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!

Football and the bath.

There was a football match in college today. American football. I can't quite place the game of American football in the rubric of the American culture. People who, like walking north poles, swerve away from each other's path with profuse apologies, no sooner than they are within sight of each other, are now seen ramming each other like bulls making love, and this confuses my simple mind. I rather think the game is somehow an escaped vestige of a barbaric past. Observe how i stated the people take recourse to the drastic measure of swerving away when merely within sight. This is because, and i can only conceive that it should be thus, with suns glasses as thick as the ones they use, they cannot see very far. I have never dared to try one of those appendages myself for fear that my bright and cheerful world would turn dark and gloomy. Besides, i also think these sun glasses make people lose identity. When the eyes are missing, the face is half-featuresless. I might just as well be seeing clones! There is so much beauty in the eyes. Have you ever seen a painter paint a face without eyes? I'm sure you haven't, unless of course the painter doesn't know how to draw eyes, and hence happily chooses to categorise his art in that most benevolent of art genres - abstract. I sometimes wonder if this desire to hide the eyes is because of an inferiority complex of sorts. After all, it is a nation without a history and an hence, an identity of its own. But i quickly dismiss the idea, for fear that i might be extracting a kilo of platinum from a grain of sand.

I've noticed that my bathing time has increased a good deal after stepping into this country and its bathtubs. As the water is soft it takes me longer to wash away my sins and i seem to be massaging my horse skin as if i were an Indian queen looking after her white, supple, silken body. Actually, i'm not quite sure i've used the right words. An Indian queen, though at first glance might seem like one with ample time for self-ornamentation, is found, on application of elementary arithmetic, to be quite hard-pressed for time. Say an Indian Princess is one of 200 others of her type married to the king in reign. Also, let us assume that the bathtub is occupied 24*7. In spite of such generous allowance, a princess would get only 1440/200, or a horribly short 7.2 minutes for bathing. Supposing, even, that we helpfully reduce this congestion by making available a half-dozen bathtubs she would still get only about three quarters of an hour. That, i must declare would barely suffice for her to disrobe, and disornament herself. I'm sure no slithering snake even would have time to steel her jewelry and slip it away in some inconspicous tree top on a bird's nest. It is for these reasons i wish to rephrase my earlier sentence. An Egyptian queen might more aptly cradle the meaning of my words. How the queen i conceive of in my mind might ever fit in an Egyptian mileu i cannot quite explain at this juncture. I thus apologise to the Egyptians for placing a foreigner as a queen in their midst. But, more importantly, i apologise to the bathing queen for transporting her to Egypt. Though this might at first seem a laughable matter, the seriousness of the situation might occur to you if you were to imagine yourself slip out of your garments, slip into the shower for a relaxing bath to steel yourself for a hectic day of work, and find yourself stepping out into the sands of Egypt. Having, hopefully appeased everyone, i shall revert to the issue i had set out to address, which is, my extended bathing hours. I blame it on the easy access to warm water at all hours. The water being too cold for my comfort on most months, had there only been water, and a separate heater i'd have to wait 20 minutes for the water to heat. This time would, i'm sure, be sufficient for me to finish dilly-dallying on the crucial matter of my bathing and declare with conviction that the activity could be postponed to another day when the weather was more inclement and the inertia in me lesser. I would thus be saved many a precious minute on more than many a precious day of my precious life. But as things stand, i find myself greatly inconvenienced by luxury. Perhaps, i must be more resolute, and so, like the holy saints of the ganga, I shall fill up my tub with water, and take a few hasty dips, and be done with the ordeal of bathing. Or may be i'll just dispense with the burden of bathing entirely. After all, I find the people of this country quite content to perfume themselves till they leave all people in a certain radius of themselves gasping for breath. Considering i would only produce the same effect in my immediate neighbourhood, it shouldn't perhaps matter what the nature of the system is that produced this effect.

DENSE

There are 5 libraries at ASU for the different streams like science, literature, medicine, law etc.

The 'Science' library is called the 'Daniel E Noble Science & Engineering library', which ironically abbreviates as 'DENSE'! (Hint: Please refer secondary meanings for the word.)

Peculiar observations 2.

As you might have realised from 'Peculiar observations', i tend to look at shop names while walking. On one such walk along a certain street i saw a beauty salon called 'Grooming Humans II"

Three days into my stay at AZ i'd bought a biycle for $50. As i was parking it in a cycle stand, my eyes chanced upon the name of the cycle next to mine. It wisely preached 'MT fury'.

When i was sitting in my department graduate co-ordinator's room a chinese PhD student came along, looking rather anxious, and said, "I'm not on the wafer list!". I was bewildered and wondered which wafer he was talking about. My graduate co-ordinator, however understood him correctly and said, "Oh, your name is not on the waiver list? We can fix that."

Update.

This post is for my friends who've been enquiring curiously and concernedly about my travel. The last one week has been tiring to say the least. I was starved for most part of my flight because the quantity of food given was so small that it might've proved inadequate even for the delicately built airhostesses(there was one old air 'host'(?), who after 20 odd years of feminine politeness seemed to have morphed into a hermaphrodite) . Speaking of airhostesses, i was saddened to see that most of them would have fit into that hot-young-babe category about 20 or 30 years ago! It is then that i also realised that the whites show signs of aging faster, with people getting wrinkles around the eyes, and on the cheeks, much faster than those with more melanin in their body. I find it amusing that air hostesses should be given such a highfalutin name. They are really just waitresses in the air. Anyways, since both body and mind were thus starved of nourishment it was a rather boring journey but for Kavery's delightful novel.

Since i had no flight trip in memory when i flew this time, it was nice to see the clouds below one for a change. They looked like mountains of cotton candy at times, and at times like the ice-bergs of the antartic, and when the sun shone on them they looked like the freezers in our refridgerators. Speaking of refridgerators, i am reminded that the German airport smelt like a bakery! And speaking of the German airport i am reminded of a conversation i heard in the waiting lounge where a 38 year old divorced man was flirting with a 22 year old divorced(and extremely hot!!) woman. He'd been married for 10 years before the divorce and now has a kid. She was married for 2 weeks, and has slept with about a 100 men since then. Also, the air in the German airport was nauseatingly dense with the smell of smoke and perfumes. In the flight from Germany, a loquacious American heading to Alabama was sitting beside me, and though i don't remember the specifics of the chatter i do remember he complimented me on the excellent suit(it was bought my dad 30 yrs ago on his trip down here!). It then occured to me to advertise my shoes too. If he complimented me on those, i would tell him they cost $4 :D
It's been a little tough for me to get accustomed to the excessive use of 'hello's, 'hi's, 'excuse me's and 'sorry's. I also find it queer that two complete strangers should say 'hi' or 'how're you doing?' when they walk past each other. This superficial concern is quite unnecessary and it is annoying to have to use it all the time. Anyways, talking off superficiality, i realise that the US is full of it. Their sophistication is quite sophisticated. They are nice on the outside but they aren't genuine. To illustrate, i met a certain lady, during the registration process, three times during the day, and each time she smiled pleasantly, greeted me and asked the same set of questions she had asked me the first time. And all this, in a short span of a couple of hours. Instead, i would've felt nicer if she just remembered my face and what i'd said earlier.

Another superficial sophistication of theirs which causes much agony to many Indians is the way they unsoil themselves. In flights, one isn't supposed to put the tissue papers into the pot lest the drain get clogged because they use not water but air suction to flush. When i used them for the first time i ignorantly made this mistake , possibly much to the inconvenience of fellow passengers who would now have one less bathroom to access. I just hope they fixed the problem during flight itself. Yet another superficial sophistication i noticed is the use of carpets. We don't use soft, beautiful carpets but we keep our ordinary-looking floors clean. Here, the floors look pretty in furry ankle deep carpets that accumulate the dust of unclean footwear for months, because the americans never take off their shows, sometimes not even in bed!

I've felt a sense of loneliness for the past couple of days, because there's almost no one to talk to here, and i still don't have access to the library to get hold of books, or the computer centre for internet. The senior's with whom i am staying have however been kind enough to let me use their laptops when they don't need it. I've just had formal conversations with people at the university and haven't yet found friends since people are scattered in buildings in different streets, locked up in one senior's room or the other.

I notice that there is lots of obesity in the US. The women are either hourglass shaped bombshells, or just bombshell shaped. Also, most women use make-up, and they use it generously. Men and women have all sorts of fancy hair-dos, and fancy outfits.I regret that i didn't bring along my torn jeans from India. Little did i realise that that was the most fashionable dress i had in my array of clothing. The Americans also drink a lot of soft-drinks(soda as it is called here), and i'm sure coke and pepsi would care little about the slump in their demand in India.

Oh, almost forgot about my little adventure at Charlotte. Due to some bad weather near Charlotte the plane landed late by about 45 minutes. That gave just one and a half hours for my next flight. Since mine was one of the last seats in the flight i was nearly last in the immigration check line and i was done only after an hour and 15 minutes. There was just 15 mintues left for my flight to depart. I claimed my baggage and went to the customs check. Luckily, since many of us were late, they let us all go by without fuss. The guy at customs told me my flight was in Concourse E 20 . E is the farthest concourse and 20 is 19 vestibules(away) in that concourse. By the time i reached there it was 5:35 and i thought i'd missed my flight but luckily i saw them still taking tickets and quickly gave mine. The lady was going to tear off the counterfoil hastily when she double-checked and said, "I'm sorry your plane is not in E 20." Then i asked,"Where is it then?" She said, "Try E22' and so i went a little further and asked there. The lady there said, "I'm sorry your flight isn't in E22." Overcome with despair i pleaded her to help me find out where my flight was. She checked something on her computer and said B1." I ran, lugging my cabin baggage, past these 22 vestibules out of E concourse, past the C,D concourses towards B1, and by now it was 5:45. As i entered B1 i found the entry door closed and thought i'd missed my flight. But the man who checks the tickets in front of the door said,"Ah, there's our man at last!" , checked the ticket and sent me in without even tearing it. The flight door opened and i was let in. The airhostess took my bag and stuffed it somehere in the front. I hurried to my seat, and by the time i put my seat belt on, the plane had begun to move! Anyways, because of all this delay our flight was now number 15 in the take-off queue and had to wait one hour at the runway(i wonder how much of that delay was solely thanks to me :D). On the flight i found a chap from civil IITM who was heading to his relatives' place in phoenix. I made acquaitance with him. At phoenix, as i was waiting for baggage claim an Indian uncle walked up to me and asked if i was 'Siddarth'. I said, 'No.' Meanwhile, this civil chap and i were also waiting for our baggages to come. After nearly an hour of waiting we found our baggage never came. Some time then, i also realised this chap's name was Siddarth and introduced that uncle to him. Apparently, he was a friend of Siddarth's uncle and had come to pick him up. As nobody from the Indian Students Association had come to pick me up, in spite of their promise, i cashed in on this chance to request the uncle to drop me off at the senior's place on campus and he gladly agreed! My baggage came to me the following day. I'm sure what happened was that my baggage reached the flight late and hence came by the next flight in to Phoenix!

Peculiar observations.

My brother had noticed something interesting some time back. About a year or so ago the Osmania University, which has a thoroughfare splitting the campus into two, had put up warning signs all along the 3Km length of the road which read 'Car learning on campus strictly prohibited', because people would turn off the thoroughfare into the university roads and wiggle about the narrow lanes causing much anxiety to the already anxious students. Oppurtunistic low end shops and advertisers realised these boards were convenient and free-of-cost places to put up their advertisements posters and notices. Thus, over a period of time the boards became shabbily covered with papers and notices, sometimes covering the entire board, sometimes hiding the symbol of the car with an into mark over it. On one such board he noticed there was only one notice, and it hid nothing of the warning save the word 'Car'!

My brother and I went for a walk today evening. We noticed a tiny two storey complex with a host of shops on the ground floor. On the first floor were a lot of cloth banners advertising a school, carrying the name of the school in bold, jarring yellow letters - THE RAXFORD VALUE SCHOOL.

Before we moved to Mehdipatnam we'd come across a school in Vidyanagar which had a novel method of ensuring that there was no ambiguity about the nature of the institution. The school was named SLATE - THE SCHOOL.

As we continued our stroll my brother spotted the 'NO EXCUSES INSTITUTE FOR FASHION DESIGNING'.

Further on, we came across a board in LIC Colony which read 'No multi-storeyed buildings allowed in this colony', and right opposite that board was a newly constructed four-storeyed building! Of course, violations of this sort are a common sight i suppose. But coincidences like the one i'm about to tell you are not often seen. You might be aware that it is the trend these days to get sponsors even for the warning signs in front of houses which read 'beware of dogs', 'no parking' etc: Well, one such sign we saw read,

'Please do not park your vehicles in front of this gate.

Courtesy: Pest Control Corporation'

I hope our newspaper boy isn't a religious fundamentalist because there is a slight chance that he might have misinterpreted the three words my dad had written in big bold letters on a plain sheet of paper and pasted on the door. It read:

STOP 'THE HINDU'

and our newspaper boy sure as hell didn't stop supply of the newspaper.

Quotable quote.

"One of the things about conversing after a long time is that nothing is important enough to merit a mention in that conversation."

-- S SRIRAM

To put it indifferently.

Here is an article i had written in my second year at IITM which i had hoped to get published in the hostel magazine for the greater benefit of all. Sadly, the words were never adorned in carbon. I do not wish to carry all these papers to the US and so i upload it here to keep a sort of online database. You may proceed further if you choose.

To put it (in)differently!

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 our present principles, so that the ideology now subsists as a pernicious indifference to everything and everyone around us.

Our hostels stand stark testimony to this negligence. Some of us keep the very rooms in which we stay(or not) dirty. This is only a small cluster and most of us, I'm glad, care to keep the rooms spic and span. But the room is cleaned by elegantly pushing the dust out onto the corridor(read dust bin). This inspite of there being a refuse bin every 4 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 and shampoo sachets. On the one hand we use showers without any 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 juice tartpak or two.

The groundfloor serves as a repository of SAC litter. There is a 'tide' of sachets all around the washing machine making for a bad 'aerial' view. Apparently, the huge dustbin in front of the SAC room is beyond reach or sight of the machine users.

In the mess, in blatant violation of 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 people who savagely 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. The monkeys then come send them crashing to the floor by deftly pushing them off the ledge.

With the excuse of being localites(or some other equally pathetic excuse) people buy powered vehicles and indulge their laziness to the hilt by parking them as close to the exit as possible - that means on the basketball court! I'm glad the administration has at last implemented the ban on power vehicles not just in word but in deed.

So in every step one takes, starting from within one's room and moving in any direction all the way till the hostel exit and beyond, one witnesses this apalling apathy. If I travel further to cover the entire institute i'm afraid i'll never have enough space to write it all. 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, nor 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 END

This is what i write today. My style of writing might be a little different today but my opinion is still the same. The facts are more or less the same, ie, the negligence still persists, though the specifics of where, how etc might be different. This article was written in passionate fury but today i see it with a certain degree of indifference! I have consoled myself to the fact that things will not change. I have understood that the people are not wholly to blame for this attitude. It has deeper roots like religion, upbringing etc. Not everyone can be expected to question everything they do so that they re-evaluate the prejudices imbibed by them at a young age. So a majority of the people are bound to remain this way for yet a really long time in this country and i have made my peace with this sad state of affairs. If at all you have any regard for what i've said, then, please, try and be more aware of the little things you do and re-evaluate your actions keeping in mind the society at large. Thank you.

Cheque the box.

I went to the bank yesterday with my father to make arrangements for foreign currency. As my dad was sweating away in some queue i happily sauntered around the bank gazing at everything as if seeing a bank for the first time. It was then that i noticed a cheque lying in the compaints box, which was placed right next to the cheque clearance box. The cheque stood as the lone complaint in the box and i was rather surprised that such an inefficient bank must receive so few complaints. In fact, it annoyed me more to think that someone might actually have thrown in the cheque as a form of praise to the bank. Anyways, considering the proximity of the cheque clearance box i decided to inform the security of the accident. He assured me we would put the cheque in the appropriate box right away but took no initiative for some time. It might have been only because he is just another of his kind but i thought there was a more interesting reason. Perhaps he was aware that it was the administration that had put the cheque in there. And why should they have done something like that? Because they might have received a deluge of complaints which read, "Check the complaints box!!"

Since an idea can change the world,

I have an idea for an ad which i wish to sell to some corporate which might find use for it. The ad might look something like this:

A typical middle class family is seated in the drawing room of their apartment having a chatter session at night when there is a black-out in the entire city. Then the attention of this house is drawn to a smart fellow(about my age) who stands up and hollers joyously, 'I have a bright idea', removes the nearest bulb from its socket and plugs it into his ear. The bulb glows brightly(because of the power of his idea)!

Probably some company which encourages thinking could use this.

I also have some advice.

I realised that the reverence for a person, and hence the importance and value attached to everything he does, grows with time, right from birth until old age. And again with every passing year after his death. So i would advice that the next time you read something and wish to remember it for long, assume the author of that piece of writing is long dead. Try it!

Just to avoid some smarty-pants wise-cracking in the comments - "Yes, you may assume that even in my case!"

Memorabilia.

There was one particular instance I won’t forget for a long time. There was this stout and really old grey-bearded loon like chappie selling groundnut. Now, I don’t know why but there is some obsession that people in unreserved compartments have to groundnut. So he was doing brisk business. The guy beside me bought 10g packet of salted nuts and paid the Rs. 2 he charged for it. He put some in his mouth and then complained, “The groundnut is bitter.” The old man, perhaps swelling with happiness at the success of his business, retorted, “ I’ve poisoned it. You are going to die now,” and smiled!

Lottery was banned in Kerala for a while but they’ve now resumed the sale of lottery tickets. This is one of the most horrible practices of the otherwise civilized Keralite. In cities like Cochin, there are many roofed shops which sell these tickets and you will always see a few umbrella wielding lower-middle income people lingering about unsure which of those coloured sheets is likely to change their fortune forever. But in towns like Palakkad, every now and again you’d spot a man, sick from heavy drinking the previous night, eyes bleeding red, lingering about a bus-stop or some such place waiting to sell tickets to passers-by. This is a degrading practice both for the seller and the buyer and I really think the practice ought to be banned again.

One of the nice things about Kerala women is that almost all of them apply mascara below the eyes and that enhances the beauty of the eyes. Another is that they let their hair lose displaying its serpentine majesty.

I also realized that education is very important to make people sensible and civilized. Though palakkad is a nice place it is only a town and the people are quite barbaric making the place unsafe, particularly for women.

I’ve got better at wearing my ‘veshti’/ ‘lungi’ and I think I’m going to carry a couple to the United States.

The train journey from Ernakulam to Trivandrum is the most scenic route I’ve ever come across. Apart from miles and miles of paddy fields, and rubber, coconut and banana plantations you can see little forested islands in the sea. It’s a little trip through heaven and its almost as if even the train is aware of this because it hurtles through at tremendous speed as if afraid of trespassing in Mother Nature’s territory and upsetting the harmony.

The years seem to be going by in a frenzy. One feels this way when one sees little kids one saw as toddlers now running about talking, playing and doing things just the way you do. Its almost hard to believe that they’ve grown so much so soon. I guess their growth is more conspicuous because of growth even in the physical aspects. For us, only the mind grows(if at all!).

I also reaffirmed that people of the villages are on an average nicer and more content than the people of the cities. May be we city folks need to rethink our approach to life if our aim too is contentment and happiness.

Pleaser Trip.

I knew my two week vacation was going to flit by in a hurry what with my having to meet and please so many people. My own pleasure would take a back seat. Considering that, I had a really good time.

My paternal grandmum, mum, bro and I left for Ernakulam/Cochin on the 26th. I don’t recollect anything specific from that trip except that the plate of ‘pazham puri’ that I had eagerly bought from the pantry a few minutes after the train started was the first and last I had during the whole trip. My mum and bro got off at Cochin. But I went all the way to Trivandrum to drop my grandmum at a relative’s place.

These relatives of mine are better known to my grandma but are rather unfamiliar people to me so I stayed there for the night and took leave of them early next morning. Since my prime motive in this trip was to observe people to keep myself amused, I dare say, the old couple made a very favourable impression on me. The aunty was a cheerful and friendly sort and the uncle, a former principal of a university and later Director of Secondary Education for the state of Cochin, was a very knowledgeable man, and hence, made a good impression on me. I chose to keep his company until I was to sleep for the night and he seemed a particularly nice self-respecting individual.

The evening in Cochin was spent taking rest from this hectic ordeal of travel for the previous couple of days. The following morning we made a trip to a nearby beach called the cheraai beach(actually, in a place like Kerala every place is ‘nearby’!). This beach is so little known that the whole beach was populated by probably 20 people. The day was windy and the waves were huge so it was fun to look at them. Also, the waves were frothing incredibly and that made for a strange sight. But the fun began when I realized the sand was full of shells and started on a collecting frenzy. Initially I collected off the sand. But I found it troublesome to have to wash them in the waves every time and I started collecting fresh ones as they kept getting washed ashore by the waves. After about an hour and a half of frenetic effort I managed to collect about 100 shells. Then me and bro moved about a bit along the shoreline taking snaps from the most picturesque locations. It began to rain now and we hurried back to the car. I made a quick stop on the way to collect my shells but found they were all gone! A huge wave must have come by and taken them away for I only kept them on one of the rocks not far away from the coastline. Amusing as it may sound, I really learnt what it is like to see the fruit of great effort be destroyed in seconds. A very valuable lesson indeed! Thankfully, my uncle, who had accompanied the two of us, spotted millions of shells piled up along the road that led away from the beach. These huge shell piles are apparently used to make ‘chunaamb’ or ‘choona’ and used to paint the walls. We made a quick stop in the pelting rain, and I jumped out and grabbed two hands-full and jumped back into the car. A compensation of sorts I suppose.

We returned from the beach and had a heavy lunch. After that, it was time to spend time with my 85 year old maternal grandmum. Her plight is pitiable now to say the least. Her list of problems might exhaust a medical dictionary. But the one that makes it sadly funny is that she has a memory problem now and can only remember a few things, and that only at times. One can easily imagine then how random and disconnected her sentences will be. As a consequence she ends up saying hilarious things without her being aware. It is good, however, that she doesn’t know what she is saying and happily laughs along with everyone else if she sees people laughing.

In the evening we went to my cousin’s because she had called us for dinner. She has two kids. One is a budding musician in the 10th standard and the other a wicked prankster in the 4th. Luckily, my cousin, her husband, and my mum went to a temple and left us kids alone. Bro, me and the elder kiddo played cricket inside the house while the little devil was at his pranks and tricks the whole time. I’m sure neither my brother nor I was so clever at that age.

The following day, a Friday, was mostly spent at home keeping my uncle and grandmother company. Early next morning we left for Palakkad.

Palakkad was the best part of our trip because the weather was heavenly. This little town is surrounded by mountains on all sides and is therefore kept very cool. That same evening we went to the Malampuzha dam along with my uncle in Palakkad and his daughter, my cute cousin, who is getting started on her first year of B.Sc. The view of the cloud-covered mountains was breath-taking. Some mountains seemed ready-to-eat, appearing as if having patches of that edible foil used in sweets. This was because of the reflection of light by the rain water on the barren and rocky parts of the mountains. It was also nice to have a bird’s eye view of the place from a cable car, even as we passed right over a crow that was sitting on an electric line! I can’t curse myself enough for forgetting the camera on that occasion. The next day, a Sunday was by far the best part of the trip as I spent time for myself on the terrace of their house. As you lie down on the roof, you get a view of some cloud covered mountains and rising above a dense cover of coconut trees close to the house. My cousin and I spent a better part of the evening talking about this and that, first on the roof and later during a walk through the quiet village neighbourhood. This was the only day when I could wallow in the relaxed feel of the vacation. Monday again we went visiting temples so I don’t have much to say about it. Tuesday was spent at my mum’s elder sister’s house. Nothing particularly memorable there either. Wednesday went by in roaming around Coimbatore. After the pleasant weather of Palakkad it dampened my spirits to be roaming about the streets in the hot weather of that place. That’s about it I guess. I’m not out of things to write but I’m out of patience for the present. There are however some disconnected things I wish to say and these will come in the next post.