Thinking...still....

Tedious

2006-09-10T12:40:00.000-07:00

I have not taken he time off recently to update my blog. There might have been reasons to write new posts, to pen down own my ramblings, to announce my activies, and in general to let the world know of my wel being. But I refrained from doing so. Why ? I would have loved to put it down to something (read work) other than laziness, but the honest (and modest) person I am , I find that my hands are tied. I shall still try

Grad school was supposed to be this new exciting chapter in my life. I was supposed to read more than ever before, I was to explore new avenues, I was supposed to turn a new leaf. But none of these has happened. Life in general continues at it's same pace, with a time difference. I have three courses , a TA assignment. Among the three, the one that interests me the most is Quantum Mechanics . The histrionics of the professor make the classs even more interesting. He makes jokes, funny ones , and does not put people to sleep.

The people here in greenbelt are pretty nice. Most are indians from various parts of indi. Most of them smile when they see me, some greet me , and some others are too busy. We take the shuttle to school, wear school bags with laptops in them .There is no uniform. While in the shuttle people normally sleep.

I pack lunch from home, a box of curd rice and some pickle. I have this every afternoon at one, before going off to sleep.

I have five roomates, about six friends , and people here sleep when it is seven in the morning in India.

I read a few pages of Naipal before I go to bed.

I get up everymorning when the clock rings five past noon in India.

I take the shuttle to school and smile at people.

Independence

2006-08-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

It takes time to understand the independence. It takes time to graduate from an undergraduate. It takes time to understand that we have come here more to find a life of our own than to study. We are not here merely to fulfill the wishes and live the dreams of out parents, we are here to live our dreams , aren't we ? We are here to start lives as adults, we are here to take full responsibility of ourselves. It takes time for this to sink in , but when it does, as it will surely and slowly, "peace" dawns upon you. For the first time in weeks, I found a moment to reflect on this today. I am here to make my life ! And I confess there is some amount of elation in this discovery, elation and excitement that will keep me up for the night.

Terrapins !

2006-08-19T04:45:00.000-07:00

And as the day progessed , I went from the depths of depression to getting a vague idea of what the great american dream is about ! Now now , have I changed ? Have I donned on a pair of sunglasses; peirced my ears , plugged into a Ipod and refer to every other person with a very sprightly "yo dude ! " . NO I don't. I still want to see people spiiting on the road, I still want the cars to speed by over the zebra crossing with not an ioata of concern for the pedestritians, I want to the see more of the cudidar kameez than skin , I want to eat food , that would be still food by indian standards. So what am I ?

The day started with a TA orientation program. I was the only Indian in the lot. The others were chinese( 7:1 , I was outnumbered ). The graduate programs director met us after that, and gave us an idea of what the TA evaluation was and in the meantime, she made an attempt to make us feel at home. Washignton she said, has a multi ethnic community, with a lots of chinese, moslems( my race ) and other misc originns. This was the dull part, and I was coming to rue my decision to come to a university far far away. The paper work futher alienated me from myself , putting in great doubt the prupose of my visit while i was filling out that part of the form. What ensued was a better. It should be pointed out however that for my state of mind at that time, any thing , even a brocolli salad would qualify to be a good agent of change.

I was taken on a guided tour of the student stamp union by a Liu Wen , my student mentor. I was pleasantly surprised to to see that I could infact carry on a conversation with a chinese. We talked about chemical physics....about china and India, about the very visible lack of population here, about missing home, about going home in december ...time flew like it has never done in the past two days....we reached the student stamp union and went up to the resturnt for a sponsored lunch. As is the custom in most restrts , the only thing vegertarians do is to sit to stare , while all around there is a veritable massacre . Everythign that can move is cut up ( and for the things that couldn't move ..well they did not have a chance in the first place ! ) . I had some french friies and a pepsi.

The third day saw me take an english interview. There was some miscommunication between the interviewer and myself , for he apparently heard " I come from India" as " I Hindia phrom kome" . Obviously I did the pass the interview and had to take a listenning dictation ; where in I had to faithfully reproduce what I heard. "What is your name " is to be written as " What is your name" and not as " Wat iss syour mane " as we Indians do. I salute the Maryland English Institute for their objectivity.

US is a strange place, more so to new people. I shall write more on this later , for I still don't have a roof over my head that I can proudly call my own !

Flying off

2006-08-05T10:05:00.000-07:00

I never thought I would miss this place. Having spent the best part of the last four years away from home, I had come to believe that moving on to the US would not be as tough. Seperation to a greater degree. But yet in the last few days I have noticed a yearning for anything "Indian". I love the potholes , I love the puddles , I love the power cuts , I love the fact that the mildest of drizzles causes cables to snap , I love peeing on the road ( not that I do it any more ....but the freedom to do so ! ) , I love the random chaotic way we go about our lives. I just love it. Ironical , 'cos about a month ago , I was revelling (yes revelling and to no small degree) that I would be off to a land far removed from these.

I remember my delight when I saw the email annoucning that I had been offered admission. I remember thinking of US as a developed nation, of dreaming of a sophisticated way of life, of cleaner air, greener grass. The fact that the institute offered me the chance to pursue some form of physics came to me much later( and thankfully remains so till date). But my first impulse was fascination for a new way of life.

What am I coming to now ? In the last few days , I have been questioning my decision to opt for studies abroad. A good part of me is biased against doing so , mainly so because I am after leaving my home (by which I mean India). I might grow to like the US way of life. I might , but what I am sure of is that I will miss this way of life.

A prelude to this, was when I left IIT after the convocation. A plethora of emotions, all in a flash. The first time i entered the hostel, my first day at class, I still remember those as clearly as the pants I wore yesterday(Kennith Parker , Kakhis ...readers must get themselves one ! ) . I was incredibly silent on the train , and refrained from talking to two of my class mates... they waited for five minutes ...i feigned sleep.....and they walked off in search of better company.At that time, leaving IIT (with it's share of potholes , and chaos ) seemed foolish ! ( I didn't have an option did I ? ). I now look back at the four years with some remorse, but mainly satisfaction.
Will it be the same when I step into the Airbus?

Lord of the Chairs : An Extract

2006-07-22T19:37:00.000-07:00

AS(s) was on his knees, cringing before the four legged seat of power. He yearned for it; but he could do nothing about his yearning. The seat of power was taken. All he could do was to mutter , "My precious...... my precious". He shrank back to his corner, reminiscing his days with his precious. Joy, unbounded gallons of joy filled his body, and brought an involuntary smile upon his lips. He was the undisputed lord of all he surveyed. There was pain, there always is as a rule. But as a rule this was temporal, and vanished along with his conscience. And with that he was free; free to impose his freedom ; free to perpetuate his machinations. From a jack to a king .......and back ...... in his corner he schemed once again; schemed for his precious.

Now how does this story end ? does he get his precious ? Does he jump in into the boiling hot lava after his precious? Does he live happily ever after ?
Wanna find out; Read the the Lord of the Chairs ; call 000-00-000 and leave your credit card information for a special paper back copy.

Still not convinced? This classic has a smattering of all you would ever find in the average Indian movie. We have heroes, heroines , sentiments, evil villains who double up as politicians, plain evil villians who want to take over the planet, mum's, the family song, the family dog, the church the temple and the mosque,and a lot more jostling the 1000 pages of space the author(s) had to restrict the book to. Do I need to say more ! Extracts from the book can be found at almost all major news websites. Order your copy now !
Udate 1:
Have a look at the video posted on http://dasans.blogspot.com/ for a start

We are back

2006-07-20T03:45:00.000-07:00

I shall leave it at that , " We are back". Forgive me for being cliche and using "We" when I am actually just referring to me. The phrase was more pompous than " I am back". And to everyone (all the bloggers , the RTI act, and the news people) who forced the GOI to retreat, I offer my gratitude

Is Blogger Doomed ?

2006-07-17T20:09:00.000-07:00

The papers and many other bloggers have been reporting a ban on blogger by several ISP's. Now I am not an active blogger, I do not have many stories to tell, I tend to rather self-centered, with most of the posts glorifying my day to day chores and musings, I do not have many readers, but inspite of all these , I still like taking off the odd five minutes every two weeks to indulge in a blog.

You see, the blog is a medium of communication. It has always been. To suddenly wake up to this fact and to be alarmed by it's reach; alarmed enough to enforce a ban on something as widespread is plain foolishness. But I shall prepare myself for the dark days ahead. We as a collective seem to have lost all sense of logic. Rather surprising; given the brainpower we boost off, but add everything up and we seem to be heading for times that would be reminiscent of the dark ages.

But I shall prepare myself for the future. I shall train myself in rhetoric. Reasoning would have by then been reduced to a few simple axioms, simple enough to be elucidated in this short space
1. He who speaks the loudest is right
2. He with whom the majority sides; and hence he who posseses the loudest collective voice shall be deemed right
3. He who opposes the right is wrong and shall have no further role to play in society.
Taking after our leaders we pride ourselves at simplicity don't we ? Here I have put down the basic tenets of life in 3 points, can it get simpler. I cannot wait for the day when aforementioned tenets govern our lives.......the world shall be a simpler place.

And I would stand vindicated having prepared for the future.
(Alas ! this might be my last post for some time if blogger is indeed banned ; I had quite a few in the pipeline ...the great indian family ; trip to sringeri .......alas ! )

Hotel Our Place

2006-06-24T06:30:00.000-07:00

When a class mate of mine called me up and told me that we were to have a school reunion today at our place I was stunned. For one, I had lost touch with most of my school mates and I had assumed that they had in turn lost touch too; and two I did not know of any place I could call ours. I did not know much of the guy on the phone to enter into such a commitment. It was then that me told me that the place he was referring to was Hotel Our Place; conviniently located atop one of the cosy banjara hills.

And so as my activa steadly took me up the slope this morning, I could not help but wondering how these school mates of mine would be. The last I had seen of most of them was in 10th, an age defined best by the innocence that we ( or atleast I) lack now. Back in those days , girls wore long skirts; and boys were well groomed with tidy hair and black shoes. I surveyed myself with pride; the change would not go unnoticed. I had a white tantra t-shirt, a blue lee jeans , and a wonderful(read funky, ingenuous, novel, eye catching) hairstyle. In short I had changed, I had had a makeover.

Hotel Our Place can be found in one the by lanes of road no 1 banjara hills. There are adequate directions, with pan wallas, auto wallas and signs providing for the necessary information. I did so with ease. While at IIT, I had been five star resturants, Italian eateries ; big malls; gurunath and Himalaya. A small hotel closeted in a corner of one of the many roads of Banajara hills should not pose a problem , or so I thought to myself.

I have all this while, been trying to create the right atmosphere for a twist. This must have become painfully obvious by now. One of the banes of unpredictability, with time you tend to anticipate it. I was wrong in thinking so about Hotel Our Place. It was a lovely place . I heard the muffled voices of a group. It must be them. The doors is held open. I gasp in horror.

My eyes were confronted with designer shirts, cargo pants, boots, shoes, adiadas nike, goggles, rayban, well grommed hair and funky hair, cellphones with polyphonic ring tones, loud voices cheery , and through all this I heard them calling out to me , "Surya, hey how are you"
I was too stunned to give a coherent reply. Among the many replies I mubbled " How da" which was an intented " I am fine da " followed by "How are you"; evoked instant laughter. I went one way then the other circumbulating the table all the while trying to find one familiar face. The spent the rest of the get together staring intently at the ground; looking up now and then. I heard voices from far away sing;
Welcome to Hotel Our Place
Such a lovey place

(This post has been inspired by Hotel California,although not many would endorse :D )

Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaal and it's variations

2006-06-22T22:49:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I saw something that I have heard of often but have never witnessed first hand. I saw eleven boys stroking the ball around the football park forgetting that they had an opponent to contend with and oblivious to the fact that were infact playing on the world's biggest stage; watched and cheered by the best part of humanity. There were no pretensions; they stroked the ball around the park; as they would in a park.

Brazil, last night , were incredible ....no , incredible isn't the right word....other teams are , brazil isn't...Brazil , last night ,tore through the opposition;...no they didn't, they didn't know of the opposition till they happened to exchange T-shirts at the end....Brazil were amazing., no they were not ...argentina was amazing when the string of passes split the defence and wrong footed the goal keeper...Brazil , last night, were brilliant, will not strongly disagree. Brazil, last night, were delighful, their game was beautiful.

There were no tearing runs down the flank, no headers from set peices, no long range air balls to the lone forward, there was no european content. Brazil were out there to enjoy themselves. They walked for most of the time, ran a bit when the ball came along, danced with the ball, before letting it go to another one of their team mates. When an opening did show up, no one hurried the ball, no one panic, no one grasped the oppurtunity. They cared more for coming up with the perfect goal than these trivial issues.

And so when gilberto (correct me if I worng) ran down the left flank to score the third goal, he wasn't actually running. There was no "physical aggression" involved, he paced himself well, saw the small gap between th keeper and the defender , and fired it through. Beautiful, Last night I saw why football is beautiful, I had only heard of it.

There is something about this Brazillian side; they play for themselves and for glory. There is a swagger in their stride, not out of arrogance but out of something else , I haven't been able to figure out. My fears are now fortunately unconfounded, I have seen Brazil play; the long nights I spent looking for magic have borne fruit. And as I slept, i dreamt of short passes, delectable touches and feirce shots. The players had blank faces and non descript jerseys, and wore the spirit of football

Iruvar

2006-06-17T10:58:00.000-07:00

This is long due; started this post quite some time ago after watching "Iruvar" and have ever since been looking for a nice way to start the post. I have not found one yet.

Iruvar is Mani ratnam's take on the lives of the two opposing leaders in Dravidian politics namely MG Ramachandran and Karunanidhi. As is the case with most of Maniratnam's movies , this movie is technically brilliant.Set in the 1960's and it is shot with what appears to be a mix of B/W and EASTMAN COLOR. The actors ( Prakash Raj and Mohan Lal ) play their parts to perfection. Music by rehman is devoid of the snazzy instruments and relies heavily on the piano and the tabla's which makes it all the more delightful. The set's the costumes (and the customs)are vintage. The 60's was when the "dravidian movement" was at it's peak. Black was the colour of choice and that of protest. And so being in sync with times, we see main charecters sporting a black 'jibba' and a white lungi with thick rimmed spectacles frimly fxing the time line. I reiterate; it is technically brilliant.

And thats not all; Mani doesn't take side's through the movie and concentrates on the narration.(It's a good thing , not taking side, and hence the due emphasis with a "thats not all") We have as a result a narration which is engrossing and delightfull to almost all the tamil viewers , most of whom know have seen the plot acted out in real life. And this to me is one of Mani's strenghts, he is a wonderfull story teller and doesn't attempt to go beyond that.

And so while we have Mohan Lal and Prakash Raj fighting it out for their own parties, there are no heroes or villains. When Prakash Raj decides to suspend Mohan Lal from the Party, (reminiscent of MGR being suspended ) Mohan Lal is not wronged; he simply forms his own . There is something refreshing about this style of narration. Sadly it is not popular. People like taking sides. People like viewing the contrast between the good and evil. People like Stereotyping the good and evil ; a hundred thousand eyes like to look through a pair of specks at the common good and the evil in life. Some might argue that it(not taking sides) is a non-confrontationalist approach. To these souls I say that a cinema is not a medium to propound philosophies; it is a medium to showcase one's cretivity; one interpretation ..and the likes. In the light of these, a Rang De Basanti is not revolutionary movie. It is a popular one yes; but that I guess this is because it brands the good and the evil and allows people to associate themselves with the good....i should say a feel good movie . Watch it and punch the air with your fist for a few hours after; ride around the city with determination writ large on the face and get back to work the ensuing Monday ( heck ! , i did this ! )

To round off this post( I have been thinking of a good way to do this too, sadly I have not been succesfull) there seems to be some similarity between the movies by Spielberg and Mani; no sides taken; correct me if I am wrong ; Ended with a bang didn't I !

Citizen Kane

2006-06-14T09:40:00.000-07:00

I was at british library today afternoon looking for ways to kill time when I chanced upon a Citizen Kane DVD. I had heard this name before; but it was a CNN IBN interview with Aamir Khan titled Citizen Khan which prompted me to borrow it. CNN was way off in lending the movies title to Khan; it would have been way off lending it to anyone for that matter.

The movie is a classic;a down to earth classic without any pretensions of being classy. Apart from the non-linear narration and wonderful performances by the cast; the dialogues and the storyline caught my eye. It was about an idividualist. It is about his strenghts, his rise to fame; his pitfalls, it's every individualists biography; it charles Kane's biography

Charles Kane inherits a fortune from his parents, but chooses to take over a run down paper ( the new york inquirer) and creates an empire for himself. He starts off proclaiming that he will tirelessly pursue the cause of the "common man" and the truth. So far so good , sounds like any other movie , it would have been like any other if not for the lack of jingoism.
Kane goes on into politics, is wronged by his opponent and is defeated in the governers elections. Kane looses his wife.....the good guy suffering in the big bad world ; it could have been but it is not. Kane is an individualist.
What am I getting at? I wish to throw some light on Kane's actions; I hope by the end of this peice, similarities with the present day situations become obvious.
Kane did not want to pursue the cause of the downtrodden and the common man out of symphaty or kindness; Kane was not that kind of a philantrophist. To Kane the fact that a few hundred men would be served by his effort; a few more would be benefitted and some others would be given a new leash of life ; was ...well, fullfilling. It satiated his Ego. It has his means of a will to power.
I came across the phrase "will to power" in my philosophy class. Friedick Nietzhe( the spelling is wrong ) was of the opinion that the will to power is the basic tendency of every living object. And there are good reasons for that; at a basal level evolution is a will to power.
Coming back to Kane, the fact that he could command the lives of others was power and he gets drunk on that. His life leaves him inspite of all he does for her because she finds that every action of his is towards his cause; whatever the ends may be. I must point on here that the dialogue's in the movie are brilliant; The narration revolves around the a journalist trying to make sense of Kane's Final word(s) : ROSEBUD, and his interviews with people who had been with Kane to figure out what ROSEBUD could have meant. It ends with a simple neat and unassumingly profound statement from the journalist..."The life of no man can be described in a word".

I have come to believe that every action of ours however philantrophic, has as a motive a will to power and that our discretion is limited to choosing a means towards "will to power". I shall end this post citing the case of reservations; isn't that an example of will to power?

Camel Club

2006-06-01T10:18:00.000-07:00

Camel Club is not club formed by tribesmen in Sahara, it is a book by Baldacci which a reviewer claims catches you by the your unmentionables and squeezes them till you don't know if you wanna pass out in pain or with pleasure. Now whatever that means, the book has no connection with it's name or the review. It is simple pulp fiction. The book starts off "pulsatingly" with the gunning down of the three purpoted militants and a cover up operation. It moves along quickly, picking up a mysterious "Oliver Stone" , conspiracies, secret agents, a plot to kidnap the president, and finally the authors take on world peace. The book is loaded with facts, as are most other works coming under pulp fiction, which brings me to the question; is pulp fiction good litreture/good reading. No doubt a book or two from this breed are worth the read, but beyond this it gets repetitive. Plots change, contexts change, but there is a common thread between these works. They reek of a thriller and this fundamental commonality which is the selling point, is also the bane. I have never found these books good for a second read. Everything fades away.

On the other hand books such as those by Wodehouse and the likes keep you interested by the way they go about constructing their sentences. The charecters come to life as they are made to wade their way through the up's and downs of life( sounds cliche eh ? I am too lazy to think of better phrases). I don't know if I have made my point here; probably a few examples should do justice to this. What I wish to state is that , such writing is far more demanding, and creative than pulp fiction. The lady next door; the fruit seller on the road; the postman; and our interactions with them are detailed delightfully in many of R.K. Narayan's book, so much so that it almost seems as if the author has lived a part of each life. Such writing demands an understanding of the social structure, and of the social dynamics( high sounding ? ) .
Does any one agree?

8 inches

2006-05-29T05:20:00.000-07:00

Most of the posts on the this blog have been confined to my experiences; and a description of the world that I have built around myself. As a few , (well , just one actually ) of my friends pointed out, most that would appeal to people I know, or have known and will not do much to tempt people I wish to know. I have hence decided to put in a bit of a general stuff in the posts hereafter. Today's being the first of the lot will not digress much from the previous ones, but will have hopefully have a broader appeal...We talk of life again .....but "life in an eight inch diameter"(Courtesy STAR SPORTS) .

One of the first things I did while at IIT was to look for an indentity . Yes look for one, I was tired of what I was in the two years before IIT, reading , mugging ,reading , walking with books, reading and I wanted a makeover, A change in everything. Cricket was not an option any more, the sport was way too popular, I had played cricket for 11 years before IIT , and it simply did not fit the bill of a sport that a person with a pupotedly new identity would adopt. I tried my hand at TT, at basketball(where I used my height to good advantage as a defender, but could get the ball into the ring from 8 inches ..i sucked ! ), hockey, volleyball....till it finally hit me, a football while i was walking down the KV grounds. I presume I took to football like a fish to water, presume cos I have no idea of how it takes to water....Anyways , I sucked at thsi game too, couldn't run for more than five minutes, couldn' kick the ball off the ground, and got dribbled by every other player in the hostel. Needless to say I was not in the footer team after the first year.
The second year .. a new hostel , and some new spirit ...I tried harder , but was run over ...brutally ..these guys were gods, the stuff I saw when i came in , I hadn't imagined anyone other than Zidane to be capable of such ...I stood no chance , any where on the field , dfence midlfeild , forward , even the benches. I chose the easier way out , I became the Goal keeper ..and I must add ...one of the best the hostel ever had..... this is my story , my rise to fame if u must; I used the goal keepers slot to observe the other guys ...learn to kick ...learn to dribble, to loose some weight , and before I knew it , four years had passed ....How does this post appeal to a broader audience, well it does not .....I will save it for the next one

Moving on

2006-05-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

Continuing from where I left ; it is time to move on now after four years at IIT. Four years and I have changed from the shy introvert; to a not so shy one. A good number of people helped me along in the process. But now I find that my views are in conflict with most of them. What strcuk me when I first came to Chennai, was the way they went about their life, simple and uncomplicated. I on the other hand, was a superstitious pig with an eye out for black cats and lizards ...may a plague be upon them I hoped... I had to write every quiz on a worn down pad, with a camel ink pen which let out ink liberally on all sides, spraying a part of it on the paper. I used to go through a ritual everytime I had to leave for something important, an elaborate ritual, designed to bring the almighty to tears. I think I have broken these shackles now, mainly so, because I saw people doing it the simpler way, without any paranoia, and yet there seemed to be no lack of divine grace.

I decided to drop the act somewhere in my fifth semester, yes it took me that long to hazard that, and even then for every quiz that went bad, I used to question the rationale of my leaving behind the hand of god. Fortunately I did not revert back to the old scheme. The people who "inspired " me and helped me along were demi gods to me !

Of late however , I find it tough to agree with them on most issues, I guess it is moving on , isn't it ?

Barcelona, Schumi, Reservations, Admit, Farewell, in no particular order

2006-04-26T23:21:00.000-07:00

A lot has happened since my last visit to blogger. It is setting into some sort of pattern now, the world is a stage and mine is the role of an incarnate. From time to time, blogger allows me to give vent to my anger , to my frustration , and sometimes (strictly sometimes ) joy. Lets take it one by one shall we.
First Reservations: a lot of talk has been on about the the proposed move to bring in reservations for the OBC class. This move will increase the percentage of reserved seats to 49.5% , in the IIT's and IIM's. It will be plain repetitive for me to put forth my arguments against this, as most of the readers of this blog have the good fortune of being able to communicate with me in person and listen to my ramblings. Hence I decided to put to leave it at that, and register a token protest ( Readers who have stumbled upon my blog , and who wish to know more, can hazard a comment or two requesting posts ....... ya ya i can stoop to any levels for a comment)

It's like this, I let life take it's own course, let it play with my fate for a while, and then get back at it in the little time i get to blog. And my life goes about at it's own pace , I would imagine that to be something lesser than that of a snail. Prod , or push it hard it just retreats into a shell and conviniently goes into a deep slumber. It is beft left alone.

The last time I commented , I was lamenting about the lack of admits, well now I have one , from the unviersity of maryland College park, in Chemical Physics. Apart from the greetings, people never fail to ask me the following question, "What is Chemical Physics" to which I afford one of the follwing well rehearsed replies " Well....ummm., it is mix of chemistry and physics; I hope to be working on interfacial areas; It is a vague field; There are a lot of openings" Frankly it is none of these, I get a chance to work in physics more specifically in non linear Dynamics and Condensed Matter Physics , and these are what I had hoped for. Beyond these, I have no reason to look for a definition of the subject.

Oflate, I have been spending most of my free time following Schumi's antics or Barca's rise to fame and glory. The final months of the final semester meant that I had to spend some time with my BTech project ( which was in "Chemical Physics " BTW , and which I completed succesfully the night before the due date). Given this, and the fact that I would never get a chance to see a match in the common room after graduation; I zealously followed these two sports. The result, I saw two fantastic races at Imola and Heidenberg( is it ? ) with schumi holding on to win both.

I should mention here that I am now a graduate from the Indian Institute of Technology Madras. My time at the place has taugh me a lot, and I could go on this.....I wil save it for another post, don't want to be seen prodding too hard

The third at long last

2006-04-26T23:17:00.000-07:00

To Prof Kaman, these ten minutes were of great importance. He thought of it rather cinematically, as a final flourish from a dying flame. Students, Aditya included were aware of the existence of such analogies and wondered what all the fuss was about. None of them could see the flame or any of it's metaphorical implications. However it was a ritual of sorts for Prof. Kaman. The students saw it as a routine which involved getting back on his feet and providing the exact and tedious solutions for the problems he posed to the class, which was a tame exit. Aditya rushed out behind the professor and so did most of the class, but for entirely different reasons.

It was peak business time at the coffee house which meant that a huge mixed crowd of academia thronged the place. It also meant a steady background chatter, lots of crows pecking on the left-overs and adding to the general ambience, and long line of customers waiting for their cup of tea. Inspite of the din and the beaming business, the spectacle that presented itself at the table by the tree was too precious to be ignored. As Vikram looked on, five cups of tea were conjured spontaneously, the milk was set boiling for ten glasses, tea leaves were strained for a further five cups and Aditya made his way to the table by the tree with his abili, his own cup of tea. He proceeded to place three bulky formidable books on the table, one of which was titled "Unit operations in Chemical Engineering". Vikram looked on, he knew the sequence all too well. Any time now, they both thought in anticipation. She did not keep them waiting for long. Aditya's dreamy eyes saw her floating into the cafe. She had a place in café, another table by the tree and Aditya for some reason, found this very endearing. She was dressed in a semi traditional attire, Aditya found this to be a rather bold expression of confidence. She did not talk much to other people and kept to her own little cup of tea, and Aditya admired her independence. He knew she was a month older than him, and he admired her maturity. The admiration showed rather explicitly on his face as Vikram looked on from the corner of his eye. Vikram had an unbiased evalution of the lady, but had to admit that she was rather pretty.

Things moved at their own comfortable pace, the sun set on the campus, and his cup of tea grew cold as she got up to leave. This was no tame exit, as the one witnessed earlier in the day, it was elegance personified! Aditya looked up from behind his stack of books. He clung on to the hope of a tomorrow. It was well past the peak hour now and Vikram was winding up his work. He had to be back in under an hour to attend his night college. He opened the small wooden box and counted the number of tokens, a hundred people had sampled his 'masala chai' today. Vikram had due to their collective efforts earned a satiating two hundred rupees. The crows above were chirping away in delight and littering the canteen. It had been a good day for them too, blessed are the collective efforts of man. Aditya collected his bulky books and made his way to the gate.

The small little thing by the gate would not have caught his eye if not for the fact that he had been seeing it from behind his stack of books for the last hour. It was her purse, a small red purse with a zip, just the kind people in a state of stupor would associate with the objects of their fantasy. It was a simple purse, and in this simplicity and plainness he saw more attributes of her character. No other purse could rival this in being simpler and plainer and yet suffice to serve to its purpose. She was just as he had expected her to be.

Another day, another class, and another hour of his life spent on listening to Professor Kaman's lectures. Today's lecture dealt with bio-reactors, reactors so insanely complicated and hopeless that they seemed best when left alone. There were no tangible means of control, and the study was essentially empirical. This gave Prof Kaman a free hand. He proceeded with glee to write of a good twenty relations on boards each it's complex pattern of numbers and symbols and decimal points. How the creator could think of such numbers to control his creations was a question none in the class wished to openly ponder about. Prof Kaman's conception of philosophy was just about as complicated as a bioreactor. Aditya slept through the class.

The canteen had never looked so inviting. Today would be the day. He would hand over her purse, and then proceed to find more about that wonderful damsel of a person. He had it all worked out. It came as a rude shock to him when a stranger, the tea boy, came over and demanded the purse

"Saar, Can I have the purse? "

The boy stood, his hand outstretched, with all the audacity in the world. Aditya was experiencing a whole gamut of emotions at one instant and could not bring himself to respond coherently.

"What? Why? , Which purse? "

"The one you took from here yesterday, the red one"

The words "I took" seemed to be a direct affront to his character. Here was a filthy little boy, making tea for a living boy, and he had the temerity to call him a thief. How was the tea boy to understand Aditya's noble intentions, ( and further aspirations). Aditya could not bear it any longer, he stood up to his full height, and still measured a good two inches less than the little tea boy.

" Why do you want it ? I will give it back to whomsoever it belongs "

"But she will not come here anymore saar, she …."

"She will not come here, how would you know? ", But what if he did know, Aditya quickly proceeded to add, " Why will she not come here ? "

"Saar…." , Vikram scratched his head, he was not sure if he should spell it out. He had seen many a city boy and each had done just enough to reaffirm his view that they were pampered sissies. And Aditya did not inspire much confidence.

"She will not be able to come saar, why do you want to go into ? "

"But I do not even know you, for I know you might just make do with the purse"

It was determination. He wasn't going to cave in without a fight.

"Saar, she is not well, and she will not be able to make it. I stay in the same colony. It is very essential that she has the purse"

"Then take me there "

The beach was about three kilometers from the institute. Half an hour of robust
cycling brought one to the shores of the great oceans. In it lay a mixture the memories of
triumph, tears of failure and a grim resolve. For students at the institute it meant more
than a body of water. It seemed to exude life, betray emotions and empathize with every
person who came to its shores. Aditya found solace here in troubled times. The
overbearing presence comforted him, though he could never reason out why. Between the
rhythmic beats of the waves instances of from his life came into focus. And like all other
souls on the shore, Aditya fancied his eye for philosophy in such an ambience. His view
of life, his ideas, his ‘principles’, were derived from these brief sessions at the beach. It
would not be wrong to say that it motivated his presence in the material world. The last
session was not however one for insight into his being. He had followed Veda from the
institute canteen to the beach. It was then that he decided to let his infatuation blossom
into love. There were many reasons for having progressed into this state. First, He had a
tough time cycling to keep up with her. Not one to doubt his own physique, Aditya at
once concluded that this girl was strong and assumed for convenience that she was
emotionally strong too. Second, in the half an hour she spent at the beach, she regaled her
friends with jokes, offered counsel on love and personal relations and spoke at length
about family values and customs. It was the complete person in all ways he could have
ever hoped for. Presently, he sat alongside Vikram. The sun was half way down, and he
had never felt such an urgent need for solace.
Vikram had taken Aditya to Veda’s house. She lived in a small apartment near
MGR nagar with her step mother and two sisters. Aditya would have thought up of a
Cinderalla story and further fallen for the girl, if not for the stark reality which met his
eye. The apartment was what authors would call dingy. Water had seeped through most
of the walls leaving behind patches of irregular shapes. The labored rotation of the fan
coupled very efficiently with the dim flickering light to justify the use of the “dingy” as
an adjective. Veda was sleeping in the hall. Her dress was wrinkled, there were bruises on
her forehead, a leg was bandaged, it was a rude , rude and cruel revelation for Aditya.
Her step mother had beaten her up for being irresponsible and losing the purse.
It shook him up and it all came back to him between the rhythmic motions of the
waves. His actions were driven by his utopian perception. He felt guilty, he felt foolish,
he felt like a frog in the well by the sea, and the ocean took it all in…..between the
rhythmic motions.

The Second Part of the story

2006-02-16T01:27:00.000-08:00

Blogging spreee ..yeee

A few leaves ruffled in the wind, a few students walked across the corridor, Prof Kaman dangled his legs, the world moved on, and to Aditya it was all a cosmic dance. The setting, his being and everything else seemed to be miraculously engineered with precision, providence and what appeared to be a tinge of serendipity!

Not too far away, two stones throws from the top of building away to be precise was the institute canteen. The canteen served tea, coffee, and an excuse for breakfast. As it mainly catered to those who wished a reprieve from the hectic routine, not attention was paid to quality. People gulped down huge quantities of pongal dipped in fermented chutney over intriguing differential equations. Such an exercise would necessarily require a sojourn to the loo, later in the day which further provided the right environment to augment their thought process. To each his own and Vikram did his bit for the deparment of science and technology. His ginger flavoured masala chai sent many a brilliant mind rushing to the seat of thought.

Vikram was an embodiment of a greek tragedy. To those who do not know of a greek tragedy, adequate illustrations will be provided subsequently and to those who know of many a greek tragedy and have sometimes come to regard themselves as embodiments of one, it is just another greek tragedy. Vikram lived in the slums behind the institute. A product of the MGR memorial higher secondary school, Tamil medium , Taramani branch, Vikram's life up till now was anything but worth a memory. A state rank in the tenth boards, a gold coated brass medal from the government, and a certificate of appreciation from his school did not amount to much. Alcohol and society had consumed his father and later a mysterious cough had reduced his mother to a hag. Vikram had to take up a part time job to support his family, his education and his dream. An opportunity to interact so closely with academia could not be overlooked. Vikram had been making masala chai for a montly income of thousand for two years now. A recent increment in his salary by a hundred saw the invent of ginger flavoured chai.

Aditya's attention in class went from wavering to one of nonchalance. Reactors churned out products in accordance to the laws and freedom permitted by nature, his classmates evaluated natures constraints on productivity, while Aditya amused himself with fond musings. It came in flashes to him, not like the ones foreboding death and destruction as many philosophers and senior student claim it to be, but like the pleasant gushes of a sweet water fall.

A third person description of the sweet gushes in most cases unfortunately, renders the whole comic element to the musings. Such is not necessarily an artifact of lesser language or understanding. The reason is quite simple, plain and obvious to the third fourth and the persons. From their point of view, it is hard to understand what the fuss is all about. Take Aditya's case for an example. The fond recollections included the sight of her hair wafting in the wind, the sight of her smiling, a further superlative: the sight of her smiling an innocent smile, in essence the sight of her. It is quite a task for a third person to glorify and exemplify a figment of anothers imagination. Aditya glanced at his neighbours watch, in ten minutes he could head off to meet her. All his thoughts were on centred some where around the institute canteen.

The Truth, stranger than fiction is it not !

2006-02-16T01:25:00.000-08:00

Been writing a story for some time ...here it is ....

The bus moved briskly through the canopy and the steady drizzle. Drops of water made their way through the intricate weavings to form spherical prisms on his hand. One hard look, he could see the colours of life. Philosophy is an integral part of life here. The tensions and qualms of student life wear out many a bright mind, driving some to insanity and some to searching out metaphors in the abundant nature around him. The proportion of these minds in the campus is on the rise, there are two periodicals (besides the one each hostel brings out) now to cater to these idiosyncrasies of society.

However, for all this talk, he did seem to be serious, it was a sincere hard look. The light was resplendent with colors. The prospect of facing Prof Kaman in five minutes did not seem to bother him as he displaced more drops of water from the window. There was a certain charm to the light flicks, an air of disattachment, of superiority that his fellow travelers could not discern. For them, it was just water from a rusted bar splashing on their face. Perceptions differ, and his was that of a glass half filled with water. He was above such trivial concerns.

Prof Kaman was writing off equations at a furious pace, by the time Aditya got to class. The monotonous sound of chalk was broken at the end of each line with a squeak of protest from the chalk. This was the routine in his class, much like an expanded version of the typewriter. It could have been better had the course been given a slick title, but "Unit operations in chemical and mechanical engg" will put the most ardent student to sleep. The board had an academician's version of a reactor, which amounted to a cooking vessel and a few pipes with arrows ( "which were really important from the quiz point of view") and weird markings to indicate the sizes the dimensions and the flows. Prof Kaman surveyed the board with some pride and proceeded to the read out the actual question with much gesticulation. "What you see on the board here, is a batch reactor. The flow rates are given, come up with a mass balance and predict the output". With this he pushed himself on to the desk and sat, his dangling as the class solved the problem. Previously, the class had consumed a fifty minutes to solve a minute variation of the present problem. Prof Kaman was disappointed with the performance and took it as a personal insult. He had since then set upon a barrage of problems with miniscule (often inconceivable to the naked eye) differences in numericals. It was his hope that such an exercise would serve to sharpen the average student's intellect. The premise unfortunately was rather questionable, the average student was more a fact of life than an statistical artifact. Thirty years of teaching experience, and yet Kaman could not feel the popular pulse.

Aditya who at this time was thoroughly unconcerned with the trivialities of life, couldn't bring himself to care enough to find out how much the reactor produced.

For a start, it looked more like a cooking utensil with a stirrer than a reactor, and moreover some cooking experience and some common sense seemed to convey the entire substance of unit operations.

Flurry !

2006-02-16T00:33:00.000-08:00

A lot has gone by since the last post...but no comments still, I have waited long enough ...I shalll share my experiences with the material world, and hope fervently the random blog algo finds me more often ...if this is not luck what is ?
Neways ...the last month saw me taking off on a two day trip to yercaud, the first "trip" of this kind. We took a train to Salem , and then a bus to get to Yercaud ....the place is beautiful, (it would be an understatement to leave it at that, but nothing further comes to me mind) ......it has the whole package ...waterfaalls, treks, clouds, mountains, boooze, boozed men , death threats , ghosts , haunted hotels, and a lake to drown all the misery........The sceneries were breathtaking , and I weilded my camera in good measure to capture some of it, my only crib that people kept showing up in the middle . How is this a problem ? I belive in Plato , I swear by him ...i believe we are mere representations of an ideal world , I believe that we are restrained by our senses, I believe all change is unreal . give me food and a computer and let me bask in the absolute , that is all i ask of this world .

The last few days have been rather tumultous, I have got no apps yet, ( a job yes .....but this is the time to crib ! ) and the wait is pschying !

Could crib about an exam. ....me and my estranged ...but that will be for later . For now, the Indian Bowling seems to have found some teeth ....
so long

A few good blogs

2006-01-17T06:07:00.000-08:00

The reason for this sudden activity is as the title says, a few good blogs. I was of the opinion that blogs are spaces to exhibit literary talent, a place for geeks and wannabe shakespeares. These few blogs shook me out of this idea. I found in them 'personal'views on films, politics, life , philosophy, cricket, the philosophy of cricket, ganguly, greg chappel, captain( the other one ! ) , chennai floods, earthquakes, and a sum total of all these ( and other events that do not come under the garb of reality...) Captains movies ( this is regio specific again, if not captains movies, it is mithun da's movies ......after all we have a few crores of gods each catering to the desires of some segment, captain ..mithun da all forms of the divine one ! ) These few good blogs are the reason I am here. And the Blogs are
greatbong.blogspot.com/
http://pravunplugged.blogspot.com/
Readers reading this post are requested not to vent their anger on the above. They are the reason yes, but the choice was mine ...
Saarang is up in a few days, and the ip guys have started off with the countdown ........
todays number 7 has some significance originally imparted to it by shakespeare ! .....lucky ain't it
Thats it for now ..........food beckons

The Year that was !

2006-01-15T07:16:00.000-08:00

The last time I spent time on the blog was about a year ago. A lot has happened in this time, God reveals his plans to bush, another rajnikanth movie hits the screen, lalloo looses bihar, earthquakes , hurricanes, I have kept my silence through all this, but no more ! It is time for me to speak out, curb those devils who have conspired against me and my kind, righteounous shall prevail ! .....
...what crap !
A year in exile and this is what I have to offer, a year which thanks to GRE gave me a new voice, and a new hope, but sadly no new ideas.
I shall dig something out .......the long arm of justice............ ( sounds better if translated in hindi / tamil and if rendered in a heavy dragging voice )

Inspired Publicity

2005-01-21T09:10:00.000-08:00

Saarang is here and so are the IP's(Internal publicity for a cause or person). The IP coords(coordinators meant to supervise vols ) seem to have taken upon themselves the task of making this Saarang a memorable one. It will some time before sanity is restored to the IP's at IIT. Gone are the days when IP's were a simple means of communication. Perhaps the coords or some superior phanthomed a threat to this simple mechanism from sophiscated electronic means. And this saw a paradigm shift in their attitudes. The Ip was reinvented. Ip's of the new age are sophisticated, so much so that some "junta" require calci's and notebooks to work out the message intended. IP's are now used to sort out personal scores and to put "pseud".It will not be long before they devise means to demarcarte territory(hope they do not draw inspiration from lower animals).
Take the case of the "Saarang countdown". Each day was assigned a number. The coords dilligenlty worked the ordering of numbers, it was to be 10,9 ,8 ......and nothing else. And each morning the hostel was greeted with an IP announcing a new number (no degeneracy fortunately) along with it;s significance. Am not exactly sure about the intent, but I am guessing it is to convince us that the need for numbers arose from one such countdown. The next thing will be to probe into rational numbers.Other instances include tehalka@saarang, greenpeace and snoopy.
Creativity is to be appreciated but not at the cost of comprosing on the very purpose of a post. Let sanity prevail.

To do? Done

2004-12-11T23:36:00.000-08:00

As usual the heading will have no relation with what is going to be typed. Quite expected given that what is typed has no relation with what is in my mind. I have lost my mind(! ) to the emotionally carged tamil serials. I did have an option to run away to safety, but I wanted to take a chance. But now every action has in it malice an ulteror motive. That is what these serials are .....an attempt to work with murphy's laws. If anything can go wrong, it will and it does. Taking it further everything goes wrong all the time for some people. Then everything goes wrong for the other people. The first set are defined as good people, the latter as bad people. No further distinctions are made. Apply these simple rules and you have a megaserial ready !

Intellect

2004-12-09T09:26:00.000-08:00

Some attention to the title. The brilliance of the human mind comes from its randomness. More specifically from its ability to converge random peices of information into a useful picture. Intuition is a gift. I write this because I was led to belive that intellect lies more in ordered thinking. Structured thinking is no doubt efficient. The mind has a target which is systematically acheived. But in this very systematic approach, lie its limitations. A structure brings along with it limitations, a something paralled to the case of a frog in the well. Intuition is unleashing the creative ablities of the mind on the problem posed. True that this doesn't stand much of chance when compared to the brutal efficiency of a structure, but great leaps in understanding and analysis are born out of this. Quantum mechanics (my knowledge in other feilds doesn't pemit me the luxury of more examples) is such an intuitive spark. The ability to think, cannot be substituted by a collection of algorithms. The mind can see the solution!

It starts ..and how ?

2004-12-04T05:09:00.000-08:00

A question I have not been able to answer. I do not know how this should start? And it starts nonetheless. That's me. A bundle of contradictions, ideas, and painful jokes. Will update this space later...too sleepy now