Addicted to sorrow

We desperately seek the elusive. When we find it, we want more of it. The quest is eternal. Meaningless even. But surely it must be in our best interests?

As elusive as happiness is, misery is addictive. It exists all around, clinging on to wandering souls like a leech. The only difference maybe that one is parasitic while the other is a symbiotic relationship.

We get so lost in our pursuits, we don't realise in our preoccupation, that we are indeed pursuing just the opposite. With the multitudes of paths that lie before us, we choose just the lanes that make us feel the pain. The nostalgic pain. It almost feels cathartic. It feels good. It just has to be there. It makes you complete.

It appears (looking from the outside) as if for no reason whatsoever, the human mind (whatever that means) conjures up pain so real, I almost think it has some evolutionary significance. The pain can be first hand. If that doesn't exist, then the pain can be second, or even third hand. And if all of that doesn't exist, the beauty of it all is that joy, could in its very ephemerality, always be sorrowful. Our subconscious mind is only too quick to realise this.

I wonder if there really is so much misery around us that it is only natural that we pick it up effortlessly, or is it that we pick it up because it is a survival skill?

Discontinuing metaphors, are we really happy when we are sad? It sure doesn't feel that way. I don't know if I know what happiness is. By definition, they are opposites, although not necessarily mutually exclusive. Does being sad make us feel better or help us in ANY way? If not, why do we even feel miserable where there really is nothing preventing us from feeling the opposite?

rags to riches!

She was confident, new
The rag
Furious, vulnerable
She sat thinking
crushed in awe :)
A friend came along
Showed her shimmering stars
a wonderful new world
The magic carpet ride
Then they fell
The self-pity pit
Narrow and deep
Why do they care?
They did.
Effects of the dark pit, reflections
a misery so powerful,
the engines had to roar again
The carpet soared high
through the dim-lit sky
The moonlit caves
"Open sesame" and voila!
there were glittering gems
Rich they were! Greedy-eyed.
Filled their pockets
Satisfied.
Turned back. Awaiting them?
Thieves?
There is no turning back.

Poetic puzzles

They are so powerful. They are open and yet so closed. They can tease. Inspire. They can make your imagination run wild. They let you reveal your thoughts and conceal them in any proportion you like.

It was the perfect way to release emotions I would otherwise like not to talk about.
However, there was a hitch. No matter how interesting it was, to set up your thoughts into a measured puzzle with just a smashing of hints that could draw someone(s) attention to it, you realise you are not getting the release you desire. It is no longer an uninterrupted flow of emotions that I'd like it to be.

Yet it makes sense because I'd not like to get into verbose details that nobody cares about and that is difficult for me to put into meaningful words, so might as well put it all into a soup of incoherent words that I can later conveniently call a poem, that only I can understand. Serves my not-so-noble purposes! Muaahahahaha!

Acknowledgement

It hurts. It is beautiful. Oh, yes.
Do I want it?
Ignoring the signs
Was easier.
Now the pain pierces me.
Will I heal?
Feel the blood rush.
Butterflies flutter.
The soup of emotions.
Will there be calm?
I acknowledge.
Ache, greed, fear.
or a tender, warm present. A future.
Is it a trance?
The questions lingered.
Seemed like forever.
Washed away in a flash!
Crystal clear.

Indian advertising and market segments

xyz showed us this photograph of an advertisement he captured in front of a shop in Chennai. It had a father holding his little son high in the air. Almost as if the kid were flying. On the top right corner of the picture were the following words that were meant to reflect the thoughts of the father- "I will fulfill my son's dreams all by myself." This, as you might have guessed, was the advertissement of some savings instrument by some Indian bank.

xyz enthusiastically clicked the picture of the poster citing that it was very interesting to see a man in the advertisement, when in the country he came from, a woman in the picture would have been more appropriate, because people could relate to a single-woman parent rather than to a single man parent!! :))

Question: What effect would the poster have on us, had it been a woman holding her child high instead of a man?

Would the words on the poster have brought the same picture in your head if it had been a woman?

Trapped in the web of I

oe

Another recent attempt : Hopefully a little flowy

Context: A very generic article I read that made me feel "ME Too!!" inducing yet another long, miserable mode of self-reflection. As a result I entirely missed the larger point it made. It was profound and beautiful as I later found out. Me too!?? So bloody what?

Looking inward

I read, write, listen and talk. I am
relating to me
always my experiences, my thoughts.
Why does it have to be me?
Do 'I' matter I ask
the grand scheme of things.
Is not there somebody else
the world revolves around?

Self-centered. No. I am

but self-obssessed?

If there be a difference.

Look, I go there again.

Look within? 'virtue' you say.

But I ever go inward-out?

Stuck in. I am

trapped. Hard to untangle

the I-web.

Weird watching the world. from within

and without

strength to fight free.

Move outward. Thoughtlessly like.

The path unclear

awaiting ME. I laugh

The candyman's smile

My first miserable attempt at poetry. Childish and contrived.

Context: In my pre-final year of undergraduate studies, trying to understand my career choices.

The fair wind blew

My journey I started anew

With new horizons to pursue

My worth for me to prove

The hills stood relentless and tall

Tears I shed plenty and decieved me a lot

At long last I got to the top

But where and why I really climbed I knew not.

The candyman there flashed a mocking smile

At all the lies, convincing in style

Ignoring him I continued to dine

Distracting din of forks, soup, cutlery and lingering sweet wine

A cold guilt in my heart sank

I looked the other way, at the job in my hand

The guilt but vanished only to come back

This time more forceful, freezing, dank.

In dark dawns and damp dews

long hours I spent knowing not what to do

The candyman gave a mocking smile? Not true!

He gently said, "ask the child in you"

I saw what needed to do

What makes one happy and true?

The fair wind blew

My journey I started anew

Cartoons, literature and languages

I have been watching Ramayana-The legend of Ram on Cartoon Network this Navratri. The cartoon is well made. The visuals, the voice over, the language, the words were flawless although the animation was just okay. I am not qualified to point out any glaring mistakes in the script as I wouldn't know which version of the story matches the one written by Vyasa. As long as the story stays in place at a high level and the cartoon encourages children to watch it, I wouldn't find anything terribly offensive.

Talking about Indian cartoons, the four-part, Krishna-the animated series on Pogo, aired early this summer was so addictive. Although the animation itself can't be termed as great, there was something about it that made my both my sister and me, stick on to the TV and watch the marathon run every Sunday. I even watched the repeat telecast over the week whenever I could! The songs were so hummable. I tried looking for them, the lyrics, on the internet. In vain.

I admit the English was a little crappy at times, drawing nasty remarks from certain people who must have been jealous that I happened to watch it to completion while they couldn't. But it was cute-crappy. It was almost as if it were intentionally made to sound childishly cute and incorrect. :) I will have to say, it doesn't set a great example if children were allowed to watch the cartoon to learn good English. But who watches Krishna to set examples about good language?! Of course, I would first recommend Panchatantra picture stories being read out to children before cartoons. They really shouldn't get the easy way out all the time!

Indian literature is filled with so many such examples of rich masterpieces, many that I might be able to read and understand with some effort and serious inclination. But I end up watching the children's cartoon version of the literature masterpieces in some foreign language! I just wonder what the originals were like. What am I missing?

Talking about the accessibility of literature across cultures, languages and geographies, technology hasn't advanced so much as to reduce the barrier that knowledge of a language or rather the lack thereof, imposes. Translating services are available but they are still in the nascent stages of the innovation cycle. A lot more work needs to be done before we can see scalable versions of a product where volumes of text, audio and video can be translated real-time across languages with semantics in tact (how tough is that? Even more so when some words just don't have equivalents!).

web3.0 maybe on its way. NLP, context sensitive grammars, translators. Wonder what kind of theoretical knowledge is required to understand this? I shall ask around.

A question: when can two words be said to be semantically equivalent. Yes, having to consider the context as well. And the multiple connotations a word can have. Hey won't figuring out the multiple connotations eventually lead us to detecting humour in text? The first step to simulating humour! No, I guess I got the order wrong. The intelligence required, computationally, to simulate humour might be less than what it would take to detect humour, because of the inherently generic nature of humour.

Appearances and usability

The web2.0 team spoke about it. The mobile team spoke about it. I see so much of importance given to design and appearance. We are having a few people around us who are studying Interaction Design. They just quoted John Maeda and Edward Tufte and have brought hoards of cool-looking books on design interaction.

I have always ignored so many aspects of good design and thought it to be bullshit, as must be evident from my horribly cluttered blog page. Although I did think that usability was high up in my head and that I quite empathised with users of IT systems, I never did care about the aspect of "look and feel". The stand was almost philosophical! (I am hoping that this statement doesn't annoy certain people :) ) What does appearance have to do with good design and usability, I would say? Now I might just end up being a convert. Or who knows, my interaction with them will only reinforce my belief. From the way things are going, it is likely that I will get converted.

The Delhi blasts

Someone>>It is the government’s fault. All politicians should die.

Me>>The government doesn't have a magic wand. I agree they don't do even what they can do. Our intelligence sucks. On the bigger picture, it is we who are idiots. All of us. The human kind. The inhuman and the unkind. Why do we do this to ourselves? For what joy? And now we have begun to accept it as normal as long as it doesn't directly affect us.

Someone>> Don't be impractical and bring your lofty philosophy into this. Don't support them. Would they have been as passive if it had been one of the politicians who died? See the Americans.

I'm not defending our politicians. They are idiots. But weren't they chosen by us? Won't we choose them again? Was what the US did really fine? And Israel? It is pathetic. We'll kill each other. Let us just do that shall we? I'd really like that. At least for philosophical reasons!!! What do you think the government would do if it were Sonia Gandhi or Manmohan? What did they do after Rajiv Gandhi? Nothing has changed. We just talk. We as a nation and culture are so stoic, it seems like we are almost habituated to the distress around. We only react if it happens to people we know.

Politicians plain don't do anything because of inertia. They would probably think rival parties would create problems anyway. So why do anything useful? We are better off fighting for and against the Amarnath yatra and Amitabh. We fight for just what we think would bring us the votes. Our people have poor memories and a high tolerance for terrorism. And if twenty families die, it is only that many votes that we lose.

It is of course vote bank politics that politicians across all geographies play. So what is so special about our politicians? I should actually ask, what is special about us, the people? We have been tolerant of exploitation for decades? Centuries now. We think it is a virtue to take rubbish and show our other cheek. But it is an irony that this is not really because we are a nation of peace lovers. It is just that we are a . We are an electorate that is still struggling to make ends meet. We need jobs to get us our daily bread and a god when that doesn't happen. Matters of importance to us are religion and reservations, which is why these are the only issues that politicians deem important and actively do things about. Their actions have so much of an impact that we now think this is all that directly affects our lives. It becomes a vicious cycle of dependency created by and imposed on us.

Occasionally we see vague semblances of the capitalist versus communist debates seen elsewhere in world politics. The Tata Singur project. The nuclear deal. This at least seems like a healthy debate to me, even if it might seem to some like it is just opposition for the sake of it. While to even others, it might be entirely pointless to care at all about. Do those issues really make any difference to us?

While I understand our stands and choices make sense to each of us, that we are wise individuals who know what is important to us, and this is exactly what a healthy democracy would promote, we must also take the bitter pill and understand that the fruits of democracy take their own sweet time to bear and then ripen. Under favourable circumstances. Who knows, in a few decades we might even get to taste them.

Meanwhile, the electorate is waiting for a better option. Or is it?

Women's lib

All the talk about women's lib has died down. They once used to be 'cool' words associated with rebellion. Now, these words are laughed at. The word 'feminist' is considered almost derogatory. It could be because it has been around a long time now. It is no longer a cool, unique 'fashion' statement that beauty pageant models use to win crowns. A lot of people have accepted that women play an important role in all aspects of a society, its government, its economy and growth.

But listen to this.

I met a lady who was working in villages in Maharashtra. She narrated to me some of her observations in the villages she visited. Like most other villages (and sometimes elsewhere), the women there get married at 15. They couldn't study after that even if they wanted to. Here's one reason. Because their husbands were 7th standard pass outs and didn't want a better educated bride. You will never guess why young men were only too eager to get married? It was at the prospect of getting a bike and cellphone for dowry! And of course I won't miss the opportunity to add - free, approved sex!

So what do young men do after getting married? Go on thrill rides on their shiny, new bikes. If they survive the rides, they get back home drunk, beat up their women, impose themselves and have a peaceful nights sleep. How does the family survive? On money from the girls parents. What does the woman do? Subject herself to pain, neglect and misery; give birth to children; suffer the agony of bringing them up in a pathological environment. If it is not the husband, its is her in-laws. And when she becomes a mother-in-law, she supposedly repeats the same cycle of hatred, misery to her daughter-in-law.

This does sound like a very generic, biased and silly narration to me. There are so many holes in the description. Who is the "responsible" father/mother who saves/borrows and offers the daughter the money she needs. Why should the girl grow old to be yet another hatred-filled, cynical, vengeful mother-in-law? Aren't there equal chances of the girl turning out to be the savior of her daughter-in-law for the very same reason having faced the agony herself and having learnt from the experience?

Whatever is said, clearly all is not well. Hopefully things will change in a decade or two.

Man and machine

Why is it that I do not particularly like Nadal and Hrithik? I do not dispute the fact that they have got talent. :P People might even argue that it is an understatement. But I have the right to put forth my opinion about them. So here goes. I think they are too plastic. Too machine-like. Too muscly.

Nadal plays like he has a mission to accomplish. He runs to and fro on the baseline, is agile, hits power shots at unbelievable angles and reaches the ball no matter where it is placed on court. He attempts shots to keep the ball at play, hits winners - ONLY from the baseline, and if lucky maybe from elsewhere, all of them with machine-like precision. Little wonder that he wins most games. And yes, his angles and the way he reaches for every shot makes one gasp, but I have somehow decided in my head that he is too plastic for my tastes. Agreed, after he finishes a match, when he wins and takes off his head band, I feel a sort of fondness for the emotional/non-plastic kid in him. The way he talks, his spirit - he is a sport and hence a sweetheart whether he wins or loses. When the win is against Federer, all this doesn't hold of course. :)

Federer on the other hand, has more variety. Watching his tennis is like listening to music, as so many people have rightly put it. And even a non-believer would agree, after watching fed's strokes in slow motion alongside the symphony playing in the background of the rolex advertisement. He can(or is it could) play against anyone, with any style of game, on any surface, improvises his game anytime required, and comes up with shots that are a beauty to watch. He is just art at work.

And Hrithik is another story. He dances well. Okay, maybe very well. But I just do not appreciate his dance. His movement is fluid alright. But again is so machine-like in precision. Like he was programmed to dance that way and he would move every muscle just as much as it was programmed to move.

This is how I see them. Maybe it is partly because I think perfection isn't human? No, it is because, I think to achieve perfection, one needs to be free. To be boundless. To be free to improvise. To do what one really wants to do. To do it in a split-second of thought or even without thought. To do it because you just knew it was what you ought to have done. To fail. And in the end maybe, just maybe, win. :)

monkey trouble

I was walking down the road to the IIT hospital with a bag of apples and bananas, when I saw this monkey that was heading for me rather aggressively with frightening snorts! I panicked and in the fright, it took me a moment longer to understand what it was that the monkey wanted. I let out a scream and dropped the bag down. But by the time all this happened, there was this "saviour" who shooed the monkey to a side with his bike! The monkey wasn't sure whether to take his threat seriously or to head for the alluring bag of goodies. By the time, the saviour-of-my-goodies shouted for me to pick up the bag and run to the hospital. I did just that. When I reached safe territory, I turned back and saw the saviour-of-my-goodies still dodging the monkey with his bike. "Thank you!" I called back to him. He gave me a sheepish, big smile. I returned the same. In an afterthought, for a fairy tale finish, I should have sighed loudly, "My hero"!

I still can't help laughing thinking about the incident. It is funny for more than one reason. One, I (but actually it was my bag!) was like a victim being saved. By a guy that I have begun to regard as the-saviour- which is absolutely unacceptable in my head except for the funniness of the situation. And of course the knowing smile I received in the end.

the cellphone lives

I have been using the Nokia 1100 for a while now. :(

No offense to the handset model. It is quite unpretentious about its functionality and has been serving me and my mom quite effectively for over three years now. But I really have a different worry about my phone. It has a life of its own!!

Just when a profound thought occurs to me about how god and men have a sense of humour and enjoy playing games, I receive a call on my mobile and notice that even my battery has been 'dying' to play games with me. My battery has a life of its own. It pretends to have 100% charge but 'dies' at the most inopportune moments. Like when my boss tries to reach me. Or when I need to ensure that transport is arranged for a group of 12 people including me. Or when I am in desperate need of a US open score update at office early in the morning. :P

As soon as I begin to feel that I have no use for my mobile it, turns on happily displaying full battery and a list all the calls I have missed. Ah the pleasure it exudes switching on and ringing aloud when I am away from my cabin at office! I rush to my room curious about what number my dear-old mobile deems fit to turn itself on for and connect through to me. I find a number I can't identify of course. I answer the call with the sweetest 'hello' to a pre-recorded message from airtel. Haa! I could almost see the wicked smirk on its face!

I really am planning to buy myself a new mobile. One that is just a piece of electronics. Something that hasn't got a mind of its own. Something that is at my disposal. Something that does exactly what I want. Something that I can control, own and exert power over! Not something that seems to be constantly reminding me "may god's will be done"!

I was waiting for the iPhone to hit the Indian market. I was dreamily hoping Apple would come to a silly arrangement with Airtel or something, to make the price of the phone “seemingly” affordable to me! Thankfully, they didn't do any of that. With 33K as the price, I wouldn't even dream of buying the phone no matter how smitten I am. So what do I replace my 1100 with? I am still in the process of deciding. Meanwhile, what do I do when I suddenly feel sentimental about my 1100?

The media rush

I loved the advertisement for headlines today where they take a dig at other news channels going 'blah blah' all the time. It depicted exactly how one felt watching so many 24/7 news channels sprouting up, with news anchors and journalists blabbering with an extraordinary seriousness about their faces, about nothing in particular.

With all expectations, one turns on to watch Headlines today. Guess what they think is refreshingly 'un-blah'? Reality show gossip, movie gossip and cricket gossip!! As far as I know, this is all they air. Any other news item that they think might be worthy of mentioning is just flashed on the screen space in the bottom.

If one evening, they are discussing the possible implications of Aishwarya Rai's tummy that they had very smartly spotted, half-concealed under her dupatta, and even zoomed into(!) when she walked the ramp for the first time after her marriage to Abhishek Bachchan; another evening they were talking about a celebrity fight in a yet-to-be-aired reality show! Then there was Bajji's famed IPL slap. This of course was what all Indian news channels were discussing on their headlines for 3 whole days, so clearly it was headlines material.

An aimless channel surfer, I can promise that if one followed my transcendental footsteps, chances are nine on ten that one would see the face of at least two celebrities(note the plural) when browsing by the channel.

Hail the Indian celebrities. Hail Headlines today! Hail all who make these channels work! The couch potatoes. The aimless channel surfers (following my footsteps)!

Happy Independence day!

Kids say the smartest things

"I won't drink milk. It is hot."
"No Shruthi, only the cup is hot. The milk is not hot."
"No thatha, the cup is hot because the milk is hot."
-----

Thatha kept getting I-don't-know's for answers when talking to Shruthi, his 4-yr old grand daughter who was busy playing with her animal toys. He told her he would henceforth call her 'I don't know'.
The next morning, thatha, Shruthi and her parents went out on a picnic. Shruthi was quietly walking besides her father when she suddenly tugged at her papa's sleeve, only to tell him secretly into his ears........... "Papa, my other name is 'i-will-wear-what-i-want-to-wear'".
-----

Giri, a 5-yr old, was visiting the new house he was going to move into, with his parents. He eagerly looked around the deserted place and called out "Aunty... aunty....". Receiving no response, he asks his father, "Where is aunty?"!!!!!!

It took me a while to get what he must have been onto! :)
-----

God... the little things these kids say so spontaneously... The sheer innocence, the unexpectedness of the remark as well as its simplicity, so completely bowls us over! The remarks are very reasonable when you think of them, and yet we are so used to thinking in our own adult-like ways, it takes us by surprise!

Something unrelated: Can you program a computer to respond this way? Program computers to be humorous? How does one artificially create that little element of funniness/surprise/wit?

I must look up the name of Asimov's story on humour and its origins. I forget what it was exactly about.

I will add on to the list of anecdotes as I recollect them/experience them. It might be of use sometime .... :)

PS: The names have been changed.
------
"The dog will eat-up my cat"
"I am a thatha minder"
"We will go to the park for 5 minutes and then buy milk"
"Aana-Chona-Dona"!!

The fury of the seas

Last night I'd visited the Pondy beach. It must have been at least 6 months since I last visited the place. The place was transformed. Le Cafe had been renovated. The whole sidewalk had a new look to it. It looked lovely. The bamboo bench-rests, the shades, the palm trees planted and even the mobile toilet! We've been doing a lot to promote tourism I could see.

What struck me last night most of all, was the power of the mighty ocean. The vastness of our seas have always invoked a sense of awe in me, only this time, the feeling was much more exaggerated.

It was a calm, dark night at 11:30 PM. Couldn't spot a star in the sky. Couldn't even see if it was cloudy. There wasn't much of a breeze that night. The tide was high, although it was still a week to go before full-moon day. The sea was rough. The sea appeared 'lifted'. It was as if the sea was at a higher level than I was! I stood on the muddy patch, a little beyond the rocks - which were approximately 5 to 6 foot at a higher level than the water it overlooked. In spite of the height at which I was standing, the waves looked like they were formed at my line of sight, just slightly below my eye-level. They appeared to grow bigger and higher as they moved closer. The waves were really high but only managed to crash on the rocks and slightly beyond, with great power. Only a few drops managed to get to me. And that is because I would move back each time, at the deceivingly furious wave that appeared higher and mightier than it probably really was. It is beyond me to explain why I felt the fury of sea so pronouncedly yesterday. I felt I could now imagine how the tsunami would have looked like.

I was not alone in what I felt. Everyone I went with conceded that the sea was extremely 'scary' last night. My friend's dad and her mom also mentioned that they felt they could imagine what the tsunami would be like!!

It was perhaps the sheer volume of water at so close a level and the formation of the waves so close to us, that gave height to the waves and made us feel its power. But then I wonder why the waves only flattered to deceive.

Another thought when I saw this lone guy sitting on a slippery rock so close to the powerful waves without being afraid... I wish I could go there every night and sit on one of the rocks. Alone. Unafraid. Just idling. It gives me the goose bumps. Goose bumps because of the intensity of fright and the intensity of pleasure this would give me. The scary waves, the dark night, being out there alone, together with the pleasure of being alone with something so powerful, vast, wild and endearing, and philosophically motivating, putting us all in our rightful place.

I plan to go there once again tonight with my parents.

The Chinese spectacle

The Chinese cannot be ignored. They've been doing interesting things all around the world.

Olympics 2008 was another strike that reverberated all round the world. The spectacle that unfolded at the Bird's nest at Beijing was a treat to all senses. The colors, the lights, the sounds - alluding to their rich culture, their history and art (that I know nothing about but got a sense of). A once in a lifetime opportunity to showcase everything they were capable of doing. The cost? 10 billion dollars (just one estimate). A communist country being so extravagant with their money? For what? Is it just vanity? To prove a point to the rest of the world?

Why am I being cynical when it made their entire nation proud? And all the rest of the world take notice? Is there something so terribly wrong with what they did? People like to see their hard work and dedication get noticed. People love success. People yearn for popularity. And power. It's human nature. It is not that they do not care about their starving population. It is just a question of priorities. I am not being sarcastic. It is probably better to use up the money to tell yourself and prove to others that you are great and all powerful than to see the money get diluted somewhere for some rather untraceable cause and see the same population wallow in poverty even after decades.

All said and done, the reason why I began this post was to appreciate the effort involved in organizing such a massive event. It is so difficult - with all the bureaucracy - to get something as inconsequential as permits to use my company bus belonging to another office. For official purposes! With government money in the order of billions how does one keep track of where it goes? How does one handle corruption? The organizers and participants must truly have been proud after the way the opening ceremony went off!

Acknowledging an Indian visionary

Pundit Jawaharlal Nehru was a learned man. I always knew that. He was a great orator, writer and rightfully(?), the first prime minister of India, entrusted with the job of rebuilding a nation in ruins after the British Raj (arguably?), a nation that that didn't know where it was and where it could go.

Did the Mahatma make the right choice? Did Nehru do justice to the position he was entrusted with?

It is true that what I think of Nehru's rule and the Mahatma's choice is immaterial. But what I can say with confidence is that Nehru was a great visionary. At a time when food was scarce, superstitions plenty, literacy rates across the nation were miserably low, he dreamt of building world class institutions of research for science and technology (besides the other things he dreamt of)!! And out of just these dreams, institutions like the IITs were established. Except that they didn't happen magically. They were a result of thought, consultation and collaboration with Germany, another country recovering from the effects of a war (economically and reputation-wise).

I wonder what it took to create the sort of infrastructure, faculty etc. that IITs have today. Who taught the best teachers of today? I asked my uncle, and the answer was… guess what?… German professors!

Germany was a hub for high-end technology research pre and post world war. Numerous exchange programs were arranged for, which resulted in a number of German professors visiting the IITs. Why I won't fail to mention collaboration with Germany is because Germany was an important player in creating quality human capital for the IITs. Also, doesn't it take counrage to collaborate with a country, post Hitler rule?

Even if I am oversimplifying the case, visiting only one of its dimensions, it only gives us all the more reason to see that this little effort(relative to all his other efforts) on Nehru part, in converting his dreams to reality, resulted in the creation of the IITs, which in turn has, needless to say, been a boon for India and the rest of the world in so many ways. My salute to him on the wake of the golden jubilee celebrations at IIT today.

Can learning be inclusive?

How can learning be made fun. Answers are plenty. Research on this question has been happening for decades now. With the dawn of the computer age, resources and tools relevent to learning flood the internet. They are almost always made freely available. Why then do we hesitate to experiment with new (and established) methods of learning?

Today, we have the capability to identify and address diferent kinds of learning styles. A self learner could be given all learning resources to study at his leisure. A visual learner could be given different kinds of exercises and learning material that suits his style. A social learner can be given tailor-made group activities and now has plenty of social learning tools available for free. The list just goes on. Lectures should be taken on demand. Only then will the responsibility of learning truly shift to the learner and not the teacher.

Agreed, this model would not always work in school when students are too young to understand and own up to the responsibility of learning. But there is still no reason why tools and activities that suit the child's need cannot be identified for him or her. Why can't learning be made fun for the child? Because it takes a little more effort? It is a one-time investment. Do it right the first time, and one could aways reuse the artifacts created. The only effort after that is to tweak and improvise the model.

Ufortunately, we still pledge by classroom lecture-based teaching, frigid irrelevent syllabi and a rat race model of tracking learning progress. Does competition encourage learning? That would be another post altogether.

Surely, the teach-learn/rote-test-rank method will not do good to every child. It just is not an inclusive model and not really easily scalable either! Wonder why it works so well in spite of that!

going public

This is when I opened my blog.

art articulated

When it comes to art, I always have been in the dark.

We had 'art' as a subject in school. We were forced to draw/paint themes chosen by our teachers and our submissions were graded. It was just like any other assignment in school. It didn't really give me any pleasure. It didn't stir profound thoughts my head. In the end, we would compete with each other wondering whose 'drawing' or 'painting' was the best. To us, the best paintings were those that most closely mimicked reality. Mine had never been the best. Except in a second standard colouring competition where I let my imagination run wild. When I won the first prize, I had no clue why I did. I liked my friends' colourings better.

It was the same when it came to music. I learnt music for 6 years not knowing why I did so. I just sang songs and played the harmoniam. 'Good' music appealed to my senses and I can say that occasionally, I connected to music at an emotional level.

It NEVER occurred to me then to understand what art meant. In fact I have really never spent much time thinking about art until very recently.

Intuitively, I knew it had something to do with the senses, but never thought about it as having too much to do with the mind.

Maybe again it boils down to the question of separation of the body from the mind. How much is a person's emotional/mental experience dependent on his sensory experience? This question presupposes an answer to another question on whether sensory experience is indeed essentially different from the emotional experience. I believe that they are mostly connected at some level. I shall not delve into justifying my belief in this post.

I only understood what it meant to emotionally bond with a work of art when I saw a picture of David Munch's 'Skrik'. It had a direct impact on me, visually and emotionally; I could relate to it philosophically. But I couldn't make sense or articulate what I felt then. The colours and the distorted, flowy background had an effect. The greys melting into the bright oranges. The expression. The unheard scream. Dissolving into the background. The overwhelming sense of helplessness. Of not being heard. People far away. A disconnect. Of not making a difference. Fear. Of just being there and then going away. Pointlessness. Only when I went and read about it, did I understand that it made sense for me to have connected to it. Never underestimate the happiness you get when you connect to something so weird and inexplicable! To know that you aren't alone feeling this way.

This brings me to other questions. Why can't I appreciate all art equally well? At least other famous works of art? Am I tasteless? Emotionless? Unrefined? Have a low IQ? A genetic defect? Or is it just my near-nil exposure to art? Then again, does it take experience and exposure to appreciate art? Does it require reading about art and knowing art enthusiasts to appreciate art? As I mentioned before, I wouldn't have appreciated 'Skrik' as much, had I not read about it, in spite of the very obvious effects it had on me.

In any case, henceforth, I would go ahead and read about art, look more closely at it and analyse my reaction to it, whenever possible. I wouldn't want to miss out on other 'skrik' experiences. :)

For the love of the game

I would not be a peace if I do not apologise for my irrational, borderlining fanatical, support of Federer over the last few months. I would not be at peace without sharing all the excitement and happiness in me after watching the finals of the 122nd Wimbledon Championship last night.

I have been utterly despicable in my support of one of the best champions of all time ever since his invincibility has come under scrutiny over the last year. And what better way to exhibit my anger than to blame Federer's biggest challenger and greatest rival, Nadal for everything he did or didn't do? Just two weeks back I made a shameless blog entry about Nadal's victory at the French. I only know too well that I really was making silly excuses for Federer's loss. It is only when people like my dad start making fun do I get so annoyed, I want to take myself seriously!!!

That is just what happened yesterday. The finals began. Nadal won the first set. My dad just wouldn't stop making fun of all of Fed's mistakes and my reactions to his winners and errors. I was devastated at the end of the second set which Fed lost again 6-4, after a lead, with a break. But I still put on a brave face to my dad. He annoyed me to the brink till the end of the second set.

It was only in the end of the third set, during the rain delay, that my dad decided that he had had a lot of fun at my expense, and that I was totally brooding at the prospect of my Federer's straight set defeat to Nadal in a Wimbledon final. After a few calls to my uncle and cousin in London, when play resumed, I was absolutely drained, and just decided to reconcile myself to Fed's sad fate, when my dad did a U-turn and started supporting Federer in his own sweet way. He would prod, encourage, say 'Ace' before every serve in the tie-break, and when finally, the match went into the fourth set, I showed some sign of life. I decided to lie low and let my dad do the supporting for a while. I silently supported Federer under my breath, praying for a 5th set. The 4th set tie-break was my spiritual turning point. I could just NOT breathe easy and sit comfortably in my seat. I was shivering at the 2-chapionship points that Fed saved. By the time Fed managed to win that set, I had decided I didn't care who won the game. It was such a splendid game; I couldn't afford to have ANY negative emotion about it. Both players were wonderful, mentally tough, played superb tennis, and made MILLIONS of us happy. I just love them for it. Their sportsmanship was exemplary. I just had to learn from them.

The fifth set, was just a beautiful display of tennis. It was 4-4 in the set when the rain struck again. When play resumed, there were shots after glorious shots from both ends. I could only watch as the game unfolded itself into the longest and arguably one of the best finals in Wimbledon history!

Nadal was playing better in the last few games, had more opportunities for a break, while Federer, tried hard to do anything he could to thwart the Nodal strokes. But a lot of his efforts remained in vain.

In the end the better player won. 6-4, 6-4, 7-6(8), 7-6(9), 9-7. But what mattered was how much fun the game was. I've only seen Goran's 5-setters that were this thrilling. And Henmans' soap operas of course! :) But the quality of tennis here was incomparable with anythig I had seen before. I am proud to have been a part of the generation that has seen champions like Pete, Fed and Nadal. Thankyou god!

In a way, it was watching my dad wish Federer to push the game to 5 sets, which caused such a change in my attitude towards the game. He supported people for the love of the game! I wonder why he didn't hit me for being such a silly girl all the while, when I would have done that, if I were him. In fact, now I blame his teasing, for my being so unsportsmanlike!! It is all entirely his fault. He gets pleasure out of it!! And I get so annoyed!!

A question at the back of my head... Will Federer will again? He will. He has to improve his game if he has to win against players who are mentally tough, who play well and who understand the importance of improving their game. He can experiment and improvise on his shots, these trials cannot be his ONLY weapon! He should build a whole gamut of strengths which would make him invincible, improve on them every season and also be able to ‘choose’ from his backup armory, which could give him some room for improvisation.

Another question I must ask myself is... When am I going to learn to play the game??

when autism goes undetected

Shantha is 80. She was brought up in a remote village in South India. Her education was till her 5th grade. She wasn't particularly interested or inclined toward any subject or vocation and was not required to do so by anybody. She was married off at 14 to a man of 24. She moved to her husband's home, travelled along with him. She gave birth to her first child at 15. The baby died after a few months of its birth. Shantha was devastated but it wasn't apparent in any of her actions. Life went on as usual for Shantha. She gave birth to 3 children after that.

Her home life was passive. She did not actively participate in any family activity or discussion and even if she did, her opinions were always ignored. She always was the last to be asked for an opinion on any household matter or decision and she prefered it that way. She knew nothing of the world. She cooked, cleaned, went to the neighbours house to watch television or listen to the radio. She was indifferent towards all the happenings around her.

Her children grew up to be successful in their professions. Her husband died when she was 45. She lived with her son. She bonded with her grandchildren a tad more than she did with her own children. She would be happy so long as she could stick to her routine. She would do the same chores meticulously, daily. Any deviation from routine would upset her existence.

People got along well with her, because she was meek but otherwise thought her to be self-centered, slow and distant. Any thought of attributing this and her other peculiarities to autism was conveniently ignored by those around her. And besides, who cared about the whims of an old lady. People tended to suffer from dementia or some mental illness in their old age. There was nothing abnormal about that.

But Shantha's liefe really wasn't ordinary. She was autistic. Her autistic condition went undetected. No one bothered to accept her condition now as it made no sense to them. They didn't relate to her anyway. Just as they probably wouldn't relate to any other senior citizen. They failed to notice her innate musical talent. She had learnt Carnatic music watching 'Kutcheri' performances in local temples in her childhood. She picked up the ragas sung like they were chocolate cookies thrown to a hungry child.

Her life remains miserable and she isn't able to express it. Eighty years of her entire life just went by, unnoticed.

The children of drug abuse victims

Consider this story:

Neeli, a victim of drug abuse, visits Manali with her gang of friends. Raghav, friend of hers, takes her out one evening. The two of them have a lovely time together, sitting under a high pine tree, overlooking the town below.

The lights mellow down and they slowly see little jewels beginning to glitter in the town below. The sky, not to be outdone, decides to display its splendid collection of diamonds as well.

It was a beautiful night. Neeli and Raghav decided to push their friendship into yet unchartered realms. They made love to each other under the starlit skies and fell asleep. They woke up to another beautiful day.

Each day brought the couple new joys and sorrows. They were into the sixth month of their relationship when Neeli decided that she wanted to have a baby. She tried telling Raghav about it but he advised her against it. So she decided to take the matter into her hands. In a couple of months time, she was pregnant. Raghav was utterly disappointed at this, for more reasons than one. He tried convincing her, in many ways, to get her baby aborted. She told him that she wouldn't and that she wouldn't need his support in bringing up the baby if he didn't want to.

The baby was born. She was in the paediatric ICU for a week. She was having withdrawal fits, a symptom common in newborn children of drug abuse victims. The child, out of the mother's womb, finds itself unable to survive without drugs that were consumed by the mother during pregnancy. It experiences withdrawal symptoms commonly faced by drug abuse victims trying to quit their habit.

The baby survived the fits and grew older. Neeli, Raghav, and all of their friends enrolled themselves in rehabilitation centers. Raghav successfully got out of his habit and is helping Neeli slowly achieve her targets at the rehab.

-x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x-

PS: This is fiction. It is terribly sad. But this is not the worst story that could be told. Worse, and yet more believable things could have happened. Men dumping their girlfriends as soon as they find out about their pregnancy. Unsafe sex. AIDS.

-x--x--x--x--x--x--x--x-

I am not here to make judgements on victims of drug abuse or about whether women have the right to have babies in spite of their partners' insistence against it.

I am just bewildered by the helplessness of the situation. My question is the following.
Do drug abuse victims not have the right to desire to have babies of their own? If they aren't able to quit the habit, is it a sin to bring a baby into the world?

How can god have imagined things so complicated? Or is it that he just couldn't have imagined that things could get so complicated? He gives women the desire to procreate. He still allows them to get into the habit of taking drugs? Free will? You say free will? How much free will does anyone have? Let alone a victim of drug abuse! What about the child? The baby is addicted too, and is probably predisposed to drug addiction in his/her adulthood. Please stop talking about free will! When things like this happen, I just cannot believe in 'free will'. But then again, I can't also believe that someone, or some force, is perverted enough to allow things like this to happen. Is this all random then?? If so, why the hell am I here, a part of this??

The misery on clay

Nadal Beats Federer 6-2, 7-5, 6-0 in the French Open 2008. History repeats itself. Only, this time, it strikes you harder.

Is it the end of Roger Federer's reign as the undisputed king of tennis of the millennium? With just two more slams to win before he equals Pete's record of the highest number of grandslam wins, the BIG question running on everyone's mind is, has the steam run out off Roger Federer? Can he beat Pete's record to become the greatest champion of all time? Is the Rafa - Nole brigade too much for Federer to handle at his age? Will he EVER win a French Open title?

The French Open is arguably the toughest slam to win. So why couldn't Roger Federer win the slam when Nadal could? Why didn't Pete win the French, even when there was no Rafa in his time?

Why does the clay evade the best? The more complete players like Roger and Pete?

Yesterday, Roger Federer was just making way too many errors. He tried to conjure various shots from his kitty, but they all deserted him. He came to the net and tried to volley but inevitably, all of them landed up on the net. When he did get them on the other side, the only thing Federer could do was to stare at the ball whizzing past in a glorious Nadal passing shot or as a lob high over him. Do we blame him for his lack of skills at the net? Even the legendary Pete Sampras, arguably the best serve and volley player of all time, couldn't do much and had trouble getting to the finals on clay EVEN against lesser opponents than Nadal, in his time.


Why is this so?
The clay is an unfair surface. It is unfair to a game at the net. Unfair to a single-handed stroke player. Unfair to a game with ANY variety whatsoever. The French Open should henceforth only be equal to half a grandslam! ;)

Can poverty be eradicated?

With the UN going ga-ga about poverty and AIDS eradication, I can't help but wonder how they decide on who is poor and who is not. I know they must have well defined notions about them all. But honestly, how many of the UN decision making staff actually live with the poor? How many of them try to understand the poor rather than try to psychoanalyze their minds like they are experimental mice willing to do anything to get out of their misery.

With due respect to their efforts, especially individual efforts, sincere as they maybe, collectively they seem have an air of political motives, with bureaucracy woven around their propaganda, just as most other 'humanitarian' efforts do. I don't have any prejudices against the UN except that I think that the organization is not as autonomous as it ideally should be. And I suspect that this is more a widely accepted fact than my prejudice. But this fact has been put away for now because when we talk about eradication of 'world' poverty, does having a political motive really affect anything?

But then again, all major wars in history have been fought over territory or resources. The stronger powers amass the wealth and resources of the poor. So when it all boils down to money and power, will poverty eradication as goal set by the UN help the needy? Would this propaganda be in the best interest of all nations? I am not just questioning the feasibility of the target which I anyway think is impossible to achieve unless the UN, in an attempt to achieve its target, decides to mildly modify the definition of the word 'poverty' to be far less inclusive. From a dollar a day to 25 cents a day! ;) I am actually questioning the basic premise behind such a goal. Is poverty eradication the right solution? To right question?

Certain Vs Uncertain Death

Is waiting for 'certain' death easier to handle as opposed to death that is uncertain?
Most of us feel that killing a person in one blow is less of a punishment than torturing a person physically to death. Dostoevsky thinks otherwise.

Is the mental torture that entails awaiting 'certain' death, say on an electric chair, far more difficult to endure than enduring physical wounds from multiple gunshots? There is some uncertainty in the latter, in not knowing at exactly what point one dies.

I can't comprehend how either of the two would really feel. But extrapolating from my present frame of mind, I feel that 'certain' death would be easier to handle. I don't feel mentally uncomfortable with the idea of my own death, right now*. I feel and know it is inevitable and I even do not value life, my own life, to a great extent. Given that, I'd prefer the mental torture, if anything, to the physical torture.

* This is a very general statement and has its origins in my existential outlook to life. This shall be explained in another post. Meanwhile I'd appreciate if no judgments are made about my state of mind or life!!

More on Nationalism

A reply to:

"You have enjoyed the benefits your country has provided you, like subsidised education and all that Now it's your duty to pay back your due"

Everyone can look at positive and negative things our country has done for us. Indians even more so, because we have the luxury of being a democracy .
I am really thankful for the freedom of expression we enjoy. Else I might not have been alive today. :P

What if fate had it that i was born in another country? One that is cruel and oppressive from my present frame of reference. Am I then justified saying, I had the right NOT to be patriotic because I didn't like my country too much?
Have I then the right NOT to fulfill the duties they demand as a nation? In spite of the fact that the nation gave me space to live in, food to eat, education and clothing. But ZERO freedom of thought and expression, that I value so much? If i were thankful about that, I'd be duty-bound to serve my country even if it conflicts my interests or our collective interests in many cases.

And about my country. Or any other. Just like I now like certain things about it, it is only natural that there will be things I don't like about it. That is because not all decisions here were made with me in mind. So do I do what is good for my nation even if it conflicts with my personal interests?

Isn't that a choice I make? Me or my nation.
The very reason why someone says that I should feel obliged to my nation is because it gave ME what I wanted (say education). At the end of it all, I am looking for personal satisfaction here. The logic being, I give my nation because I feel thankful that it gave me/my family something. So why even pretend that a nation comes before you??

It is ultimately a choice. In my case it is ME before my nation. ONLY because I don't comprehend the idea of a nation. It's boundaries. It's laws.

I can't relate to it. Because no one asked me where I wanted to be born. No one took my permission to rule my country. To conquer it. To make a constitution. To draw boundaries! A lot of it happened before I was born. I can't relate to the feeling of nationalism. I perhaps would have related to it if I (we) felt oppressed and I was a part of the collective effort to build a better world(I won't use the word nation).

India, I am thankful is quite pleasant and gives me quite a bit of freedom. I'd love to be of some use to the people here. Specifically the education system. In a way I think I can be useful. But I would refuse to accept that doing so would make me more moral or immoral than someone who chooses not to. I also refuse to be forced to feel duty-bound to my nation. It has to be a CHOICE!

Is it pleasure or power?

I've always wondered about what drives some men to certain kinds of purportedly perverted behavior. Be it exhibitionism or god-knows-what-ever-they-do in those quiet corners when a lone woman passes by. Be it voyeurism. Molestation. Or rape. All women I know have had some bad experience with men. Most of us react the same way. It takes us all by surprise every time it happens. At the end, we end up thinking about it, cursing the men with abuses and feel terrible about the incident. We lose our peace of mind. And that is exactly what drives me mad. How unfair can it get? Why should I lose MY peace of mind???????

Is there something that I could have done that would have made me feel better? Agreed, fear takes over momentarily. And fierce anger takes over soon after. And nothing is more of a mind-suppressor than anger. I am slow to think and react appropriately. Why, at that moment I don't even know what appropriate is?

What about at other times? What is the 'right' thing to do in such a situation anyway?

Let me just assume that what is right is what would make me happy. I would definitely be happier if I got rid of that moment of fear. I can't even reason out WHY WHY WHY one has to fear anything. And yet, for a moment, it happens.

I'd also be better off if I were able to just THINK. Think instead of letting my anger get the better of me. Think of something smart to say/do or to just hit out or do ANYTHING to annoy or even hurt the person.

I think we'd all have felt better had it not been for the sheer helplessness of our situation. That's the right word. Helplessness. And it is not like it seems. This helplessness DOESNOT have a solution in getting help from people around. We just don't want to feel PERSONALLY helpless.

Why then, do we feel helpless?

For a moment let me try understanding what the man’s motive could be? Is it just some form of pleasure that he gets that I absolutely fail to comprehend and therefore label as ‘perverted’? I wouldn't be bugged if it was pleasure that the guy sought in the only form he knew how to. It is not to say that this is not terribly annoying or that it is acceptable. Seeking pleasure in any form that physically hurts or mentally violates people around you is unacceptable.

But I suspect that it is a power-game. It is all about men who want to exert some kind of power over women. It is about ‘control’. It is about looking at women powerless. Not able to do anything about it. Unable to talk about it. Unable to face the helplessness of their own situation. And it is THIS power that gives way to their pleasure.

It is not sexual pleasure they seek. They seek the pleasure that comes with power. Here are some facts to bolster my statement: They don't go about 'choosing' suitable victims like other men do. They just do it to ANY woman. They do it to some pretty woman walking down the road. They do it to me. They do it to younger school girls. They do it, perhaps less often, to older, middle-aged women. They don't do it to senior citizens at least. I hope. And if it is true it is ONLY because they don't see any point exerting power over people they perceive to be quite powerless anyway. Another reason could be just that older women tend to react to such incidents more calmly. They can speak up loud about it. They aren’t vain and hence don’t find it difficult seeking help or describing the incident - talking loud or creating a commotion while seeking justice.

I won't psychoanalyse their motive of exerting power over women. And if that motive has some sexual origin. To me, it all fits. The power. The helplessness. The pleasure. And the loss of peace of mind.

And I am NOT going to give it to the morons. I’ll fight power with power. The next time this happens.... which I am sure it will.. As long as there are men who seek power this way…

And what do I do? Do what the older women do? The problem is that I can't do that. It won’t make me happy to seek help and to go through the ordeal of describing the incident, to prove the man’s guilt and my innocence and to get so-called justice that way. Nope, I can’t do that. I will just have to hit out HARD, where it hurts the most. And see pain in his eyes. THAT will make me happy.