Leaving on a Jet Plane.....

Spicy sambhar, chicken biriyani, soft idlis, tamil cinema, the street where I grew up in the past 21 years, adorable but irritating neighborhood kids, gully cricket, my room filled with posters of tennis role models, childhood friends - the ones I went to school with, others I played gully cricket, the local ground where I played a million cricket matches in reality and another million replayed in dreams, the marina, too many familiar sights.......hold on, hold on, brain overheating.....overwhelming emotions, coming up too fast. Gotta stop :))

Im leaving for my hometown, hustling bustling Chennai, India in less than a week. Three weeks of being a spoilt brat and be taken care of mom's cooking and care. I dont have to worry about cooking or getting my fingers burnt or doing my laundry. Thats not all Im looking forward to, I need the next few weeks for some good time away from all the research work and courses. Here I am finishing my final exams, tying up loose ends before I leave, reports to type out and presentations to work on. Its necessary I need to get this work done now because I have less than 48hours after coming back from India to present my first conference paper in San Jose, California. Thats why I had to neglect my blog and stopped visiting any other blogs as well.

So, there you have it folks, all those who stopped by my blog and decided to holler, Im hollerin back to ya......Im leaving on a Jet Plane.

My number system

1. My first conference paper written, accepted and published. Writing the first one is the hard work; so sayeth the wise men.

2. The number of assignments and test that I had in one terrible week along with the deadline for paper submission.

3. The number of days I went sleepless that week.

4. The 4th One Day International cricket match between India and Sri Lanka, that I watched inspite of all the work.

5. The number of hours I played Baldurs Gate at a stretch after my hectic week.

6. The number of movies I saw in the weekend after all the work.

7. The number of my friends who party as a group every weekend.

8. The number of rounds I had in the party.

9. From 9pm to 9am we partied.

10. Is the number of times I swore I wont do booze again the next day morning when I woke up with a monstrous hangover.

Swearing

This topic has been long overdue and been resigned to the back burner for a long time. Why? Just go over the comments section of my last meaningful post. SP and venus came out strongly against swearing.

Venus went onto mention what her parents told her about swearing " one swears when one does not know enough word-power". I totally agree with this and it has to be the best thing to say to children as parents or responsible adults. But what about educated adults who completely understands the meaning of the word and chooses to use it. Why does one say them?

SP, came up with a generic statement that "swearing is bad for health" which was as funny as one of his million PJ's he used to crack while we were classmates :P He was trying to be funny. But when I came out against it and his favorite nemesis, Intern, decided to support me, he had to give a lecture on controlling frustration and anger and letting them die down rather than venting out in frustration and encouraging them. All of what he said was taken in good humor and I hope SP, you take what I have to say in good spirit.

I never condone or encourage swearing or anger. In fact Ive had a bad history of controlling my anger. So, the following is just my opinion on it and Im not going on support for those who use it as frequently as articles in a sentence. Im stating my stand on swearing not what situations lead me into swearing due to frustration or anger.

No emotion can be classified and clearly demarcated as good or bad, they just dont come in binary anymore. I can never classify my emotional balance at any time as grief or happiness. There are times when I tend to be moody but not depressed, cheerful but not joyous. What Im trying to say is that there are shades of grey in these emotions. I often swear in frustration but never in anger. There is a difference between the two and hence the roundabout explanation involving colors like grey, black and white :P So, am I saying that swearing when frustrated is acceptable? No, but just like you need an outlet for grief or happiness and given that we are not saints or priests, there is a need for an outlet for frustration.

Looking at the big picture; grief, anger or frustration are no different from each other. Bottomline, they are emotions. Each emotion given to its characteristic symptoms. Often Ive seen people who are really pissed in life or really happy and they have to get either emotion out of their system. Once that is done, they are more or less back to their normal self.

The best thing about swearing when you are frustrated is that its immediately out of the system. Almost like a restart button and after that, you look at the reason why you are frustrated in a whole new way. Let me back this up with a small sample of how and when I swear. My tennis coach always used to say that it was absolutely OK to just shout or swear when you miss a simple shot or when things just arent going your way. Infact he showed me how to throw the tennis racquet on the ground without breaking. And I used to let it rip, when I thought I was playing a match incompetently. My roar could be heard 5 courts down the line. It worked in two ways. One, I immediately forgot about the point and was focussed for the next point. Two, it pushed me to play better, kind of like having your coach shout at you for missing an easy shot. Putting things back in perspective, it worked for me.

I stand by what I said earlier. I never swear at people. Too often Ive see a group of close friends swearing at each other because its a fun thing to do, like experimenting new things. Ive also seen the same group of friends swear using the exact same words, while they are having a fight. The reaction is blindingly different. Its like, when you mean those words, the exact same words seem to have a different connotation to it. So, I never swear at people.

Swearing aint cool or hep or forgiveable but its a valid emotion for frustration or anger.

Happy Diwali!!!

A happy festive diwali for all you guys out there!!!! Have fun!!!

I know I havent been blogging much of late. Am under a big pile of work. Papers to write, assignments to finish and *gulp* a test, crammed in this week. So, should get back to active blogging after this week finished. Cheers!!

The system shall not affect me.........the rantings of a grad student

Why should all grad students, I emphasize engineering grad students be portrayed as depressed, tired and stressed out lab rats. Is it a stereotype or a comfort level we give in to? Arent we the people who are supposed to be inventing groundbreaking technology so it can reach the common man and whilst capitalist conglomerates permitting, bridging the technology barrier. Or are we just supposed to be spending hours inside labs or in front of computer trying to improve something so that our advisors can get increased monetary grants and hopefully continue funding us? Will the research we do, matter to the scientific society or will it be dropped as a hot cake as soon as we finish our dissertation.

I spend close to 5-6 hours a day inside the "Clean Room" aka fabrication lab unlike computer engineers who spend most of time in front of computers. I have to wear full lab suits, shoe covers, head covers, face masks, gloves and sometimes protective goggles, because the devices we fabricate (design and make) are in the nanometer scale in fact smaller than the hair's breadth and our skin flakes. Imagine dressed up in a bunny suit like that for 5-6 hours a day. So what if I have to, depression cannot be imposed on me for having to be that way.

I also have tough deadlines to meet. Plus I also have to constantly prove to my advisor that Im more competent than the next guy to receive continued assistantships and tuition scholarship grants. That aint going to get me stressed. So, if Im not stressed or depressed why am I ranting and raving. Well, actually I am, and Im right now coping it by writing about it :)

According to the grad student etiquette laid down by PhdComics, you should never ask a grad student about his research or the progress made on his thesis. Research can make or break a person because one day you get great results and get accolades from your advisor but the next day your experiment can fuck you up real good. *read as my current situation, thanks to my fellow chinese grad student, whos fucked up my machine for an experiment he had to do. Also, my motivation for this post. Wait till I lay my hands on him. I should mix some laxative in the Campbells soup he drinks daily or invite him home for dinner and decapacitate him with my spiciest mix of Indian dishes, grrr*

But I aint going to give in to the system and be just another grad student. Because it aint me, my countenance might give you the impression Im brooding but Im always cheerful. And thats how Im going to go through grad school, you want to know why because I love what I do and theres no other place I want to be. Cheers!

The year gone by

A month ago, my first year in the US has passed, a fact my mom never forgets to mention everytime I talk to her. She can't believe that its been a year since I moved and Im like "its already a year? phew time flew fast". I guess when you are in the process of constantly learning things, like how to cook, adapt, do laundry, drive and clean, it looks like a year well spent. I suppose its going to be that way for very many years because I've yet to learn many things I need to.

Besides my graduate work, for which Im here, the past year has been about lessons learned, some embarrassing, some funny and some tough ones. Learning new things and un-learning things which have sort of found a way into me has taken the best part of the year. The most important lessons have been about professionalism, courtesy and living single. Learning to look left before you look right before crossing the road has been the most toughest one I must add ;)

Sharing an apartment and duties has been a new experience, especially since one has to carefully tread around bruised egos just like the way you need to handle a field of land mine. Nevertheless, its been another lesson on diplomacy and tact. Cooking, well I cant say enough about it. From a guy who was mortally scared of lighting a stove (dont ask me why) to a pretty good cook, its been a great adventure. Scorched vessels, burnt hands and cut fingers, its been fun. One thing I've realised is that no amount of cook books with zillion recipes are going to help. It takes a pinch of common sense, large amounts of general knowledge and concentration. Yeah, concentration, cooking is not learnt by committing ingredients to memory and training your motor memory to do the stuff.

My parents have already started talking about the time I'll be coming back, which is too far off to say definitively because lets face it, Im in grad school. So places to go, things to do and stuff to learn before I rest. (my version of a popular saying) :))

A new beginning

I have been very occupied in the past few days with some great movies and a difficult but close-to-the-heart book, plus I had to move recently. Moving's a bitch, I shall post about that ordeal later, I wonder how Anne doest it so often? Replies and posts have been very infrequent and I apologize for that.

I love my books and my movies greatly, and recently movies have overtaken pursuits in books. To make matters even better, Kaushik, my old school pal loves movies as much as me (awright, we can have that argument as to who likes movies more, later) and I decided to rope him in for a new blog. Also, we seem to have more or less the same taste movies. So without much fanfare I now present,

http://movieflavors.blogspot.com/

Through this we hope to introduce off-beat movies, indie movies, foreign films (Italian, Spanish, French, etc) and movies we greatly loved and want others to see and enjoy. Happy reading and happier viewing.

P.S: if you would like to be a part of the blog and contribute to it, please let me know.

The self made man

The self taught man seldom knows anything accurately, and he does not know a tenth as much as he could have known if he had worked under teachers, and besides, he brags, and this is the means of fooling other thoughtless people into going and doing as he himself has done.

Mark Twain

Personal observation - "How very true!" *sigh*

Tagged Again

I was thinking about writing something that happened to me at 4:30am on thursday morning, something which I thought was real funny, when I saw that Anne had tagged me on one the many meme's thats doing rounds. So here goes....

Seven Things I Can Do

1) Turn a book upside down and read at a freakish speed
2) Remember most of the actors and some directors of all the movies Ive seen so far in my life
3) Quote "The Godfather" by Mario Puzo
4) Multitask - for eg: cook, talk on the phone, wash dishes and listen to music
5) Watch NBA all day long
6) Read a book forever while im on the shit-pot
7) Listen

Seven Things I Plan to Do Before I Die

1) Learn to play atleast one musical instrument
2) Write an original screenplay for a movie
3) Bungeejump and skydiving
4) Dunk a basketball even if it means I have to use a trampoline
5) Start an orphanage
6) Start a company
7) Fall in love and get married

Seven Things I Can't Do

1) Keep my room clean (although rest of the house would be clean)
2) Shave properly
3) Remember where I left my last piece of gum
4) Forget my mothers cooking (been a year from home and still cant seem to grow out of it)
5) Be awake for the entire duration of any seminar
6) Remember the birthdays of all my friends
7) Time management

Seven Things That I Find Really Attractive About the Opposite Sex

1) Captivating eyes
2) Talk intelligently
3) Sense of humor
4) Independent
5) Resonable
6) Humility
7) Should be the physical embodiment of the Barbie Girl (awright gals, just kidding :P )

Seven Things I Say the Most

1) Fcuk
2) Holy shit
3) Goddamn
4) Wassup
5) Awesome
6) Awright
7) Hey

Seven Books I Love (in no particular order)

1) The Godfather by Mario Puzo
2) Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
3) Tintin by Herge
4) The Three Investigators by Robert Arthur
5) The Riftwar Saga by Raymond Feist
6) The Blue Ring by A.J.Quinnell
7) Phdcomics.com (this doesnt primarily classify as a book but its now available in printed edition)

Tag??!! Hell no, sorry about that Anne. You can tag me all you want and I'd be glad to do them anytime. But the last time I tagged somebody, I was very close to having my ass fried on a barbecue grill, too close for my comfort :D This time around I may not be so fortunate :) So, I leave it to anybody whos interested to pick up the baton and pass it around.

*Of all the things, Q 2 A 7 seems the least likeliest to happen before I die. It appears one needs to be outrageously talented and capable of very many things to do that. :P*

US Open '05 and Sania Mirza

I finally made it to one of the Grand Slam tournaments. Like the quest for the Holy Grail in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, my dad and me always wanted to go watch one of the Grand Slam tournaments to see Steffi Graf or Pete Sampras play. Notwithstanding that neither of them are playing and nor did I go with my dad, I still enjoyed every moment of my time this sunday at the US Open.

I even watched Sania play. For all the hype and the controversy surrounding her (yeah, the Indian media never spared anybody from any controversy) she has lots of promise as far as her game is concerned. Awright, before anybody starts asking me, I played a few many years of competitive tennis myself and that makes me qualified enough to make such statements :) Sania's got a pretty good forehand but I got the feeling that's all there is to her game and she tries to out-hit her opposite number. While this may be sufficient to take care of lesser players and a few top-ranked players in WTA tournaments, it will never be enough in Grand Slam tournaments, where top-ranked players raise their games and the level of competition is higher.

This was especially true in the match she lost to Sharapova. Sharapova is one of these new age women tennis players who hit the ball as if they want to get back at their ex-boyfriends. Not to mention Venus or Serena, who take up to hitting as they would do to an antique rug which was gathering dust in the attic since the time their forefathers came to the US on a ship from Africa. To top it all Sharapova was tucking into Sania's second serves like the way Sania would attack a bowl of Hyderbadi biriyani when she gets back to her home town. I guess with couple of years of experience on the circuit, with better knowledge of how to construct points and better second serves Sania might enter the top 20 and start making an impact in grand slam tournaments. Atleast her report card doesnt sound like her fellow Hyderbadi cricket star, who would say in a post-match press conference, something like we didnt bat well, we didnt bowl well or field well........duh, is there anything more to cricket. So thankfully, Sania has a great framework to work on and to top it all she seems to be enjoying every moment of the time she spends on the court.

As far as the Open tournament, it was great and it was everything I had expected it to be. Carnival atmosphere, great stadium, great crowd and great matches. Loved the great five-setter between Hewitt and Dent and enjoyed the fabulous hitting of the Williams sisters. Hold on did I mention the beautiful ladies who came on that day. I dont think I did. So heres to all the beautiful ladies who chose to grace the US Open that fateful day I also happened to be there. Thanks ladies.

So, thats one down and three more to go. Wimbledon, French and Australian Open still remaining to see :P

Suicide

Taking his swiss army knife he carves a thin line across his left wrist. Every piece of the swiss knife has a purpose. He smirks at the irony, one last time.

He sat on the edge of his bed. Feet on the soft carpet, hair tousled and wet after a long bath. The once pure-white bathrobe was loosly knotted around his waist. Everyday, he arose from an intermitten sleep laced with nostalgia. He dealt with the daily drudgery of office, social life, family and friends for many years methodically and with a stoicism nurtured through the years. Diffendence, others said. If only they knew.

Except for the tiny tingling on his skin, he doesnt feel a thing at first. Slowly, the line comes into appearance, a red line that opens up to ooze more red. Drops of blood slowly drip onto the carpet, the sound of dripping reverbrating in his ears. Involuntarily his body twitches at the sensation of blood flowing through the cut, by now gushing out with more force. He looks down at the reddish puddle forming on the brown carpet between his legs.

Today would be different he had assured himself when he woke up. He took a final glance of the Brooklyn river through his penthouse windows. When he moved into the penthouse, this view enslaved him. It spoke of a promise, a destiny to be fulfilled but now it signified nothing but the vast openess. It would be different he said to himself again.

His eyes roll up into their sockets, losing consciousness partly due to the vivid, vibrant pulsating color of the blood. No matter how many times you donate blood, no matter how many times you see gruesome killings on the screen, the veins pumping out such large quantities of blood can psyche you out. He holds onto the final seconds of his existence on this material plane. Not because he doesnt want to leave this world, instead trying to discern if he would rue the decision he just took.

He cries out in agony one last time, as it becomes lucid to him that his family and friends are going to judge him by his death. His cowardly death, his sprint to the finish line. Death was his liberation, his freedom from hypocrisy, affectations, mediocrity, incompetence, narcissm, second-handers, self-pity and irresponsibility.

Today was different!

Going Under

To my friends and fellow bloggers who regularly visit my blog..............

sorry guys, since the last post I have been partly busy and partly suffering from lack of enthusiasm about blogging and visiting other blogs. So, Im taking a sabbatical for the moment and will be back soon (i hope!!) Hopefully, Ill be back soon with many interesting things to share with all of you. Until then, ciao.

OH MY GOD!!

I try to refrain from forming words with capital letters especially when Im writing a mail to someone or while Im chatting. According to etiquettes of chatting and emailing this is supposed to refer to shouting and I strongly believe in that. But I had my insides screaming in despair and anger when I read through a recent post. When I wrote, A full circle, I knew that I was only scratching the surface of the phenomenon of sexual molestation. Besides, I knew that I would never have to go through such a thing and would never really fathom the psychological effects such an incident could do.

Why am I saying all this, wooaaooww gave me this to read, a real life experience of a twenty something girl travelling alone by train, and it was rude slap on the face differentiating between reality and fictional piece of writing.

Theres not much I can do except write about it. To say I felt sorry for the girl would be the biggest understatement this side of the Atlantic next to "Bush sucks". First she has to go through the worst physical torture not to mention being very scared as to what can happen to her next. As if this shit ain't enough for her, she then has to go through some emotional blackmailing. Truth is I felt really sorry for her when the perpertrator put her through some crass emotional blackmailing and make her feel guilty for doing what is right. Im glad she stuck to her guns and filed a criminal complaint against that guy. Reading that post made me notice a few things which I would have overlooked as indulgent, mischievous or harmless.

Heres something that I noticed last weekend after reading that post. I was waiting for my flight to Chicago along with many others crowding on both sides of the exit ramp coming off the gate. There was this beautiful girl on the other side wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt showing off a little of her assets. Before we go any further, let me clarify that she wasnt dressed provocatively in any way. So, when the flight landed at the gate and the passengers started exiting, I couldnt believe my eyes that 9 out of every 10 males exiting the plane had two glances at her. One at her beautiful visage and the next, a fleeting (almost reflexive and involuntary) glance at her dress' plunging neckline. I was aghast, at the number and the different kinds of male entities that indulged in this. Married, unmarried, young, old, it didnt matter. To say that I didnt indulge in it myself would be perjury. But, after noticing this I knew that I would never be able to look the girl in her eye and say two kind words to her. There are girls who get turned on by being the focus of attention of every male stranger but this was different. Brazenly ogling has been so common, I guess by now its become a birth right for the male species these days. "Feminism is a misconception that women are people!!!" This was a bumper sticker in some car near my house; this is what its come to now.

To Lone Warrior, read the above post then you'll understand what I was trying to convey in the previous post!! No frivolous inspirations from Hindi or Tamil cinema :)

A full circle

She had very little interaction with the male species and was mostly alien to the ways of them. Her father died when she was very young. Her mother and grandmother were the people she looked upto in her life, her role models. And he knew little about females. Together they were keen to chart a new course in their lives. They met each other when they were at crossroads in their life, when they needed a new person in each others life, a new perspective, a non-judgemental entity to bounce their opinions off. Together they walked on anxiously towards a new future, expecting to take whatever life threw at them with considerable ease because now they would have each other to urge them on. How wrong they would be.

The took the same local transport to home and work every day. Even in the suffocating throng of human bodies packed tight one against the other, they kept their distance from each other. Each not invading into the others comfort zone, respecting each others privacy. The self protecting bubble burst one day. She was molested on the ride back home one day, the day he choose to stay away from work because of illness. Like so many other women before her, just like her mother put up with all the taunts everyday, she suffered in silent agony.

She knew things would never be the same with any man. No amount of previous interaction would have prepared her for this. His personal haven came tumbling down upon him like a building of cards. He knew that he could never offer her any solace with his words or his physical presence. If only he could make her understand that not all men arent that bad. But it was too late, too little and too insignificant.

The man...but the mission?

As far back as I could will my ever failing and diminishing memory "The man under the tree" was always there. I could never distinctly differentiate the moment in my life when he wasnt there and when he mysteriously appeared. But once he made his appearance he was omnipresent. When I first noticed him, as a child sitting behind my dad on the two wheeler, I hugged my dad fiercely, petrified by his appearance. His hair uncharacteristically brown in color, mottled and frayed due to years of negligence. His face hidden under months of shaggy and unkempt beard. His face was thin and drawn out, as if the weight of the beard was too heavy for his features. His appearance was the stuff parents used to scare their children into eating their spinach or stop them from misbehaving.

He was there when I was old enough to start my brave walks to the nearby medical shops and grocery stores. Atleast 20ft before his tree abode I used to cross to the other side of the road and continue my journey. He was still there when I learnt to ride my bicycle on the "busy" roads. I rode my bicycle swiftly past him lest he decided to come out of his reverie and stick his hand out to grab me, which he wasnt going to do anyway. He was there when I ambled my two wheeler past him, by now growing comfortable to his presence on the road. Truth is, I had enough faith in the horse power of my two wheeler to know that I can accelerate quickly enough if he decides to reach out to me.

He was mostly sitting under the tree whenver I saw him. Now, when I think back to those days he reminds me of one of those tree deities which are worshipped reverently but never taken care of in rain or shine. What an irony!! What did the all powerful being, God decided to do with him? Was this the path that God had destined for him? He never begged for money that much I noticed but how did he sustain himself? What did he do when it rained and what did he do when the heat of the summer months beat down upon him?

So, who was he? Where did he come from? The stork didnt drop him from the sky. Had he a life, a family who cared for him and a family he cared for? I wanted to find out but I never did. Will he be there when I go back home? Will I be able to approach him now and find out what landed him in the present state?

On a wholly different level, spare a moment for the homeless children. I try to tell this to all whom I think would listen and to others who think Im sensible at times. When you think about having a family, think about adopting. Why bring more into this harsh world when there are already so many for whom the concept of family is as alien as Kentucky Fried Chicken?


P.S: Thanks M. for the timely reminder :) :P

Book tagging

This seems to be the most happening thing at present in most of the blogs Im visiting. So I was surprised and mildly excited when Eroteme asked of me to carry the baton. This is kind of like a chain mail asking you to forward (tag) it to five others. But definitely more interesting than chain mails. So here goes...

Total books I own:
Not many but if you count books related to academia, tinkle, amar chitra katha it might very well go beyond 100. Ive just started building my collection :(

Last book(s) I bought: On June 8th 2005
Prey by Michael Crichton (This story is about nanotechnology and robots ;) ).
The testament by David Morrell.
A Beautiful Mind: The life of Mathematical Genius and Nobel Laureate John Nash by Sylvia Nasar.
Catch 22 by Joeseph Heller.

Last book I read:
Homeland by R A Salvatore.

Current reading:
Exile by R A Salvatore.
Etching in Microsystem Technology by Michael Kohler.
Some technical journal papers.

Books that have had an impact on me:
Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.
To kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee.
Animal Farm by George Orwell.

And to carry on the baton:
Well, it appears that some unknown people have a laid down a rule that I could pass this on to only 5 other. So, I request Woaaooww, SP, Vitalstatistix, M., Misha to carry on the good work :)

P.S: for those new to blog-tagging (yeah, Im already an expert because I have already finished one) you have to pass this on to 5 others withing 15mins of reading this or thou shalt lose access to your blog :)) Believe me I never thought this would happen but it happened to me and I had to appease the creators and the Blog deity by sacrificing one of my blogs :P

Monaaay

Money, with pscyhedelic strains on the guitar, goes the Pink Floyd song.

"Money, it’s a crime.
Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise it’s no surprise that they’re
Giving none away"

ABBA went "Money,money,money" and Dire straits sang "Money for nothing"

Money for nothing? Nobody told me about that. Dont we work hard to make money? How much money do we need? In one of my earlier posts in this blog, I asked this question of myself "How much money do I want, is one million dollars enough, or what will two cars and a beautiful bungalow back home do to my dreams, will it satisfy my urge to earn and spend?" How do I draw the line between necessity and greed? From celluloid heroes to pint size philosophers,
they all say the same thing, panam inniku varum nalaikku pogum, kaasu selavu panrathuku thanae (today you earn money to spend it tomorrow? isnt the money that we earn, for spending?)

A necessary digression at this point.

One of the most defining moments Ive come across in movies in the recent times was the climax in Schindlers List. As the story goes, Oskar Schindler, who initially sees Jews as cheap labor goes through a full circle of convictions, guilt and humanity. Itzhak Stern, his faithful Jewish accoutant, who helps him succeed in his business, feeds on his guilt and initiates him to rescue people from camps by recruiting them in his factory. To many Jews, Schindlers factory meant the difference between life and death. Nobody died if they worked for Schindler. That meant more than anything else to them. When the people were ready to be shipped off to Auschwitz, Schindler, a businessman who sees war as an opportunity to finally succeed in life and make money, pays off almost his entire fortune to bribe officials to move the Jews to his hometown. This way he saved 1200 Jews, and thus the name of the movie, Schindlers List.

He saved many more indirectly. His factory supplied armaments and artillery shells to the Nazis; Schindler made sure that no shell from his factory would ever fire. To make this happen Schindler spent huge amounts of money, conniving officials to keep buying from him. After the end of war, Schindler knew only too well that as a member of the Nazi party he and his wife would be chased, prosecuted or maybe persecuted. The final scene when Schindler the ruthless,
money minded businessman breaks down to his confidant Stern, about how many more he could have saved, it hits you hard. To depict the gravity of the situation and what money meant to Schindler in the end, Im going to quote directly from the movie.

SCHINDLER: (to himself) I could've got more... if I'd just...I don't know, if I'd just...I could've got more...

STERN: Oskar, there are twelve hundred people who are alive because of you. Look at them.

(Unable to look up)SCHINDLER: If I'd made more money... I threw away so much money, you have no idea. If I'd just...

STERN: There will be generations because of what you did.

SCHINDLER: I didn't do enough.

STERN: You did so much.

(Schindler starts to lose it, the tears coming. Stern, too. The look on Schindler's face as his eyes sweep across the faces of the workers is one of apology, begging them to forgive him for not doing more.)

SCHINDLER: This car. Goeth (The Nazi commander whom Schindler bribed to take the Jews to his hometown to work in his factory) would've bought this car. Why did I keep the car? Ten people, right there, ten more I could've got. This pin -- (He rips the swastika, from his lapel and holds it out to Stern pathetically.)

SCHINDLER:Two people. This is gold. Two more people. He would've given me two for it. At least one. He would've given me one. One more. One more person. A person, Stern. For this. One more. I could've gotten one more person I didn't.
(He completely breaks down, weeping convulsively, the guilt consuming him.)

SCHINDLER: They killed so many people...They killed so many people...

The meaningless gold lapel pin which he shamelessly paraded on his jacket came to nothing in the end. Will the money that we earn in our life mean anything to us, to this world. At times I used to ask myself, will the research that Im doing right now, is it going to help, will it make a difference. The money that I make would it make a difference? Im not going to humor myself that it would, but still I hope to put it to good use. For the hopeless romanticist that I am, the ideal world in which I dream, there, Dire Straits still sing "Money for nothing"

Someday on the different paths that Im going take, money should be the means to the end and not the end to the means.

Signing back in

Finally, things have been done with for this semester, phew now I can afford to take a two day breather before getting back to more important things.

Just to ease things back to normalcy, heres something to read, reflect, chew and ponder. Secrets!!! What is it about secrets, that you guard with all your life? Why does it prick curiosity to know others' secrets? Would you tell your secrets in a confession knowing that it would never be known to anybody else? Do your secrets make your blush in embarrassment or red with evil? Read through this, make your surmises and let me know what you think about it.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Sigh...!!

Its that time of the semester again when professors haunt your dreams and the image of the lucifer is replaced with your professors face. I'll be busy burrowing under my books but not necessarily studying them. This time it might take me longer and bigger binges to recover from them. Signing off until then.

John Titor and time travel

A word of caution: this is a pretty big post so dont start on this unless you have atleast 15-20mins to spare. If you do read through this just sit back and relax, it'll be fun and you wont be disappointed especially if you are a fantasy or mystery freak.

"Some folks at MIT are holding a time-travelers' convention. The idea is to make it so famous and so widely-known that even thousands of years in the future, people will still know exactly when and where this time-traveler convention went down, and will all come travel to it at some point in their illustrious time-traveling careers. For those interested in attending, it's on May 7, 2005, 10:00pm EDT (08 May 2005 02:00:00 UTC) in the East Campus Courtyard at MIT. 42:21:36.025N, 71:05:16.332W (42.360007,-071.087870 in decimal degrees)."

Time travel? Can we travel in time just for the heck of it or to try and set things right? You would probably say that if you could, you might wish to see the birth of Renaissance, the Russian and French Revolution, the Jallianwallah Bagh. If you have any pretensions of being righteous you might want to prevent the murder of Gandhi or maybe kill Hitler or prevent the nuclear holocaust. But, are you sure that Hitler wasnt killed by a time traveller who decided to stop him before more Jews could be prosecuted? Is time travelling really travelling in time or travelling through space and time to reach a different dimension, a parallel world? Maybe the Asimov fans could counter this. What if you could travel at the speed of light to travel in the future or travel through a black hole to travel back in time?

Theres always the timeline to worry about. Let us suppose a close friend of yours or a family member died a few years back through unnatural circumstances, if you can go back in time and prevent it from happening, how will the timeline be affected? For example, a 20 year old has missed his Dad since birth, who died in an accident, if this fatalistic passage in time could be avoided how will the timeline change. (Check out a movie called frequency) If you change your own past can you go back to your own future to reap the benefits or would the new future have a new you to match it. I believe even if you can go back in time to change an event, you never change your past, but rather just chart a new future. Well if you think that it is impossible to change the past, then you have to conclude that it is impossible to change the future too because your future is somebody else's past. Which means the way your life turns out has already been determined and cannot be changed. Sounds fatalistic right? I hate it too.

While we talk about time travelling in the present age, what about the possibility of a time traveller from the future or from the past. But when he does, he'll instantly split the timeline, and the one he came from will become a parallel universe to the one he's in. Why? Because in order for a time traveler to notice a certain incident in the future, say for example the MIT convention, it will have to happen at least once without him. In fact, the moment he interacts with anything or anyone from our timeline when he arrives, is when the timeline splits, because he wasn't there the first time around. Also, when he goes back to the future, his timeline will have been altered and he may not even exist in the timeline he returns to; and he will have no way to get back to his own previous future timeline, unless he goes back again a little earlier and tells his alternate self to go back immediately without going to the convention. This gives rise to what is called as a grandfather paradox.

Who the hell is John Titor? Well, hes purpotedly a time traveller from the future. The first time I read about John Titor, I felt like when I first read about Nostradamus, UFOs and ghosts. The possibility of another existence, a parallel world, such a discovery could lead to tremendous possiblities. You see, Im sort of a fantasy freak and I like mysteries, especially where theres none. Alright no tarrying lets get back to John Titor. John Titor or Timetravel_0 as he was first known in Internet bulletin boards during 2000/2001, claimed to be a timetraveller from the year 2036. A soldier, he claims to have been recruited by a government time travel program along with three other soldiers to travel back in time to retrieve an IBM 5100 computer which he claimed was needed to "debug" various legacy computer programs in 2036. It is also useful to note that Titor stated in Internet bulletin boards, that he had no interest in "proving" that he was a time traveler, and many of his "predictions" were offhand comments or answers to specific questions. Titor himself explained that he was not going to give anyone information that they could use to save themselves or profit by. (Check Back to the Future)

Some of Titor's prediction: Between the years 2000 and 2036 Titor depicts what can be described as World War III followed by two decades of recovery. He claims that the genesis for World War III began in 2004 with the US presidential elections, which is followed by a second American Civil War leading to rising tensions in Middle East. This is followed by Russia nuking many US cities to put an end to the civil war and China effectively taking over Taiwan, Japan and Korea. He goes to point out that the new seat of power in the US become Nebraska and the society in 2036 pays more empahsis on religion, personal interaction and self succiency. However in his predictions, technology does not seem to be much affected with continuing advances in rapid transportation, space travel and genetic engineering. Much of his predictions and some omens that foretell the accuracy of his prediction can be found in a John Titor fans website. His fans are even called as Titorites.

What makes John Titor believable? Titor's story is accompanied by a well described theory of how exactly he manages to travel in time that is consistent with known concepts of time travel and black hole mechanics. He also talks about the philosophical impact on society created by the realisation of the existence of multiple timelines. The theory was supported by pictorial evidence, including schematics and photographs of his "time distortion gravity displacement" machine, as well as a photograph of it in use showing a laser beam being bent by the time displacement outside the 'vertical safe distance' of the time travelling vehicle.

What makes Titor sound like a charlatan? Why should Titor travel back in time to collect a 1975 computer considering the technological advances in 2036? Titor's internet postings are riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, and present-day linguists do not predict major changes in spelling or verb usage over the course of the next thirty years - such major linguistic changes take centuries to evolve. Titor's claims about future events are disconcertingly vague - if a project team was going to send somebody back in time, surely they would send back a person who had at the very least a basic grasp of recent history, including concrete facts such as significant dates, persons, and events from 1998-2036. His failure to "predict" 9/11 is seen as a glaring oversight. Some label Titor as an American internet radical along the line of militias existent during the Clinton administration. Scientists and physicists who analysed the science involved in Titor's time travel explanations, state it is impossible, both in theory and practice. Titor's story, many claim, plagiarizes older science novels to construct his time travelling stories and the similarity to the storyline of Twelve Monkeys is quite striking. Also, there is the entirely believable possibility that people are still extremely gullible to believe the plausibility of Titor's time travel and stories of a post-apocalypse world. Nostradamus and modern age city-grown Yagava Munivar's, are a testament to this fact.

To what extent do we believe John Titor and his prediction of the future. After all, he paints a pretty bleak picture of a harsh life after nuclear war and how water must be filtered to remove radioactive particles.

In Titor's own words:

As far as I can tell right now, you are headed toward the same events I would call "my history" in 2036. However, the very nature of time travel states that every worldline is unique and you are very much in control of what you do and how you get there.

You are able to change your worldline for better or worse just as I am.
Therefore, any "prediction" I might make has a slight chance of being incorrect anyway and you now have the ability to act on it based on what I've said. Can you stop the war before it gets here? Sure. Will you do it? Probably not.

Yes, it's very possible that what I say would spin your future off into a different direction.

John Titor and the compelling story around his "travel" is made of numerous damnable facts that are neither entirely believable nor entirely falsifiable. It is for this very reason many such stories will be built around him now and in the future, who knows maybe in the past in a different worldline and timeline.

Alright folks, as usual comments are invited for discussion. If we are unable to find a middle ground in our views and opinions through the blog lets meet in person. Just point out where you are at the moment in your galactic and solar orbits relative to a few quasars, please? I'll meet you in the past, present or future!!

P.S: for more information check out www.johntitor.com

Surreal and ephemeral

The sky was painted with shades of crimson and tangerine, indicative of a twilight that was fast approaching and threatening to engulf the shore with darkness. Quite oblivious to this stunning sunset were two shadows sitting in their deck. The last gasps of sunlight defining their presence as the only witnesses to the play of the rays and clouds. The rays seemed to soften the clouds and the horizon, the twilight colors muted and subdued in awe of the larger than life personas of the two shadows. Her head lay on his shoulder and perfectly fitted the gully between his head and shoulder and his head on top of hers. Like two pieces of jigsaw puzzles they perfectly fit each other. They held each other close lest the sea breeze occupies the space between their physical beings and forms a rift of separation.

Through troubled times, they would shoulder each other. Each giving thousand words of courage for every word spoken and another thousand words for those they did not. His face, wrinkled, each wrinkle a testimonial to the trials and tribulations at the hands of a harsh and unrelenting society. His face showing the pain of hiding his troubles from her. But often, to show that love shores up the fraility of the being and self, he would drop the facade of courage only between themselves. Emphasizing his vulnerability to the outside world but taking courage from her physical and emotional presence. No words yet spoken.

Their hands held together, fingers entwined, like a ball of wool, they formed an intricate pattern, its beginning at the root of their heart. Each gentle and responsive to touch, always on the verge of engulfing each other in flames of passion, yet never held tightly that would make them conscious of it. It would be hard to tell for the dispassionate that the shadows had any beginning or end. The air around them froze, keeping their distance, not wanting to intrude their presence.

He was looking out into the horizon. His gaze unfocussed, his mind not taking in anything other than the her presence beside him. He didnt have to look at her to know that her attention was focussed on him. She reached out to him. Her hand drawing an imaginary crease along the sides of his face, fingers taking the path of his features. Her forefinger coming to rest beneath his chin and the thumb on the chin, urging him to look up. He was resisting her silent request not wanting to move a muscle lest it shall alter the alignment of the cosmos and destroy the tender moment hanging in the balance.

But, he slowly gave in and did something that he would regret for a long time to come; he looked up and realized that she had no face.

Whaaaaaaaat....

I open my dreary eyes, each eyelid weighs a ton, every miniscule muscle strains, such rebels these tiny muscles are, thinking they could rise against the all conquering mind. They are crushed with the brute force of the mind, rather they are lifted; slowly the eyes take in the vista. Blurred in the beginning, the focus goes wild, slowly the eye tweaks its focusing mechanism, the vista before me comes into focus. Im inside a room a small 8 feet X 8 feet room. A section of the room is partitioned from my view by a glass sliding door. The room itself is hardly inviting to my presence inside it. The ventilator fans, above my head whirrs in protest against my presence, the fan blades provides the only source of sonority inside the room.

With measured steps like an underwater diver walking on the seabed, I come face to face with the sliding doors. Its actually glass but Im unable to see my reflection in it. Now it seems that my hands are tied to the sides of my legs. This is proving to be a physically draining activity so far inside this room. I was weak when I found myself inside the room, I wasnt sure of the time, but atleast half a day would have passed without any nourishment. The strain on the body and mind was showing. My fingers grip the doors handle, in an instant my body and the muscles convulse to the feel of cold metal against raw skin. With every ounce of energy I pull the sliding doors to the right. First it doesnt budge, then with a concentrated effort, I channelise my energy and pull the door to the right.

My senses are assaulted, too much information to assimilate in the alien area so far and the partitioned area makes the mind take in more information. The color is dull and uninviting, the is a distinct smell though not given to any particular odor. Yellow tiles, criscrossed with cream tiles on three sides, the fourth being the sliding doors. The shape of the tiles and the smell reminds me of a hospital, a morgue both of which is hardly endearing at the moment.

I look inside to my right and the wall in front of me. Nothing distinctive to capture my attention so far and nothing threatening or intimidating. Slowly I turn to my left, I suck in my lungs instinctively and unwillingly Im forced take in the smell of the room, my senses are frozen. I forget to exhale and with my mouth agape, stare at the alien being jutting out of the wall on my left and high above my head. It appears to have one eye in its circular gray cranium. The most shocking thing was yet to come, around the singular eye, there seemed to be tens of small pores. Their function, was yet unknown but there were far too many to be misinterpreted as a mouth or nostrils. Waiting, with my breath held against a screaming pair of lungs that yearns my mind to give the command to exhale, I expect the alien being to make the first move.

After what seems to be aeons of microseconds, it is true when they say sometimes the smallest time period seems to be the longest, knowing that the alien being is not going to make the first move, I step into the room. Not one moment did I take my eyes off the dormant being. Only when I was totally assured that the alien being wasnt going to do anything, did I look about the area surrounding the alien being. Thats when I noticed the crazy looking dials that somehow seemed to be connected with the "higher being".

With trepidation, my hands slowly reach out for the dials. In fact, my hands are slowly pulled towards the dials. My thoughts are muddled, yet Im aware that this is probably the defining moment so far and something is about to transpire. From all accounts so far, something sinister, something surprising and shocking is about to happen. My hands have a life of their own, they turn the dials clockwise, suddenly the higher being spews out through its tens of pores, first it freezes my bone to the marrow. The next instant with more tweaking from my hands, my skin scalds. Finally, the higher being takes advantage me, it has been studying me all along. Straddling in half asleep and brain at its tired existence the shower head takes its revenge for squeezing out its life everyday.


Whats so special about the shower? you ask. Laziness, sloth, procrastination, dirty dishes, dirty laundry, smelly socks, unmade matteresses, half cooked meals......naah these dont belong to the exclusive set of single guys. Ablution!!! What is it about guys that makes them take long showers the moment they step into a bathtub and turn on the shower? No dont get any mischievious ideas. Im not saying it doesnt happen, there is something else too that entices and hold guys back.

Exam or not, late or not my shower takes me a minimum of 20 minutes. What the hell am I doing in the shower for 20 mins everyday? Soaping and lathering, you may think. Nope, Im too lazy to soap and lather, I just stand under the shower for that long. Insane, you say, I plead guilty and I most definitely would agree anyday.

What do I do under the shower? The sound of the water hitting your body, your hair, the water hitting the shower screen and the bathtub, it never fails in its metronomic accuracy, everyday its the same sound, but everyday it never fails to soothe me. I think, I chew, I plan, I dream about the past, the present, the future. I think about the past, the time when I had lots of hair on my head. I relish the present, how many more years will it be before I lose what I have now, how thin the hair gets with every passing day. Blame the lead content in the water, blame L'oreal, Vive, Dove, the thickening shampoo never thickens. A future without any hair!!! a hairy nightmare indeed.

I plan my day, go over the previous day. Every single day that I start, I plan it beforehand. Nothing irritates more than an unexpected surprise, an extra piece of responsibility or work. I never shy away from work or responsibility, infact I crave more responsibility but I like to have a control over what I do and I hate plans going awry. As I way saying, I plan the day in the shower, I plan everything I do, but my plan about rationing the time under the shower has never succeeded. One of my lifes funny ironies.

About love........

In truth I should be the last person to talk about love, my preception of love has always been immature, muddy and preposterous. In fact, I dont think I have still grasped the entire spectrum of feelings collectively termed love. My first understanding of love was from movies, confused between reality and commerciality, I could never paint the big picture, there were far too many dark areas. Imagine looking at a Van Gogh in candle light, the details were just not there for all to see. In fact, like tourists appreciating the Van Gogh for being a Van Gogh more than anything else, "love" seemed to hold a charm without understanding what it meant.

From celluloid love to hormones-working-overtime-adolescent love, dreams are invariably centered about the perfect girl. Like playboy centerfolds, the perfect girl or the perception of the perfect girl changes every month or even faster. The perfect girl can be just about anyone from the girl next door to the girl in your class to the senior girl who works with you on a school project. The girl next door? Does it even exist or are all the beautiful girls housing next to Hrithik Roshan? Believe me even if a beautiful girl moves ostentatiously next door and throws a wild party every week, I would need a cardiac arrest to wake up to the fact.

What about love after marriage? What about love after arranged marriage? Some claim that love after marriage is the true love. For some others arranged marriage might be the easiest option towards unconditional love, no strings attached. Still others are cynical, boorish and antagonistic towards arranged marriage.

But, what is it about love, exclusive of physical love, that makes it so complicated. Why does it happen to a few and for others it is as real as the lochness? But when we bond with someone special why does it become difficult to get away from the attachment. Still, compromise plays a great part in love and marriage. So, if you are compromising with the one that you love, then could you say that the partners are not truly tuned in. After all, if two people who are in love and understand each other so very well, there neednt be any compromise at all, does it? It gets complicated as we grow and build a definition of love and how ones love life should be.

Truth is, sometimes we want to love so much and be loved so much, we are not too choosy about who we love. Other times we make love such a pure and noble thing no poor human can even meet our vision. But for the most part love is recognition, an opportunity to say 'There is something about you I cherish'. It doesnt necessarily entail marriage or even physical love. There is love for your parents, love for the nation, love for people and love for the simple pleasures of life.

Some love comes like wind off the sea; while others grow slowly from the seeds of friendship and kindness. Which one is yours? Which one do you prefer to be yours?

P.S: To all the people who know me personally, this is just an offhand opinion about love. So please hold onto our horses and rein in your imaginations :)

Exams

"A student who changes the course of history is probably taking an exam"

~ Anonymous

The only history Im trying to change is my own. For that matter Im quite busy this week and won't be posting or replying to comments or visiting other blogs :)

Best and the rest..........

What is it about the best stories in sports and life, being the triumph of spirit, mind and body against all odds? What is it about the audacity of the meek to challenge the mighty and the best? What is it about audiences cheering the underdogs, as unlikely it may seem? Some of my favorite moments in sports have been watching Ivanisevic win Wimbledon, Greece triumphing in the Euro championships and a down and out Sri Lanka beating their tormentor, Australia in the world cup. What can be more exhilarating and elevating than seeing the underdogs, give their best and walking out of a lost cause with their heads held high and chest puffed. Not only in sport, how often does our voice crack and experience a lump in the throat, when you hear about the common man, who choose to carve his own destiny despite numerous sufferings.

Nevertheless, I came across an article by Andrew McLean, a New Zealand stereotype, if there is one, and he put forth the idea, albeit in humor, to seclude Australia from international cricket because they were simply too good. Make them play only world cups and a select few, he suggested. A few years ago the FIA tried to undermine the combined might of Ferrari and Schumacher, again because they were dominating what is essentially a spectator sport. Thankfully, the ICC does not have such foresight nor such decision making powers at its disposal.

Why this sudden stream of thought? Since when did the concept of a fair competition and evenly matched teams become a norm in the world of sport. Isnt competition about two individuals or two teams, each with their unique strengths and individuals, pitching their ability one against the other, however unbalanced they seem. Isnt that what competitive sports events are all about. Would you watch a match, knowing that Australia is playing without Gilchrist, McGrath, Ponting, Warne, not because of a quirk of fate, instead to ensure a fair and even platform, against a much maligned Zimbabwe or Bangladesh. It is indeed true not even the most die hard fans of the Oz, want to watch Australia take on Zimbabwe or Bangladesh, but for oppositions playing against the best, it is their opportunity to watch, admire and learn what it takes to be the best. For the best, set the standard, raise the bar and extend limits and challenge others to do the same. Isn't that the mantra for the best and those aspiring to be the best in all walks of life. Wouldn't you relish knowing that Zimbabwe or Bangladesh gave Australia a run for their money.

The pertinent question is should the best really be alienated or their ability undermined for the sake of competition or entertainment. Why this sudden persecution and dissension? What for? Competition? undermining the ability of the best so that they can compete on a platform where the mediocre can give them a run for their money. Entertainment? for the sake of the crow do we punish the nightingale. Isn't the purpose of competition lost when the victory is undervalued by tilting the balance in favor of the meek.

It is not within us or any central body to take away what is rightfully achieved by a select few through a combination of hardwork and foresight, and give to the mediocre, simply because they are mediocre and incompetent. The way of life and sport is determined by the desire to compete in an area of expertise of an individual or team and their passion for it, not dictated by the incompetent. Let us praise the best and not feed on their guilt for being the best, for that is the way of the meek and impotent.

P.S The need for this post arose from watching 14th ranked Vermont basketball team beating the 4th ranked Syracuse. The joy on the faces of the young men, cannot be put in words by me. For many, they had achieved what was the pinnacle of their young lives, such was their emotions, for they wore their hearts on their sleeves. On another note, I also beg to differ to with Andrew Mclean and many including some of my friends who think that Australia should be stopped from playing, although they all suggest it in humor.

What if there was no afterlife??!!

How many among us believe in afterlife, judgement day and heaven/hell. Most Hindus believe strongly in the concept of afterlife and heaven/hell. Judgement day is as old as Adam and Eve, so is the concept of heaven for the good souls and hell for the bad souls. The question is what really drives people to differentiate and make the choice of good over bad. Is it the fear of God, fear of hell, fear of an unattractive rebirth or an inherently good heart.

What if the concept of afterlife and heaven/hell is nothing but a fantasy. Is it a figment of imagination like the numerous superstitions that dominate different cultures. Imagine a world or society without the concept of afterlife, heaven or hell, or judgement day. Will it alter the mindset of people towards differentiating between good and bad, especially since there would be no punishment or reward propotional to our deeds, no heaven to reward our good and no hell to punish us for our bad deeds. Toeing the previous line of thought is God a mirage, an invention of imagination, out of the need that arose for devising a greater set of rules for society to live by. Rules that have far reaching consequences than civil or criminal law.

If it was firmly established that there is no afterlife, judgement day or heaven/hell would it still drive people to do the good deeds? Will our conscience be strong enough to make a sane judgement between good and bad without the concept of God, heaven or hell hanging over our head. What then will motivate people to do more good than bad, what will bring about a change of heart among hardened criminals? Gauntlet of emotions thunder past me while I contemplate these questions.

So then who are saints and godfathers, what is their role in society? That shall take an entire post another day because I have nothing but contempt and cynicism for them and those who believe them.

Robbed of thoughts

Does writing take away my skill for conservation. After I finished my previous post around noon, I realised that for most part of the next two hours I was tongue tied and my thinking cells were benumbed. It was like my entire emotions and my capability to emote was encapsulated in the words that I typed in the morning. And once I was done with my post, I could think no more, staring into the television, the images and the sounds rushed past me, my mind not registering. There was no way I was going to tackle Maxwell and his convoluted equations in this frame of mind.


I knewI enjoyed writing but never did I imagine that it might take away the need for conservation. Could I live without innumerable idle conversations that make up our pathetic excuse for life. What if I was a mute, would I miss conversations and interacting with people?

Morning musings, when philosophy is your companion

Like a hurricane lashing on the coast of Florida all Ive been wanting to do since discovering the blogging community was to write and write. And now write I must before my roomates wake up and demand their fair share of computer usage. Its a beautiful morning after the numerous snow storms and Im awake earlier than my roomates who wont be up for another couple of hours at least. I sleep late too but I wanted some peaceful time to work on my blog before my roomates getup and go about their mundane activities of checking their mails, not to mention the usual gossip of cinema and which bollywood actress decided to jump on the bandwagon of sleazefest.

It is an irony that our only links to India is via the occasional bollywood and kollywood cinema, however stereotypical and a cartload of crap they call movies, we still see them. With a glass of chocolate flavored milk in my hand (Im too lazy to make myself any coffee) and Maxwells equations I need to analyse for my upcoming midterms on mind, I browse through cricinfo and rediff pages for knowledge that I usually pick up from daily chatter with friends when I was back home. Do I miss India? not really because I have more to look forward here than back home. Would I settle out here? no way because however much you build a rapport with locals here we'll still be the Indian friend and not just friend.

Ahh the proverbial sleepers are turning and tossing already, its going to be yet another a long day. The physics of electromagnetics interspersed with discussions about arranged marriage and love marriage make for a yet another mundane day. In between I need to cook what would be our short lunch snack and tonights big dinner. Love marriage or arranged marriage, gosh that topic is as old as Coulombs law dictating the force of attraction between two unlike charges.

Unlike charges, you gotta be kidding me, two unlike souls linking up together for the rest of their lives. Believe me I have experienced it and I cant stand an ideologically different person for more than three months let alone three decades. Living single and straight and liking it, thats my philosophy. What do I have to look forward to? my books, my music, my writing and my research; not to forget my dreams.

While my roomates ponder and contemplate their plan for the next five years, it becomes increasingly clear how much we miss India. Money, it appears the only reason coming here for many. But how much money do I want, is one million dollars enough, or what will two cars and a beautiful bungalow back home do to my dreams, will it satisfy my urge to earn and spend. How much do I want out of life, how much do I want out of my education. My unanswered questions that I pose to life and myself, my roomates ask different questions of themselves; how different we are.

When I was young before I went to sleep, I wished that God would come in my dreams and show me the path that I need to walk and provide me the solution to the complex equation that is life. As I grew up I realised that the path Im going to chart is my own and will be walked in solitude. I embrace solitude and I quite enjoy it, but a companion, a friend who would walk hand in hand, I crave.

Dedicated to solitary dreamers!!!

My brush with Individualist(s)

"If you fail to rise above the mediocrity, you risk losing your individuality". I came across this statement when I was surfing blogs and being an ardent fan of Ayn Rand I more than eagerly agreed with it but what ticked me was would too much individuality or a drive to develop a sense of individuality, numb you and the people around you.

A wise dude once told me "You can do different things but dont try to do everything differently". Unless you are an entrepreneur, a journalist, a researcher or a job that uses up every ounce of your creative juice, take it easy on you and others guys. What pisses me off is that many of these individualists are invariably blind to their shortcomings. It is not surprising in that case that many of the individualists repeatedly fail to accept their misgivings but instead portray their inadequacies as the very quality that makes them unique. Fellas, just because its unique and nobody else does it it necessarily need not be cool.

It is funny how people view being unique, being different as something to be proud of rather than an inherent quality. For many people including me embracing ones identity is a metamorphosis that might take up the best part of a lifespan. Heres to those who feel constantly reinventing oneself is the only way of living.

Be open to views, opinions and ideas because I strongly believe that the next inspiration might be just around the corner and in the most unattractive package. A lot of lessons I learnt were not from books and word of mouth rather from the people Ive interacted with. Over the years every person Ive known or remembered have taught me very many things, more importantly how to be and how not to be. It is hardly surprising to me that many individualists often fall in the latter bracket.

Which brings us to the next group of people who form a subset of individualists, the self made man. To me the phrase self made man is full of contradictions quite like the quintessential honest politician. I believe that our idealogy is often built based on events we encounter or on our perception of these life altering events. So essentialy, our views and opinions are based on events affecting and not because one fine day we choose to be that way.

Finally, to all the individualits out there embrace your individuality and let others embrace it, dont thrust it upon them. I like to think that every person is a book waiting to be read, re-read and analysed but to all you individualists and self made men I have one piece of advice, nobody wants to read a comic in hardcover!!!!!

lara or tendulkar

lara or tendulkar......just pop this phrase to a group of people in india and you are bound to start an argument that would put most legislative assemblies to shame. make no difference, from corporate boardrooms to connaught circle to common bylanes you would evoke nothing short of a detailed discussion comprising statistics to techinical finesse and character.

to vast majority of indians tendulkar is no less than a demi god exalted to immortality. you think jordan created furore and chaos with announcements of return and retirement from the game, wait till you see how indians react to tendulkars retirement. people hang onto every piece of information that newspapers, radio channels and local tv throw at them. i bet after tendulkars tennis elbow and the subsequent diagnosis by newspapers there has been an increase in the cases of orthopaedics having to put up with "tennis elbow" complaints from young and old alike.

lara is by no means at a lower level when it comes to idolizing and fan following. but caribbeans have a lot of things on their mind like catching the wave and partying. like a surfer catching a wave lara burst onto the scene (i know its a cliche but theres reason to why they call it a cliche, because its appropriate and true!!!!) caribbeans have idolized as many times as they have burnt him at the stake. you love to hate him and loathe to love him. that to me is the defining when it comes to pure entertainment.

i aint no cricket expert my loyalties lay elsewhere but like all children i grew up on a staple diet of test matches and one day internationals. to me lara brings an avalanche of emotions when he comes to bat. true tendulkar has scored more hundreds, i think he scores like 1 hundred for every 10 ODI matches (its an approximation, dont get statistical with me, im past that age!!!) and lara scores like half of that. but not knowing what to expect, a hundred, a duck, a quick 20 or 30 he still gives me an eyeful to watch and anticipate.

true, laras personal and professional life is a disaster, but that is the beauty of watching an true genius. what is john nash without the controversies of homosexuality, mahatma gandhi without the controversies of partition or michael schumacher without the controversies of a tyrant on a race track. a genius gives you what nobody else does, a roller coaster ride, expect the unexpected, exaltation when he succeeds and exasperation when he succumbs.

you would love to curse lara when he gets out at inappropriate moments or fails but with tendulkar that is next to sacrilege. more reasons have been contrived for his untime dismissals that would put most politicians to shame. tendulkar is the perfect role model to todays young children and aspiring cricketers. in a country which is starved of true role models, a man with so much humility and simplicity after achieving so much, you would have to be blind or insane not to take your hat off to him.

to me tendulkar embodies all that is indian conservatism. minimal and precise footwork, neat crisp strokes, copy book shots and getting into zen mode while batting. lara, with his ungaily backlift, chaotic footwork is an example of a free spirit, a man who let things come to him naturally, a man whos comfortable with verbal bouncers and a man who would definitely take the time to convey what a failure the bowler is when it comes to doing his job.

i respect tendulkar saying that his batting matured with age but it make no sense. do u see agassi not returning quite as well because hes aged, do u see mcgrath bowling a foot short because hes aged or have you heard of nymphomaniacs giving up because they were too old for conservative society (the last one is quite inappopriate but mischevious, aint it?) but i would rather give my sleep to watch lara bat than tendulkar carve a hundred. why? because lara gives to me frustrating failures, awe inspiring innings', gives me more ups and downs the waves that lash his private beach. geniuses keep failing, give up what they do but when they come back they often have a point to prove or add finishing touches to what is already a masterpiece. i would rather anticipate a failing masterpiece which holds only promise but no fruition than a calendar drawing which is very beautiful but evokes no emotions!!!!!!

musings!!!

first post, just checking out. like all people i have too much to say and hope to keep blogging. i just realised today that i wouldnt have to put up with conversations and irritating mannersims while discussing my opinions hoping for constructive criticisms in these blogs. and i dont have a problem with authority; its authoritative behavior that pisses me off