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.