everything) day and night)
Log bharam ham par karen, taaso neeche nain.
(I keep my gaze lowered, lest people should misunderstand that it is I who give).

A Prayer

O waves of water,
O rumbling land,
Calm your raging anger,
Hold back your destructive hand.

Give mankind another chance to mend its deeds,
To exist in peace, without destroying,
All that you provide to fill its needs,
And to embellish them with humane caring.

Forgive and restore the balance man unbalanced,
And we promise to thee to maintain its sanctity,
To not fight, and cherish our world,
To be kind, to love and to preserve humanity.

Amen.

Atrocious Administration

I just had an encounter with that monster of a body called the administrative section !! It is so hard to wade through all the muck that fills up their offices, its a miracle any body survives such encounters and lives to tell the tale. It reminded me of a previous encounter I had with their counterparts in my college. Here are images that come flooding back:

Setting: The accounts/administrative sections of my college. Strangely both were located in a big basement area - it was in every sense the underworld !

My reason for being there: I had gone to collect a certificate and a check I was supposed to receive - it was actually for a scholarship I got. The amount was a paltry sum of Rs 180/-, but I wanted the certificate. So I braced myself and descended into the netherworld.

Clerk 1: Who are you? Why are you here? He almost made me feel like a impudent brat !
Me: Sir (anybody and everybody is Sir !) I wanted to collect a certificate ...
Clerk 1: What certificate? Go see Clerk 2 - don't waste my time.

Clerk 2: Certificate - scholarship - then he gave me a look as if I had materialized before his eyes miraculously and uttered words in an alien tongue. Which year, what branch - how did you get a scholarship ?
Me: Third year - I ... well you can check my mark sheets - I topped my year.
Clerk 2: I can't believe all you say - go get yourself verified by the head clerk, and then come back.
Me: Get myself verified? Can't you just check my I-card or something?
Clerk 2: I didnt make your I-card - I cant believe just about anybody, can I?

Defeated by his precise logic, I proceeded to the Head Clerk-
Head Clerk: Yes?
Me: Mam - I need to be verified - to get my scholarship.
Head Clerk: I can verify who you are but I cannot authorize the release of the scholarship.
Me: duh ?
Head Clerk: Only the OSD can do that ?
Me: the OSD ? another Ostentsible Stuffy Demon?
Head Clerk: (Ignoring my incoherent rants ...) The Officer on Special Duty will come at 6pm after finishing his classes.

I waited till 6pm that day and got lucky with the OSD - he signed my scholarship release form.

Next day -
Me: Sir, I have been verified - Can I get my scholarship ?
Clerk 2: (Looks at me thinking The Mummy Returns) - Let me search for the certificate.

After searching for an hour or so, a certificate emerges from the greatest depths of his steel almirah - shining like Excalibur in the presence of Arthur. I almost felt like I had won the battle and was probably grinning, but
Clerk 2: Here, take it ....
Me: And the check?
Clerk 2: Am I supposed to do the whole college's work alone? His fuse went POP! and he just spat out .. Go to Accounts !

I ran for my dear life - thankful that I was still breathing and made my way to accounts. Alas it was lunch time so I waited and gazed at the deserted cubicles for 45 minutes.

Me to the first person who enters: Err.. Sir where can I collect my check for the scholarship?

First Person: He looks at me in amazement and laughs and goes away without answering.

Me to second person who enter: I repeat the same question ...
Second Person: hmm - check you say - ask the cashier and points to a grilled counter looking like a dungeon from the Cellular Jail with CASHIER written in bold red ink over it.

I waited at the counter for the cashier to appear. A person appears at the counter and settles down.
Me: Sir - I wanted to collect a check ....
Cashier: No No .. today nothing can be done ... cashier is not here.
Me: I try to look around inside the prison cell - trying to spot another person ... but...but - who are you then?
Cashier: Arre - what are you searching clutching that grill like a prison inmate? I told you - no work today.
Me: Who are you then?
Cashier: I am the substitute cashier - the actual cashier is not here now ....
Me: Then why cant you do his work?
Cashier: I am on leave today !
Me: Dumbfounded, awestruck, stupefied !!! I retreat almost bowing to him. Who can argue with such astute logic.

Next day I did get my money - but not as a check - as cash including a very torn ten rupee note.
Without bothering to get the note changed - I just headed straight for my dimension - where the world made sense again.

I got the scholarship again the next year - but made no further attempts to collect it ...

Tell-tale stories

A book, a movie, a long chat with friends, travel, history, mythology - what do all these have in common? They all tell a story - stories of men and women in adventure, in joy, in pain, tales of far distant lands, of other planets, of other life forms. And I just love a story ! When I read I can hear and see it unfold in my head - when I hear one I can feel it in my heart - and when I see one I live in it for the moment.

But why love a story? Because it teleports me instantly to this other space and time where I am the observer and the world performs for me. It brings to me the unreachable, unthinkable, unblemished elements from within itself. It envelops me in a cocoon of fantasy and transmutes my mind.

A story seems to emerge from the most unlikely of things. Equations (as in integrals or quadratic) tell stories of quantities, of abstracts. Atoms, molecules and chemicals tell stories of creation. Bridges and buildings tell stories of spirit, of ingenuinity. Songs tell stories of love, of pain. Even my reflection in the mirror tells a story - it tells how I look at myself.

The story is also the essence, the very life blood of another of my loves - Animation. But that is another story, for another blog ....

Kolkata Kromosome

My trip to the City of Joy was quite an experience. Here's the interesting travelogue:

• Day 1, 13/12/2004
  All of us S, M, Y, P and I reached the station together and way ahead of time only to find that our train was 2 hours late. I spent the time wallowing in the sights of the New Delhi railway station - a cart laden with heavy cubical luggage pulled by two rickety men hollering at the top of their voice to clear the way, the chaiwala near the leaking water tap, overdressed aunties to barely dressed kids asking for alms - it was a medley of man-made nature. When the train finally chugged into the station we clambered into it without much ado. M had packed a huge dinner for all of us so after having a stomach full of chapatis and aaloo gajar ki sabji we soundly dozed off.
  
  
• Day 2, 14/12/2004
  In the morning we found the onboard ambiance was impeccable and as our seat was just next to the compartment door we were greeted with dizzying scents every time it opened. The conversations ranged from topics like life after death to bio-medical visualization. I had my hand read, handwriting analyzed, even my foot scrutinized - apparently since my foot's index finger is a little longer than my thumb it indicates that my "wife" will dominate me - go figure that one !! Poor S has his index finger a whole lot longer than the thumb and continually has to give in to higher authorities at home; so it might just be true. We reached Howrah at 8:30 pm - 4 hrs late and reached the prepaid taxi stand somehow. The taxi allotted to us didn't know the way to the guest house we were supposed to go to - so with much trepidation I agreed to guide him on Kolkata roads using the map S had drawn for me. As soon as the taxi came down the Howrah bridge it chose to kiss another fellow taxi smack on the lips ! Our poor already confused driver barely missed a thrashing and continued. But he was not to be our charioteer on Kolkata roads - as his taxi mysteriously conked out on a dark highway refusing to budge. We somehow hailed another taxi, went round the city a couple of times before reaching the guest house at 11:30pm. After frantic calls to home and a cold but sumptuous dinner the guest house people had cooked for us - we finally hit the sack.
  
  
• Day 3, 15/12/2004
  First day of conference - we managed to slip into the only interesting tutorial at the conference and then slip out again when the boring ones started. I made P learn his presentation by heart - poor chap was very nervous for his first ever paper presentations. The guest house rooms were five star and the food was ok. Things were looking up already.
  
  
• Day 4, 16/12/2004
  P's presentation went off ok - though he concluded without a conclusion slide. Then came my poster session and guess what - It went of ok too, pretty good infact. I had about a dozen groups (which also meant I had to explain the whole paper a dozen times) in a span of two hours. After a very sore throat, and about six glasses of water I left the poster hall feeling satisfied. From there I proceeded to my uncle's place (And you thought I was going to get away without visiting the relatives - no way !). However it was quite pleasant - I got to meet my new bhabi and got a really really tasty dinner.
  
  
• Day 5, 17/12/2004
  Got dropped at the venue by cousin some 5 mins. late for S's poster session to find him already overwhelmed by the response to his work. It was really good - its a shame it got wasted at this stupid conference - it should have gone international. After that we decided to ditch the conference and tour the city of joy. We went to Babughat, got on a steamer (called a "launch" in Kol lingo) and cross the Ganges to Howrah - and the pearly lights of the city shown brightly against dark navy satin of sky. It was so mesmerising we decided to cross under the Howrah Bridge to Shobha Bazar on a steamer again. We even got a few puzzled "launch" commuters to take snaps of our crowd - they being thoroughly confused over the way we were going gaga over the ride. Yep - we acted like seasoned tourists !! Then we got on the Metro at Shobha Bazar to go to Rabindra Sadan. S got a ticket for 5 people. After 4 of us had crossed, the gate got stuck leaving Y on the other side. Ticket counter dada came gallantly to the rescue and let Y out - bless him ! From Rabindra Sadan we hurried on to the Taj Bengal to catch the banquet dinner of the conference. Inside the hotel I was definitely feeling like Dunston (and was obviously wanting to check in). The food was ok and the dessert "chanaar payesh" was out of the world. Then it was back to the guest house.
  
  
• Day 6, 18/12/2004
  Last day of conference was full of boring papers so we bunked the whole day. Saw the Vidyasagar Setu (one on which Yuva was shot). Waltzed around inside Victoria at a fabulous exhibition on Kolkata's history. Came out feeling angry, sad and happy - don't know what to make out of colonial history. Charnock certainly left his mark on Kolkata for all times to come - for good or bad is for others to decide. I think for the first time I realized at that exhibition how thoroughly subjugated we were - that makes me angry and sad. But to know of Kolkata and her history made me happy. I feel I know India a teeny-weeny bit better now ! We roamed in college street browsing through the innumerable book shops, had a chinese lunch and then I went back to the guest house as I had to visit Nani, while the other's went off to Dakshineshwar Temple. Reached Nani's place at 8. Nani looks the same - she always has - from ever since I can remember. And she bears a kindness in her voice I have never found anywhere else. Had loooong chat with her - to say she's not well would be an understatement but she does all her own work . Way to go Nani !!
  
  
• Day 7, 19/12/2004
  Hurried off to Howrah on a local train praying that my train was on time. It was - down to the last minute ! But guess what while we slept that night it did not budge at all ..... <
  
  
• Day 8, 20/12/2004
  .... and lo behold in the morning it was six hours late. When it finally touched Delhi it was a full eight hours late. Ah - Home at last. And so ended our tryst with a very unique city.
  
  

Comments on commenting

Whew !! After a good two hours of hacking through the blogger template I got both blogger and haloscan commenting to work together. Haloscan had quietly removed the original blogger comments when I used the automatic wizard on their site to enable haloscan commenting here. But now it all works, and I am enabling anonymous comments as well ...so ... any comments ppl !!

Plot's the problem ?

Yours truly got a poster accepted at a conference (applause !! Ahem ...) - now the poster had to materialize overnight out of thin air because I have to catch the train tomorrow. Now I have made presentations before - but never a poster. So what's the big deal you may ask, but preparing a poster is a medley of choices (My choices, S's(a co-presenter) choices, my boss choices and the correct choices - try choosing between these). Here is chronological blow by blow:


Day one: Saturday, 8:30 am

1. Paper Size - Big problem here - the poster board available at site is A0 size (well nearly - its about 2 inches shorter in height). So do I use 16 A4 sheets to tile the space or use one huge A0 sheet.
   
   
   
   • Ask the boss: "Use A4 or maybe A0" - a lot of help from those quarters !!
     
   • Ask S (He's also presenting a poster with me): He says A0 - so A0 it is!
     
   • Time taken to decide - 30 mins.
     
   
   
   
2. Designing the poster - Now illustrator/pagemaker options are summararily overruled - besides its a tech poster so better stick need some math typesetting support as well. Decide to stick to Linux - and attempt Latex as result.
   
   
   
   • 1 hour later : Exhausted, confused, too much typing to do, give up latex
     
   • 2 hours later : Switch to OpenOffice - decide to create one huge slide.
     
   
   
   
3. Content - Hmmm - S says put the whole written text into the poster with figures sprinkled here and there - I think this will land me into trouble later - but I go along as I cannot think of anything better yet !
   
   
   
   • 5 hours and 1 lunch break later : More Exhausted, very satisfied, the poster is
     ready.
     
   
   
   
4. Printing - I go down four floors to find the one plotter I know exists in the same building as I do, and voila - there it is - things looking ominous - plotter standing on two legs and a chair - will it or wont it plot ? Finally after making use of my cell to gain operating instructions from far away quarters I sent the plot only to realize that the damn thing could print only A1 size posters at max. Yaaaa !! The axe fell right on my foot ! Accept defeat at the cartridges of the plotter - took only recourse available - shrunk the poster and took a plot.
   
   
   
   • 9 pm - Plot in hand I return home
     
   
   

Day two: Sunday - 11 am

1. Encounter with the boss - "Too much written material for a poster - chop this, chop that" - chop my head off instead !
   
   
   
   • 2 hours later - Newly chopped poster - boss approved
     
   
   
2. Coordinating a print with S - I have been trying to get S to chop his poster up (as boss will make him do the same anyway) and print the damn thing - but S's wife (higher boss) called and he's gone home for lunch so now its my lunch break too !
   

Eating, and praying that the thing get done before I leave for the City of Joy - yup that's where my conference is.

Time to get off the blog, and plot .... Wish me luck !

Hard Books

Some books are really really hard - if I throw them on somebody's head it is very likely you'll witness a large bump forming instantly. But then why read them - I mean there are easy books (not to be confused with boring books, happy books, sad books, heavy books, light books etc.) - these are the books which I can enjoy without having to give up reading the book in your first "n" attempts. I have often put down a book, picked it up after a month, again let go and so on till I could finally finish it without letting it drift away (Every time starting from the beginning - because after a month I cannot remember a half finished storyline). As I have often wondered what is it in the book which beckons so strong that I keep searching for that elusive successful "n+1 th" read when I finally conquer it. And the best answer I can come up with is that I do not know. For once I have finished the book - no two books have ever left me with exactly the same feeling. So I never figure out what was so hard about them anyway but somehow in those first few attempts when I gave up, it feels as if I was perhaps not worthy enough for the book.

I do not know if I got across what exactly I meant by hard books but here are some examples off my list - Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand, Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, Beautiful Mind - Sylvia Nasser, Out of Africa by Isak Dinesen, Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. I am still midway the last two! There is little common between these books - except that they all are hard and will leave a serious bump on your head if you ever get hit by any one of them ....

Vincent - a fury of colours .....

I was just playing a CD and one of the tracks which just came up was "Vincent" by Don McLean and just today evening the history channel was showing Vincent Van Gogh in Biography. And I just had to come and blog all my thoughts ....

How can colours so violent in mood look so soothing to the eye? I am not an art buff by any standard - but just one look at a Van Gogh overwhelms my senses. Every stroke of the brush is so defiant as if staring right at you and daring you to look away. Every iota of colour is infused with his passion for his craft. Van Gogh knew his art was not conventional - he did not - could not draw the way others did - so he drew the only way he could. He is still remains different from any other artist's work I have ever seen. He paid for being different though - unappreciated by his peers when he was alive and was driven to madness and ultimately, suicide. And today, long after the paint has dried on his canvases, his legacy - his pathos, his joy, his world lives on.

May the fiery reds, the burning yellows, the mellow greens and the soothing blues of Van Gogh always haunt unsuspecting eyes and make them wonder what made the creator of these works imprison such fury, such spirit, such pain in so much beauty.

My very own Eureka !

My very own eureka moment happened just few hours ago. I had been locking horns with this dastardly stubborn problem for the past two months now. The first thing on my mind from the moment I awoke to the last thought in my head when I conked out at night - it had been hounding all my conscious moments like a bloodhound. And today it got solved - whatever chaotic piece of programming I did (Its nothing short of a work of art) - finally worked and boy does it feel good - I feel ecstatic !

Never mind that it took two months to do and drove me half mad (thats the remaining sane half btw) - it works now, like a charm - even the bosses luv it !

Whew - that was something - even made me log in here and write this blog. For now there is still half a weekend left n I'm off to party .... ciau !!

You do what you are

Once there lived a gentle soul,
Who had a gift in ample share,
When the wet clay dried in the mould,
Under her hands' magic care.

It came alive with its own breath and life,
And gave joy to countless unknown,
Oohs and aahs adorned its praise,
With divine beauty, the creation shone.

You are what you do, said them all,
A true genius, a magician, o giver of joy,
Your creation is a work of priceless art,
For you bring alive every earthen toy.

And yet in her deep inside,
A tiny voice seemed mute in dread,
For she found no joy in all her fame,
And she did not know where next to tread.

To find in her heart, a hope anew,
She began to write her mind, in ink and pen,
And lo behold, the peace she sought,
She found in those paper pages, there and then.

She left her gift, and wrote her heart,
For the words had helped her find,
True sense, of her being alive;
The many screamed - she has lost her mind.

But the many did not matter then,
For she felt the happiest now, by far,
And when I asked her the reason why,
She replied - you do, what you are.

A thoughtless worse ....

As I stare at this blank expanse of white,
thinking about what next to write,
A thousand thoughts in my head, a haze,
taking shape in the mist, a labyrinthine maze.

Did I just write a verse,
of complete nonsensical stuff, even worse,
Hey, I think - this is it, just let it flow,
and maybe after this very boring day, I'll find that elusive glow.

That glimmer of light, that ray of hope,
the strength, the will, the resolve of mind which helps me cope,
With the chaos of my existence, with the conflict of my being,
of the sounds in my hearing, of the colors in my seeing.

Where, oh where is that fractal of order and sense,
which will soothe my being, make light my dense,
Perhaps in this babel of words, if a line I cast,
I'll find my sense of my world, at last.

To Grenoble and back ... home !

I was on a European sojourn for the past three weeks. And now that I am back I am thinking about what it was like, how different it seemed, and given a choice will I stay there ?

I have lived all my life in Delhi. And here I was, bang in the middle (well a little off-centre maybe) of the French Riviera in the small town of Grenoble. And it was a BIG change - all the landscape around me was different - surrounded by 3 alpine ranges Grenoble is the atypical town one would draw in a painting. Teeming with buildings reminiscent of a bygone era, beautiful squares with abundant fountains, slow moving (but modern nonetheless) trams, life in the town seemed to have slowed down for an easy stroll by the river Isere, which adds that dash of refreshing blue to the pristine green of the surrounding mountains. Grenoble, as much of Europe, has a rich history - told by the Bastille fortifications, the Revolution memorial and it also has the famous Chartreuse wine. Grenoble is also a university town with a big chunk of its population comprising of students. When I reached the place it was completely deserted as the university was closed for holidays, but as the holidays got over one could see the buzz returning to the beehive. I stayed there for two weeks.

I could go on and on writing about my exploits there but the that's not the point I want to make.

What I want to say is this:

Anyone would fall in love with such a place. I did too - and then I snapped out - I started longing for the sounds and smells and tastes of ... well ... home. I got restless, and the alps and the rivers, and the wine (I must be mad !!) and the beautiful french maidens (I must be really mad !!) did not matter then, I wanted to go back home.

And now here I am back in front of my computer, in my usual seat in the lab, and it feels good - and it feels at home ....

And now I wonder, given a choice would I stay in Grenoble (I mean forever) - or would I forever be homesick !!

BTW - Does this happen to everybody or do I have a special mutation of the homesickness gene?? Any random thoughts on this anyone .... ??

A Beautiful Mind

I was really impressed by this movie and so I decided to read the book by Sylvia Nasar. Its not an easy book to read and I've taken about 2 months to finish it - but I must say the effort was worth it. I am not super good as far as mathematics is concerned, never was infact, but I do appreciate it a lot better now than I used to. But the book just bowled me over as I came to realize the sheer genius of the man (John Nash). I've had a chance to see the man for real, when he came to Delhi for a game theory conference. He seemed a mere shadow of the character which Russell Crowe portrayed in the movie. But the book taught me so much more - he has done some phenomenal amount of work and I only thought he did his Nash Equilibrium and non cooperative games stuff !
The book is tragic, inspiring and heartwarming at the same time. Kudos to Ms. Nasar for writing some great stuff. Anyone who's loved the movie ought to read the book and do not let the maths deter you - the spirit and courage of the genius which shines through the book will help bridge that gap ......

Is the whole world getting married?

In the last few months atleast a dozen of my friends got married - what is the matter with folks out there?
I've seen it happen to one of my colleagues - from the moment he got married, he's walked the razor's edge.
He does that fine balancing act between buying groceries for home and solving some uber complex math problem everyday. I've seen him stay up nights, working and hacking away at a keyboard just to get some sensible numbers on a screen while still not forgetting to sms his sweetheart every 30 mins because she feels lonely at home. Ask him anytime and he'll advise you not to marry ..... ever !
But then there I times when I see them together and there's that momentary glint in both their eyes and a feeling of bliss on their faces which makes me wonder ! Perhaps even this not so utopian marriage has something special which misses the onlooker's eye .... May all my friends find that something to keep them and their marriages going lifelong.
Cheers !!