Abortion, infanticide, female foeticide - A thought process and its implicaitons in theory and practice

This post by Silverine made me think about the issue of abortion, particularly in terms of the 'right to live' or not of the foetus. Firstly, let us think about a 'right'. Only humans have rights granted to them. Notice also that they have to be 'granted'. So who grants these rights? Society. Ok, so which society? The aborigines of australia? The whites? The blacks? Each society has their own set of rules and rights that they guarantee. Fortunately, that does not complicate the present issue, because i'm only talking about the 'right to live', which every society guarantees, at any rate locally, to its own kind, if not to others too. Since this 'right to live' is then a part of every society, I shall broadly address the 'right to live' of human beings in general. As only human beings have rights, that means rights necessarily also have to do with conscious awareness of that right, because if i could give the chicken a right to pee on all people wearing white shirts, but it wouldn't, except by random chance, because it wouldn't understand the right, because animals don't 'understand', and understanding is a conscious process which only human beings are capable of. Ok, so let me repeat that key statement: for a right to be exercised, it has not only to be 'granted' by society, but also the creature to whom it is granted has to be 'aware' of it. I use the word 'aware' not in the sense of notified but in the sense of having a conscious understanding of what it means to the individual concerned. Now that we have a 'right' clearly defined, I shall alternately take the two stances of assigning a right to live for the foetus, and not, and see what rational consequences it has.

1) Statement: The foetus has the right to live.
Logical implications: The foetus has no conscious awareness of this right, just like the chicken doesn't, or the chicken's egg doesn't. Hence, if the foetus has the right to live, so does the chicken, and so does its egg, because there's no difference between the three from the point of view of the right to live which we humans may generously confer on them. They are none of them any more capable of exercising it. As a consequence, if the foetus has the right to live, all creatures have the right to live, including the ants in your food. This leads essentially to a jainist view. Note however that involuntary killing and killing for self-preservation are excluded because both of those are fall-outs of man as an animal.

2) The foetus does not have the right to live.
Logical implications: Thankfully, this does not have to trouble our conscience about killing chickens and eggs for breakfast. If the foetus can be killed, so can these. But, why stop at the foetus? Does a foetus get the right to live just because it changed its spacio-temporal location, i.e., it traveled through a canal, i.e., it is an infant? Logically, no. If a foetus has no right to live, then no more of a right does an infant have. The only difference between the two is spacio-temporal. Of course, this spatio-temporal shift results in a sensory dose to the granters. Meaning, you and I can see, touch, smell, and hear the infant. But a sensory dose is hardly a rational basis for deciding the right to live or not! An infant is no more aware of the right conferred upon it than a foetus. But what about children? What about adults? Where do we draw the line? In theory, I have already shown where the line is to be drawn. When an individual is 'aware' of the right to live, he has that right, by definition, provided it has been granted to him. Note that I use the word 'aware', because it is meaningless to expect, say the child, to 'state' its right to live. Language and its complications are immaterial here. So in theory that makes it simple. If there is a person who after 40 years of his life isn't aware of his right to live, he doesn't have that right, by definition. After all, the world we live in works just this way in the case of simpler rights. If someone isn't aware that he has a certain right, he is often denied it.


In practice, the theoretical logical implications of 1 are impossible to keep, because in practice, humans kill, and all too often for reasons other than self-preservation. But the goal is one that can be striven towards, even if not attained. It is possible for human beings to strive towards living with only that amount of killing of creatures as is necessary for self-preservation.

The problem with implementing the theoretical implications of 2 is that it is hard to define at what stage a child is 'aware' of his right to live. So the practical line has to be drawn somewhere. Probabilistically, one can be fairly certain that upto the age of 5 no child is aware of the right to live. While the foetus is like a chicken's egg, the child is like a trained parrot, and perhaps a little extra in other aspects. But for our purposes, they are the same. So, that makes infanticide quite permissible, and some extent of childicide too. Whether in practice people would start doing this extensively just because it is legally permitted is doubtful. So that got me thinking about to what extent people would do it if it were permitted. Because human beings have a notion of 'cruelty', which seems to them amplified if it is their own kind, the practice won't be very widespread. Of course, if there were to be a child grinding farm, it might be done a little more just as most of us would be reluctant to break the neck of a chicken and skin it ourselves, or stick a hot rod up a pig's arse till it screams and dies, but will gladly munch on chicken meat and pig meat. Anyways, in practice it seems like infanticide is practiced, more so in the developing countries. The problem is that its female foeticide. The problem is not that its a female, but that it upsets the sex ratio. So what? How does the sex ratio matter in a strictly logical sense? Is the human population going to go all the way to extinction from its present population of 6.6 billion because of female foeticide? No. So there's no long term worries of that kind. Hence, from the long term point of view, female foeticide is fine too. There are short-term worries though. A dwindled female population, leads to more frustrated males. That would directly have an effect on the crime rate. So, from the short-term point of view female foeticide is inadvisable. However, people seem to be doing it, in their blinkered look at self-preservation, because a man is a better work slave than a woman. They don't see the indirect consequences through crime, which works against that very self-preservation.

I've written this post because I'd like to encourage rational debate to see the flaws in these arguments.

Note: If you are simply disturbed and think what i've written is non-sense, there's no need to comment. I've taken that as the default anyways. If you wish, just put your name in for a head count, and go :p

WTF headline of the day

Most people are familiar with this headline. But check this new one out! And if that isn't enough to have your eyes popping out, read the caption to the first picture.

Repentant

Note: This post is very personal and one close to my heart, so if you aren’t interested in reading anything emotional, please skip this post.

This tag reminded me of my first kiss, but more importantly, of a time when I was happy. Truly happy. I’ve never regained that happiness since I lost her. It all happened so quickly that it almost seems unreal now. Yet, every second, every moment we spent together is etched in my memory like an engraving. The first time I saw her was on the streets of my campus. The moment I saw her calm, serene face, poised on an exquisitely slender body, I fell in love. I was so enchanted by her beauty that it was a while before I noticed she was actually sticking close to another man. With burning jealousy I looked to see who the lucky man was. I was heartbroken to see it was a friend I knew very well. He was much elder to me. She, on the other hand, looked younger to me. So he appeared old enough to be her father and I thought it a strange relationship. I knew he had a mature head, and I greatly respected him for that. I knew his love for her would be true, so I cursed my luck that the one time I truly fell in love, things had to turn out this way. I decided to be mature about it and took reign of my jealousy. I’d see her often after that, whenever I met my friend. I thought that strange because when I asked him about her, he said they had been together for a while now. Why was she suddenly showing up whenever I met him? Did it mean she was interested in me too? I stopped myself from continuing that train of thought. I knew that the most painful love is the unreciprocated kind, so I convinced myself that she had merely started spending more time with him, which increased the likelihood of my seeing her. I tried to grow detached, and every time I’d see her come with him, I would give her a pleasant smile, and then start conversation with him as if she wasn’t there, or she really didn’t matter. She seemed to be just fine with that, and she’d stick close to him, but stare at me incessantly during the conversation, and it would have my heart thumping, in spite of my efforts. It was frustrating, this strange behaviour of hers. It also affected the flow of conversation with my friend, so I decided I’d avoid meeting him for a bit, which meant I’d avoid her too. I hoped that would help me forget her, and these feelings for her. After all, it isn’t like she’s the only one of her kind out there I said to myself. I knew many who were more beautiful. Some of them were so beautiful, with their skin so soft, you’d think they’d melt if you touched them. At first, I simply tried to think of them, and distract myself. But her image kept coming back. Then I started spending more time with them, in the hope that at least when I’m physically with them, my mind wouldn’t get carried away. Somehow, that calm and composed face of hers kept nagging me, and it only estranged my relationship with the others. So I became very reclusive and kept to myself mostly. Nothing helped, and I knew I was incurably in love, but I used the pain as a drug, and when I wasn’t doing research, I’d spend the time thinking about her, and the lovely time we’d have together if she were mine.

Then, one fine morning, as I walked into my lab, I found her there. All alone. I was speechless. From her look I could tell it meant only one thing. I lost all restraint at that moment, ran upto her and smothered her with kisses. She didn’t reciprocate, but she didn’t refuse, and that’s all I cared for the moment, because I knew her reserved ways. That night, she came home with me, and it is the most unforgettable night of my life. From that day on, she became mine, and life was heaven. Every morning, I’d wake up with her head resting affectionately on my heart. We’d spend all day together, and her presence, rather than being a distraction, only helped me in my work. I managed to write-up a pending project report, that would otherwise have taken me two weeks, in just two days. Such were the miracles she brought into my life. I was overjoyed and I worked long hours in her comforting presence. Every now and then, I’d be reminded of my friend and I’d wonder what she told him, if she told him anything at all. A pang of guilt would flit through me, and then I’d be happy again.

I was having a perfect life, and I should’ve known that it cannot last. She began to lose weight. At first slowly. But when she started staying up with me when I worked long hours it became more severe. I was stupidly oblivious to all this in my state of bliss. Until, one day, suddenly, she choked, and fell terribly ill. One look at her emaciated body and I knew what was wrong. But I was afraid to tell her. That evening I went to the store and bought the medication that was needed to rejuvenate her. She took the medication and looked cheerful again. I knew, however, that her illness was terminal, and I shed a silent tear. I guess Mother Nature envied this girl’s sublime perfection. I was prepared to live with this. I felt it was all worth it, and to see her innocently rejuvenated by the medication every time she fell ill, brought a sad smile to my face. I didn’t want things to change. But, perhaps, I shouldn’t have wished that, knowing what luck I have when I wish for things.

It was a Saturday morning. The weather was just the way I like it, with the sun hidden behind the clouds, the diffused light giving a pleasant brightness to everything, and a gentle breeze blowing. I wished to take her out and so we set off on my bike. At the first traffic junction, as I made a turn, a hasty car took a sharp swerving left turn. I tried to dodge him and in the process lost balance. We both crashed on to the road. I had my helmet on so I recovered quickly. She had only her pretty cap. I’d told myself several times that I should buy her a helmet, but I didn’t, partly intentionally. She looked beautiful as she was. But in that cap, she looked like an angel. It was almost as if the cap completed her, and it gave me a strange thrill to see her with the cap on. I can’t forgive myself ever for this folly. She was a little hurt, and still lying on the road. Before I could turn around and help her, a bus sped past, and ran over her, mutilating her body. The cap was still on her head. I turn around in agony, and cried. I cried like there would be no tomorrow. I wished that bus had run over me instead, and I sobbed and sobbed relentlessly. The people around thought I must've gone mad. But I didn’t care. I cried till my eyes hurt.

Its two years since that day, and I still haven’t forgotten her, or forgiven myself.

After all, I can always find another one like her, but nothing can give the happiness of having stolen your best friend’s Mont Blanc

P.S: Now please re-read the article with a pen in mind :D

A conundrum?

Most women say, "I want to choose a partner who will be his true self with me."

I'm not quite sure what my true self is. That is one of the biggest puzzles. What's more I have a feeling, if I were to know my true self, and still be alive, then I'd be too content anyways to then wish to be with a woman. Interesting.

To put it (in) differently!

An article I'd written back in undergrad that never went to print:

The Vedas and Upanishads introduced the concept of ‘atman’ or the ‘self’ which, in essence, declares that ‘only the self exists’. Whatever might have been their intention at that time, we have, very conveniently, interpreted it to suit ourselves, so that, the ideology now subsists as a pernicious indifference to everything and everyone around us.

I shall give you the simple example of our hostels. Some of us keep the very rooms in which we stay (or not) so dirty. This is only a small cluster and most of us, I’m glad, care to keep the room spic and span. But the room is cleaned by elegantly pushing the dust out on to the corridor (read dust bin), and this, in spite of there being a refuse bin every four rooms. The bathrooms are used to dispose of tufts of public (the ‘l’ is only to avoid crude language and out of concern for the prude) hair. If those aren’t enough to clog the drain holes then there are always the soap packets and shampoo sachets. On the one hand, we use showers without scruples and, on the other, we choose to conserve water by rendering the flush redundant! The stairs are, fortunately, cleaner with just the odd cigarette butt and a couple of juice tetra paks.The ground floor serves as a repository of SAC litter. There is a ‘tide’ of sachets all around the washing machine making for a bad ‘aerial’ view. When in the mess, in blatant disregard to the adage that ‘one man’s food may be another man’s poison’, we use the ‘same’ hand (or just ‘hand’ in the case of those who use both hands!)to eat food and serve ourselves or pass the food around. The boon of having a freezer for soft drinks is a bane to the mess workers as people callously leave the bottles outside the mess, on the floor, or more precariously, on the window ledges and the monkeys give a helping hand by deftly pushing them off the ledge.

This indifference doesn’t stop with the hostel, and how can it, for it seems to be in our blood, not our heads. There are always a few cycles parked so as to block the shed entrance and those who sincerely park well inside the shed are, with equal sincerity, prevented from removing their cycles by those who park later. I shan’t venture to elaborate on the little game of dominoes that we play in these stands everyday. We cycle or walk in groups at a snail’s pace and often in large groups thus occupying most of the road. Even ambulance drivers would be astonished by the privileges we fellow assume for ourselves on the road. We enter the class only to find that the professor who taught in the previous hour has been generous enough to leave his intellectual work for us to admire. And we do just that until our professor comes and decides to show his contempt for that work and erases it mercilessly. When the class ends, we leave behind signs of our ‘brilliance’. Only, it is seen in the tubes and bulbs, not to mention the fans. In fact, as we walk the department corridors our hostel rooms also give notice of our ‘power’ful presence with fans remaining switched on. When we are walking to the next class, or when we are just free, it is important for us to carry out our communications in a manner which suggests we are eternally anticipating an aero plane over our heads or practicing for helicopter conversations for we will all eventually be multimillionaires with the said conveyance in our possession. Indeed, it is therefore only too appropriate for the nearby classes going on that they should halt and watch us future luminaries rehearse.

So in every step one takes, starting from within one’s room, and moving in any direction, all the way till the end of this campus, one witnesses this appalling apathy. If I cover the entire institute in all its glory I am afraid I shall never have enough space to write it all and besides, it is my sincere wish that I get this article printed without censorship. That one is indifferent to dirt is no excuse to be indifferent to one’s surroundings. This is a cry to one and all, not to take responsibility to keep one’s surroundings clean, not even to show concern for the surroundings, but, only, to overcome this horrifying indifference and do what elementary common sense would dictate. Please! Let’s be different, or at least, less indifferent.

The amusing and the absurd - Part VII

There is a similarity between love and exams. In both, one is judged too quickly. Its funny that in the former we approve of it, in the latter, we don't :)

^:)^@My bro's status msg

Sriram

Is Quantum Mechanics ΨΦ?

Copyright: Sriram Sivaramakrishnan

I found the perfect reply :D

Sriram: stealing you status msg :)

me: :))

my pleasure

that's the idea in fact ;)

the propagate

4:05 PM *to propagate

oh,

did i show you my picasa pics?

4:06 PM Sriram: ur prev status msg?

me: yeah

Sriram: saw them

me: the langkawi island one

oh, good

Sriram: who did you go with?

4:07 PM me: with my soul mate

punctuate appropriately ;)

Sriram: hehe

4:08 PM me: :)

The amusing and the absurd - Part V

I remember thinking one afternoon while travelling in Hyderabad that ironically as the traffic continues its exponential increase in both numbers and chaos, I foresee the number of deaths by accidents only decreasing. The densities are so high that vehicles move at a crawl all the time, and I've found that even at one's maximum speed in such traffic, its easy to come to a grinding halt to avoid, say, the ubiquitous auto that juts its nose into traffic from the side after picking up a customer.

The little birthday surprise :-)

I'm past the stage when I have any wish to celebrate my birthday, or even let anyone know its my birthday. Its quite insignificant really. Nevertheless I had a special birthday surprise this year. It was so special, not because it was all arranged grandly, but because no one arranged it. I slept late at night and so awoke only at around 10:30 am on a lazy Saturday morning. I had to go to lab to finish some work that needed urgent attention. In a dazed and inertial way I moved about the house getting myself ready. At the perfectly insignificant hour of 11:16 am I left my house for the campus. Just as I stepped out my house and faced the road, a couple of students on bicycles passed by, one of them carrying an inflated balloon which said 'Happy Birthday!' :-) It obviously wasn't intended for me, and they just passed along by. But the incident was special because of its absurd impossibility!

The amusing and the absurd - Part IV

How ironic that the common principal problem of the Indian and American masses is the same - ignorance :-)

It is very interesting that two very different factors have led to the same problem. In India, the lack of education is directly responsible. In America on the other hand, the problem is a little more twisted. It comes from such an excess of freedom and protection, that all things external to the nation would make little dent in the conscious mind, unless one deliberately chooses to bother oneself with seemingly remote affairs.

The amusing and the absurd - Part III

I distinctly remember being amused when during an India-Australia one day match, Robin Singh plodded, and very literally too, to a 50 and then ended up puking on the ground from exhaustion! It was the probably the only time I'd ever seen him make an even slightly significant contribution to the team's score, and very probably too the only time that he scored a 50 in one-day internationals, and to celebrate that by spreading his joy(if the pun may be excused) made me sneer at his fitness level. Today, I just learnt to my utter disbelief that Robin Singh is India's fitness trainer.
:-)

The amusing and the absurd - Part II

The phenomenon of honking in India is amusing in its absurdity. In a country like ours, which reeks of short-sighted selfishness, it is obvious even to the most obtuse mind that a vehicle won't slow down or give way to another vehicle even if a knife were stuck to his throat. Such being the case, if a vehicle is seen to slow down in traffic, it must be obvious that the only reason it must be happening is that it is absolutely impossible, even theoretically, for the vehicle to move ahead. Thus, honking is least required in a country like India. In fact, it would be more comprehendable if people honked in the United States, where people are so generous in giving way, that it could easily drive an impatient man like me insane. Ironically, people rarely honk there and people rarely stop honking here.

The amusing and the absurd - Part I

It tickles me in its faint irony that most indian women make such fuss and fury about their virginity to ultimately be deflowered by a stranger.

Sagespeak for today.

Genius is 99 percent perspiration and 1 percent inspiration - Thomas Alva Edison.

My sagespeak: He for got to mention that the 1 percent inspiration is a pre-requisite to the 99 percent perspiration.

Advice.

Sage speak 1: Find yourself an illusion and cling to it.

Sage speak 2: Have an ambition, but make sure its impossible to attain, or else you'll only be disappointed.

Weird dream

The guy for whom I was a teaching assistant for one whole year was standing at one end of the boat, facing the inside of the boat, and staring long and hard at the the wood, as if trying to see through it, to gauge the depth of the waters. Someone was standing at the centre, I can't recollect who now, but I think it was his daughter. I was standing at the other end of the boat and facing him. Curiously, we were all standing. I had a premonition, going by the look on my former boss' face that he was going to commit suicide, with a stylish backward dive, head going first into the waters. No sooner had I thought this than he did just that. Then for some reason, as if our mission had been accomplished, his daughter and I dived into the lake and swam towards the shore, neither of us making the least effort to see what become of her father. So we reached the shore, and see that her father reaches too, a few minutes after us. I would've been disappointed by the sight had I been wishing to elope with that girl, but I didn't really care for her so I was unperturbed by the sight. Then I turn my head, and find Partiban, that tamizh movie actor, walking up to me. He greets me with much warmth as if we were long lost friends. Then he takes me to his humble home which is a dingy shack, but its on the first floor of an apartment, and so we get there in an elevator. Once in the shack I see his emaciated wife and her starved kid. Then we step out, and somehow the conversation comes to our take on life. I said something to the effect that I care most for myself and that others come only next. This made him turn no particularly different colour with fury, but he was very furious, and one could see as much on his countenance. He looked aghast and screamed at me, "You bastard! How can you say something like that. You must give more importance to the plight of others!" There was a man nearby, and strangely, he was holding a razor blade in his hand. Partiban grabbed it and came to slash it across my face with full force when I asked him to halt and appealed to his sense of justice by declaring it wasn't a fair contest if I didn't have a razor blade to defend with. The next scene happens in front of a vendor where he buys 15 packs of 10 razor blades each. Then he rips apart one pack and grabs a brand new Mach-3 and pounces at me. Naturally, I was scared to fight Partiban with razor blades, having no experience in the art. So I had to find a way out. This is when it occurred to me that what he was doing was pointless. So I reminded him how battle was ineffective, because one would lose and the other would win, physically, but neither would change over to the other's point of view. Fortunately, he did see sense, and dropped the razor blade idea. But somehow, I had been slashed once or twice during the course of my convincing him, and i bore some wounds. Anyways, he then took me past his shack on the first floor of his apartment to another shanty. It was just one room, bolted from the outside. He opened it for me. It was very dark inside for there we no windows. The light that streamed in through the door revealed to me some half-dead, naked human beings. One was an old grandma. Then I believe there was a marasmus-ridden kid, and a few other such repulsive looking creatures. I thought in my subconscious, "Argh, how bollywood like my dreams are", but the dreams continued. Then came the hilarious part. When I was in this shanty full of starved souls meant to evoke my sympaty for pity or concern or whatever it is, I had struck conversation with one of them. While I was walking back from the shanty I forgot that person's name. I tried racking my brains hard for it but couldn't recollect. So I turned to Partiban to ask what that person's name was. Now I suddenly realised I didn't even remember Partiban's name(he had some different name in my dream). So I stare at him, and he stares back at me. I try to think of a name so that I may address him, but I am completely at a loss. He just continues to stare at me as if he won't open his mouth unless I mention his name. And then because I forget his name, and he becomes like a statue unless I name him, I end up having no choice but to wake up and go brush my teeth.

Now my memory is beginning to trouble me even in my dreams! :(

The Gods are dying

Forget the masses, back then, even the thinking persons considered most elements of nature and the outer space as Gods because they never understood what was happening. Today the sensible man has no God to fall back on. Vast extents of outer space have been explored and there's theories to explain most of what is seen and even not seen so that we know its just a bunch of matter going around in meaningless precision. The elements of nature too have been reduced to equations. So much so that today's weather prediction systems are so accurate that one isn't sure whether those systems predict the weather or decide the weather. Just a few Gods of yesteryear are existent today, mostly supermen. And even they need scientific approval. Gone are the days when people just took for granted a christ or a krishna. Today, there are scientists carbon dating fossils and what not to check whether there really was a christ, or a krishna.

The Gods are dying. So why are you alive?

Time machine.

I was absolutely certain that today was Thursday. So certain that when my professor asked the senior RA if he's busy over the weekend, and he replied, "I've got plans for tomorrow," I blurted out, in a tone which suggested that i was accusing him of shirking work, "But tomorrow is Friday!" The RA and my advisor looked perplexed and said simultaneously, "Today is Friday!", and I was so absurdly sure of myself that i asked, a little amused, "Today is Friday?" and took out my cell phone to prove them wrong only to find, much to my mortification that today was Friday. "Oh, Today IS Friday!", I screamed, excited at the thought that i'd gained a day(meaning one less day of work) while the prof. and RA gave me blank stares much to my discomfort.

But the point is that it feels absolutely wonder to have gained a day! I still can't believe its actually Friday. I had a whole schedule of work lined up for tomorrow in my head, and now I realise I don't have to do any of it! This is perhaps the closest that any man has ever got to time travel!

Yippee!! \:D/

Geek joke.

Warning: Only for Materials Science/Physics students:

Why did the Materials Scientist throw the orange juice at his best friend's new shirt?
He was doing OJ(Auger) Electron Spectroscopy to determine the shirt's material!

:D

Name sake.

A typical application form in the US:

Last name, First name, Middle name.

:)

Free.

It was a Friday night and I felt strangely miserable. I had no idea why. But I knew if i stayed on any longer in my room i'd go mad. I knew even better that if i saw a familiar face i'd yell at him to get lost. Such being my state, i quietly stepped out my room, an hour after sunset, so that it was less likely i would be spotted. I decided to go up the nearby mountain. Alone. So I walked, briskly, to reduce the risk of being sighted, with head down, so that those acquaintances who are not familiar enough to call my name out loud, but would've said 'hi' nevertheless if they saw my face, can be avoided. After 10 successful minutes, I reached a thoroughfare I had to cross to get to where the mountain is. The walk sign was a loud red and I squinted my eyes. I paused and stared at the dull grey concrete. I tried to sniff the tar but I inhaled a cloud of smoke. The vehicles were speeding by with their monotonous hums. It annoyed me. So i looked up to my left and I was dazed by the brilliant headlights of a car. It enraged me so much i wanted to throw a brick at him, but i found nothing around me. It was still red. I fidgeted. "What if I don't wait for the walk sign to turn on and cross the road? The vehicles are moving comfortably fast." I should be killed i reassured myself. I might have inconvenienced the driver of the unlucky car that would hit me. But I was feeling sufficiently selfish then and this thought didn't occur to me. I took a short step onto the road when it was still green for the vehicles. My heart skipped a beat or two. "What if i don't die? What if i'm only injured?" Too much fear. I was ashamed of myself. I stepped back, just as a vehicle came and halted an inch away from my foot. The walk signed glowed, and I crossed. Now I knew I wouldn't meet familiar faces so I slowed down, that I may enjoy the walk. It was pleasantly warm. A slight sweat was enveloping my body. I took off my T-shirt. It would've been nice to walk naked I thought. But I feared the cops so i desisted. As I approached the moutain the surroundings were transforming. The odd enthuastic jogger was terminating his marathon. A couple was holding hands and entering a restaurant. Another was walking aimlessly. There were many cars. But none made noise. None moved. Their menacing forms were at rest while their owners fled to the thoroughfare i'd crossed five minutes ago, to enter one shop and another. In five minutes, life had altered. It seemed to have slowed down, from the chaos of that thoroughfare to this lonely street that led to the mountain. The mountain made a splendid sight. A big, black mound, against a dark blue sky. I could see neither the beautiful trees nor the cascading surface of the mountain. Just a huge dark triangle. It was my faith that held the mountain there. I knew it. It could just as well have been the triangular door that led to hell. At that point, I didn't care either way. So I walked on, untroubled. As I began the climb, all the cursed noise from the city subsided. Within a few minutes I could hear nothing but my own footsteps, making a sweet sound that resembled the jingling of a bag of sand. The malodorous perfumes of the genteel citizens was gone too. Lights, those blasphemous lights, street lights, car light, shop lights, even cell phone lights, all had disappeared. It was pitch dark. No moonlight even. Instead, i had the street light that scattered off the dust from the city. I felt pleased at the lull to all my senses. I glanced up to see the distance I had to walk to get to the top. It was still a good few miles away. I slowed down. I wished to savour every moment of this solitude. A gentle breeze blew across my face and I halted to communion with it. Suddenly, I heard something behind me, like the tinkling of bells. I looked around sharply, only to see some shrubs dancing in the wind. It must've been my imagination. But why did it produce a tinkle? My imagination must be queer I thought. But i'd never known it to be queer before. Its been ordinary at best. A thought then occurred to me that had never occurred to me before during the climb. What if there's someone on the way up, provided with no good intentions, but with a gun? I was seized by fear, that same fear which seized me when i had taken that short step on to the road and contemplated an accident without death, the same fear that seized me when i thought of cops imprisoning me, naked to satisfy my whim, but in the company of jailmates. I shuddered. I looked to make sure there was no one around, then I resumed my walk. I must get to the top I said to myself. "Is a man with a gun really so scary? What would he want? Money? Nothing else, right?" I put my T-shirt on. "Yes, money is all he would want." My eyes searched the shrubs and trees around me even as I walked, even as i thought. "Ok, i can give him my credit card. He'll take the cell phone too if he's clever. So i'll be poor. Is that such a bad deal? Perhaps not." My ears were pricked. Just the jingling of sand. I glanced upwards. Still a good way to go. "Would he hit me? Why would he hit me if I comply? Out of madness perhaps. I'll bleed then. That's not so good. Of course, I may not bleed too. But one of those places is worse." I grimaced. The wind died. My footsteps grew louder, and louder, till it seemed like I would go deaf. So I slowed down, in spite of myself, so that I could hear for other footsteps. My heart raced. I glanced down the hill. I saw a torch flickering. The light oscillated like a pendulum about him, even as he inched foward. I smiled at the thought that he must be thinking himself very clever. He was lulled into a false sense of security by the light surrounding him, but it must be a delightful warning for anyone who wished to waylay him. Poor lamb i thought, and moved on. Then I asked myself if i really had to move on? "I could just hastily run back down. After all, I am not even half way up. We'll leave that decision until later. For now, the heart's racing and it must race," I told myself. "It would be sad if he hit me. But what if he shot me? Why would he shoot me? Why am I asking such supremely logical questions of a man who might be insane for all i know? What if he merely bought a new gun, and wants to test it on me? Now that's more like a madman! Ok, so I die. Is that bad? Perhaps not. No, not really. It would make a few people sad for a few moments. And that's about it." I then remembered I had read somewhere that for every step we took millions of cells died and fell off our bodies. Cells are the smallest living organisms my biology book once told me. " I don't crumble to dust because one cell died, or, for that matter, even a few million. Even so, the universe will continue on its journey, and I would just be a cell that died, and fell off" At this last thought I chuckled. I imagined him shooting me, and my rolling off to the side of the track and falling all the way to the bottom of the mountain. The odd coincidence that even the falling off was accounted for in my parallel amused me. "So its not such a bad deal after all." I slowed down. I stopped. I turned around to look at the city. From a distance, the city had an queer appeal in all its well-lit glory. From within, it was hell. So it is with life too I thought. When viewed with detachment, from a distance, like a spectator from the heavens, your life, your past, all seem a fine spectacle, a remarkable phenomenon. But when you are living in the here and the now, it can often be unbearable. Just then I heard a quick shuffle of feet, my heart skipped a beat, but before I could turn towards the source of sound a huge, powerfully built man had come up in front of me from nowhere, and he was pointing a gun at me. I checked to see if it was new, as I had imagined. It wasn't. He was full of tattoos on his skin, and there were numerous piercings on his face, some in very sensitive regions too. He said what he'd been taught to say, "Gimme all yor maaney o' i'll shootchu!" "Sure thing." I said and quickly gave him my credit card. Somehow, I was not too scared. Yes, my heart was palpitating, but all that bracing myself for this had given me a strange strength. I gave him my college id too for it was useless to me now. "Shoot, I've forgotten to take money! That's most important." I thought to myself. But I looked at him and smiled as I replayed that odd choice of words in my head. "Why you smilin' at me you bastard? Don't play games or i'll shoot. Putcho fuckin' hands in the air!" he said, giving me a scorching glare. He seemed unsettled though, from my smile. His profession hadn't prepared him for that. "Take all you want my friend." I said and stared right at him. For the first time in my life, at that moment, I saw true fear. He looked as if it was I who had the gun pointed at him, in the midst of a vast plain field, and was saying, "I'll give you one chance to escape. Run!" He quickly bent to my pockets to see if there was anything left. But he kept looking up now and again with fear written all over his face. It was almost as if he were a little kid, placing his implicit trust in me not to do any harm. He found the cell phone. I thought he'd shoot me for not giving it. That was the idea of course. Or at least, hit me. Though that wasn't what i wanted. He took the cell phone and stood up. Then with the face of a frightened kitten, he stared at me with moist eyes. He punched me hard on the chin and i fell down to the ground with a thud. Blood gushed out of my mouth, and one of the teeth had cut my tongue. It hurt very sorely. "Don't call me a friend you mothafucker! I'm no fucking friend i say. Why did you call me a friend eh?" he said, and ran, just as in the picture I had painted in my head, as if he were running for his life, and I was going to shoot him down anyways, but some mad hope prompted him to run. I couldn't move. I knew I couldn't get home. But i didn't want to go home. The breeze seemed to be blowing again. I thought it had a pleasant odour to it. The stars were few as i looked up at the sky, but what few were there looked cheerful. I closed my eyes, and felt strangely happy. When i reopened my eyes, it was morning. There was blood on my chin, and my shirt was stained too, so i know it wasn't all a dream. The sun was blindingly bright, but i thought it looked more pleasing than ever.

The literal sense of humour.

I was wondering today, when is it that humans laugh. After much deliberation, it seems to me, who is so bent upon finding a small finite number of underlying causes for all these great mysteries, that the great thread that connects all laughter is the absurd. I think most humour originates from a sense of the absurd, be it slapstick or witty. Or any of those other genres mentioned under humour in social networking forums. I do not have the patience to take each particular genre and iterate my case because its hard for me, honestly, to break it up into so many genres. I think its essentially of two fundamental types. Those that involve the mind's processed response,i.e., post-thought. And those that are spontaneous,i.e., purely as a consequence of sight, like in the case of slapstick. In these two very fundamental types, i shall cite quick examples. When a man falls, what makes us laugh? I think its the absurdity of a fallen man. Just as we laugh when we see icecream on a friend's nose. Its just the absurdity of the sight. As for thought processed humour, one can find plenty in novels in the humour genre. But here's an instance: In 'The Pickwick Papers', Samuel Weller is called to the witness box. This is the sort of chap who is always in good humour. The attorney on the plaintiff's side wishes to quickly unsettle the witness. So he glares at him. The plaintiff begins:
'Now, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Now, sir,' replied Sam.

Just the sheer absurdity of his throwing in that totally redundant 'Now,sir' was so hilarious it literally had me rolling on the floor laughing. I can cite many more instances to those interested in thinking about this seriously and discussing with me.

The reason i wrote this post, however, is that i'm not completely certain. I have a strong case for absurdity. But i was initially revolving around 'loss of dignity', i.e., 'humiliation' though the latter seems much too strong a word for what i wish to convey. And there might be something else that is a far better connect that i might've entirely missed out. If any one who reads this post has some other well thought out answer, i would be DELIGHTED to hear it and may be even discuss it if we can. Thanks!

Pronunciation trouble.

I have this Hindi speaking friend with a strong native accent in his English. He was describing the plot of his new apartment when he told what sounded to me like, " The masturbate room is awesome!"

:)

Height of joblessness at work:

Is when you start organising your spam into folders.

Grateful to my former mess!

I feel sad for having thought lowly of my mess caterers whenever i found a handful of bugs in one of the dishes. I thought it was poor hygeine and yelled at them for it, innocent of the fact that Chinese dishes were really their speciality. So I wished to make amends by posting this. What you see in the image is a gourmet Chinese soup, which reminds me with poignant nostalgia of the wonderful chinese soup, affectionately customised for my rotten South Indian tongue with sambar powder, that the dear mess workers used to diligently prepare for us! I apologise to them here, publicly, for my youthful rashness. I hope they haven't taken my threats too much to heart. I hope and pray that they still serve their wonderful Chinese foods, with many many more bugs thrown in. I would be very upset to learn that there has been, recently, a shortage of cockroaches in the mess, thanks to the administration's callous decision to get worse caterers who would cheaply substitute cardomom and ginger for these bugs, and pretend to be offering us a better fare for lower mess bills, while in reality they would be making our tongues sore, and more worryingly, putting our health seriously at risk. I would be alarmed to learn that the caterers had no choice but to substitute cockroaches with the much more abundant but somewhat insipid mosquitoes because it would be outrageous injustice to my junior batches, nay more, for they've faced more competition than we had to enter the hallowed portals of IIT. I feverisly pray now that none of these dreary prospects have materialised. What i would like to learn instead, is that the administration has taken note of the inherent talents of our caterers and, as a consequence, decided to ban entry of garbage pick-up trucks into our evergreen campus, thus not only upholding the existing ban on powered vehicles but also increasing the rat population, hence making allowance for ever greater varieties of chinese cuisines to keep all on campus hale and hearty!

Delirious late night rambling

You are neither rich because you deserve to be rich, nor are you poor because you deserve to be poor. So feel neither pride nor guilt, neither contempt nor envy at another man's plight, and that is the first step towards a happy life.

A doll and a damsel.

If you are a judgemental feminist, this post isn't for you!

I saw an old gentleman playing volleyball with his ghost in the sand volleyball courts, and the ghost was losing every point, so i thought i'd make it a fair game and asked the gentleman if i could join on the side of the ghost, to which he approved. Thus we began a fairly exhausting game of two-on-one volleyball. Quite early on, I decided the ghost would get his share in the game so I lofted a gentle first pass for him to boost. Blissfully unaware that his affections, quite naturally, would be with his own physical self, in spite of the thrashings he was receiving in the game, I waited, and waited in vain, for he failed to touch the ball. I dived forward to save the ball, and in the process abraded, mark my words, abraded not bruised, my knee. However, i was having so much fun playing the old gentleman, and being made to run around to stay in the game, that I ignored the blood gushing out of my knee, and felt pleased at the thought that i'd be quenching the thirst of the vermin of the earth, much as Shiva would've ignored the Ganges gushing out of his head and felt gratified at slaking the thirst of the vermin of the universe. So I battled on, until the old gentleman decided to retire for the day. Then i realised that the vermin might grow weak and inert, because of getting such easy access to food, and that this would be bad for their competitive and survival instincts, so with great reluctance, with the good intention of making the learn to survive in this cruel world, i decided to wash my wound. I went to the Sports Recreation Complex, which was a couple of minutes from the fields, to get first aid.

When i approached the help desk and asked if they had first aid, a pretty doll asked what happened. I showed her the eyesore and said it happened during volleyball. There was no change of the bored expression on her face but she urged me to go sit on the couch nearby when she would get go get the first aid kit. "But shouldn't i wash the wound with a little water first?" I asked, concerned by all the sand that was mixed with the blood. "Just sit." she ordered. I assumed she would get the water too and thought this very kind of her and happily smiled at her, while she held the same bored look. I thought then that the whole thing about smiling angels might be a rumour after all and persisted in my cheerful wait. She searched around for the peroxide, and she searched quite a while. Then she sent another pretty damsel on the errand of fetching it. As i watched that damsel disappear behind a bend, and turned, i saw this doll approaching me. I thought for a second she was coming simply to cheer up the poor wounded lamb, and was all set to pretend the unperturbed hero of yore, who might've lost an arm and a leg in battle but didn't flinch a muscle, for it was a matter of pride to shed blood in battle. I dare say volleyball with an old gentleman and his unfriendly ghost, is no less intense a battle, though the unknowing masses fail to acknowledge its significance in the annals of history.

She pulled out a long sheet, full of intimidating questions, and said, with you-know-what-expression, "While she goes to get the peroxide, lets start filling out this report. What is your name?". Frightened on seeing the number of questions on the form, I hastened to reply, "Miss, I'll fill it out for you." I thought it would please her, and i so dearly wanted to see how that pretty face would look when it smiled, but she said plainly, "Ok, fill out the first three rows for me very legibly please." I grabbed the pen and hastened to fill out my name and college ID, but i couldn't help smile at her delightfully accurate premonition that my handwriting would be similar to the lines traced out by the end of the stick that an aborigine holds while doing his native dance. Then the 'report' asked me for my address. This, if they really needed, can easily be obtained using my ID, and was a painfully redundant question. But i wrote out the address:

The first bedroom to your left, as you walk down the passage way from the hall.
8054 S Wellington Dr., #204
Tempe
AZ
USA

Then it went on to ask me my phone number. I scribbled. The very next question: "Sex". "Of course! That's why i gave you my number!" i wanted to write. Some more interrogation, and then i handed the form back to her. By now the damsel had arrived, gloves on both hands, a huge bottle in the left glove, and a crate of items on the right. I was taken aback by her luggage. I knew my sugar consumption was high, yet i never had worries about it. But this damsel forced me to take a second look at my wound to make sure that it hadn't, when i was blissfully unaware, aggravated to need an amputation of my leg. Having assured myself that it was just a bruise, i turned and looked at the doll as she asked, "What do you think of the wound?". I thought jolly well of it, for staying right there, and giving me the opportunity to talk to a doll and a damsel, but i didn't think she that was what she wanted to know so i enquired, "What do you mean?" "I mean, do you think its an abrasion?" I thought she could see it just as well as i could, and i'd already told her that it happened as i fell in the volleyball court, and wondered if she merely wanted to test my english for a second. Naturally, this surprised me and i raised my eyebrows a bit. "Well, it asks here!" she said, as if evading blame. I snatched the form and read 'Abrasion, fracture, bruise, sprain, laceration....." Remember my earlier watchful mention of the word 'abrasion' as opposed to 'bruise'? "An abrasion it is!" I said, amused at her complete refusal to think on her own and answer the questions. "Just wanted to make sure you know. I didn't know whether that's the word they called it." I wasn't sure who 'they' was and felt a trifle anxious that this 'they' , whoever 'they' were, shouldn't think it a 'bruise' and consider me a deceiving villain. Then she asked, "How did you hurt yourself?" I was awakened to the sad fact that she was yet another one of the unknowing masses who fail to recognise the significance of the battle i had been through, for i had told her at the outset how i bruised myself, and it hurt me that she could so easily forget the significance of that historical moment in time. So i replied dejectedly, "While playing volleyball." "Was it in the fields?" she asked. I stared at her dumbfounded. I came from outside the SRC, so i couldn't have been in the indoor courts, and i could hardly have been playing volleyball in my dingy research laboratory. "Yes!" I said, a trifled amused. "The sand volleyball courts right?" I was at a loss for words. I felt the way one feels when one's love kisses one and asks one " You love me right?", for it is very obvious, yet she gets a strange thrill from hearing you say it. This pause didn't escape notice and she blurted out, averting her eyes and pointing to the form, "Just wanted to make sure because they ask on here." "Yes," I said softly in much the same tone i would've assumed to re-iterate to my girl, "Yes dear, I love you very much." and smiled at this comic desire of hers to confirm the obvious. Meanwhile, the damsel was on her knees, with a sterile cloth soaked in peroxide. It really was quite a while now since i first rubbed knees with the ground, and i repented for having been silly enough to listen to the doll and not washed my wound. For i knew this meant that by now, those unfortunate vermin that managed to find my wound would be nearing that terrible phase of their life in which they would have for long lived the life of the indolent and indulgent rich, and will thus be extremely vulnerable when thrown into the fiercefully competitive world. This damsel meanwhile, brought the cloth towards my knee, and with much patience and caution dabbed all around the wound. At first i thought she was making sure she removed the sand around so that it wouldn't again go in when she'd rub over the wound. But she continued for what seemed like an eternity, to clean around the wound. Perhaps she was dissatisfied that my leg looked like a construction worker's because of all the dust and was making sure, with great care, that it looked neat. But when my legs were quite near shining, I became impatient, for my wound still needed attention. So i said with a pleasant smile,"Don't bother yourself miss, i'll attend to the wound myself." I quickly rubbed the wound clean with peroxide. Then put the band-aid on. I must have lost my head for a moment, because when i'd done putting the band-aid on I said, "Thank you girls for your help!" and they gave me that bored look. As i took leave, I thought i'd take the dirty sterile cloth and trash it, but i decided they needed a mental work out so i simply walked away, and they sat there pondering how to dispense with the the sterile cloth and the gloves. One said, lets put it in a zip-lock and then trash it. They search for the crate for it, but found nothing. The other opened her mouth to suggest something, but by then i made sure i was out of ear-shot.

How i discovered my debt

It was 12:30 in the night and i was half asleep. As i pulled the blanket over myself, i spotted a bed bug crouching in the wool, its heart leaping at the prospect of tasting my blood. I decided he had had his share of sin on the planet and looked around for a piece of paper. I found nothing save an envelope. Curiously, i'd opened the envelope but i'd not checked the contents. It was from ASU. I pulled out a sheet. It had something about paying bills online. Impatiently, i turned to the rear side of it. There was print there too. I was disappointed. I wanted to see the borrowed blood, my blood, smeared clearly against the paper's white. So i pulled out another and looked straight at the rear. It was white as snow and i smiled with satisfaction. Then i quietly used it to finish my good deed for the day. Just then, some strange impulse made me turn to the other side, and i saw that it was an unpaid bill for 220 dollars! Then i checked the due date, and it said 25th of May, the Friday that just passed. Now i have to pay it up with a late fee this coming week. Still i can't help but smile at the most curious way in which i stumbled upon this bill. Otherwise, its most likely i'd have trashed the whole envelope without a glance, and wouldn't have realised until the next bill came along, some four months from now, well into my fall semester, with a fine as severe as the due amount itself! I expect the bug was sent to heaven after all.

My generous advisor!

We were having the usual weekly group meeting. There is this senior Korean RA in our group who is about done with his PhD and graduating later this year. Our advisor was telling us of the need to send a white paper to Intel for a certain project that he plans to undertake. As he was saying this, the Koren student interrupted and asked quizzically, in his strong Korean accent, and broken English, "Intel wants white paper?" as if confounded by the thought that such a big company as Intel, which puts up so mighty and proud a face in the semiconductory industry, should, stealthily request A4 sheets from our generous advisor. Perhaps adding to his consternation was the prospect of joining that very company after his PhD. The professor realising as much hastened to clarify, "A white paper, Mr. X, is like a pre-proposal." "Ah," said the student, and the meeting continued.

:)

If google is blackle

then if they were to come up with a black version of gmail they'd call it 'blackmail'? :)

Me me me!

I've never seen a review paper with less than 100 references. And i've never seen a review paper in which less than half the references are the author's publications. Its a corny modesty they pretend when they write their names as the first author in the first 50 references at the back but always write it as if it were someone else's name. For instance, i'd be writing the reference as K Sivaramakrishnan, Supernature, 1, 1 (2007). If ever the day comes when i'm asked to write a review, i shall be downright honest about it and i'll write:

Me, Supernature, 1, 1 (2007)
Me et Me, Superscience, 1, 1 (2007)
( I could've stopped with one 'Me', but what the hell, 'Me et Me' is still me! :D)

Is there such an experiment?

Is there an experiment, the outcome of which cannot be predicted by quantum mechanics? I'm not asking if the mathematical complexity of the problem is such that we haven't been able to solve it. I only ask if it poses an open challenge to the theory of quantum mechanics?

Horse around

The Engineering Research Centre is several limousines in length, with rooms standing close sentinel on either side, leaving just sufficient room for two goats to pass beside each with their bellies brushing as they walk past. Such being the case, a pin drop would amplify enough for you to think some lab window was broken, and one is thrilled at the prospect of excitement in an otherwise deathly quite building. There is one shock for which, however, i was little prepared as i took up my first and new desk in the building. I sensed vibrations on the floor, and i heard hoofs. First just one or two, and i was amused at the thought that some eccentric professor might've brought his pet horse along(its not such a wild idea in this 'free' country really). Then the sounds grew louder and louder until it seemed like a stampeding onslaught of the Persian cavalry, and i wondered what they wanted from my spartan lab office. Just as i shuddered and turned my head towards the door, a slyph-like woman in high heels passed by.

I've finally figured out why these PhDs are called Doctors. A doctor, according to my dictionary, is one who makes you wait so long before you can meet him, that you are cured by the time you enter, and you just pay him the fees, thank him, and walk out dumbstruck. It seems to me PhDs should be no different, at least judging by the amount of time i have to wait before i can meet my advisor because there is someone else in the room at my hour of appointment.

My wisecrack:

The higher the GPa, the higher the stiffness.

Coincidental discovery!

A friend of mine happened to post Excerpts from the Painted Veil which contains some very nice quotations. One such is this:

'When all things lasted so short a time and nothing mattered very much, it seemed pitiful that men, attaching an absurd importance to trivial objects, should make themselves and one another so unhappy.'

While i was reading Maugham's short stories over the weekend, i came across this:

'I permit myself a trite remark. It is strange that men, inhabitants for so short a while of an alien and inhuman world, should go out of their way to cause themselves so much unhappiness.'

I'm thrilled that through this queer co-incidence, where she happened to have given importance, too, to such a sentence as that and written it down for posterity, I have been able to perceive one of Maugham's most fundamental convictions, for why else would two such similar observations on the nature of mankind appear in his two pieces of work that are separated by almost six years?

Life is indeed beautiful!

Hearken ye!

THE AGE OF SCIENTIFIC TYRANNY HAS COME!

I TA for this student:

On 4/26/07, Karthik.Sivaramakrishnan@asu.edu <Karthik.Sivaramakrishnan@asu.edu > wrote:

It seems you have not turned in your lab report on xrd(lab no. 3)

Reply:
This is true. The reason for not having it turned in is that it was not written. Thank you for the notification, but do not expect to see it unless I hear back from you requesting otherwise.
- Allen

Fermat's principle:

Light follows a path which minimizes the total travel time.

Law of reflection, and law of refraction are a direct fall-out of this!

Courtesy: Applications of Calculus, Philip Straffin

P.S: They chose not to copyright this book! ^:)^

All is well with this world.

There has never been a time in history when massive amounts of weapons were developed just for intimidation. They have always been used, and abused, till better ones came along. I little expect that the tonnes of nuclear weapons existent, and growing each day by taking the largest chunk of government expenses in many countries, is merely for the personal amusement of defense ministers. They are going to be used, and it is only a question of time. Taking into consideration then that a war today can wipe out all of the population, and assuming that all are not wiped, merely for the sake of argument, we have to determine the nature of the few that survive the holocaust. Now, these few might have vary proportions of people from the civilised and uncivilised races. Conisdering that the world after a nuclear holocaust would only upset the natural balance more than it is already offset, it is essential that the men that survive be incapable of upsetting this balance further thus reducing the chances of survival of the human species. So, in order to give time for restoration of natural order, the surviving humans have to be uncivilised. Assuming the holocaust to be perfectly random in its selection of people to wipe out, the more the uncivlised people on the planet before the holocaust, the more likely it is that there'll be more of them left after the holocaust. From this point of view, it is best if the less civilised races proliferate while the civilised races diminish. This is indeed the scenario in the world today, and hence, it seems that in spite of the superficial turbulence and the burden of overpopulation, all is well with the world. \:D/

Funny gods!

People of all religions offer money, usually as bribery for a favour, to the gods! :)

Or they offer money to the representatives of gods, who would claim no interest in the money, so that the fingers are finally pointed upwards! :)

And he's supposed to have created my beautiful universe?

Rotfl.

On settling in the U.S.

I have noticed that even a lot of the second generation Indians, who I see as undergrads at school, have a largely Indian friends circle, though the Indians in this case are fellow ABCDs. Even their boyfriends/girlfriends are these ABCDs. It makes me wonder to what extent one can hope to get absorbed into this civilisation just by staying on in the country, when even one's kids, seemingly, aren't absorbed so fully, in spite of their having full-fledged american accents, clothing, habits, lifestyle, and in general being in no way different from their other classmates. It does not seem to me that that kind of absorption is very unlikely. There's this famous chap Russell Peters, who does stand-up comedy. It seems to me that in spite of being fully americanized, and bearing a name that does not reveal his nationality, he finds himself not wholly absorbed, and hence, suffering from a complex, that makes him re-iterate his indian origin in his shows, and make jokes at the expense of both the Indians and the 'Whites' as he calls the Americans often - the Indians because he can't bear that he isn't American, the Americans because they won't absorb him. Anyways, if one generally looks at the socializing circles of the Indians, it seems to be largely with their own type, and this is also true of almost any other nationality. While this is natural to some extent, because people of the same nation do have more in common with each other, to find that even later generation people of different nationalities aren't soaked in more thoroughly makes me wonder about the eager hopes of many of my fellows who wish to blend into this nation. Ah well..

Music.

The joy that i obtain from music is growing each day. I have no idea what it is i like about music. In fact, my knowledge is so limited, i have no real idea of the repetitious patterns in the frequencies either so that i don't even know what music is. But it doesn't matter. The joy that it gives me is so immense these days that there isn't much else in my life that gives joy in the same measure. Its one thing that i enjoy it so immensely even when i listen to it casually. But there are these moments when i feel so strongly that i must listen to music, an urge as strong as an addiction, and when i indulge myself in those moments, it stops nothing short of orgasmic delight. Then i'm filled with a general happiness, as if all were well with the world. I feel no spite, i feel no bitterness, i feel no envy, i feel no pain. I'm happy for everyone, and, more importantly, for it is more difficult to see this around me, everyone seems happy to me. I realise how blessed i'm to be in this world. I feel humbled by the noble souls who make such music. All in all, i'm in a state of meaningless elation! I get that feeling which i've heard my friends convey, "I might as well die after listening to this."

Every note strikes a chord. Every chord is harmonious. Every harmonious piece is full of life. And life itself is a song!

Comic

There is this cartoon faced Chinese student in the TA office. He had pulled together three or four chairs and was sleeping across them rather early on a cloudy Monday morning. As i took a turn to head to my seat, i found myself standing directly in front of his foot, and in his immediate line of sight. Since he opened his eyes and was stairing like a frightened cat into mine, i thought i'd make small talk. So i started off with, " Been working rather hard this weekend?", to which he earnestly replied, after a slight delay to jerk himself out of his stupor, "No, i feel tired because of the rainy weather."

In the evening on this same day, i was in my apartment talking to my new roomie. I asked him about his plans for spring break, and suggested that he might go to his sister's place in Denver when he said he'd made no plans. To this he responded in all seriousness, "No, i don't want to go to my sister's place now. We have bed bugs here, and if i go there i'm sure to take them with me. I don't want to trouble my sister with bed bugs, so i don't think i'll go now. May be in summer, if the bed bugs in our apartment are gone by then."

Its now night on that very same day and raining outside as i write this. Somehow everyone seems to be in a mood to make me laugh today. I was correcting the lab reports of one of my senior undergraduate students. It was a lab on X-ray diffraction, and in the discussion section, under sources of error he writes:
The results above support the idea that this lab was not without many possible sources of error such as a bad sample[full-stop] after all the groups never saw or touched the sample until the day of the experiment,[should have been full-stop] the XRD could have been out of tune[full-stop] after all the one next to it was being serviced which may have also caused some intereference.

1) LOL at his imagining the samples desoiling themselves because the students hadn't touched them.
2) ROTFL at his conception of sisterly concern among XRD machines! =))

All this from a senior undergraduate! :-|

A favour.

shoot the vain peacock,
or smash his head against a rock,
he'll be grateful to you,
and you'll reach heaven without ado

Thought processes.

The elements in each row are equivalent, and the rows are listed in descending order of the extent to which they stultify thought processes:

1) Video,real life and music.
2) Pictures and conversation.
3) Text and radio.

Many might refute 1), but those elements reduce in stultification power only by repetition. The fractional effect of repetition in wearing away the stultification power decreases from row 1 to row 3.

Good old youth.

Too many youth in their twenties complain of feeling old these days. I don't think its due to any excess of wisdom in them. Its just a consequence of over expectation, or excessive ambition, and its entailing, overwork. This leads to nervous fatigue, and a general disinterest in things they deem 'useless', hence making them feel morbidly bored when they don't have work assigned to them. This makes them weary, and combined with the nervous dystrophy makes them feel old.

P.S: This post is meant for me to save my thoughts. I don't have the patience to create a private blog now just because a handful of people will be reading this post. So I've disabled the comment option instead.

Evidence to the earlier post.

'Iran is ready for any possibility over nuke row'

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Tehran, Jan. 19 (AP): President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad lashed back over the US military buildup in the Gulf, saying that Iran is ready for any possibility in its standoff with the West over its nuclear programme.

The US deployment of a second aircraft carrier to the Gulf appeared to have alarmed some in Iran's hard-line leadership. A prominent member of a powerful cleric-run body warned yesterday that the United States plans to attack Iran in the coming months, possibly by striking its nuclear facilities.

Washington has accused Iran of backing militants fueling Iraq's violence and has tried to rally its Arab allies in isolating Tehran. The Iraq crisis has increased tensions between the US and Iran amid the yearslong dispute over Iran's nuclear programme, which Washington says aims to produce nuclear weapons.

The United States this week sent an aircraft carrier, the USS Stennis, to the Gulf -- the second one to deploy in the region -- in a buildup that Defence Secretary Robert Gates aimed to impress on Iran that the four-year war in Iraq has not made America vulnerable.

In an apparent reaction to the deployment, Ahmadinejad yesterday vowed that Iran would not back down in its nuclear programme, which it says is peaceful, aiming only to produce energy.

"Today, with the grace of God, we have gone through the arduous passes and we are ready for anything in this path," state-run television quoted Ahmadinejad as saying.

Reassuring?

Talks offer not a sign of weakness: Manmohan

This was one of the headlines in today's 'The Hindu'. The prime minister of India was reassuring its citizens that its offer of having talks with the ULFA was not a sign of weakness on the part of the government. It is interesting, and alarming, to see such is the mind-set of people that the desire for peace or a relinquishing of weapons is a sign of weakness. Perhaps this one incident is insufficient evidence to make a general conclusion, but the general practice of most nations seems to be much in agreement with this conclusion. The frenzied pace at which nations are bolstering their military might is frightening, and there is now among nations an obsession with creating, or if it is incapable of that, collecting, nuclear weapons, each wishing to establish that it has power, and hence cannot be taken lightly. What is this madness, and how will it end?!

A rhyme.

I'm not sure if this qualifies as poetry. In fact, i'm not sure what qualifies as poetry. To be on the safer side, let's just call it rhyme, though, if you are a nursery kid, i wouldn't recommend this to you:

I watched with awkward eyes
the grey that suffused the skies
in fear of gloating Gloom
i ran from my rueful room

i'm caught by the ravaging rain
which seeps into my brain
and plays a melancholy refrain
oh where can i seek refuge from pain?

The Search

The process of searching is one of the most fascinating things I’ve experienced, though you might not infer the same, nay more, you’d infer quite the contrary, if you were beside me while I was in the midst of some such process.

I’ve been suffering from an idenity crisis for about a week now. I’ve lost my ID card. Circumstances necessitated that I search for it. I ransacked my room; but failed to find the card. Then I decided to put things in order again; and still no luck. I repeated the whole cycle in vain. And I’m sure I can do it a million more times and I would not find it. Its certain the day I pay the fine and bring my new card home, I’ll find the old one. That’s where I like the idea of stores in the U.S. One can return most products within a certain period of time after the purchase if one is not satisified. I think this particularly helpful because if I were to buy, say, a pair of socks, and lose them, the easiest way for me to find them would be to go the store and buy myself another such pair. When I get home I’m sure to find the old pair, folded and sitting neatly on the clothes shelf. Then I can go back and return the new pair.

What amazes me about the search is the wealth of memories it brings back. This present search throwed up stuff that reminded me of my intial anxieties when I came here, my pleasant outings, my horrible score-sheets, my passionate collection of library fines, mile-long grocery bills and such like. And this search in turn reminded me off past searches. Almost every vacation I’d find I can’t find something or the other of tremendous value, and often most things of such exalted status, and I’d search my treasure chests. This search brings back many memories; Old class photographs to remind me of the days of innocence; Mickey mouse and Bata(back to school) book labels which remind me of the start of school. It used to feel horrible to return from vacations and have to go to school again, and as a form of protest I never bound my books. This greatly annoyed my mom, and she would remind me everyday to bind them, but I’d persist in my stubbornness, until a fair compromise would be reached in which I’d bring her the brown paper and the scissors, and she would do all the binding. Then I’ve found some old birthday cards which remind me of the people who gave them, and some other connected instances. Almost every birthday since my 6th standard remind me of that one particular birthday when I made a dent in my skull by smashing my head against the wash-basin while bathing and had to get several stitches on my forehead. It was also special because, at our home, we don’t have birthday parties, and that was my first party, when we bought a large cake to be cut, and had the house all lit-up in fancy lighting, and invited several of our(my brother and I have our birthday just three days apart and so we decided to have a combined party) friends from the neighbourhood. Then there’s my old, and fairly large coin collection. I also collected a few stamps. I was introduced to the terms philately and numismatics in my 4th standard, and I was so fascinated by the high-sounding nature of these two words that I decided I must be able to use them in my own life, and hence began collecting coins and stamps. Its sad that they are in such a disarray now. Its actually very interesting how I got most of my coins. When I was in the U.S. for a year in my 7th, I used to keep an eye out for foreign looking people in the neighbourhood, and unabashedly approach them and ask them if I they would give me some coins from their own country! I’ve even gone to the extent of knocking on doors at random and asking for coins. As a friend rightly said, I had a cute face then, and nobody would’ve hesitated to take the effort to pull out coins from their native country to see my darling smile. Things would be different if I did the same now. Also, I’ve been a clever kid, and stored only those exam papers in which I’ve scored well, so that it would seem as if I was this bright kid who raced through all of school with the greatest ease. If it were not for the fact that my parents have cruelly saved my final report cards, which keep reminding me of the bitter truth, I would’ve safely assumed myself a born genius, and gone about declaring the same to the world of relatives and friends. There are also some forgettable memories, like a letter to some ashram or sabha, which my grandmother asked me to post some years back, and I promptly forgot. Or some toy, which I stubbornly demanded that I have, and is still lying in its original box, untouched by mankind.

Aside: Are my threads so alarming? I just got a call from the Tempe police as I was typing this post. And a sweet sounding lady asked, “Is everything alright?” I’m quite fine I assured her wondering when my posts started proving such a grave threat to society. Apparently, my phone dialed 911 of its own accord while in my pocket, and so they were calling to make sure nothing was the matter. Talk about next generation smart phones!

Some thoughts.

After today's walk i'm convinced that the political doctrine of anarchism combined with the ethical doctrine of utilitarianism would work best to reduce the suffering of mankind.

Also, i do not think imprisonment in a cell(and eventually hanging etc; depending on the nature of the crime) should be the form of punishment awarded to those deemed criminals by the existing law. I think it should rather be that they are all sent to reformation centres, the functioning of which i haven't yet figured out completely. However, depending on the practical urgency for fresh intake of criminals, older ones in the reformation centre who seem not have undergone any change(or at any rate, change insufficient to let them roam free in society) may then be relegated to suffering the rest of their punishment as they would've faced it under the present judicial system.

Conundrum?

Since i'm presently fascinated by the implications of this:

Russell:

If two names or descriptions apply to the same object, whatever is true of the one is true of the other. Now George the Fourth wished to know whether Scott was the author of Waverley; and Scott was as a matter of fact the same person as the author of Waverley. Hence, putting "Scott" in the place of "the author or Waverley," we find that George the Fourth wished to know whether Scott was Scott.

For those who are still wondering what's so puzzling:

If you were crashing in your room in the afti, and someone knocked on the door then, and you wish to find out who it was later(raghu/shamu/geeta etc) then you cannot find out because your questions will be of the nature:

Is Raghu Raghu?
Is Raghu Shamu?
Who is Raghu?
etc:

:-/

Which seems to suggest that an answer to the question who knocked on my door in the afti can never be determined! :-/

That is, everytime such questions are asked, the answer that we are looking for is only obtained because of a common error in understanding :-/

I haven't found a way around it. :-?
Can anyone throw some light?
P.S: Russell mentioned that the solution he found to this puzzle has implications on the foundations of mathematics and the relation of thought to things. He mentions to the addressee that the "answer" would be published in an article in a forthcoming journal, but he never mentioned which one in the letter! :(

To all my friends:

It was a great pleasure to hear from you again. I think letters are more important than one is apt to realize. If one doesn't write, one's doings and one's general state of mind cease to be known, and when a time comes for explaining, there are so many preliminaries that the task seems impossible in writing. So I do hope you will not be deterred by the fear of many words - it really doesn't do to wait till you are in extremis.

*Borrowed from one of Russell's letters to Lucy.

Memorable night.

It was last Wednesday. At first i had decided not to record it for my own future recollection for fear that the girl with whom i spent the night would read it and be upset about it. But i think the better of her now, and i am sure she'll just dimiss it with gentle laughter. Hence i wish to record for posterity, almost one week down the line, what was certainly the most memorable evening i've spent since my arrival at ASU.

It was purely by chance that i happened to meet this girl, probably a few days prior to the day in concern, as she was lying on the couch, snug under a blanket, when i entered that apartment to see her room mate, a friend of mine. My initial response was one of slight disapproval. She was happily ensconced and staring at some program on television, and as i generally look with contempt at most of what is shown on TV, i took little notice of her, and went on with what i was doing on my laptop. She left for a movie with her friend, and a discussion had ensued between me and my friend, on various things, one of which was tackling the population problem in our country. At this time, the girl returned from the movie, and she sat down and listened to us. I paid no attention to her prescence having formed a bad impression of her intially. But when she was asked to comment by my friend, i found she spoke with remarkable insight, and complete objectivity. Taking some interest in her now, i probed further and found she shared much of the views i had, and this naturally delighted me. The conversation then flowed for the better part of two hours before we all retired for the day at around 3 a.m. A couple of days after that, i had another occassion to talk to her and we spent a few hours meandering through various subjects, happily chattering away like idle old persons without a worry in the world, and under the assumption that our thoughts were of utmost significance to the world! It was on this day that i noticed how expressive her eyes were, and how she had a way of capturing ones attention with the subtle nuances in facial expression.

My semester ended on wednesday, and she invited me over for dinner that day. By now i had begun to take some interest in her, because i was impressed by her intellectual capabilities(she likes to call herself a pseudo-intellectual, and going by her defintion, i fit into just that category too.), and i wished to observe her more. As she cooked dinner i watched her, working away with the ease and precision that comes from familiarity, where she could judge the quantity of raw material necessary and the quality of the finished products by the eye alone. I had some fun making jokes, both in general and at her expense, and was pleased to find she had a good sense of humour and took things in the right spirit. (It has always been a particular complaint of mine that there are too many serious people in this world!) During dinner, we idled away time watching some silly tv program, which, to be honest didn't impress me much. However, i endured because i wished to keep her company. As luck would have it, she wanted to go for a walk at about 10 in the night, and walking being one of my favourite hobbies, i asked her if i could accompany her, and she responded in the affirmative. She is really a rather straight-forward girl and speaks her mind almost always, so i never have to worry about what is actually meant by the words spoken(It is usually the case with women, i find, that they always intend something other than what they say, and somehow consider it the responsibility of the man to decipher what they have in mind!). The walk was filled mostly with ordinary conversation about some common friends we shared and their good and bad, but it was nice to see how, at every instance, she proved capable of objectively critical evaluation of things and people. It is also an admirable trait that she does not spare herself even. (I have no very great opinion of myself either, but i somehow don't like to declare it to other people. I would rather they earned that knowledge. ) It is when we returned at around 10:30pm that an almost surreal experience began. We spent hours talking about things like frustrated PhDs, the economic situation in India, the education system, divorce, hypocrisy, corporations, to name some of them, and by now about 2 and a half hours had raced by! Then we moved on to more taxing topics like religion, God, and Infinity(which was a topic which really drained my thinking capacities and made me feel quite small), and relationships(!). At all times, i quoted from news articles i remembered, or facts from books, and she drew illustrations from personal experience, more often than books. However, the fun part was that neither was determined to convince the other of anything, and we merely exchanged views, similar or different, and gained a better understanding of the things we discussed. At any rate, this certainly was the case with me. Also,it was nice to see how she gave thought to everything that i said and was in no hurry to defend her stance(and i should like to think the same was the case with me). Moreover, it was nice to have some serious and thoughtful discussion again, like during my years at IIT. There were times, particularly in the last semester, when i learnt a few things. And here again, after a long time, i found myself thinking hard, and taxing my brain to form structured arguments and building walls of defense. What's more, i found the walls being broken down each time, and it was great fun to play the game. The day ended perfectly. We were tired of serious discussion and of assuming an exaggerated importance of our ideas so i played her one or two of my favourite carnatic songs(she is a trained carnatic singer, and by my standards, a very good one!). Then she played me some of her favourites, and i found her taste much to my liking(though, honestly, at the moment, i find most carnatic songs pleasing to my ears). Then i played a few more songs, and she began to hum, and eventually to sing in her beautiful voice. This gave me no end of delight, because on one of the previous days, when i had learnt of her singing talent, i asked her to sing me something, and she said she mostly sings for herself and is uncomforable singing in the prescence of an audience! I realised her singing then meant that the whole evening had made her so comfortable in my presence that she was blissfully unaware that she'd overcome that inhibition! What's more, she ended up saying, "I hope you don't mind my singing?", and this nearly killed me on the inside! I let her sing to hearts content and it was delightful to hear her match skill with the great carnatic musicians. Then i saw her scribbling away on her laptop and asked her what it was. She told me it was her private blog, and natually, i asker her if she had a public one. I then started off on reading that one while she tapped away on her laptop. With all the objectivity that i'm capable off, i must say, she is a very good writer! Her imagination and attention to detail is splendid, and she has a way with words that holds one's attention. I sat there reading her posts until it was 4 a.m and then we both agreed that we had better part for the night. I thanked her for a wonderful evening and took leave. How those 5 and a half hours flitted by i still can't understand. It all seems like a pleasant dream now, and i'm indeed very grateful to this wonderful and charming woman for such a memorable evening!

And since she spent so much time with me, i only hope she enjoyed it too, though probably not in the same measure as i did.

I also hope i shall be fortunate enough to spend a few more evenings with her before she leaves ASU in a month's time.

Horribly romantic.

I'm feeling horribly romantic right now. I was just reading Bertrand Russell's letters to Alys, when they were yet unmarried, and it drove me mad. It's such a wonderful feeling to be in love(I do not at this point wish to go into the logical differences, if any, between love and limerance, and go by the stereotypical definition of the phenomenon of love). It is really wonderful to have someone who can understand you almost inside out, and who you can take completely for granted. Especially so when one is largely leading a life of isolation. At other times, when life is passing by in a frenzy of academic slavery, and superficial social interaction, I do not feel the need for love, just as i do not feel any pleasureable emotion at all. But when i have all the free time, and life is full is happy emotions, and pleasant pursuits, i become greedy and feel a longing for love! I'm sure this longing for love is not just a sublimation of lust. It is a pure yearning, and i only wish there would be this someone i could talk to and walk with in these surreal climatic conditions, oblivous to all the world! But i distract myself from this longing by immersing myself in some book or the other and am happy again! Like tennyson said,i believe it is better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all.

Anyways, for now, i live, solitary as the moon, aspiring for the love of the stars, but restrained by the gravity of this planet.

Russell's quip and some food for thought.

On one occassion, Bertrand Russell quiped to Sidney Webb that democracy had at least one merit, namely, that a Member of Parliament cannot be stupider than his constituents, for the more stupid he is, the more stupid they were to elect him.

Now, at first it seemed a brilliant quip and i was quite impressed by this observation. However, on some thought, it occurred to me that the truth might be quite the opposite. A person who votes would look for his leader to have the same desires he has for himself, but to a greater degree. Hence, a stupid man, would have stupid desires, and would look for his leader to have stupider desires, only making the leader himself a stupider person. To illustrate, if there were a zamindar demanding that the interest paid by farmers on loans should be doubled, then he would vote for a leader who might say that farmers, once they borrow money, are bonded labourers for life! Considering that the human beings, when averaged over any significant population, are stupid, their leader is only going to be stupider than his constituents in a democracy! And so far as my knowledge goes, this is indeed the case!

Would-be-famous quote.

"You can judge a guy by his books, and a cover by its looks." - Karthik Sivaramakrishnan

Fear and self-preservation.

Animals seem to have just one fear, and that is the fear of death. It is a justified fear. The danger is real and immediate when faced by a predator, and cannot be escaped unless there is such an instinctive fear. Man, if seen as an animal, is clearly far more powerful than any of these creatures. Hence even that one fear shouldn't exist, and, ideally, we should see him fearless. Yet, why is it that almost all human beings live most of their lives in morbid fear of one thing or another, and often of several things at a time? So much so that it seems to me he lives in fear of life!

And while i thought of the power of man, something occurred to me. Since he has been made to be the most powerful of all creatures, and has no other predators, it is only natural then that he must be his own predator. And hence, war is a necessity of nature. What's more, ecological balance is also a desperate necessity for mother nature. And that seems to have been greatly upset by us human beings. A victory for humans perhaps? Quite the opposite! A deiberate design of nature it seems. All that intelligence, and evolution, and civilisation of the human race seems to be but a clever scheme to bring the human race to this period, when his very intelligence has develped the instruments of his destruction, and he has thus worked as a puppet in the hands of nature to arm her with the tool she was waiting for. All that greatness of mankind seems to come to a knot as it were before a measured, foreseen, and pre-calculated move of nature, much like an experienced player would know how to wipe off the fledgling but would amuse himself a great deal, and give the fellow the impression he's actually doing something great in holding the old chap from victory, before he leads him gently into a checkmate! Fascinating! And so much for the greatness of human kind! Wonder when that day is, sad personally, when the balance is going to be restored once again? I think its quite near. During my lifetime?

Fire.

I know it's been a long time since you've seen a post from me. It is perhaps when i should have written most, for my own sake, that i avoided writing all together. There is turmoil inside of me. But then, i hardly wish to discuss that with the whole world. With the world i only wish to discuss more light-hearted matters.

It is alarming how often one hears the fire engine's siren in this place. Almost everytime i step out of my apartment, i am greeted with a siren, much as the kings of yesteryears used to be greeted with a trumpet-call. I sometimes wonder that the city hasn't burnt down by now. May be it is that the Fire Services do their training in the city and these are only practice runs. May be they are just trying to make sure the motorists on the road are all well-behaved and willing to make way in case there is an actual emergency. But sometimes i think, the Fire Services has determined they need reality training, and hence send some of their men to secretly set fire to buildings, and then rush their emergency services to the rescue act. Or may be its just that the Fire services feel neglected in comparison to the police services, which is often the highlight of many a hollywood movie, and feeling a desperate need for attention, have decided to earn it by setting fire to buildings and then rescuing the people. I don't know. But it does annoy me that the fire detectors in the apartments are so sensitive. Almost as soon as i begin to fry something the alarm shrieks. Fortunately, mine doesn't directly ring in the fire services. That has been left to our discretion.

I think this a very understanding decision on their part. It is often the case that one has to set one's own house, or at least some part of it, on fire. Sometimes its for making sure one gets back what one pays to insurance companies. At other times, it might be to get rid of an annoying friend. One of the easiest ways to get rid of mosquitoes in the bedroom is to set up a fire in the centre of the bedroom and have a bonfire celebration. By the time everyone is done with the food and drink, the mosquitoes are all gone and one can happily slump on to the bed. Anyways, i'm glad the fire department has comprehended the full importance of leaving it to the people's discretion at least in our apartment.The alarm shrieks however disturb peaceful neighbours, and so i've covered the fire detector with a plastic bag.

I sometimes think there might be yet another reason for so many engine siren's every day. The kids these days are a spoilt lot and have ever increasing demands. They are not content with their barbie dolls and hot wheels cars. The girls want multi-storey doll houses which resembles britney spears' home, and the guys want remote operated racing cars and real-time video gaming and what not! So i can only imagine that the helpless parents, out of sheer pressure to get their bored kids a satisfying source of amusement, have decided to teach kids to ring in the fire services. It is fairly easy to teach and the kids can amuse themselves with the fuss they would've created. The parents can get away by requesting the kids to play the prank only in their absence. The fire engine would shriek to a halt in front of the calling kid's building and an officer would rush to the apartment of this particular kid. Due to the noise of the siren, people would've crowded on their balconies and in the corridors in the hope of watching their cursed neighbours burn. On finding no smoke from the outside, the officer would try to barge in, only to fall flat on his nose, as the kid would politely open the door just in time for the officer to crash land happily on the carpet. A little annoyed, he'd ask the kid why the fire services were called and the kid can always get away with a simple, "I'm sorry sir. I had no idea what i was doing. But i do like your suit Mister." Thus, having gently conveyed the message that the officer ought to get out,the kid himself would step out in front of the officer just to show his face to the eager audience, and relish their disappointment, and would happily step back inside the house and shut the door. The next time he felt like doing it, he'd get his little sister, or his friend to do it. It is perhaps mean of the parents to do this to fire officers. After all, they are only trying to be our gaurdians. But then, i sometimes think, the poor fellows would be too idle otherwise, and that they are actually happy running around for no reason at all, bringing traffic to a halt and earning compliments on their suits from little kids!